Godey's Lady's Book 1856-07: Vol 53 Iss 1

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GODEY’S LA DY’S BOOK. PHILADELPHIA, JUL@, 1856. HOW AND ABOUT UMBRELLAS. JONAS HANWAY, (THE FIRST ENGLISHMAN WHO EVER CARRIED AN UMBRELLA.) We have just received from London an amusing book, entitled ‘‘ Umbrellas and their History,” by William Sangster. It furnishes a curious example of the amount of entertainment which may be obtained from what would seem, at first sight, a very barren subject. It gives ; ? us the history of the umbrella in ancient and modern times, discusses its advantages, and em- broiders the whole subject with quotations from the classics, and entertaining stories. He makes the parasol more ancient than the umbrella, and carries its history back to a very remote period ll

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12 in the annals of the Chinese and the Hindoos, The Assyrians, according to Layard, limited the use of the parasol to their king. No subject durst use it. The use of the parasol by the Egyptians and Persians is proved by sculptures on their most ancient monuments. The um- brella appears to have been in use among the higher classes in Greece and Rome, as we learn from passages in Pausanias, Ovid, Claudian, and Juvenal. > > **TIn all eastern countries, with the exception of China and Turkey, the parasol was reserved exclusively for the great men of the land, and, consequently, its manufacture must have formed a very comfortable monopoly, and the title of Court Parasol Maker must have been anything rather than an empty one. In China, however, the parasol is borne by every native of the flow- ery land, and in Turkey umbrellas of European manufacture are generally found. But even here the old state distinction appears to be maintained in some degree, for nc one is allowed to pass the palace without lowering his um- brella.”’ The history of the parasol and umbrella in modern times is curious. One is surprised that such useful articles should have come into general use at so recent a period. Our author says :— **The general use of the parasol in France and England was adopted, probably from China, about the middle of the seventeenth century. At that period, pictorial representations of it are frequently found, some of which exhibit the peculiar broad and deep canopy belonging to the large parasol of the Chinese government officials, borne by native attendants. * John Evelyn, in his Diary for the 22d of June, 1664, mentions a collection of rarities shown him by one Thompson, a Catholic priest, sent by the Jesuits of Japan and China to France. Among the curiosities were ‘ fans like those our ladies use, but much larger, and with long handles, strangely carved, and filled with Chinese characters,’ which is evidently a de- scription of the parasol.” The author shows by quotations from Gay and Swift that the ladies used umbrellas to protect them from the rain in their time, say in Queen Anne’s reign, during the early part of the eighteenth century. It was not till about the middle of that century that umbrellas first began to be used by men in London. Our au- thor says :— **It is recorded, in the life of that eminent philanthropist, Jonas Hanway, the friend of chimney-sweeps, and sworn foe to tea, that he GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. was the first man who ventured to dare public reproach and ridicule by carrying an umbrella. He probably felt the benefit of the umbrella during his travels in Persia, where they were in constant use as a protection against the sun. It was more than probable, however, that Jonas Hanway’s neatness in dress and delicate com- plexion led him, on his return from abroad, to appreciate a luxury hitherto only confined to the ladies. Mr. Pugh, who wrote his life, gives the following description of his personal ap- pearance, which may be regarded as a gem in its way :— “¢Tn his dress, as far as was consistent with his ideas of health and ease, he accommodated himself to the prevailing fashion. As it was frequently necessary for him to appear in polite circles on unexpected occasions, he usually wore dress-clothes with a large French bag. His hat, ornamented with a gold button, was of a size and fashion to be worn as well under the arm as on the head. When it rained, a small para- pluie defended his face and wig.’ ” Thus it appears that it is only one century since men in England began to use the umbrella. At present, we might say there is hardly a man in England or the United States, without one. One chapter of our author’s book is devoted to what he calls umbrella stories, of which we shall give but one (of the extravaganza sort), with copies of the illustrations. “One of the most remarkable instances on record, in which the umbrella was the agency of a man’s life being saved, occurred, according to his own statement, to our old friend Colonel Longbow. Of course our kind readers know him as well as we do, for not to do so ‘ would be to argue yourselves unknown.’ At any continental watering-place, Longbow, or one of his family—for it is a large one—can be met with. He is, indeed, a wonderful man—on in- timate terms with all the crowned heads of Eu- rope, and proves his intimacy by always speak- ing of them by their Christian names. He is at once the ‘guide, philosopher, and friend’ of every stranger who happens to form his ac- quaintance ; a very easy task, be it remarked; and, though so great a man, is not above dining at your expense, and charming by the terms of easy familiarity with which he imbibes your champagne or your porter, for all is alike to him, as long as he has not to pay for it. ** Well! the other day we happened to mect the colonel, and he speedily contrived to dis- cover that we were on the point of going to dine, and we invited him to share our humble meal, as a graceful way of making a virtue of

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HOW AND ABOUT UMBRELLAS. 13 PAAR POL A OLS necessity, for, had we not done so, he would have had no hesitation in inviting himself, During dinner, conversation, of course, turned upon one all-engrossing sub- ject, the war, and the colonel proceed- ed to give us his experiences of the Crimea, and the miraculous escape he owed to an umbrella. “It appeared that he had gone out with his friend, Lord Levant, on a yachting excursion in the Mediterra- nean, and they eventually found their way into the Black Sea. Stress of weather compelled them to put into the little port of Yalta, on the north coast, where they went on shore. The colonel, on the Lucretian principle of ‘Suave mari magno,’ &c., proceeded the next morning to the verge of the precipice to observe the magnificent prospect of a sea running mountains high. As it was raining at the time, he put up a huge gingham umbrella he happened to find in the hotel. Suddenly, however, a furious blast of wind drove across the cliff, and lifted the colonel bodily in the air. Away he flew far out to sea, the umbrella acting as a parachute to let him fall easy. ** Now to most men this would only have been a choice of evils, a progress from Scylla to Cha- rybdis: not so to ourcolonel. On coming up to the surface after his first dip, he found that swimming would not save him; so he quietly emptied out the water contained in the um- brella, seated himself upon it, and sailed tri- umphantly into the harbor, like Arion on his dolphin. “Our face, on hearing this anecdote, must have betrayed the scepticism we felt, for the colonel proceeded to a corner of the room, and produced the identical umbrella. Of course, such a proof was irresistible, and we were com- pelled to do penance for our unbelief by lending the gallant colonel a sovereign, for ‘the bank was closed.’ We thought the anecdote cheamat the price.” VOL. L111.—2

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BEAUTY OUT WEST: OR, HOW THREE FASHIONABLE YOUNG LADIES SPENT A YEAR IN THE WILDERNESS. BY METTA VICTORIA FULLER. (Continued from page 499.) Mr. SUTHERLAND was deep in animated con- versation with his guest when they were called to the table. After introducing him to his daugh- ters, the talk was resumed; and the girls were surprised to see how their father plunged into mill-dams, rolled over saw-logs, floated rafts, grew warm over a steam-mill, and rode over the imaginary track of a pinery railroad, at the imminent danger of neglecting the muffins and strawberries. As for Mr. Smith, he could talk and eat, too; doing full justice to the cold birds, and see what was about him at the same time. He would be telling the worth of an acre of pine-trees lying near such a stream, or the cost of getting such a quantity of logs into the river, looking all the time straight into Blanche’s beautiful face, as if communicating the facts to her. After tea, the topics of conversation became more general. Smithville, its size, age, society, and prospects, were discussed; the stranger embellishing his items with shy sarcasms, or sensible observations that kept his auditors amused. Even Blanche ventured to inquire if there were any dry-goods shops in Smithville. “Oh, yes,” was the reply, “seven dry-goods and grocery stores, where you can buy dress- goods only a year out of fashion; fourteen families of enterprising eastern men came west to make their fortunes, nine pianos, and a great many idle young ladies ; twenty families who set themselves up to form a circle ; three men worth a hundred thousand dollars ; four churches, one organ, a lyceum, a union-school, five saw- mills, some pretence, some good sense, a con- tinual odor of pine smoke, two or three fashion- able parties every winter, a daily mail, a few carriages, and a little of everything else.” The young lady hardly knew whether to resent the rapid, half-satirical, half-humorous style in which her question was answered, or to laugh too, but finally said, by way of apology, that “she had been informed that there was no civilization nor fancy-stores, or anything of the kind, this side of Detroit.” ** And yet you could make up your mind to live without either?” 14 er softer voice, looking curiously into her lovely, delicate countenance. * For the love of papa,” was the gentle reply, and Blanche stole her hand into her father’s. The affection of that correct reply redeemed all the nonsense of her artificial remarks before the homely good sense, perhaps rude prejudice, of the young surveyor. **It is a brave child that makes such a martyr of herself,” he said, playfully. ‘* May I ask one of the ladies to play for me a little while? I think that ‘if music hath power to soothe the savage breast,’ that same one ought to take pity upon my barbarity. I have been in the woods until I have grown wild.” Maggie, willing to oblige, went to the piano. She sang two or three old-fashioned songs which she thought would please his taste best. In the last, he surprised them all by joining in a rich, sweet, powerful voice, that would not have done discredit to the stage, and which proved no small degree of cultivation. “Why, you sing beautifully, Mr. Smith,” exclaimed Blanche. “J’ve taught the singing-school for two winters in Smithville,” was the reply, in a deprecating tone, as if in excuse for surprising them by singing at all. ‘ Will not you be as good as your sister has been?” he added, as Maggie left the piano. Blanche took her place and played a brilliant passage from a new Italian opera, not with any particular wish to delight their novel guest, but with a little wicked desire to confound him by some music which should be beyond his com- prehension. “That is very sparkling and airy,” said he, as she retired from the instrument, “ but I like this part of the same opera best,” and he took the seat she relinquished, and played a more difficult passage with the skill of a master. . “That is magnificent! grand as the sight of a western river rolling through a mighty forest.” He spoke in a deep, absorbed tone, as the last note died away. His companions sat in silence for 2 moment. asked the stranger, in a ;} They did not know what to make of this ano-

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BEAUTY OUT WEST. 15 maly, “this Jack of all trades,” who, though modest, could not be disconcerted, and though accomplished, was unpolislied in outward seem- ing, and independent in manner and speech, as the “ squatter’? who occupied the next log-hut; this singing-master, phrenologist, and surveyor, and what else time only might develop. He turned, after speaking, to Maggie, as if to read sympathy in her fine eyes with him in his admiration for this glorious burst of music. She was regarding him with an expression which suddenly increased the feeling of his pulse, although her glance was instantly dropped, and a soft blush wavered over her checks. He did not know whether it was love of the music only which gave such a glow of pleasure to her enkindled look. At that moment she was more beautiful than belle Blanche—the poetry of her nature was set to melody in her eyes. *T must go,” said the young man, “ with many thanks for your kind hospitality. I will see you again about this pinery business, Mr. Sutherland; I think the steam-mill ought to be put up by all means.” * Quite a coming down from an Italian opera,” mused Maggie. None of the family were willing to see the person, whose frankness had won upon their esteem, attempt a walk of nine miles at that late hour, although he pro- fessed it could be done with ease, and was no hardship to him ; so their really cordial invita- tion was at last accepted, and the rest of the evening flitted rapidly away. They would themselves have wondered at their own warm- heartedness in begging him to stay, had they remembered the stateliness with which it was their wont to extend invitations, and the diffi- culty with which a stranger got the entreé of their city laws. But they were in a new country, amid puzzling people, where distinc- tions of society were so gradually blended that it was unsafe to presume upon any abrupt declension ; besides, they felt their own need of kindness and friendly deeds, in this harsh and lonely new life of theirs. ** You will have to put the bear in your bed- room, Maggie, and come and sleep with me. I shall be afraid bruin would crush all my delicate toilet arrangements, and break down my little French bedstead. I should have to cry, as the cub did in the nursery story—‘ who’s been sleeping in my bed?’” whispered Blanche, as the two went through the library (we shall designate the several portions of the one hall of the Sutherland cottage by the names the inmates were pleased to give them) to make * How can you ?” murmured Maggie, reprov- ingly. “If he only had his hair cut, and a black coat on, he would be as much of a gentleman as Sydney De Witt, and a great deal more of one than that simpleton Thaddeus Juan Brown, with his excruciating dress and manners—‘ smelling of musk and of insolence’ —and with his soul refined down to nothing at all; but whom you seemed to admire so much.”’ “Tam sure he is a very sweet man, Maggie; and I should not think it possible you could compare Mr. Smith with him.” ** Oh, darling,” said the older sister, kissing the lips that were beginning to pout like roses in the act of blossoming, “if you call such a man as that ‘a sweet man,’ I shall think your fashion- able education has ruined your good sense as well as your simplicity of tastes.” Harrison Smith did feel an uncomfortable fear that he should destroy something by his clumsi- ness when he got into Maggie’s fairy bedroom ; for fairy it was, though the walls were of loge. She had draped it with white cloth, and covered the floor with a soft carpet. Her little rose- wood dressing-table had a fine oval mirror above it, and all the luxuries of the toilet upon it. ** What a face!” ejaculated Harrison, as he looked in the glass, and “ what hands!” as he turned to wash them in a basin of rare porcelain. * It’s a wonder those dainty creatures could be so polite to me. That eldest young lady has more good sense than I gave any fashionable woman credit for; and Maggie—ah, there ’s a rare combination of qualities in her! that dark, poetical eye and spiritual brow are what I have often imagined to myself—but Blanche is so bewitching. Mercy! won’t she set the brains of the young men whirling wherever she goes ? I must keep mine steady, as I have done thus far; so here’s to bed and to sleep, without any dreams of her beauty to disturb the sound slumber of a hard-working man. Good-night to the three fair sisters ; their father ought to be a happy man,” and the surveyor was asleep in a moment. The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Smith asked permission to bring his cousin, the daughter of the uncle with whom he lived, to call upon them. They signified their pleasure at the pro- position ; and he then said that he should be so busy the rest of the week that he was not cer- tain he could bring his cousin before the next, but hoped that would not prevent their riding to church with him upon Sabbath, if he should come for them. The girls were really eager to go and gratify some preparations for the repose of their guest. } their curiosity about Smithville, but they were

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16 unaccustomed to accepting civilities from a gen- tleman whose credentials had not been presented and proved unexceptionable. They looked at their father to answer for them. The ice was rapidly melting from Mr. Suther- land’s ideas before the unaffected goodness of the young stranger’s attempts to make their new home less lonely. He had heard, no doubt, that Harrison Smith, of Smithville, although he was a surveyor, was one of the leading young men of that village, and would be no discredit- able acquaintance. «« My daughters will be pleased to go; and I shall be glad to have them; for my greatest dread is that they will tire of their monotonous life in this wilderness.” So it was all arranged, and their guest bade them a cheery good-morning, rejoicing in the thought that he had contrived a way to see them so soon again, and giving his last earnest look at Maggie. Blanche could hardly wait for them to get out of hearing before she commenced. clapping her hands and dancing around the room. ** Now, then, my passion-flower, here is some- thing better for your journal than accounts of making biscuits and milking cows. Papa was right about the adventures. We will have plenty, I am sure. Come, sit down this mo- ment, and write it out.” * Write what out?” asked Maggie, striving to affect indifference, although the color did deepen in her cheeks. "Oh, now, blue-belle, don’t pretend not to know! Why, all about it, of course. How you went out, after the fashion of peasant-girls, to gather strawberries, and wore a wreath of violets for your head; and how you met a lion in the forest who turned into a strange, handsome man at the sight of his Una; but how a little of the lion’s man was still left hanging about his face, which made him very delightfully un- couth; and how he followed you home, and threw a spell over us all, like the enchanters of old, so that, even when he forgot himself, and growled, we could not be frightened; and how he could sing like a siren between the growls; ‘and how he had such eyes that they penetrated the susceptible breast of the poet-sister, and—” “You had better take the journal into your own hands, since you have such powers of nar- rative,” said Maggie, with just enough petulance to delight her sister with the idea that she had succeeded in disturbing her. r ** That young man has fine business talent,” said Mr. Sutherland to Louise. ‘“ He sketched out a plan by which I might reinstate my for- rn nnn nnn nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn ~ PAD ALS GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. tunes in a year or two if I only had a few thousand dollars capital.” **T wish that you had, dear father, the requi- site means,” sighed Louise. Although she took the lead in the household affairs, and ccnducted herself with the mos‘ commendable courage, Louise’s heart was far from being wholly engaged in that humble home. She had not so much imagination as Maggie, and could not invest homely realities with any ideal charm, except what het affections gave them; neither had she the high spirits of the childish Blanche, so that this new lot fell rather more heavily upon her than the others ; and yet she was the adviser and comforter of all. The two days yet remaining of that week passed without any circumstances of note, ex- cept a wild chase two of the sisters had after a washerwoman, in which they wearied themselves very greatly. Their nearest neighbor, whose assistance they had hoped to secure, had a child sick, and they were obliged to walk another mile, and coax very hard for the somewhat obstinate woman, whom they found, to consent to come and assist them. “Fine folks better learn to help themselves,” she said, shortly, when first solicited. ** But we are learning,” said Maggie. “* We do all our work; but I do not think we are strong enough to wash.” * Besides, we do not know how,” pleaded Blanche, with the tears in her beautiful eyes. **Oh, please to come, Mrs. Marks! We have walked three miles, and are so tired, and cannot go any further.” The dignity of Mrs. Marks softened a little at the young girl’s sweet voice, as whose would not? and, as Maggie followed up the advantage gained by the offer of a gold dollar if she would come and do the washing and scrub out the kitchen, she reluctantly consented. “To think of such a woman putting on airs,” laughed Blanche, as they returned slowly home. ** Everybody is independent out West,” re- plied her companion. CHAPTER III. Tue next Sabbath was a beautiful day. The young ladies had been in the habit of indulging in an hour more of sleep upon Sunday morning ; but upon this occasion they felt a novel necessity for relinquishing this luxury, as they could hardly prepare for their ride to church otherwise. A cup of coffee, bread and butter, and straw-

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BEAUTY OUT WEST. 17 ~~ ens AN berries, formed their breakfast ; then the dishes were to be rinsed up, and then toilets to be made, and all before nine o’clock. * Horrible! barbarous! how can we live and endure it?”? murmured Blanche, occasionally, as she tried to help the others, and fluttered about like a bird, doing about as much good. Yet, somehow, despite of her own astonish- ment, she never felt better in her life. Her cheeks were almost too rosy for her fastidious taste, and the blood went tingling through her veins as if she had quaffed ambrosia, and so she had—the real, life-giving, health-bestowing nectar from the fountain of youth—the fresh morning air, flavored with violets and mingled with wild-rose dew, and drank from the glowing goblet which Hebe June presented her. Then, too, to add to this pleasant excitement, was that of exercise taken freely and gayly. It was no wonder her dainty foot “scarce bent the lea- ther,” and that her eyes overflowed with bril- liant light. ** Somehow, papa, I feel so happy ; and yet I am sure it is a very great privation to have to arise so early,” she said, as she passed her father, where he sat idly in his dressing-gown. ** How fortunate it was that we resolved to learn to dress ourselves, and dispensed with our maid last year!’ said Louise to Maggie, as they fastened each other’s dresses. The lace collar was but just fastened around the slender throat, and the last ringlet adjusted, when a carriage, drawn by two spirited black horses, dashed up to the door. ‘© What handsome horses !” said Louise. ** And what a handsome man!” said Blanche. As for Maggie she said nothing, but her speaking eye kindled, and then drooped. Was that really Mr. Harrison Smith of Smith- ville? Yes; for there were the laughing, deep- blue eyes and manly form; but the beard was trimmed and glossy, and the hair brushed into rich curls, and the surveyor’s dress was ex- changed for a handsome black frock-coat, white linen pantaloons, and Congress gaiters. He did not look like a Broadway exquisite ; every one, except Blanche, thought he looked much better, and more like a man, capable of taking care of himself and protecting his gentler companions, and even Blanche had exclaimed that he was handsom 3. As for the young man, when he looked at the three beautiful women in their bright summer silks, fluttering flounces, tiny pretences of bon- nets, and elegant scarfs, he was half angry at his own folly in offering to escert a bevy of fashionable females into the village church. 2° He! who had always spoken of this class with contempt, and had been wont to deem them as senseless as their models in the dressmaker’s shop, with the exception of a little combination of falsehood, vanity, and affectation. His keen eye searched their faces. He saw there no be- trayal of the consciousness that they were brilliantly arrayed ; ease, but not pride, was in their manners—repose, and not the coldness of arrogance; and, in one face, he saw a flush of feeling as natural as any wild girl of the woods might have shown, and oh! so much more re- fined and spiritual. ‘The expression of that face banished all regret and awkwardness ; he was himself again, only more joyous, more genial than before. When Maggie gave him her hand to be helped into the carriage, he could have pressed it to his heart in a rapture; but his reverence for that bright, ethereal creature, so refined, like porce- lain beyond the potter’s clay, was greater than his passion.. It seemed, as he took his seat by her side in the carriage, that the golden sunlight of June had never flooded the world so gayly before. The road wound by the river bank, and was lovely with shadowy forest and flowery plain upon one side, and the broad, blue, rushing stream upon the other. The poetical nature of Maggie was all aroused. The sweet words of bards, made sweeter by the soft emotion with which she uttered them, flowed from her lips. Her companion took up the thread of feeling, and answered it with an eloquence as delight- ful as unexpected. She thought herself in a fairy world, and wondered at a politely repressed yawn which she heard from Blanche. “The village, the village !” cried the latter, presently. “‘ How swiftly we have come!” said Maggie. *¢ Those are fine horses, Mr. Smith.” The bell was tolling for the minister when they passed before the little Episcopal church, at whose architecture the girls quietly smiled. Their escort gave them a seat in a square pew at the head of the aisle, and then left them to take his own place with the choir. They were aware that, as they faced the principai portion of the congregation, they were “the cynosures of neighboring eyes; but they bore it very bravely, and entered into the spirit of the ser- vices with religious simplicity. They missed the dim grandeur of their own church, the lofty spaces, the arches which seemed to point to heaven, the stained windows which seemed to burn with a joyous worship, and something of the stately ceremonials. But that did not pre-

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18 vent them from addressing themselves to thoughts of praise and gladness. The music was better than they expected. There was a small organ, which was made the most of by Harrison Smith, who, they saw, was leader of the choir. As there were but three singers, and the voice which was missing was one whose loss she could supply, Maggie joined in the singing. Her voice was very fine, and, as she answered the leader, in some of the parts, she seemed to be joining with him in spirit in the melodious thanksgiving, so earnestly they sang to one'another. Sweeter and fuller rose her voice, and inore grandly his chimed in, until the hearts of the hearers were lifted upon the unseen waves of music into a higher world of feeling. When the two met, after church, some bond scemed to have drawn them nearer than when they last looked into each other’s eyes. Mr. Smith brought with him, from the gallery, his cousin, a dashingly dressed girl, not very pretty, but with a spirited good-hearted expression. She urged them so cordially to go home with her to dinner that they could not refuse, or would not have refused had not Louise recol- lected that while they were feasting her father would go famishing. ** Cannot he help himself to something out of the pantry, to keep him from absolute starva- tion, until you return?”’ laughed Miss Smith, reluctant to resign her guests. ** Papa would never dream of such a thing,” replied Louise. ‘ He could not boil an egg or a cup of coffee, or even look for a piece of cold chicken, he is so used to trusting himself blindly to the care of the female portion of the house- hold.” “He does not understand the mysteries of housekeeping as well as I,”’ said Harrison. “I keep my tent-house very well; can boil beans, make coffee, toast bread, and broil a bird to per- fection.” “Here is our house just by,” continued Miss Smith. ‘* We will not keep you to difiner, then, but step in and take a glass of wine, or some- thing to refresh you before riding again.” They went in and found double- parlors well furnished, in some respects; a rich carpet, a good piano, and some handsome articles of rose- wood furniture ; but no pictures worth mention- ing, and no litle articles of vertu betraying a cultivated taste. The father of Miss Smith was one of the “ hundred thousand dollar men” that Harrison had spoken of, and had things as well as he knew how. Arabelle, their young hostess, brought them | | | GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, el eee some cake, and, as they did not take wine, some cold water; and, after promising to come very soon to call upon them, permitted them to de- part. Their ride home was rather warm, though a cool breeze from the river kept the heat from being oppressive. Of course, they urged their kind escort to stay to dinner. “ Oh, dear, dear !”’ sighed Louise, clasping her hands, and almost crying, as she stood in the kitchen in close consultation with Maggie. ** How I wish we had a servant! How can we cook a nice dinner out of these materials? and I so inexperienced !” “‘ Never mind, dear sister, we shall dc nicely. Mr. Smith can exist without soup for dinner, we know. We have the chickens our neighbor brought us yesterday, in the oven roasting; we can have an omelet and potatoes, and I will make some blanc-mange. How glad I am we * havea cow! then those convenient strawberries with cream, and Blanche’s fruii-cake. Itis nice enough for anybody.” They tied on aprons, and set cheerily to work. In an hour a comfortable dinner was served; and though the young ladies looked a little more flushed than was becoming, that inconvenience soon passed away. , It was almost sunset when their visitor turned his horses’ heads homeward. It would be folly to represent that it was not a tedious and disagree- able piece of work to clear the table and put away the dishes after he left; to take care of the milk, make a cup of tea, and perform the various duties devolving upon the sisters. They went through with it all, consoling themselves as youthful spirits may. Their experience in housekeeping thencefor- ward was a mingling of the amusing and the perplexing. Mrs. Marks came to bring them eggs and fowls, and to learn them to make butter. They succeeded in engaging her to come one day every week, and do their washing and all the coarse work there was about, and to instruct them in those homely arts of which they were ignorant. The first time Louise made the butter alone, it looked very handsomely, and the family all complimented her upon her success. But come to taste it, it did not fulfil its promise. It was, Maggie said, “stale, flat, and unprofitable.” After many anxious suggestions, it was finally discovered that she had forgotten to salt it. “You need not laugh so, Blanche, for you know very well that you insisted upon my making an omelet without any eggs yesterday.” °

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BEAUTY OUT WEST. 19 aed “It is rather dangerous for any of us to laugh at the other, for fear the tables will be turned,” said Mr. Sutherland. “ Well! you may all laugh at me as much as you please. Anything to keep you from melan- choly. For my part, I feel inclined to solemn reveries upon the worthlessness of human acquirements, when I find myself boiling the eggs an hour without softening them, salting the custards, and sweetening the gravy for the meats, ironing my laces on the wrong side, making my bed so that I cannot sleep in it, and slicing off my fingers when I slice the bread,” said Maggie, with her usual merry attempt to make their mistakes turn to good account, in the way of making them ludicrous if nothing else. One morning, Louise concluded that she would preserve some strawberries for future use; and all three went out to gather them, and before noon had as much of the delicious fruit as they could desire. After dinner, each had just got comfortably settled to hulling the berries, and with an apron on, a dish in her lap, and a nap- kin to wipe her fingers, when two carriages drove up, and a bevy of young people from the village alighted and appeared at the door. With adignity which gave agrace to every cir- cumstance, Louise received them. If her guests had found her scrubbing the floor, they would have thought that the most charming occupation in the world, so did she invest all that she did with the grace which belonged to her. There were Mr. and Miss Smith, whom they already knew; Miss Morton, a rather delicate- looking girl, somewhat too diffident, but pleas- ing; Mr. Charles Williams, a tall young man, owner of the best store in Smithville; his sister Emily, an affected young lady, with artificial curls; Miss Carrie Brown, a little gypsyish brunette, as pretty as she was piquant, and, doubtless her lover, Mr. Duval, a graceful youth just home from college. These were some of the élite of Smithville, come to do honor to the inhabitants of the log-house. The pres- tige of their former splendor still surrounding them was sufficient to secure the admiration of he visitors. The young ladies Sutherland had not so much difficulty in entertaining their guests, as the latter had, from allowing their eyes to wander with too much curiosity over the novel combination which formed the grand suite of rooms of the cottage. However, all things served for mutual pleasure; what there was outre, or unfinished in the manners of their guests, their friendliness, and the real good sense and education of some of them, all pleased those who had been confined so strictly all their lives PPI AAO ~ NN el in excessive conventionalities ; while, upon the other hand, this mingling of beauty and superior elegance with their rude surroundings interested the other party. Bright smiles were inter- changed. Black-eyed Carrie Brown fell des- perately in love with Mr. SutherJand, to the secret uneasiness of her young lover; and Mr. Sutherland was delighted with her sprightly beauty and wit. They conversed in*the most lively manner; as Maggie afterwards declared, ** papa’s handsome face beamed with a suspicious brightness.”” Mr. Duval, with no chance to turn his lady-love’s attention from her fascinating host, thought to revenge himself by being equally devoted to Miss Blanche. What he began in pique, soon became very much in earnest; for Blanche was too irresistibly beautiful not to make an impression upon the heart of a youth of twenty. The call, in which all these emotions had time for play, was of rather more than the usual length for a first visit; as Louise offered some slight refreshments, since they had ridden out so far to sec her. After an hour’s agreeable conversation, the visitors went away. Edwin Duval did not fail to turn his head, after entering the carriage, to catch a last glimpse of the bright face of Blanche, as she stood plucking a wild rose-bud to twine in her golden locks, This last lingering look did not pass unobserved by Carrie, who thought it her inalienable right to be pouting and sullen all the way home, to punish him for it. * Put it down in your journal that papa has fallen a prey to the arts of a pair of black eyes,” said Louise, after they were gone. ‘“Pshaw, what nonsense for you, Louise,” exclaimed the father, coloring slightly. Nevertheless, his mischievous daughters took notice that he stood before the mirror shortly after, and observed himself with a half-pleased, half- melancholy eye. ** Don’t fail to add that Edwin Duval is the most cityfied youth we have yet beheld in these wilds, and has a mouth as pretty as a woman’s,” added Blanche. ‘Oh, dear! how I wish 7 could have an adventure such as Maggie had with her lion! It would be so nice to tell Maud Ara- besque !” An evening or two after this, the girls were enjoying their usual bath in the river. It was a warm, bright, moonlight night, fit for naiads to sport in. It would be hard to find three naiads as lovely as the three girls in their long bathing dresses, their curls caught carelessly back from their faces, playing a thousand graceful pranks in the sparkling element. At every motion the $ flashing water broke into silver ripples and

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20 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. eee ~~ ~s hining circles of light. They tossed up the waves with their hands, to see them descend in showers of pearls and diamonds upon the bosom of the stream. The dark line of pine forest back from the shore, the murmuring river below, the full moon in the heaven above, the silence, the solitade, were all so beautifully combined, that they lingered long in the warm pleasant water. Alas for the beauty of human bliss! Blanche, so happy and beautiful, Blanche, so young and beloved, in the excess of her frolic mood, forgot how suddenly the sandy bottom over which the edge of the stream swept broke off into greater depths and a rapid current. She lost her footing so suddenly and went down, that, although she was a very good swimmer, she strangled, and could not recover herseif. She came to the surface only to toss her white arms in the moon- light, fo turn a pale face an instant to the sky, and sink again. Maggie, with shrieks of terror, rushed to the house for her father, while Louise, more self- possessed, swam out to grasp her sister when she rose again, and support her until her father appeared. At this moment a boat shot rapidly out of the shadow of the bank to the spot, a strong arm dived where the golden locks were again begin- ning to float, caught the slight form and lifted it into the canoe. “Ugh!” said a guttural voice, “ White Rose no dead.” An Indian! Louise was frightened sufficiently before, but now she could hardly keep herself from sinking. She would have fled to land, but her sister wasin the birchen bark. In the pallid light she saw a tall, straight form, black hair hanging around the shoulders, and a pair of glittering eyes. She was about to lay hold of the edge of the canoe, but with a dexterous movement, he caused it to avoid her touch and dart off. She thought that he was about to carry off Blanche, and gave a slight scream; but he turned the boat to the shore, and with a strike or two of the paddle landed it on the beach, at the same instant that Mr. Satherland appeared upon the scene. Without the slightest notice ef the agonized father, the Indian sat down on the shore, took the insensible girl in his arms, blowed in her mouth, pressed upon her breast, pinched her nostrils, and in about three minutes had her restored to animation. Blanche thought herself in a dream when she opened her eyes upon that wild and swarthy countenance ; and when she felt herself lifted and carried in those brawny arms, she still tried to release herself as from a disagreeable dream of having been lost and carried off by savages. It was not for some moments after he had carefully deposited her upon her bed that she recollected the circumstances preceding her drowning; and her father had then to explain that the Indian had been her preserver. He still stood by the couch, speaking nothing, gazing at her with glowing eyes, giving even Mr. Sutherland an unpleasant sensation, although he felt very grateful for his aid in rescuing his child. Now Blanche was mortally afraid of an Indian ; the thought of one had always filled her with dread ; but she was gentle and generous, so she stretched out her pretty, soft hand from beneath the coverlid to the silent savage, and said, “Thank you.” It seemed he understood English ; he took the white hand an instant, and went out from the house without speaking. “There is the adventure you were wishing for,’’ said Maggie, when they had all recovered somewhat from their fright and felt able to laugh at past danger. ‘** We shall never dare to go in bathing again,” half whispered Louise. “It is my impression that that Indian was lurking in the shadow of the bank all the time, keeping watch upon us.” “Mercy!” exclaimed the other two, “ it would have scared us to death to have known og “He was only admiring your performances, I suppose,” said their father. ‘“‘ The Indians here dare not do any harm, if they had the disposition. There is a small part of a tribe about twenty miles from here, who supply the white inhabit- ants with baskets, berries, bead-work, venison, and the like. They are very harmless.” Still, the girl’s vision, that night, was haunted by dusky forms stealing out of unexpected haunts. Late the next afternoon the Indian suddenly appeared at the door. He held by a rope-bridle a pair of beautiful little wild ponies, and had in a basket upon his back some elaborate specimens of bead-work. By means of signs and broken English he made Mr. Sutherland understand that he had brought him these things in exchange for White Rose, pointing to Blanche, whom he wanted for his squaw. The astonishment and amusement of the father were great, but he treated the offer politely, explaining how impossible it would be for White Rose to live in a wigwam, and that he could not spare her yet. The poor fellow, a really fine-looking and dignified savage, turned

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‘““HALLOWED BE THY NAME,”’ 21 a mournful and eager glance upon the fair girl, ? where she sat blushing and trembling at her little ; work-table, heaved a deep sigh, and turnec away. Letting down his basket a little ways from the door, he selected the prettiest pair of moc- casons he had, and separated one of the ponies from its companion. -Leading it back and placing the bridle in Mr. Sutherland’s hand, and putting down the moccasons upon the steps —‘* for White Rose,” he said, and was gone. All the family felt sorry for their generous Indian friend, his noble face had betrayed such deep disappointment; but youthful human nature could not resist so fine a chance for mischievous sallies; and poor Blanche, overwhelmed with confusion at the mirth at her expense, finally burst into tears as her only refuge. “There now, darling, before I would allow them to plague me!” exclaimed her father, taking her on his lap. “It’s just envy, Blanche. They have never had an offer, and are vexed to think the youngest has the first one. Besides, they want your pony. You can well afford to let them laugh at you. Come, let us look at your present !”? * Oh, if I only had a saddle, now, how happy I should be!” exclaimed the volatile young girl, as she patted her pony’s neck, and longed to spring upon his back. She was able, after that, to bear the ridicule which broke forth upon sundry occasions, wear her moccasons without shame, and even hoped that Maggie would not forget to record “her first offer.” The next time Mr. Smith came to the house, as he was now doing more frequently upon business with Mr. Sutherland, the whole adven- ture came out piece by piece, Blanche begging all the time for her sisters to be silent. *T do not blame him, I am sure. He showed savage possessed of,” said Harrison, when the story was told, looking upon the heroine with | a finer appreciation than I should suspect a eyes very plainly indicative of profound admira- tion. That earnest look struck a strange pang to the heart of Maggie; she grew grave, and when rallied upon her silence, langhed and made merry in an abrupt hysterical manner. She was sure that there could be nothing so low in her nature as envy, and yet she felt still more unhappy when she heard Mr. Smith asking Blanche if he might make her present available, by adding a saddle to the gift. Blanche refused, and said that she had pocket- money enough to buy her a saddle, but would commission him to purchase it and bring it out to her. He would not take her money, bat brought the saddle the next time he came. Visits to the cottage were now not unfrequent. The young people of Smithville were glad to ride out along the lonely river and call upon the interesting family in the log-hut. Invitations were sent, and escorts provided to every little gathering in the village, to which they could be prevailed upon to go. Mr. Sutherland was eagerly sought after with his daughters. Young Duval and Carrie Brown liked to ride out to the Sutherlands, and went often. They never failed to quarrel with each other upon the way home, and yet tiney did not cease going. A change, scarcely perceptible, had come over Maggie. Her disposition was more fitful than before. Sometimes she was very gay, sometimes very silent. Deep feeling brooded in her soft dark eye, and stirred her bosom; not happy emotion always, for her face was often melan- choly, and she wrote a great deal in a private journal, and a good many poems which she would not read to her friends. As for Harrison Smith, he began to talk of a partnership. What kind of a partnership? Perhaps he thought upon a partnership of hearts for life, but be only spoke of one in business, (To be concluded.) “HALLOWED BE HASTINGS BY REV. H. THY NAME.” WELD. (See Plate.) FATHER in Heaven, “ hallowed be thy name!” ‘ How full of holy meaning are the words, And he alone to breathe them forth may claim, Whose spirit with their harmony accords: Yet who is there, O Lord, that sinneth not? ; Whose heart may ever thus in tune be found? ? Who hath not wandered érom thee, or forgot The song of Heaven in earth’s uncertain sound? ’ Father in Heaven, “hallowed be thy name !” Such incense may the babe and suckling raise; The innocent brightness of the young heart’s flame The God of Heaven accepts as perfect praise. Make me then, Lord, like to a little child, Teach me to pray as little children pray, Ere yet, by folly and the world beguiled, Their feet are tempted from the right to stray.

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MATERNAL COUNSELS TO A DAUGHTER. THE HEALTH. ° “ Cleanliness is next to godliness.”—Old Proverb. ‘We are fearfully and wonderfully made,” is the reflection of the Psalmist; and the most cursory examination of the human frame will show us the truth of the observation. We can- not consider any part of the mortal habitation of our immortal souls without wondering at and admiring the marvellous adaptation of each part to the use for which it is designed, and to its connection with all the others. Look at the contrivances for protecting that delicate and invaluable member, the eye, from any accidental injury: the overhanging brow, which forms a pent-house over it; the eyelashes, which them- selves receive any particles of dust that might otherwise hurt it; and let us watch the rapid and involuntary movement by which the lids instantaneously close on the approach of danger ; and we need not go any further in our investi- gations to be assured that nothing less wise than Infinite Wisdom has planned every part of our bodies, and adapted all so as to combine the utmost perfection. And since every peculiarity in the human frame is destined for some wise purpose; and every fibre, vein, and muscle has its own par- ticular office; we may be well assured that we cannot neglect any part, or prevent it from per- forming its own duties, without serious injury to the whole; without, in fact, deteriorating or destroying our health—one of the most precious gifts of a beneficent Creator. ‘But we cannot prevent illness. It is an affliction sent from the hand of God, and all we can do is to bear it patiently.” This is the ar- gument both of persons and nations; and the former neglect the means of preserving their individual health, while nations defer to employ, or utterly ignore those sanitary reforms which would certainly save the lives of thousands every year. The fact is, we lose health as we do many other blessings ; not because it is the will of the Almighty, but because it is our own. We are far too fond of throwing on a higher power the responsibility of our own acts of indolence or of sin. Take the case of the father of a family, who knows that his income dies with him, and that only by insuring his life can he secure his tamily } 22 from want after his death. Does hedoso? Not at all. He is willing to * trust to Providence ;” but he is not willing to make the smallest per- sonal sacrifice for the sake of those he loves. So some day he dies; and his children are left in poverty ; and perhaps an appeal is made to the charity of the public for those who should have been comfortably provided for, had the parent used the means God placed within his reach for saving them. So, each time that the cholera has visited our shores, it has slain the greatest number of vic- tims where there has been a want of pure air and water, and where the people and their habitations are deficient in cleanliness ; and it is ascertained, beyond the shadow of doubt, that wherever cleanliness has taken the place of dirt, the pestilence has lost its power. Shall we, then, call our indolent neglect of proper precau- tions by the name of “ submission to the will of God?” Certainly not. It is our criminal neg- ligence which causes the destruction we almost invite. Again: a young girl exposes herself to violent vicissitudes of temperature, and goes out on a wet day with thin boots and fine stockings, and she gets a cold and is laid up on asick bed. Or she laces so tightly that every part of the body is out of order—her lungs have no room to re- ceive air—her heart is so cramped it cannot beat properly—her stomach is squeezed into such dimensions that no part of its offices are pro- perly performed, and she becomes consumptive or dyspeptic; or she allows the perspiration to accumulate on her skin till all the delicate pores are choked up, and fever supervenes. But if, from any of these causes, she becomes a con- firmed invalid, let her not think that this sick- ness was inevitable, but rather conclude that it is the punishment of her neglect of those con- ditions of health which the Almighty intends we should employ. We have enumerated these common instances of evils in our own power to avert, to impress on you the truth, that Heaven helps those who help themselves; let blessings be scattered as thickly in our path as the’manna was of old in the camp of the Israelies, it is still our own hand that must gather them around us. Nor Qo = — -«

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MATERNAL COUNSELS TO A DAUGHTER. 23 did this in any way alter the great truth, that all blessings come from heaven ; since the means to obtain them are put into our own hands. The principal conditions requisite for the maintaining the body in health and strength, are Cleanliness, Exercise, and suitable Food and Dress. CLEANLINESS.—Personal purity is so essen- tial to a refined woman, that it is wonderful it should not be more thoroughly and universally practised than it is. A Jady would be shocked to be seen with dirty faee or soiled hands; but it does not strike her that every part of the skin equally needs ablution. The reason of this is, that all the surface of the skin, from the sole of the foot to the crown of the head, is so covered with the pores, through which all the waste or injurious particles of the body are thrown off in the form of insensible perspiration, that a pin’s point cannot be run in anywhere without touching one. When these pores are choked up, from want of cleanliness, fever and many other diseases are liable to ensue. Hence the necessity, in which all medical men agree, for every part of the person to be thoroughly sponged over once every day. No bed-room should be without the means for doing this, if a large bath cannot be had. A sponge of the coarse sort called honey-comb is better than a fine one, as it holds more water, and almost can be used for a shower-bath. Cold water givés a far more invigorating bath than tepid; but those who are not very early inured to it must begin it cautiously. The feet should never be set in cold water before the face, neck, and upper part of the body have been well sponged with the same. But some constitutions can never bear the shock of cold water, and then tepid must be used. In both cases, a healthy glow must be produced by friction with a coarse rough towel, oraflesh-brush. A little spirits of wine thrown into cold water, the first morning or two, will generally prevent the bather from taking cold. The hands, nails, and teeth must always be carefully attended to. The teeth demand the greatest care, and should be washed after every meal, as well as the last thing at night. Pure cold or tepid water is said to be the best thing in a general way, with a little charcoal or white soap occasionally. ’ A visit should be paid to a dentist once every six months. Nothing adds so much to the charm of a wo- man’s appearance as fine hair; and the most beautiful will be spoiled by neglect. It should be thoroughly brushed every night, and washed occasionally with soft water and the yolk of eggs, which has all the cleansing power of soap without its harshness. Those who wear curls should never roll the hair in stiff paper of any sert, and especially not in newspapers, as the roughness breaks the hair. The ends should be cut every fortnight. 4 Great care should be taken of the nails. Those of the feet require even more than the finger- nails, as they are liable to grow in with the pressure of boots, and to cause serious incon- venience: they should be pared away at the sides, and those of the hands allowed to form a point in the centre. The skin should be care- fully rubbed back to give the nail the long almond-like form which is thought so great a beauty: this should be done every time they are washed. Exercise is another essential condition to health, as well as to the proper development of the powers. The word, as popularly used, im- plies walking, which gives exercise to the legs only. But it is not less desirable that the arms should have free play, and this can only be done by either calisthenics or by the simpler method of doing some portion of the household work. There is no better exercise in the world than rubbing a table or a sideboard, or sweeping a room; and it is certain that half the young ladies who are now reclining on the sofa in deli- cate health, weary of themselves and almost of life, would be far better and happier if they took daily some portion of the household duties, especially the active part of them. Every mus- cle and limb would have its share of exertion, a genial glow throughout the frame would be pro- duced, and the general health would be certainly improved. But, under whatever form, a certain amount of exercise must be taken daily, to maintain the health; and exercise in the open air is not always practicable, besides that it does not answer the purpose entirely. Whenever it does not rain during the entire day, however, a walk should be taken for at least an hour, with the precaution of changing any damp clothes immediately on re-entering the house, and care- fully wiping and rubbing the feet if they are at all wet. ANaGRrAM.—The Republic of North America affords the following anagram, thus: ‘The United States of North America,” contains— ‘ Fifst, the mad tea act—the Union rose.”” Now if we transpose the same, it will furnish the following anagram: ‘“ The Constitution made earth safer ;” or, “ The Constitution made earth’s fear.”

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; NELLIE—MY SISTER. BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND. WE were poor people, reader, but our parents always said they were rich in Nellie and me. We lived in a little gable-roofed cottage, with a gray chimney crowning it. Morning-glories and sweetbrier looked in at all the front win- dows, while a great grape-vine, with its purple clusters, just out of reach of my hand, hugged the back side of the house. I do not remember ever wishing I was rich but once, and that was when I overheard mamma and papa saying how much it cost to send sister Nellie to school, for she was a great scholar. She was very beautiful, that sister of mine. She stands before me now, so fair and life-like, though it is seven long years since the grass first grew green over the white hands they folded on her bosom when she lay down under the willow to sleep. I have never seen anything like the color of her eyes, unless it be the brown fur- rows which sometimes lie heaped up in a belt of far-off sky just at twilight; and sometimes a young man, answering the question he read in mamma’s eyes, but which her lips could not consummate. ‘A little care will soon restore her.” He carried my sister in, mamma leading the way, and laid her down on the lounge in the bedroom. I hovered anxiously about her, while mamma bathed her temples with camphor, and the gentleman chafed her cold hands, mean- while explaining the circumstance which had occasioned her fainting. He was riding hastily home to his father’s, when his horse, a high- spirited animal, took fright at something in the road, and dashed off, headlong, with his driver. On turning a sharp angle in the road he came so suddenly upon my sister as to knock her down, and then he sprang from his horse, and, raising her, discovered that she had fainted; and the dark, fine eyes of the gentleman expressed more of regret at the circumstance than even the graceful apology which he offered mamma. : sunbeam strays over the half-ripened side of a ; Well, the life-tinge rippled slowly back to peach, and then I whisper to myself, “ That is ; Neflie’s cheek, and she opened her brown eyes like Nellie’s cheek.” and stared wonderingly around her. In a few Have you ever seen water-lilies lean over the moments she sat up, with mamma’s arm about waves, reader, to catch a glimpse of the beauty | her waist, and replied to the eager inquiries of mirrored there? Well, just so fair and fragile the gentleman that she felt quite well. } in the sculpture like delicacy of its proportions | I remember he remained with her until she f was the form of my sister Nellie. had walked twice across the room, to assure him 1 Let me see; it must be eight years this very she was entirely recovered, and then, with an- ‘ month since the occurrence of that event which : other long admiring glance on her face, he bade I braided such bright flowers of hope and love in us farewell. . the life-warp of my Nellie. Oh! such dark The next day the stranger stopped at the door D clouds, such black surging billows! She had a moment to inquire if my sister was quite I gone out to walk, for she was very fond of soli- well after her recent fright, and, on the subse- e tary pedestrian excursions. The day was de- } quent one, a magnificent bouquet was left for « clining, and mamma had grown somewhat uneasy { Miss Graham, with the compliments of Edward tl at her protracted absence, when we heard the Preston attached to the card which accompanied in wicket open suddenly, and quick footfalls along the rich exotics. We knew, then, that the gen- “ the gravel-walk. The next moment there was tleman was the son of old Squire Preston, whe s] a loud imperative knock at the front door. lived in the tall mansion on the hill, with the b Mamma opened it, then staggered back with very great pillars gleaming out, white and ghostly, li pale cheeks at the sight it revealed. from the jasmine and roses which coiled lovingly Nellie was lying white and death-like in the around them. A proud, exclusive family wero t arms of a young gentleman, her long nut-bfown the Prestons, mingling very little with the so- - curls floating away from the pallor of her cheeks, } ciety in the village. “Edward was never a bil I and well-nigh sweeping the ground. like them,” Nelly said, with a blush. They had th “No, madain, your daughter is not dead—not { been playfellows in childhood. th even injured—she has only fainted,” said the { A few days after, Nellie and I went out to 24

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NELLIE—MY SISTER, PAPAAARAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA AAR nm take a walk, at sunset, and Mr. Preston came very suddenly upon us. I could not help ad- miring the courtly grace with which he lifted his hat and asked permission to accompany us to a slight elevation not far off, which, he said, would not only afford a fine view of the sunset, but furnish us a picture of exquisite landscape beauty. Of course, Nellie and I could not decline this invitation, and the young man was very care- ful, assisting us, particularly my sister, over , every stone or obstacle in the road. And then » how charmingly he talked, getting surreptitious glances of Nellie’s face all the time—that face that looked so strangely fair, with the dying day-beams flitting, like angels’ fingers, among her brown curls. Mr. Preston accompanied us home, that night, and, when he had said ‘ Good-evening,” and left us, I turned back on the door-step, and saw him standing very stili, watching Nellie all the while. I told her, and the crimson drifted into her cheeks as she said,’ ** Don’t look, Annie, don’t !”? The next day, there came two very richly- bound volumes of “ Longfellow’s Poems,” for my sister. ‘Miss Nellie, from her friend Ed- ward,” was written, in a beautiful hand, on the fly-leaf of the cover. But mamma looked very grave when she saw these, and that afternoon she and Nellie had a long private conversation. I only overheard these words: ‘* Remember, my child, that the proud father would never consent to his marry- ing the daughter of poor and humble parents. Education and natural refinement of taste and feeling would vainly plead in your favor. Wealth and social elevation must be the dowry of the woman who marries the son of Squire Preston.”” What a sensible woman my mother was! and so ladylike, too. I always thought Nellie’s gentle, graceful manner was her bequest. I went into the room, after mamma had left it, and found Nellie crying; one hand was over her eyes, but I could see the tears travelling fast through her fingers. The books were wrapped in the white paper which had enveloped them when they were received. I guessed, then, that she intended to return them, and wished that beautiful gentleman had given them tome. I'd like to see me giving them back if he had! The next afternoon brought with it Mr. Pres- ton. I don’t know what Nellie said to him, but she came into the bedroom where mamma and I sat, looking greatly agitated, and said: “‘ Mo- ther, I have done as you wished, and returned the books; but he will not receive them, and he VoL. Limt.—3 25 requests that you will favor him with a private interview.”” Mamma rose up, and walked into the little parlor, and Nellie paced up and down the bedroom with two bright stains in her cheeks, and, when I spoke to her, she did not heary until I had repeated my question twice, and then she started and stared at me, saying, * Don’t talk to me now, little sister, don’t!’ Mamma’s low voice floated to my ear, and so did the gentleman’s more distinctly, for the par- lor was not very far off; and, at last, I heard him say, in a low, emphatic voice, replying to some remark of hers—‘“‘ As if wealth or social elevation, Mrs. Graham, were to be brought in comparison with your peerless child. She is, in herself, a jewel above all price. I care not for her antecedents. I ask, I desire no dowry but her matchless self. No false ideas of social rank or equality can influence me in this matter. Your daughter is all I solicit. Do not, my dear madam, darken my entire life by a refusal.” There was a pause, and, when mamma’s reply came, it was spoken so low that I could not catch the words; but, in a short time, she re- turned to the bedroom, saying to Nellie, “* My child, you have my consent to answer the ques- tion he will ask you on my return as you like.” How solemnly mamma spoke! . * And papa?” asked Nellie, eagerly, though she blushed very red. **T will talk the matter over with him, this evening,” said mamma, smiling quietly. Nellie knew it was settled then. Papa gene- rally thought as mamma did. ** Goodness alive! What dol hear! Is the boy mad? Going to marry John Graham’s daughter, who couldn’t raise three thousand dol- lars to save his neck from the gallows !” and, in the extreme horror which the bare contempla- tion of so monstrous a fact elicited, old Squire Prescott sprang from his easy-chair, utterly oblivious of gout, rheumatism, and a formidable array of other ailments which found a perma- nent localization in his corpulent self, and com- menced pacing rapidly his wife’s apartment. “T know it, John; the news has really over- come me. I doubt whether my nerves will ever recover from the shock they have this morning received ;”? and the lady leaned back on the lounge with an air and sigh, expressive of such entire physical and mental prostration that it was really quite affecting to behold. “ Well, well, wife!” ejaculated the Squire, who, it must be confessed, did not seem so deeply impressed by his wife’s melancholy situ- ation as the circumstances seemed to require;

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26 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “the fact is, it won’t do to be talking about ‘nerves’ now. The boy’s of age, and this is a free country (unfortunately). He can act as he likes, and all I can do or say won’t make this confounded matter a whit better. Ican cut him off with a shilling, but—”’ here the squire’s voice was not so emphatically belligerent, “ you know he’s all we’ve got, Aurelia, and it would be a tough thing to do that. But we must cir- cumvent him some day. By fair means or foul, we must prevent his marrying that girl. Ugh! it makes me sick to think of it.” ** Yes, we must prevent it,” said the lady on the lounge, with more animation than her recent exhaustion would have seemed to war- rant. ‘It would certainly prove the death of me to be brought into intimate contact with such people. What a shockingly plebeian taste Ed- ward must possess; and he can have his choice among the wealthiest of the land; and just returned from college, too, where his career has veen so brilliant, to throw himself away on John Graham’s daughter! She is a little beauty, though, that Nellie Graham, there’s no denying it. DP’ve seen her at church sometimes, and always wondered at nature’s making such a mis- take as to lavish that world of loveliness where it would stay hidden under a cottage.” “We must get him out of her way without letting him know our object in doingso. That’ll ve the first stroke towards accomplishing our end,” interrupted the squire, whose gouty ex- tremity was perpetrating astonishing pedestrian feats that morning. ‘“ And,” here the squire’s tone sank significantly, “* didn’t you, wife, imi- tate handwriting remarkably well when I first knew you?” ** Yes,” said the lady, as a dim perception of her husband’s meaning broke into her mind, “I was always peculiarly dexterous at executing fac-similes. Besides that, I would do anything to save our family from the disgrace of such a mésalliance.” “When? I have it,” said the Squire, with an exultant chuckle, as he brought down his hand on the rosewood table. **Oh, now! do speak a more cheery farewell than that, my Nellie, or those brown, tear-filled eyes will haunt me all the time I am gone. You know, darling, I would not leave you, but the call is really an imperative one. I stood out against it as long as I could ; but my father’s rascally agent has involved the whole business in so many perplexing contingencies that nothing put personal supervision will disentangle it. My father’s health will not admit of his going, and I had vot the heart to refuse his solicita- tions when joined with my mother’s, though they were complied with at a great cost to my- self,” * And you have done just what my own heart approves, Edward,” said my sister, as she crushed down the sob which was rising to her throat. ‘I am heartily ashamed of myself for betraying this weakness, but, somehow, a fool- ish, undefinable fear has been haunting my spirit for the last week, and I have looked for- ward to this parting with strange dread.” ** And it has written itself so legibly on your sweet face, my beloved, taking away all the brightness of your old-time smile. Do let me see it once more before I go. Can it be possible! the clock is striking eight! Where has the last hour gone? I have to say good-by to father and mother ; and the stage leaves in twenty minutes. Nellie, for my sake, take good care of yourself. When the spring-time clothes with her green the trees that are now browning in the autumn breath, I will return to you; and then! oh that blissful and then! for we shall never part more. Good-by, for a little time, my Nellie.” ** Good-by, Edward ; and the God, whose blue sky will still be above us, keep you from all evil !” Edward Preston drew the fair, uplifted brow very tenderly to his lips, and the next moment he was gone. Ay, Nellie Graham, well may you stand under that old vine-girdled portico, with the tears dripping hotly through your small fingers, and the shadow that has been tracking you for this many a day lying down to sleep heavily on your heart, for the darkness will soon be closing around you, and the waters going over your head ! * * . . * No letter yet, papa?” and Nellie stole out of the room, in the sombre late autumn twilight, to weep all alone, for Edward had been absent a month, and Nellie had not heard from him during that time. “No letter yet, papa?*? Another month had passed ; the snow lay white on the ground, but it was not whiter than Nellie’s cheek, as she slowly left the room, and mamma followed her with sad, tear-filled eyes. “There ! a letter for you at last, my child,” spoke the glad, hearty tones of my father; and he laid it in Nellie’s eager hands. Another month had passed, and she was lying on the lounge in mamma’s bedroom; but her cheeks wore the hue of the pillow no longer. __ How the white fingers trembled as they tors — - 2. a Dh LC SC nn = =e | 4h Url

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NELLIE—MY SISTER. RR ee ws away the seal. A moment after, the rose hue died out in Nellie’s cheek, and a shriek, the memory of whose exceeding anguish, though six long years lie between the hour of its birth and the present, well nigh palsies the hand that now seeks to record it from my sister’s lips, and she lay senseless on the floor. I cannot fling you a picture of those dark, dark hours, reader ; for the tears blind my eyes so, my hand forgets its cunning, and my pen refuses to do its work. Very brief, and very bitter, was the letter that came to Nellie, telling her in a few cold sentences that the dream of his youth had passed; that the heart of Edward Preston now quickened with love for another, far, far above the beautiful cottage girl; and he asked her to release him from the engagement he had rashly made, and the vows he had cursed himself for speaking. *“Mr. Preston: Give yourself no further uneasiness with regard, to the engagement formerly existing between us. I cancel it this moment, and am greatly obliged to you (since you have proved thus inconstant) for affording me an opportunity of doing so. Yours, * ELLEN GRAHAM.” In that brief note, written the next day, my sister Nellie “ slayed all the hopes of her future.” I remember how she pressed down her small throbbing fingers on the paper, so that Edward Preston should never dream that the hand which wrote those cold words quivered, or that the heart whose pride dictated them was breaking! breaking! ** Annie, my little pet sister, as I used to call you, you at least will not look coldly on me; tell me what is it that troubles you?” I had gone out in the woods alittle way from our house that fair May afternoon to have a cry all by myself, for sister Nellie had been telling me, that very day, that she was going home in a little while, and when the long grass strayed over her grave, I must be a good girl to papa and mamma, and take her place with them, and at last we might all come to her. It was a favorite haunt of Nellie’s, that little woodland bower, where the tall trees leaned over, and wrapping their long arms together, formed a dark green wall through which the sun could not find a playing place. There Edward Preston came suddenly upon me; had one risen up ghastly and sheeted from the dead, I could not have been more startled, more shocked ! But he advanced toward me, and then all the 27 PARAL RPRRAPRARAL EDL DA ODDO POO wrong that he had done to me and mine, all the horror, all the loathing with which I have grown to associate his name, rose up to repel his approach, and, springing up, I answered him—*“* Go away, go away, you bad, wicked man! You shall not touch me, you who wrote that awful letter, you who have killed my sister Nellie. Oh! as mamma says, ‘You may go unpunished for a season; but your sin will surely find you out.’” I stopped short, trem- bling in every limb, utterly confounded at the anathematizing torrent which was issuing from my lips. Edward Preston’s eyes were riveted in wild bewilderment on my face. *T will solve this mystery if God grants me another hour of my life,’’ came, after a moment- ary pause, from between his compressed lips; he wheeled suddenly round, and rushed in the direction of our cottage. * Nellie, Nellie, my beautiful, my beloved! Oh, to find you once more, and thus!” And Edward Preston sprang into mamma’s bedroom, regardless of her presence, sprang to the bedside of my unconscious sister, for her physical being was too weak to sustain the first shock of his presence. The young man wrapped his arms round her, and laid his head on her bosom. “ Nellie, darling,” he said, in a voice pathetically tender, “open those brown eyes and look on me once more. There has been a long dreadful shadow between us. Look up, dearest, and teil me you have been true to me as I have been to you, in every pulsation of my heart. Look up, and tell me you did not write that long cruel letter.” And at the sound of that beloved voice, Nellie’s brown eyes unclosed and roamed eagerly over the gentleman’s face. She opened her lips, but the words had no audible birth, for she had not strength to consummate their utterance. “*Mr. Preston!’ Mamma’s voice was gentle but very firm, for the surprige and bewilderment which Edward Preston’s abrupt entrance had momentarily bequeathed were now vanished. * Before any further communications take place between my daughter and yourself, I desire a private interview with you in the parlor. The mystery which surrounds your conduct must be revealed. It may be, we have mutually suffered wrong—Nellie, my child, trust your mother’— . for mamma read the prayer in my sister’s eager eyes. ** Yes, trust her, Nellie, even as I do, for very foul wrong must have been done both of us,” said Edward Preston, as he bent fondly over my sister for a moment, and then left the room with mamma.

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28 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, * Nellie, my sweet girl, I restore him to you, true and worthy of your love as he was when you plighted him your troth,” said my mother, as she returned to Nellie after a half hour’s absence, accompanied by Edward Preston. ‘Oh, an enemy has done this!” ejaculated the young man, as he looked with mournful fondness on Nellie’s thin pale face. ‘ Curses on him, for the bloom he has taken from those cheeks. IfI could only find him!” And his brow darkened. *** Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the Lord,’?” came low and impressive from my mother’s lips. * Oh, Edward, it is enough to feel that you are here! to know you are true to me! I can forget and forgive all who have wronged us now!” and Nellie’s thin fingers floated among the short brown curls, and the old time smile rippled through the bed of dimples round her lips, as her brown head was pillowed on the bosom of Edward Preston. That night all was revealed. That cruel letter, which had wellnigh broken Nellie’s heart, was the offspring of another brain than that of Edward Preston’s; and the brief cold epistle in Nellie’s delicate Italian hand, telling him that another love now brightened the hearthstone, where the flame of girlish fancy which he had kindled had died out forever, furnished entire solution to Edward Preston’s long silence. ** Nellie, darling, do not tell me so! I cannot bear it! O God! my God, spare her to me!” and the streng man bowed his head on his pillow, and sobbed in the bitterness of his heart like a very child. And Nellie twined her small transparent fingers within his own, and talked to him long and lovingly of the bright home, and the white plains, out of which rise the everlasting hills to which she was going before; and Edward Preston’s sobs grew hushed before that low soothing voice, which seemed already to have caught somewhat of the melody of angels, and at last he lifted his head, and said, “ Nellie, dearest, as you would have borne my name upon earth, will you not bear it with you to that brighter world to which our father is calling you?” They were married, reader. Two days later, a fair May sunset looked in with its holy smile upon that solemn bridal. Nellie’s brown hair flowed away from her white brow which the blue veins crossed so legibly. How beautiful OOO eee aS Ss ee she looked in her white dress, and the half smile straying over her lips which the heart sometimes passes to the face when the pulses are growing very low. Two days later, the fair May sunset looked into that bedroom and witnessed another bridal. Alas, alas! there were no kisses, no smiles, only tears, for Nellie was wedded unto death. Seven years have gone down to their graves. I sit here in mamma’s bedroom, and the May sunset looks in at the window, and its long golden fingers wrap themselves round the hand which travels across my paper. Far off, a white monument gleams cold and ghastly through the willow that droops by its side—‘“ Ellen, wife of Edward Preston, aged twenty,” is engraven on it. Sister, sweet sister! seven times has the winter hung her white bridal sheets over thy grave, and the spring woven her green vestments around it; seven long years have the strains from the spirit harp flowed over the white fields where the burial-mounds are never heaped, and the wail of the autumn never moaned through the breeze. Squire Preston and his wife sleep there too, only a little way from Nellie. A year ago, when the proud lady lay on her death-bed, she sent for me. That fearful revelation! But I promised to forgive it, and God help me to forget. Last month, reader, when the stars of the April time looked like the meek, prayerful eyes of the seraphs, out of the pale blue sky, Edward Preston and I went to Nellie’s grave, and as we stood there in the night silence, he drew his arms around my waist, and spoke to me: * Annie, sweet sister of my Nellie, here, beside the grave where I laid her down in my agony to slumber, seven long years ago, do now I ask you to take the place in my heart which was once hers. Annie, dearest, will you look up with those brown eyes, so like her own, and say whether you can be a second Nellie to me?” And there, in solemn starlight by Nellie’s grave, I did look up, and my eyes made answer to Edward Preston. Before May takes the crown of roses from her forehead, or the jubilee of her heart rises into the deep chant of the summer, there will be another bridal at our cottage, and no voice will be uplifted in scorn or disapproval that Edward Preston has chosen the cottage girl for his bride. Look down from thy home in the heavens, and bless the nuptials of thy beloved, O Nellie, my sister! rn a a a a es So =

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THE ART OF MAKING WAX FRUIT AND FLOWERS. WAX FLOWERS. To understand properly the making of models of flowers from wax, we must first allude to the materials employed, then to the procuring of proy er shapes or patterns, afterwards to the fash- ioning of these materials, cut to the required patterns into the object to be imitated, and finally, the natural arrangement and finishing of each part, the decorating it with artificial leaves, tendrils, &c., and the grouping of the whole to- gether into an harmonious contrast. ARTICLES AND MATERIALS REQUIRED. The materials of which imitative flowers are made, are sheets of wax of many different colors, to form the petals, leaves, &c., and wire of dif- ferent thicknesses covered with green silk. The articles used to fashion and color the flowers are curling pins, various dry and water colors, ox gall, tinting brushes, camel’s-hair pencils, a pair of scissors to cut the wax, shapes of tin, card, or stiff paper, varnish for certain flowers, white and green down for dusting over such as appear mealy. If the waxen sheets are made at home, ather trifling articles are necessary: this is al- ways advisable with those who consume much wax, because the home-made sheets do not cost a quarter as much as those bought, and also because the person making these things herself, is able to procure, with accuracy, every tint re- quired, and to make her wax of every size and thickness; indeed we never knew an artist who could imitate successfully even the generality - of flowers, much less the extraordinary ones, as the Stapelias, the Orchideous plants, &c., who did not make for herself all the wax required. It is right then first to describe fully this pro- cess. Making Sheets of Wax.—Have ready at the commencement of the operation about two pounds of white wax, one long mould candle (four to the pound), or else a quarter of a pound of pure tallow—the following colors, ground in oil, or else in a dry state, chrome yellow, light and dark, Prussian blue, cobalt or French ultra- marine (the former is the best), carmine and Chinese or permanent white ; these will make every tint required. You will want also a small saucepan with a lip, or what is better, two sauce- pans, one to go readily into the other, in the manner of a glue-pot; a clean glue-pot is itself 3° much to be preferred. The object of this double vessel is, that the outer one should have water put in it, while the inner vessel holds the wax, thus the latter being melted by the heat of boil- ing water only, never burns, boils over, or gets discolored. If a single vessel be used, it should not be placed on the fire, but only on the hob; in all cases there should be a cover over it. The next thing wanted is a square tin mould, made one inch deep, two and a half inches wide, and five or six long, made in the manner of a cake tin, with a wire around thetop. This is all that is required for casting the wax first into blocks. You had first better make some white, because that color is more used than any other, and the scraps left will cast again for other colors; it will take half a pound of wax to fill the above sized mould, and the block thus made will cut up into five or six dozen sheets or more. White.—Cast some transparent, and others a little opaque; the former will be made by putting half a pound of wax and one ounce of tallow in summer, and two ounces of tallow in winter, together with half a teaspoonful of salad oil in winter, into the saucepan ; then, when melted, stirring it up well with a bone spoon, or a piece of wood, and pouring it into the mould. When hard, dip the mould into hot water for amoment, which will melt the sides of the lump, so as to allow it to be separated from the tin; it is then ready for cutting into sheets. If it is to be an opaque white, stir up with the wax, when melted, more or less of the permanent or Chinese white; pour it, when of a uniform color. A very little white will suffice, as it must never be much colored. Another receipt for white wax is one pound of wax and one ounce of Canada balsam; for colored wax one ounce of spirits of turpentine may be used instead of Canada balsam. Yellow.—Mix with the transparent wax and tallow more or less chrome yellow, either light or dark, according to the tint required. There are generally four yellows made, primrose color, light yellow, fit for certain carnations, roses, tulips, &c., dark yellow as for the jonquil and orange. Pinks and Reds.—Color with different quan- tities of carmine. It may be made of four shades, which we may call for their depth of color, 1, 2, 3, 4. The first being excessively pale, fit for 29

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80 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the blush rose; the two next, ordinary rose colors; and the darkest, which is a deep red, like the damask rose, various red hyacinths, &c. Blues.—There are but two colors of blue wax usually made, one by a light blue, colored with cobalt, the other a full tint, formed of Prussian blue and wax. The first is for light-colored blue hyacinths, the other for dark hyacinths and some of the companulas. Greens.—-There will be required six or seven different tints of green, from the light grass- green of the primrose leaf, to the deep green of the camellia; they are all colored by the different admixtures of light chrome yellow and Prussian blue. There are numerous other colors required, but they are produced by coloring the white wax by means afterwards described. This is chiefly be- cause most flowers which are colored are not alike on both sides, and are generally quite white towards the centre of the flower, and to use a colored wax for such a purpose would be to give a muddiness, that would entirely spoil the effect of the tint. Waxen sheets made in the above manner will not be either brittle in cold weather, nor too yielding in hot, nor are they much altered by time. To save expense, it is always advisable to cut into sheets the blocks first made of white and other light color, before any darker colors are made, because the scraps and spoiled sheets may then be melted up again for the darker tints; for example, scraps of primrose wax will melt for a yellow or green, pink for a red, yellow for an orange, a light green to a darker tint, and so on. Also, in the after modelling of the flowers, the scraps are all valuable. If wax is frequently melted it will require a little spirits of turpen- tine added to it. We must now return to the white block cast, and show how it is to be cut into sheets. First, it is necessary to have a stop to fasten to the table the lump of wax; a piece of wood, three inches wide, and of which the following is @ section, is well adapted for the purpose. A \\ \ MAHON MART A, is the block of wax; B, the machine; the part C E rests on the table, to which it is held safely by the screw D; at C is a crosspiece of wood, which prevents the block of wax, repre ; ‘ ‘ ‘ ; § sented as shaded in the cut, from slipping off. You must now get a carpenter’s shave, called a spokeshave (and those are of the best shape which are used by coopers). The wooden part which slides over the block of wax should be flat, and it should have rather a wide mouth or orifice where the iron passes. Grease well the iron and wooden under-face of the shave, and then force it along the wax, so as to cut off a thin slice, to make the surface even. This first slice will not be fit for use, nor yet perhaps the second or third. * Soon, proceeding in the same manner, and keeping the tool well greased, slices or sheets will be cut off of equal and proper thickness. Such as are good must be kept for use, the rest remelted. A second method of cutting up the block, is to hold it in the hand, and force it along the greased surface of a larger wide-mouthed car- penter’s plane. A third method, which may be pursued by everybody without expense, is to have a number of pieces of writing paper, cut rather smaller than the mould in which the wax has been cast. Take the block of wax out of the mould, and put into the mould so much paper as will just raise the block above the wired edge of the tin mould. Then fastening the mould, wax and all, firmly to a table, either by resting it on the stay before mentioned, or otherwise, as conve- nient ; cut the top off even by a thin bladed din- ner knife, taking care to run the knife steadily along the edge of the mould. Now take out the block, and put in a piece of paper to raise it up ; put it in again, and you can cut off a sheet equal in thickness to the paper: the same operation repeated will give another slice, and so on rais- ing up the block by a piece of paper each time after a piece has been cut off. The only incon- venience here is the removal of the block of . wax each time from the casting mould; to pre- vent this, the stay which fixes to the table may have sides to it, when it is proposed to cut the wax by a knife, and it having no stop at one end of it, it can be taken out, and a piece of paper put beneath it with little trouble. If it be re- quired to have long leaves, like those of a hya- cinth, the mould to cast the wax in should be seven inches long, and one inch wide. Colors required.—The ordinary colors used in painting flowers on paper, will also be required in imitating them in wax. The colors should all be transparent and bright, browns, blacks, and other dark colors are rarely ever wanted ; for black we recollect only two uses, that of painting the anthers of the garden tulip, and to mix with carmine for the very dark rose, but Oe ee

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PETER MULROONEY. 31 even in this last case it is not necessary. The most useful colors are, two shades of chrome yellow, smalt (powder blue), and Prussian blue, carmine, in powder, to color the wax, and after- wards, where necessary, to give a uniform tint to the petals. The following in cakes, to be rubbed in the ordinary way of water colors, but ? i with a little colorless ox gall, to make the colors lay upon the greasy surface of the wax. Cobalt, carmine, chrome, burnt sienna, sap green, Prus- sian blue, &c. These are to be laid on with the ordinary camel’s-hair pencils, and are adapted to make the ornamentakmarking of the flowers, such as the streaks of the tulip and carnation. PETER MULROONEY. HOW HE ADVERTISED FOR A WIFE, AND WHAT HAPPENED. BY SYLVANUS URBAN, THE YOUNGER. Ir the reader should desire to know how it came to pass that I took our old acquaintance, Peter Mulrooney, into my service again, having a full consciousness of his singular proclivities, I am afraid I can scarcely answer his question, even to my own satisfaction. Certain it is, that, notwithstanding his many egregious blun- ders, he had so far enlisted my sympathies, but more especially those of my family, in his behalf, as to induce me to receive him again, in a sort of miscellaneous capacity which it would be difficult to define. Perhaps, after all, the true secret of this fa- voritism lay in the depths of our own nature, and had its origin in the amusement he continu- ally afforded us. His easy rollicking character might also have been some recommendation ; for, pugnacious as Peter was constitutionally, there was not a single spice of malice in his composition. Indeed, I have seldom met with a man in whom good humor was more continu- ally predominant. Even his own mishaps rarely ruffled his temper any longer than the passing moment; while his subsequent reflections were so humorous, that, notwithstanding the annoy- ances he so frequently- occasioned by his ludi- crous mistakes, we, somehow or other, came to the conclusion that “ we could well spare a better man.” In one particular, Peter especially interested the younger members of my family—he was an admirable story-teller. Hour after hour, when, I am sorry to say, he should have been more profitably engaged, he would sit within the shadow of the old elm on the lawn, and recount, to the eager youngsters who clustered about him, a great variety of stories, having the “ ould counthry” for their scene of action. Some of these were intensely marvellous—while others abounded with practical fun and frolic; and in this manner, dividing his time, most unequally it must be confessed, between working and story-telling, he passed his days, not a little to his own content, and scarcely less to the delec- tation of the children. At first, his systematic idleness annoyed me not a little; but Mrs. Urban, with whom Peter, by his praise of the children, had become a great favorite, interposed so effectually in his behalf, that my faint show of opposition was speedily silenced, and henceforth he came to be regarded as a privileged person. It would, however, be unjust to him if I should say he abused his privileges, or was at all neglectful in the performance of any duties that were espe- cially assigned him. What he was told to do, that he did cheerfully, sometimes well, more often indifferently; and occasionally in so strangely perverted a manner, that the sense of vexation presently gave way to a burst of irre- pressible laughter. It is not, however, with any of his ordinary mishaps, that I have to deal at present; but with a misadventure personal to himself. Some three months after Peter came back to us, he began to exhibit a degree of flashiness and juvenility in his apparel, that at first ex- cited our wonder, and subsequently interested us in a very different way. His speech, also, became blander, and more oily; and. instead of the marvellous adventures with which he had previously delighted the children—and, I am not ashamed to add, myself and Mrs. Urban likewise—his discourse now turned wholly upon stories “all about coortin.”’ He told how Mike Finnigan, the son of a poor widow, and one “as hadn’t a thraneen to his name,” won the love of a grand Irish princess, “‘ adiscindant of the kings of Munster,” who married him out of pure affection, gave him fine clothes to wear, and a magnificent horse to ride, put innumerable gold rings upon

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. eee his fingers, and provided the rarest delicacies for his daily table. How the fortunate man improved under her tutelage, and—for the period of the story was laid in the heroic ages—became a mighty warrior, and a renowned hunter, who, surrounded by a formigable array of “‘ Kerns and gallow-glasses,” kept his state right royally. Coming down to a more civilized period, Peter also told of another daring Irishman, Shamus ©’ Reagan by name, who, with no other recom- mendations than assurance and good looks, aspired to the hand of a miser’s wealthy widow, a lady who was reputed to possess “goold an’ jooels” enough to purchase a principality; and how, by praising her beauty and extolling her graciousness, he finally succeeded in carrying her off from a whole army of wealthier suitors, bought an entire county, kept open house, and had dukes and lords for his guests. He hada third story of a personage, whom he called Con McCrea, “a broth of a boy, at all the paltherns an’ fairs ;”? who, finding the Emerald Island too small for a gentleman of his fighting capacities, migrated to the “ Aast Ingees,” and entering the service of one of the numerous potentates of that interesting region, attained high military command, and finally, on the decease of his royal master by a convenient dose of poison, reached the culminating point of Irish ambition by marrying the widowed Begum, and exercising despotic authority over millions of swarthy sub- jects. These, and various other narratives, all tending to show the realization of wealth and power through the medium of matrimony, had, by often revolving them, so inflamed the imagi- nation of the susceptible Peter, that, from his subsequent movements, it became evident he was himself disposed to seek fortune and re- spectability in a somewhat similar manner. The first intimation we received of his designs, was his attempting to win, by a coup de main, the heart of a venerable dowager in our own imme- diate neighborhood; but the good old lady, though delighted with his gallantry, and grati- fied with his attentions, was not at all impressi- ble in the only way in which Peter desired to be rewarded. Nothing baffled by this rebuff, Peter next sought to ingratiate himself into the affec- tions of the only daughter of a wealthy, but illiterate German farmer; but, to his great astonishment, she preferred Hans Spiegel and saur kraut, to Peter Mulrooney and blarney. Beaten, but not conquered, Peter suddenly be- came particularly attentive to a homely maiden lady, of small means but large expectations, and as our friend Mulrooney regarded himself in exactly the same category, he naturally concluded there would arise a sympathetic feeling between them. But alas, for human calculations! Miss Prudence Frizzle proved most uninterestingly frigid. - These repeated rebuffs cooled, for a little while, the impassioned ardor of master Peter, whose taciturnity very visibly increased, greatly to the disappointment of the children, who began to fear that his capacity for telling funny stories had suffered a notable decline. But the lightness and elasticity natural to a temperament intensely Irish speedily prevailed. A great idea took possession of Peter; not original indeed, but productive nevertheless of most profound sensations ; and to his imaginative mind full of magnificent promise. Day after day he revolved the notion he had conceived, until he became astonished at the perfect ease with which any individual might acquire an independent fortune, and only wondered that every unmarried man did not adopt a project so tempting and yet so practicable. Peter’s first knowledge of a royal road to wealth and social station, arose from a paragraph which one of the members of my household read aloud from a newspaper for the amusement of certain company then present. It was headed ‘A WIFE WANTED.” Some one laughingly remarked, “that the applicant could scarcely fail of being successful, inasmuch as the journal in question was read by at least twenty thousand persons, among whon, it might be fairly inferred, there were three thousand unmarried females.”’ Peter listened breathlessly. Three thousand unmarried women all addressed at one time by a single letter of invitation! The reflection was a startling one. It was courting by whole- sale. The grandeur of the venture struck Peter with astonishment, especially when he compared the severe simplicity of the operation with the magnitude of the result. Three thousand ma- trimonial hooks, radiating from acommon centre, all baited with the same bait, and all brought into simultaneous operation at one cast of the hand, was an innovation upon old customs which could only have originated with a man of extraordinary genius. This breaking down of conventionalisms opened a new world to the susceptible Peter, who gave vent to his feelings by constantly repeating to himself— ** Coortin’ by letther! three thousand women, an’ all at wanst! Och, by the mortial, but that bates bannagher over an’ over! Sure there’s many an’ many a purty colleen as’ll be glad on the chance, I does be thinkin’ ; yea thin, an’ the grand flahool ladies too, for that mather, for all their shiny silks an’ sattins, an’ their gooiden chains.” a — Fs - oe ——s

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PETER MULROONEY. 33 ae Peter’s resolution was taken. He too would advertise for a wife. Of course, we were at the time in happy ignorance of the important cogita- tions in which Mulrooney was indulging, though we could not help noticing, as somewhat remark- able, his thoughtful and preoccupied manner. What added also to the apparent strangeness of his conduct, as his matrimonial scheme ap- proached a crisis, was the mysterious visits he made to certain of his countrymen residing in the vicinity of the mine banks, some five miles distant.» The riddle was, however, in rapid process of solution. Early one morning he rapped at the door of my library, and in quite an excited manner thrust towards me a soiled and crumpled piece of paper. “Sure I’ll not be afther troublin’ ye, if ’tisn’t rere ; ; | convanient,” said he; “ but would yer - @ be plazed to look over this bit of a letter.” Thinking merely it one of those queer episto- lary compositions with which the Irish are so fond of regaling their friends in the old country, I glanced at first carelessly over the billet; but my attention was speedily arrested, not by the chirograghy, which was uncouth enough; nor the orthography, which was worse; but by the peculiar importance of the subject matter. The paper was headed— i “ WORNTED A WYFE.” It commenced in due legal form as follows :— ** No orl men bi thees presens, that a gintle- man from Ireland, of respecktible konneckshuns, and a profishint in the natheral siences, also good lookin’, wornts to younite hisself in the bownds of mattheramunny wid a lady of good family and who is a dacent woman. Age betuxt 8 tene and 30 five ; a few yeres makin’ no differ. P. S. Wun as has propperty in her own rite preferred. P.S. Number 2. To see cumpany, and for persunal inspeckshun, he will be at Mike Cassidy’s house, Number 4 Mungumery Street, up stares, every mornin’ and evenin’ ontil furder notis. Inkwire for P. M., at the kichen dure up the ally. Noty Beny. As ’tis sarious he is, and intin- shuns onnerabel, it is hoped that nobody will come to see him widout good rason.”’ It may well be imagined how difficult it was to maintain a decent degree of gravity while perusing this precious document. Striving to compose my features as much as possible, I endeavored to assume a puzzled look, as I inquired— ** Well, Peter, what does all this mean ?” **Mane?” replied he. “ That letther? °*Tis a scrape of a pen that wan Dinnis Mahool writ for me, an’ manes mattheramunny, I does be thinkin’ !” **T understand that perfectly ; but who is this Irish gentleman that calls himself a proficient in the natural sciences?” “Ah, now be aisey, Misther Urbin,” said Peter, with a sly twinkling sidelong glance ; *‘sure ye know that ’tis myself the letther does be spaken of.” “ Indeed, Mr. Mulrooney,” said I, making him a profound bow, “1 was not aware you were so accomplished.” “Faix! but I’d like to know what’ud I be good for if I wasn’t!” replied Peter, taking refuge in a favorite response of his. ** Excuse my ignorance; but pray, what are the natural sciences ?” * Arrah, now,” said Peter, evasively, “ would ye have me make a dickshunarey of myself; an’ you a raal gintleman, wid a head full of larnin’ an’ a cart load of books to the fore? Ayeh! ’tis sorry I’d be not to have betther manners nor that.” “1 did not ask for a compliment, but a defini- tion. I want you to tell me, in as few words as possible, what are the natural sciences.” “ Atin’ an’ dhrinkin’,”’ said Peter, boldly; ‘an’ if any wan man can bate me in the exercise of thim fackilties, by my troth but I’d like to see him, that’s all. Is the letther right, sir?” ** Capital, of its kind,” said I, gravely ; and, having accorded him permission of absence, it was not long before Peter was prepared to set off for town, arrayed in his holiday clothes, with the: glossiest of silk hats set jantily sidewise on his head, and in his hand a good stout shil- lelah. The little ones ran out to bid him good- by, and, while I was standing on the lawn, I caught sight of Mrs. Urban laughingly waving him an adieu from the open window of the nursery. The air of gallant confidence with which Mulrooney approached me induced me to say a passing word. * Surely,” said I, “you are not going to walk all the way to town !” “Troth an’ I am not, Misther Urbin,” he responded, with a toss of his head. “I wouldn’t be afther demaneing myself so much. I shall throuble the stame cars to take me this time, anyhow.” ** The passenger cars have passed half an hour since, and, if you desire to reach the city to-day, you will have to put up with the burthen train.” * Augh!” said he, “look at that now! Sure I tould the dhriver to wait. Bad luck to him

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84 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Eee for sarvin’ me the dirthy thrick! Oh, but ’tis too bad to put me in the burden cars wid fat hogs, an’ butther kegs, an’ other quare animal crathures !”” Grumbling at his mishap, Peter set off at a half trot, and, in a few minutes, was screened from our sight by intervening trees. Some four days elapsed, and we heard nothing from our friend Peter. Mrs. Urban began to grow uneasy, and, to confess the truth, I was not altogether without certain misgivings my- self; but, towards sunset, I heard a great shout, and a clapping of tiny hands, and then the shrill voices of the children shouting joyously, ** Here comes Peter !” Presently I saw them bounding down the avenue to meet him; and, curious to observe what sort of a mood our blundering Irishman had returned in, I drew nearer to the window. The very first glance sufficed to show that something had gone wrong; for his gait was slow and thoughtful, and he walked in a bent posture with his hands clasped behind him. On the children he merely bestowed a moody nod of recognition, and his whole aspect wore such an air of gloom that the little fellows shrunk back and clustered together, chilled and disap- pointed. Stepping out upon the lawn, as he approached, I bade him welcome, and inquired after the health of his new wife. ‘Och! millia murther! Misther Urbin,” said he; “but ’tis I that have made a great gandher of myself; an’, instead of comin’ back to yees like a dacent and respectable man, as sure I ought to be, considherin’ my bringin’ up, I’m ashamed to look ye’r honor in the face by rason of the misforthunes that did be followin’ me hot fur all the while I was gone.” ** Misfortunes, Mulrooney ! stand you.” “Sure enough, now, how should ye,” said Peter, ‘an’ you, and the kind misthress, an’ the purty childhre all livin’ so aisey like in the counthry, wid the green grass undher yer feet, an’ the blue sky above yees, an’ the singin’ birds makin’ music in the trees. Oh, begorra! but *tis little music I’ve heard since I’ve been gone ; barrin’ the noise of cars, an’ wagons, and the clattherin’ of faymale tongues, an’ the rattlin’ of sticks and stones, wid a sprinklin’ of brick- bacts by way of divarshin, an’ that’s no lie.” **] am afraid you have been getting yourself into some kind of mischief, Peter.” “Ts it fightin’ ye mane? Troth an’I dunno; but sure I am that ’tisn’t the batin that ’ud be throublin’ me at all. Look at my coat, sir. I do not under- , PPRPALA AAA

; $

Did ye iver see the likes o’ that? Murthered inthirely !”’ I confessed that its soiled and ragged appear- ance indicated considerable rough usage, and, taking heart at my expression of sympathy, Peter went on. ** You see, sir, whin I left here I wint down to the railroad, an’ axed the man at the station for a passage in the cars.” ***The cars is gone,’ sez he. P “¢ Sure I know that,’ sez I, ‘ but ’tis the bur- den cars I mane.’ . “*Oh? sez he. ‘If ye travels by thim the company’s not responsible.’ «What d’ye mane?’ sez I. *¢ Put yer name to that paper,’ sez he. ‘’Tis aconthract that, if ye does git killed by any accident happenin’ to the cars, ye ’ll agree not to call on the company for damages.’ “¢QOh, murdher! is it there ye are?’ sez I. * Sure but I’d be a great Omadhaun to sign the likes o’ that. °Tisn’t rasonable that I’d be afther lettin’ the cars batther my brains out, an’ I not thry to make my forthin by it.’ «<< Rasonable or not,’ sez he, ‘ they won’t take ye widout yer hand is to the paper.’ **¢ Ayeh, now,’ sez I, argufyin’ the matther wid him, ‘only look at the cruel of the thing: to prevint a gintleman that’s smashed all to flindhers, an’ as dead as the ould kings of Mun- sther, from havin’ the satisfackshin of bein’ paid for it. Have a dacent regard for a man’s feelin’s’, sez I. “¢It’s my ordhers,’ sez he; an’, by jabers, Misther Urbin, he made me sign away my life widout recoorse ; but I tould the engine man if he murdhered me widout my consint I’d bate him worse than he wor niver bate before. But, afther all, Misther Urbin, there wor no murdher done, an’, by good luck, I got safe and sound to Mike Cassidy’s. That night I put the notice of Mattheramunny in the papers, while Biddy Cassidy put the grate room up stairs in ordher for me to resave company. ** The next mornin’ I sated myself in Cassidy’s big arum chair, at the head of a table covered all over wid a clane white cloth, an’ so, wid a dudheen of tobaccy in my fist, an’ a noggin of whiskey to the fore, I waited, wid the composure of a feelosopher an’ the patience of a blissed marthyr, to enthertain any respectable faymales that ’ud be plased to honor me wid a matther- monial call. Well, sir, I dunno how ’twas, but hour afther hour wint by, ‘an’ sorra’ a sowl showed their face at the dure, foreby that of Biddy Cassidy lookin’ in now an’ thin wid her— ** “Good luck to ye, Pether.’

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PETER MULROONEY.

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“*Thank ye, Biddy,’ sez I; ‘ but ’tis long a { which is best beknownd to the docther an’ the comin’.’ *** Betther late nor niver,’ sez she; ‘so kape up yer sperits, man.’ “«* Paix,’ sez I, takin’ a sup o’ the noggin, ‘tis the sperits that does be kapin’ me up.’ *** Whisht sez she. ‘I hear somebody,’ an’ wid that she slams the dure, and goes throt, throt, throt down stairs; an’ thin, afther a little, a saft step came pit pat, an’ thin a little low cough, an’ a scratchin’ at the dure for all the wureld like a rat behind the wainscut. *¢* Who’s there?’ sez I. “*Ts Misther P. M. at home?’ seza thin chirp of a voice. *¢ Come in,’ sez I; ‘he ’ll be plased to see ye ;? an’ wid that, Misther Urbin, in comes a little pale-faced shlip of a colleen, about the height of my stick, and dhrops me a curchy. *** My respects to ye, darlin,’ sez I. ye have a message for me.” “* He, he, he! sez she, lookin’ at me, an’ gigglin’. *** What is it?’ sez I. *¢Is your name Misther P. M.?’ sez she, tittherin’. **?Tis a sign that I’m ould enough to be y’er father an’ mother,’ sez I. *¢That’s thrue,’ sez she; ‘an’ I don’t think Ill have yees.’ **¢ Oh, begorra;’ sez I, * but I’m of that same opinion.’ ***Good-mornin’ Misther P. M.,’ sez she. “<* Give ye good-day, little bib an’ tucker,’ sez I. ‘Take care of the holes in the stairs, an’ plase don’t come back again till I sind for yees.’ *** Augh! if that’s aspecimin of young Ameriky in calicoes, how will I manage wid them as comes in silks an’ bloomers,’ sez I. ‘ But what’s that thramplin’ I hear? Good luck to ye, Pether,’ thinks I to myself, ‘ maybe ’tis some grand flahoo! lady come to see ye,’ but instid o’that, Misther Urbin, in hobbles a crazy ould woman, dressed in black tatthers, stuck all wid red, an’ blue, an’ yellow ribbin. “¢Oh, my dear husband!’ sez she, flinging her arums about me, ‘so I’ve found ye at last.’ **¢ Och ! millia murther! what does she mane, IT wondher? Lave me go av ye plase;’ sez I, puttin’ her off from me, ‘ ’tisnt myself that yere lookin’ afther, but some other jintleman.’ <?Tis yerself; ’tis yerself!’ sez she, screechin’. * Havin’t I waited for ye seventy and siven long years; iver since the great flood when Noah was dhrowned by St. Patrick in the lake of Comeen dhu? An’I talked to the moon yesther night, an’ the moon said you wor come; an’ I went an’ axed the wather, an’ the wather said you wor come; an the stars laughed an’ clapped their hands. So I put on my purty weddin’ clothes an’ wint about an’ axed the people, an’ they tould me you wor at Mike Cassidy’s.’ * ¢ Bad luck to the rapscallions ;’ sez I to my- self, ‘to sind a mad woman afther gne for the thrick of the thing. Where’s Biddy Cassidy, I wonder? Ochone! what’ll I do wid the poor ould thing, an’ she lookin’ so long for her husband ?? *< Whisht!? sez she. ‘I hear a grate blue bottle fly talkin’ to the Princess of Fairy land ; an’ they ’re colloguing to take ye away wid em ; but Ill hould yé fast, Ill hould ye fast !’ **¢ Hands off, av ye plase,’ sez I. “Oh, by the mortial, but ’tis in a mighty bad way I am Biddy Cassidy! come to me, Biddy Cassidy ! e

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86 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. *** What is it?’ sez Biddy, thramplin’ up stairs. *** Ayeh!’ sez I, ‘’tis a mad woman, an’ I half sthrangled.’ ***Och !? sez she, houldin’ her fat sides wid the laughter. ‘Isn’t this a quare sight that I see? Don’t be flusthrated, Pether, avich ! ’tis only Poor Madge Donally ; but how she come here is the grate wondher.’ ***Sorra a bit I know,’ sez I; ‘but take her away av ye plase; ’tis a bad time to be throubled wid an ould woman out of her head, an’ I expectin’ company.’ *** Oh, be asey !’ sez Biddy, ‘I’ve larned how to put the comether over her. Madge, acushla,’ sez she, ‘ there ’s a grand flahool weddin’ down stairs, an’ the groom’s a waitin’ for ye to give away the bride.’ *** Where’s my feathers,’ sez Madge, ‘an’ my goold chains?’ *** They won’t wear feathers, nor chains, the day, I does be thinkin !° sez Bridget, wid a wink atme. ‘ ButI’ve got some red ribbins below to thrick ye out wid.’ **<*17ll go,’ sez Madge; ‘I’ve a letther from the Grand Turkey as lives in the Aist Ingees, over the salt say ; will I read yees a taste of it?’ *** Na bocklish ? sez Biddy, ‘sure its betther kep fresh for the company;’ an’ wid that she takes the poor ould craythur by the arum an’ throts her out. ** Ayeh! Pether,’ sez I to myself, ‘ but I does be thinkin’ yees brought yer pig to a bad market the day. Och! murther! an’ I dhressed up all so fine, to be axed in marriage by a weeny coleen no higher nor my feet, an’ made a husband of by a crazy ould vanithee. Oh, by this, an’ by that, ’tis too bad any way; an’ that’s no lie.’ * Well, sir, while I wor consolin’ my dis- thressed feelin’s wid a taste of whiskey, there comes a tunderin knock at the dure, an’ widout sayin’, ‘ by yer lave,’ in bounces a stout red faced colleen, wid a dirthy white gown, an’ her hair all in disordher about her eyes.” ***¢ Are you the jintleman as writ that?’ sez she, houldig’ up a crumpled piece of newspaper. ** © Maybe I am,’ sez I, spakin’ short, by rason of not likin’ her at all. «It sez here,’ sez she, ‘ that you ’re wantin’ a wife, an’ brother Jim sez’ “Stop a bit, sez I. ‘Is it yer brother Jim that sint ye ?’ ***Tss !? sez she. «© Well, then, be plased to give my compli- ments to yer brother Jim, an’ tell him I’ve althered my mind.’ *** Then you won’t have me,’ sez she.

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*** Troth, an’ I believe not!’ sez I. ** You, you, you are an’ ould, good for nothing, low Irisher,’ sez she. ***¢ Thank ye, mam,’ sez I. **¢] 11 tell brother Jim, mind if I don’t.’ **¢ Paix! I wish nothing betther.’ ** He’ll beat good manners into ye.’ ***¢ Many thanks to him; 1’m always willin’ to larn.’ “*Ye’re a monsther! sez she. ‘A low, Irish monsther !’ 66 A what?’ s*¢ A monsther!’ *¢¢ Divil a bit o? munsther man am I. Sure I come from Connaught, and so did my father before me. Munsther, indade ? *** Well, I’m going “Are ye, now? Troth, an’ I must say that’s kind of ye, afther all. An’ so ye’re goin’! °*Tisn’t at all sorry to part wid ye, I am, an’ that’s no lie.’ **Oh, by this, an’ by that, only thin to hear how her tongue wint; for all the wureld like the clapper of a mill. I dunno what it was she said, but sure I am, it didn’t sound at all com- plimentary. She threatened over an’ over to bring brother Jim, an’ I tould her over an’ over I’d be plased to see him; an’ thin, at last, she wint off in a tearin passion, an’ if the truth must be tould I wasn’t at all sorry to see the back part of her bonnet. But she promised all the way down stairs to interjuice me to her brother Jim, an’ upon my conscience, I must do her the justice to say she kept her word ; for, not long afther, who should come to Mike Cassidy’s dure but this same Jim, wid half a dozen others at his back. He axed, wasI at home? ‘To be sure I was,’ sez Cassidy, ‘ won’t ye walk in.’ ‘ No,’ sez they, ‘ we’ll wait till he comes down.’ So wid that Cassidy runs up to me an’ sez, sez he, ‘ Pether, avich! can ye stand a batin’ ?’”’ *¢ Troth, an’ I dunno,’ sez L. ** « Maybe ye’d rather fight ?’ sez he. ‘Ts it fight, did ye say ?’ sez I, jumpin’ up an’ sazin’ hould of my shellelah ; ‘ oh, by the powers, but ye couldn’t plase me betther. But, who is the gintleman ?’ “ ¢ Sorra bit do I know!’ sez he, ‘ but one they call Jim.’ *¢]s it there ye are?’ sez I, ‘Faiz! thin here goes my hand to the work.’ *¢ An’ mine too,’ sez Mike; ‘an’ there’s Dan Costegan watin’ in the back room ready to give us a lift for the sake of ould Cannaught.’ *¢ But maybe ’tis only jokin’ they are,’ sez I. **¢Oh, yea thin, go to the windy an’ see.” **¢T°ll do that same,’ sez I, an’ so I wint an’

ee ee ee

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CHARADES IN ACTION. 87 looked out. Och! Misther Urbin, sure there niver wor heard such a hullaballoo! ‘ That’s he,’ sez one; ‘oh, the rascally Irisher,’ sez another ; ‘ come down, or we ’ll dhrag ye down,’ sez a third. “ ¢ Aisey, gintlemen,’ sez I; ‘ hould on till I come down of myself; an’ wid that, I grips my shillelah an’ joins Mike an’ Dan in the passage. ** « Now thin, boys,’ sez I. ‘ Hurrah for ould Ireland! whoop, whooroo ! ” *‘Troth an’ I dunno how ’twas, Misther Urbin, but whether they wor too many for us, or I had lost the knack of fightin’, sure I am,I got a dacent batin’the day. By good luck the poleesh come up afore I wor kill enthirely, an’? Mike Cassidy an’ my frind Dan have rason to be thankful likewise ; fore by just thin they wor both sprawlin’ in the gutther, an’ I undher thim. But I bruk the head of brother Jim for all that. Well, sir, tatthered an’ bedhraggled as we wor, they marched us all off to a magisthrates, who, afther a dale of talkin’ an’ colloguin’, bound us over to kape the pace.” * And this, I hope, then, is an end of your matrimonial speculation, Mulrooney.”’ ** Oh, bedad, sir,” was his reply; “’tis hard to say; sure, ’tis an’ Irishman I am, an’ love the sex; an’ have no objeckshun in the wureld to a dacent batin’.” ** So you are still determined to look out for a wife ?” ** What can a poor boy do, sir? Sure ’tisn’t rasonable to expect that a wife ’ud be lookin’ out for me.” There was no denying this, and so Peter, with a scrape of his foot and a touch of his forelock, took his departure. The next morning I found him at his customary work, crooning over to himself the words of an old song, and looking as gay and careless as ever. I need not add, the children were delighted with the change. CHARADES IN ACTION. Answer to Charade in the May number—CaB-BAGE. ACT I. DRAMATIS PERSON Z. Poor TENANT. His Wire. His Famiry. ANGRY LANDLORD. Scene—House of Poor Tenant comfortably furnished. Enter Poor Tenant in a state of extreme dejection. His Wire, who follows him, en- deavors to console him, but in vain, for he only Shé stamps and presses his forehead the more. them, by pulling his pockets inside out, that he has nota penny. He points to his comfortable furniture, and informs them that the Angry Landlord will seize itall for rent. Sinking into a chair, he is overwhelmed in his grief. His Wife and Family gather round him, and ask in ? > 2 ; RENT DAY TOWORRy clings to him and demands the cause of his sor- row. He pulls from his pocket a placard writ- ten, “Rent Day To-morrow.” She falls back in horror, and weeps. Enter His Famiry, who, seeing the Father and Mother’s affliction, are overcome by their feelings. They turn aside their heads and sob audibly. Poor Tenant addresses His Family. He a second time exhibits his placard, and the sor- row of the group becomes extreme. He tells what way they can assist him. They offer to bear away their goods that night, and carry them beyond the reach of the Angry Landlord. A gleam of joy passes over the countenance of Poor Tenant. He embraces his children, and His Wife blesses them. eet Se VOL, Lii1.—4

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88 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE eee ee eee His Family then seize the chairs, and carry { them on tiptoe into the passage. They return stealthily, until the whole room is stripped. Then casting a long farewell look at the ceiling of their forefathers’ home—they strike a touch- ing tableau, and ereunt Poor Tenant, His Wife, ; ; ; and Family, mournfully. Enter Ancry LANpDLor»D, with a pen in his mouth, and a ledger under his arm. He stamps ACT 31. DRAMATIS PERSON, Tue Porrt or Rome. Carpinas. PRIeEsTs. Intsoh GENTLEMAN. Enoiisn GENTLEMAN. Papa So.piErs. Scrne.—Interior of a Chapel at Rome. Around dt are hung pictures, and at the end is the arm chair for the Pope’s throne. loudly on the floor of Poor Tenant’s house, but nobody comes. He stamps again and again, his Enter Intso GENTLEMAN and Enctisu Gen- face wearing an expression of surprise and dis- TLEMAN, arm-in-arm, to view the beauties ot gust. In a great passion he raves about the the chapel. They are both delighted with the room, expressing in action his indignation at all pictures, and while the Irish Gentleman kneels the furniture having been removed. He swears down, the English one carves his name on the to be revenged, and draws a writ from his door, to tell all further visitors that he has been pocket. > there. Exit Angry Landlord, still swearing venge- ; The solemn music of a piano is heard, and ance. ; Enter Tur Pore or Rome, dressed in full > carfonicals of red table-cover and lace cuffs. He and rises from his throne. The Cardinals gather walks grandly, and is followed by CarpINALs menacingly round English Gentleman, and the in sacerdotal robes of bed-curtains, and devout Priests threaten him with wild gesticulations. Priests in ladies’ cloaks with the hoods over The Irish Gentleman in vain endeavors to re- their heads. They tell their beads of coral store peace. His friend is once more besought necklaces. to yield, but still refuses. The Pope beckons to The Pope seats himself in the arm-chair his Priests, when throne, and the Priests commence kissing his Enter Papat Sotprers, and surround English toe. He blesses each one as he rises. The ; Irish Gentleman advaneing, beseeches by ges- tures Cardinals to permit him to take one fond embrace. They are pleased with his earnest- ness, and consent. He casts himself on his knees and kisses it madly. They then invite the English Gentleman also to advance and be blessed. He folds his arms and refuses disdainfully. The Pope is enraged, ee Gentleman, who stiil remains with his arms crossed. He refuses to stir, and addresses the Pope and his Court in language of contempt. The Guards are ordered to do their duty, and force English Gentleman away with the point of their brooms. (Soft Music.) Ezeunt Pope, Cardinals, and Priests, solemnly, the Irish Gen- tleman cheering. nnn rn rn nvr -—- -—- «= mee of

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AMARANTHINE FLOWERS. eee eee ACT III. DRAMATIS PERSON Z. GRANDFATHER. His Son. GRANDMOTHER. Her Daveuter (Wife to His Son). TueEerr CHILDREN. VISITORS. SERVANTS. MUSICIANS. Scene.—Old Hall in the Mansion of His Son. Long table down the centre, with chairs. 89 nnn teatime seta Enter Servants bearing grand feast, which they arrange on the table. They then stand behind the chairs. Enter GRANDFATHER, GRANDMOTHER, His Son, Her DauGurer, Tuerr CuILpren, and VisiTors in holiday costume. Grandfather is so old he can scarcely walk, and is supported by His Son, whom he blesses. Grandmother is placed next to Her Daughter, and Their Children dance about with delight. are seated at table, they eat. Enter Servants bearing large dish with brown silk bundle in it for plum-pudding. Their Children rise from the table and dance round it. As soon as the dinner-is removed, His Son gives a signal, when Enter Musicrans with imitation instruments in theirhands. Their Children serve them with wine and plum-pudding. (Affecting picture.) Grandfather goes out and fetches a bunch of Mistletoe, which he hangs to the lamp. They all laugh, and are delighted with the wickedness of Grandfather. He laughs and coughs a great deal, and all Their Children thump him on the back to make him better. The Visitors then take the Young Ladies, who appear dreadfully bashful, and drag them scream- ing and tittering under the Mistletoe, where they embrace them theatrically, by crossing their heads over their shoulders. Grandmother is delighted, and presses her sides with mirth, When they , when one of Their Children takes her hand, and pulls her under the Mistletoe and kisses her. Grandfather pretends to be jealous, and the fun increases. Several of the Gentlemen are smitten with the charms of the Ladies, and after they have kissed them, proceed to the corners, where they fall on ome knee and propose. The Ladies weep, hesitate, and point to Grandfather. The Gentlemen beseech the Grandfather to consent. He weeps, and blesses them. Musicians begin playing a court dance, all the party standing up. The old Grandfather taking Grandmother’s hand, leads off the dance. GRAND TABLEAU. AMARANTHINE FLOWERS. BY ROBERT G. Ye who visit Religion’s bowers, May gati.2r there unfading flowers; But seek them not in the gay parterre, For they ne’er can flourish there : Seek them in some humble heart, Where they rich perfume impart : newness ALLISON. The air of Heaven around them blows; No one e’er blight’s influence knows. Removed to that pure, heavenly clime, Where in Eternity is merged time, Where light ne’er yields to night’s gloom, They in immortal verdure bloom.

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LA TENENTINA. BY J.T. GOZES. Sicgnora Lucrezia’s apartment was one of the best in Via Felice. It was on the second floor; the front windows ‘faced the street, the back looked on asquare court which opened into gardens. The house itself was built along two sides of this court, and, owing to this construc- tion, the windows were too near each other. From my bedroom I could have shaken hands with Signora Lucrezia as she stood at the win- dow of her own mysterious bower beside the kitchen. Lucrezia was a woman, who, on a broader, loftier stage, would have acted as a Semiramis, or Catherine II. Crafty and yet frank, gengrous yet sordid, impulsive yet designing, she epito- mized in herself the contradictory phases of Italian character. I have known her act in the most disinterested manner, yet I should not have dared to scrutinize her weekly bills with micro- scopic acuteness. She had a great deal of talent, but was quite uneducated. On my first arrival in Rome, she nursed me during a serious attack of Roman fever with the kindest solicitude. I was then a stranger in the land, and she had no reason to think I was more abundantly provided with fortune’s gifts than the generality of my artist brethren, yet all neces- sary expenses were supplied at her own risk, and with the most generous liberality. I must acknowledge, however, that, almost universally in Italy, and especially in Rome, the relation between landlord or landlady and lodger, is a much more satisfactory one than elsewhere. Many young. artists, with few friends and no resources, have found affectionate nurses, patient creditors, and sincere friends in their Padrone or Padrona. The best Italian will endeavor to overreach you, for with them it is a kind of mental gymnastic ; but the worst are invariably good-natured. All her lodgers had a regard for Lucrezia. . On the whole, she was a noble specimen of Italian womanhood, and a more practised hand than mine should record, to do her fitting justice, her faults and her virtues. She was a type for a Balzac to describe and analyze. But, as she acted a part in a most interesting life episode, which I wish briefly to relate, I must devote a few lines to her mental and personal portraiture. do , She was a handsome woman. Her hair, which, in the morning, and sometimes during the whole day, would hang in long rusty strings down her back, was, in the evening, dark and shining. It was braided back in the heavy, hanging plait, fastened by the silver crescent Roman women are so fond of wearing, and which gave a Diana look to her noble head. The head itself was well placed, the mouth red and humid, the teeth small, white, and even. The peculiarity of the face was in the eyes. They had a feline property of darkening, at times, into black, and at others of discharging their color, till they seemed of a pale yellowish green. When any unusual emotion possessed her, two red sparks, like fierce rubies, would glow deep within. I never heard such dramatic and musical Italian as from her mouth, nor have I ever met with such natural grace of gesture. All Italians are born mimics, but she would sometimes act a story to me as she related it, with a raised arm and an “ Ascolta” worthy of Rachel herself. She had the keenest sense of humor, and her joyous racy laugh was as spar- kling and cordial as a bumper of Orvieto. She was a widow, and it was so clearly the interest of her brother, Signor Vincenzio, that she should not marry again, that I was not sur- prised that, in spite of her numerous admirers, she had hitherto preferred none. She had not been happy as a wife, and the red sparks glowed in her eyes as she spoke of her husband; but her abiding regret was that she was childless. I never knew a woman so ten- derly fond of children. Soon after I became acquainted with her, a young French lieutenant came to lodge in the house, and, from that moment, the brother felt how precarious was his tenure as master of Lucrezia’s house, and guardian of her heart. He hated the Frenchman with the instinctive hatred and distrust which all Italians feel for Frenchmen, added to the private and personal reason that, should his sister marry again, his position, even if he remained in the house, would be entirely different. There is such an incorrigible idleness in the Italian character that he would, probably, have remained as a subal- tern in the house he had ruled over as maste;

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but there would be no effort, short of murder, that he would leave untried to prevent that catastrophe. The presence of these French must be a per- petual thorn in the flesh to husbands, fathers, and brothers, in Rome. Intermarriages are more frequent than is supposed, and there is the perpetual spur of rivalry and contrast. Yet I expect the result to be beneficial, and I antici- pate great things from the youth of Rome born during this mixture of races. This young man was a remarkably handsome person, with very youthful and caressing man- ners. I have always remarked that persons with these manners inspire the most enduring and self-sacrificing attachments. There is some- thing of parental feeling which blends with the love they excite; and what woman does not respond when that chord is touched ? So did Lucrezia love this “curled darling” with the meridian fervor of her clime and her years. In this love she had merged her whole fiery heart. He received her kindness with the waywardness of a petted child. Alas for a woman when her brightest happiness consists in being tolerated and endured by the man she loves! She thought he loved her, but his man- ner was gentle to all women, and she believed that, as soon as some pecuniary anxieties of which he spoke were relieved, he would declare himself. He, himself, was too young, and, be- sides, as I afterwards learned, too preoccupied, at the time, to read her feelings. In his boyish impatience of private anxieties, which were al- most too great a burden to bear, he yearned for a confidant and adviser. Had it not been for Signor Vincenzio he would have had no con- cealments from Lucrezia; but he distrusted the brother in proportion as he admired and liked’ the sister. Meanwhile, Lucrezia, absorbed by her own feelings, saw nothing but his fair face and her own love. If Signor Vincenzio opened the door for me with a darker scowl than usual in his hollow eyes, and, if I heard his sister’s vibrating sweet contralto ringing through some air of Verdi’s, as she went about her household occupations, I knew that the young Frenchman must have been propitiating the one and alarming the other by some kind and affectionate attention which, to both, savored of matrimony. Never had I seen Lucrezia to so much advan- tage as at this time. Her eyes looked dark and soft; she was dressed with propriety and care, and, evidently, the finest elements of her being were on the surface. Love, the beautifyer, seemed to have restored the bloom of early 4° LA TENENTINA. ~~ OP PPL LL ALD LPL LPP LLLP LPP Patten APPA AL 4) youth to her cheek, and the glow of youthful hope to her heart. Alas! she told me, one day, with a sparkling smile, that the Frenchman expected his sister, who was to pass a little time with him previous to his going to Algiers on regimental business. A room was fitted up beside her sitting-room for herself, and she pre- pared hers for the young lady. One evening there was a stir in the house; I inquired the reason. “The ‘Tenentina’ had arrived.” * The sister of the lieutenant?” ** Si, Signor.”’ The individual who was thus styled I saw the next morning, when I perceived a slender, girl- ish form and a thin white hand putting up a muslin curtain in the window of the little room. Knowing the conventual manner in which French girls are brought up, I thought it strange that so young a girl should be trusted, by her friends, with so young a man as her brother, and a soldier, too. I remember, a wild suspi- cion shot through me as Lucrezia was speaking to me about them. These sudden revelations, which, in daily language, are called suspicions, but which amount, with me, to certitudes, for they are invariably confirmed and justified by facts, are remarkable. I consider them strong links in that chain of evidence which supports the theory of an absolute and continual spiritual influence acting upon us. To what else could we attribute these wonderful intuitions ? Por a few days I saw nothing of the young stranger. Sometimes during the evening, when the room was lighted, I noticed a little figure, which seemed to belong to a girl in her earliest youth, moving about, putting things in order, or diligently and quietly*working by her lucerna. When the weather became warmer, she would sit at her occupations by the open window, but still almost entirely concealed by the curtain. She was a plain little thing, somewhat freckled, extremely fair, pale, and small. I had not seen her many times before I felt convinced there was no tie of blood between her and the lieu- tenant. They were of different races; and every look and gesture proved a contrasted or- ganization. Brothers and sisters, however un- like in feature and complexion, bear, always, that resemblance which is the effect of mental and moral growth under identical culture, and of successive generations affected by the same outward influences. There was nothing of this here. Their love, too, had not the frank and genial expression which belongs to the fraternal relation. There was a rapturous, triumphant adoration on his side, met by a grave but impas-

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42 GODEY’S LADY 8S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. sioned submission on hers, which, to me, seemed strange and unnatural. Be it as it might, who would not have been touched by the miracles of quiet love and devo- tion in that girl’s heart? What a life was she content to endure to be beside her pseudo bro- ther! No nun in her cell could lead a daily existence of such entire self-abnegation. Im- prisoned, as one might say, in that narrow chamber, which she never left but for early mass, she was always washing, sewing, or iron- ing for the graceless “‘ Tenante.” God help her! I thought this a heavy penalty to pay for girlish error. Yet, somehow, I could not connect the idea of frailty with her. I would rather have believed in any impossible mystery than in her guilt; and yet came the ever recurring thought, ** She is not his sister.”” All in the house seemed to feel a compassionate tenderness and respect for her. If they suspected that all was not as it appeared, they were charitably silent. They would have been so under any circumstances, for Italians have no ferocity of virtue about them. They are universally kind to a fallen sister. There is a possibility, therefore, for her to redeem the past, for she is not bound to her sin by the brand which forever separates her from an atoning future. Vincenzio was the first who, I think, whis- pered into Lucrezia’s ears that this was a rival, not a sister; but so blind, or so generous, or so confident was she that I do not believe she credited it. There was a superb consciousness of her superior personal attractions which was natural to a handsome woman contrasting her- self with that slight pale girl. There was a resolute and touching trust in the fond dream to which she had abandorted herself, which was pathetic in one usually so self-dependent and self-relying. But the whispered doubts began, at last, to have effect. The moral atmosphere of the house was sultry and dark with impending thunder- storms. Yet not a word was spoken ; it seemed as if a direct accusation would bring incontest- able proof; and Lucrezia dreaded this most of all. Are we not all like this? Instead of breasting the sea of sorrow with a noble forti- tude, we cling despairingly to the feeblest weed on the shore, or. we seek to cross it on some * bridge of glass,” which will but crack beneath our weight, and precipitate us, with tenfold force, into the gulf below. Lucrezia’s sufferings, at this time, must have been dreadful. She was pale as death, her whole person in disorder, and her eyes were absolutely absorbed into the red points, and shrunk into her head. She never entered the Tenentina’s room. I have seen her pace her own for hours, sometimes gravely, steadily, with head bent low, at others with hurried, broken steps, arms flung up wildly, and hair streaming over her shoulders. It seems an almost profane comparison; but in the grandeur of her form, and the stormy vio- lence of these frenzied feelings, she recalled to me that great tragic figure of the Greek drama- tist—the Phaedra. Once, as I was walking in a street leading to the capitol,I met her. In this street isa narrow court, and so placed in this court, that its very existence is a mystery to the greater part of the Romans themselves, is a small chapel. It was built with a portion of his slowly accumulated earnings by a poor carpenter. Though so small it would not hold half a dozen persons, it is so pretty, so tastefully decorated, so carefully swept and garnished, and its fresh flowers, its ever burning lamp, and its charmed circle of stillness in the very heart of a city, are so attractive, that I rarely pass it without stepping in. I seem, when I do so, to possess one of those secret and magic charms which transport the wearer where he pleases when he pleases. In a minute I exchange the squalid or full streets for almost entire solitude, day for night relieved but by one star. It is like a snow-drop blooming on the wayside, in this dirty neighborhood, and I am almost the only person whose eyes are un- sealed, so as to gaze upon it. None, but a few of the very poor, offer up their devotions in it; but, on this day, as I entered it, I was passed by a woman who rather rushed than walked by me. Her veil was folded many times over her face, but I recognized Lucrezia. She entered the chapel, paused a moment, dipped her fingers in the holy water mechanically, and then prostrated herself before the altar. Her head was bent till it touched the marble pavement, and her whole frame shook with the violence of her emotions. She seemed to have had only strength to carry her burden there, and drop beneath its weight at the feet of mercy. I slipped away as noiselessly as I had entered. I would not, for the world, that, in this her hour of humiliation, she had recog- nized me. Besides her claims upon my gratitude, in spite of her glaring faults, her fierce temper, her headstrong passions, there was something in this woman with which I had sympathy. She was always genuine, thoroughly in earnest in good and evil. There was no hypocrisy and no puerile vanity. She might assimilate to the tigress, but never to the parrot or monkey. . _ na ame oom nn a oe ae ae

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LA TENENTINA. As I returned home, i meditated on the strange contrast of characters domiciled in that sunny house in Via Felice, and on the con- flicting passions which agitated them. Lucre- zia agonized, suspicious, despairing; Vincenzio, watching remorselessly for the sake of his selfish interests. The Frenchman, gay, bland, but impenetrable; the young lady, pure and innocent in appearance as Una herself, but with an unde- fined shadow of ill resting on her. That evening Lucrezia, after arranging my rooms, proceeded to water some flowers of her own which were on my “terrazza.”” Her movements, always graceful and undulating, had, to-day, a melting languor which softened and refined her. It was the exhaustion which follows a storm, when the ocean still trembles, ere it lapses into rest. But I must here confess that, for grandeur of bearing and majesty of * portaments,” as they call it, I have seen no women like the Romans. When they walk they do not tip about on their toes with a minc- ing step like their more refined sisters in other countries, but the whole foot is planted firmly and evenly on the ground.- They prove that they descend from asandalled race. Forms so ample and so dignified seem fit to nurse heroes, and, by nature, the lowest Roman woman is gifted with a nobility of air which we Anglo- Saxons think the unimpeachable prerogative of the nobly born alone. Gibson’s celebrated model Grazia (though she was not Roman by virth, but lived there a number of years) was a poor, uneducated creature, yet she looked a Pythoness, and moved a Zenobia. “Look at this arid earth,” said Lucrezia, in her soft, musical Italian. “It is as dry as if it were a portion of the desert itself, yet daily I water it. You see how fast it absorbs the water I pour over it, and which does not leave the slightest trace upon it. So soon is love forgotten by men. They accept it, but their natures are too hard to retain a single recollection of it when the poor heart that gave its all is withdrawn.” What poetry to thought and language does sor- row give poor Lucrezia! She remained talking on indifferent subjects. As she stood on the balcony we saw the light in the opposite room, and, as usual, we could see the little figure seated by the table working. But there was an indescribable air of fatigue over the whole person, and the head drooped lan- guidly over the work. Presently, the tenente came in; he stooped down and kissed her fore- head, and, for a moment, the little hand rested on his shoulder. He seemed urging her to go out. She refused, and, after another kiss on the 48 a ee pale brow, he left the room. We saw her lay down her work, look after him, as it were, and then the head dropped low, low down on the arms, and she wept without restraint. ** Brother and sister ?” said Lucrezia, through her set teeth, and with clenched hands, while her eyes blazed. “ Why not?” ** Why not, indeed?” she said, with a sudden change of manner; “but, if I have been de- ceived, no matter.” I could not help thinking of Racine’s Rox- ana— * Avec quelle insolence, et quelle cruante Il se jouaient de ma credulité.” The position of the rivals was somewhat similar; their characters, perhaps, still more so. Lucrezia, like Roxana, was both protectress and rival. She had been asked to receive the young lady, and to befriend her during her bro- ther’s absence. There was a caressing tyranny in the young man which was irresistible to the passionate woman who so idolized him. She would have gladly walked over the stony and barren sands of the Arabia Petrza of doubt to emerge, at last, beside him in the Arabia Petrea of love. He was to be two months absent; she would wait, she would endure till his return. Vincenzio, with all his spying, had never detected aught in proof of their suspicions. She would offend neither brother nor sister by uttering her doubts—* pazienza.”’ I could trace a change in her feelings from the studied and gloomy calm of her manners. The departure of the young man for Algiers aided in this, as she was no longer daily stung by witnessing his affectionate solicitude for his pale idol. Some time after his departure, I became ac- quainted with my young neighbor under circum- stances which, however trifling they may seem to others, convinced me of her purity as entirely as if she had been my own sister or child. I met her on the stairs of our house; she was following me, and I slackened my pace till she had reached me, and then bowed to her. She saluted me with a grave and gentle inclination of the head. That was the first impulse of habitual and innocent unconsciousness of being considered in an equivocal situation ; then some- thing of pity and sorrow in my look seemed to strike her, and I saw her blush to the very roots of her hair—an indignant, an impetuous flush, as if she had received some personal indignity. She hastened in so quickly that she dropped a little parcel she held in her hand. I allowed her to precede me into the house, and then

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44 waited a quarter of an hour before I knocked at her door. I entered and found her sobbing like a child. Bonnet and shawl were thrown off, and she looked so young and so desolate that I was touched to the heart. Those tears should have been shed on a mother’s breast instead of alone, unpitied, suspected, and, perchance, for- saken. I returned the parcel, said a few words to which she listened with an abstracted wistful air, and left her. But I felt more convinced than ever there was a mystery. Good was around her and emanated from her. There was a personal impress of purity in the whole aspect of the little room. Good thoughts had harbored there and made it holy, and an atmosphere, as of prayer, had sanctified it. Withal, so quiet and unpretending, I could have pressed that little white hand, which, as I could see, bore marks of incessant labor, with chivalrous reverence. After this, I went occasionally to see the little lady, and became slightly acquainted with her. She did not encourage my visits, but did not positively prohibit them. I think she had ‘penetration enough to perceive I was sincerely anxious to be her friend. Her demeanor was unvaried, quiet, and calm. She grew paler and paler, however, and the eyes looked dim and tear-stained, and the poor lids were red, as if with incessant crying; but I never again wit- nessed tears. It was mournful to contrast the excessive youth with the resolute yet patient endurance which was the abiding expression of the face. Not a word did she breathe about the “ tenente ;” but I knew he had not written for many weeks. She had had but one letter since he left. Lucrezia seemed as one beside herself. ‘“ Be kind, be charitable, be motherly. What a bitter emphasis on that word, to be left in this position. Here is a girl, thrown on my hands, entirely destitute. I cannot send her back to her relations.. Who are they? I cannot send her to him’”’—and she would lash herself into a fresh fury. The poor girl must have suffered much. I knew she was taunted for her patient and faith- ful confidence that news would come, that he would write, that he would send. Her gentle sweetness, and the indefatigable diligence with which she assisted in everything she could, at times disarmed Lucrezia, but only for a while. A thousand devils seemed to goad her on; the red spots in the eyes became permanent, and gave her a wicked look; mortified love, and pride, envy, and the positive fear of having been made a dupe, irritated her to frenzy. Still it was in the character of the woman that, when I offered —— — — — — — OOOO GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. aes to pay a weekly sum—which should forever re- main a secret between us—to defray, at all events, part of the extra expense, she refused. ‘“ Caro mio, why should you pay for her? No. Do you think I grudge the miserable trifle she con- sumes—she eats like a bird? But it is his au- dacity I resent. How he must laugh at my imbecility !” I fear she was glad to have the right to humiliate her suspected rival. There had been always something uncongenial in the characters of these two women. They were like limpid water and mellow oil—it was not possible for them to blend. Could the younger one, from the first, have attached herself to her, Lucrezia might have been won. But, from the first, there was a repugnance ; the girl was gentle and even kind, but always silent, always re- served. It was impossible to deny it, but that childlike creature commanded respect. All loved her but Lucrezia, yet was there a line of demarcation which kept her apart from all. I have entered her room repeatedly with offers of service on my tongue; but I have left them unuttered. She was so shielded by her own modesty and stillness that even kindness, if unauthorized, seemed unwarrantable. She ex- erted herself admirably, bent till late at night over some needlework, or busied herself during the day with household matters. She seemed regardless of personal fatigue, and resolute that Lucrezia should not have a right to complain of her. Poorgirl! Was this the bower of love for which she had left her home, her parents, hen friends? It was a severe lesson, a rude appren ticeship. A severe lesson ! but I never detected regret in the expression of her countenance. Sorrow, anxiety, yes; but never regret or re pentance. Indeed, latterly, there had been a sort of troubled brightness in her face, as of the dawn of some great hope. It seemed too new to burn steadfastly, but it was so radiant at intervals that it glorified the pale little face into beauty. When I caught this expression, she reminded me invariably of Guido’s Speranza in San Pietro di Vincoli. That Hope so holy that she is sublimed into Faith. One day, when I went to see her, I found her (rare moment of idleness) leaning back on her sofa, and looking, with clasped hands, at a print which hung in the room. It was Overbeck’s Prayer in the Garden. Facing the spectator who looks upon the print is a vast and luminous cross—the revealed answer to the prayer of the Son of God. The divine face is turned towards it, and, therefore, unseen ; but the light from the cross shines over the kneeling figure. ‘It teaches us the holiness of suffering,” I said.

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LA TENENTINA. OL EEaEEEss “Yes, if we could but realize it; but how rebellious some of us are’!”? I saw the tears could scarcely be kept back. ** You are not rebellious, I am sure.” * Yes, Iam; it is so hard.” Can I serve you 2” I burst forth. “No. I have one clear duty—obedience. I must be silent.” * But who wills you should suffer?” “* My father willed it;’? and she started, and, with a nervous smile more melancholy than tears, she rose and commenced her usual em- ployment. That poor little wan face, with its pathetic yet heroic attempt at endurance, haunted me the whole day. Who was this father? Who had inflicted this hard penance, this isolation and this questionable position? and for what fault was it an expiation? I paused, and that pure brow and those gentle eyes, uplifted to the glo- rified cross, seemed to reproach me, and I would not continue that train of thought. We may seek to disguise ourselves and to deceive others ; circumstances may cast a false light or a false shadow upon us; the world may wilfully misunderstand and misvalue us, but our characters are sure, sooner or later, to find their level. Beside us ever are shining wit- nesses, who attest the reality of our words and acts, and whose influence is always felt by those with whom we come into contact. This spiritual magnetism is unerring. A few days after this, I was pleased to see the postman’s cocked hat (even postmen have a dignified costume in Rome) enter the house. There were two letters, one for the Signora and one for the Tenentina, There was a silence, and then a sudden and violent slamming of doors, and a voice raised in the highest pitch, ands uttering the wildest and most frenzied abuse. **For the love of the Madonna, Signor, go to them! My mistress will kill her! Signora Lucrezia is like amad woman !’’ The poor ser- vant rushed to me with those words, and, with a blind impulse, rather than resolve, I flew into the Tenentina’s room. She was on the sofa, pale as death, trembling violently, and grasping tightly an open letter. Her eyes were closed, she could not help hear- ing, but she would not see the fury before her. Lucrezia, with a loose dress flung round her, her hair hanging down, her face convulsed with contending passions, was tearing up and down the room, but, like a wild animal circling round her prey, every turn brought her nearer to the couch. I think, if she had but once touched her, she would have wished to tear her to pieces. ? ; 45 ** Read, read!’ she said, and she flung a letter towards me. “ He has written to me—they are on the eve of a battle’ (her voice shook)— “* whatever happens, he commits her to my care— it is time I should know all—she is not his sis- ter—I have read no more—how dared he de- ceive me! He had all but told me he loved me; but it was to cajole me into receiving—his sister.” (How the words were jerked out!) “I must love his child for his sake—he must be mad, a mother !—and I who have so prayed to be a mother to feel that joy—little hands—a little head laid here” (striking her breast) —* never— never—and that false girl—this incarnate false- hood—but I will not bear it—she must go this moment—she must leave this house—how he must have laughed at his dupe!—he says he looks upon me as a mother—a mother to both— they are orphans—I tell you I am mad—but she must leave me”— “Stop, Lucrezia,” said a stern voice; “‘ she is my wife.” In a moment the Frenchman’s arms were round the quivering, trembling form on the sofa, and she, in the joy and surprise, seemed to have found life and strength, for she rose, and, clinging to him, and without looking at Lucrezia, said: ‘* Let us go.” One moment,” said the young man, the re- sponsibilities of whose position had given that touch of firmness and decision which was all that was wanting to perfect the beauty of his countenance. ‘One moment. It is my duty to explain how it is I have allowed my wife” (he was deeply agitated) “‘to be placed in a position unworthy of her.”” He then explained. The young lady was the daughier of a German who had settled recently at Civita Vecchia. He was a widower, and adored his daughter— his only child. The regiment to which the lieutenant belonged was quartered at Civita Vecchia; and the young people became ac- quainted and attached to each other. Soon afterwards, the regiment received orders to proceed to Rome. Before leaving Civita Vecchia, however, the German fell dangerously ill, and aware that, in a short time, his poor child—his Annina—would be left alone, unpro- tected, and portionless among strangers, he be- sought the young man to marry her at once. It was necessarily a secret marriage, for there is a strict lawin the French army that no subaltern can marry until he can settle a sufficient sum on his wife, which may serve for a provision should she become his widow. This was impossible at the time. The Frenchman had little beside his pay, and this little was unavailable, for he was not master of it till he attained his majority.

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46 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, “ Make her your wife, and call her your sister till you can publicly acknowledge her. But I shall not rest in my grave unless there is one honest heart between her and the cruel world.” He died soon after the Frenchman left Civita Vecchia. His daughter remained with him till his death, and then joined her husband. What a heavy punishment had the father’s want of faith in God entailed on the daughter! “ Our troops were victorious,’ he continued. “T have been promoted, and I can now pro- claim my marriage ; but I have only a fortnight’s leave, and must return ; but I could not rest till I had put all right here. If you knew what she has suffered from this concealment, from this fraud, as she calls it! how she besought me to reveal all to you, Lucrezia—but it would have been our ruin, our absolute ruin. God knows what I suffered at this necessity ; but all was at stake. I was bound, hand and foot, till I was of age; but when she wrote’—here a little hand was put before his mouth. ‘“ But, when she told me of this blessed hope, then I was as one de- ranged with joy and fear—so young, alone, and our affairs not yet settled ; but I hoped that you, Lucrezia” (with an accent of manly reproach), “knew me, and would trust me. I have a thousand faults, but I am not an ungrateful dog. I thought I could trust to your kindness, you who, next to Annina, I have loved, and—but no matter. Farewell. You shall hear from me.” “No; hear me,” said Lucrezia, and her voice sounded so hollow and strange that we all started. While the young man spoke, the crim- son flush in her face had faded to a deadly pale- ness, and her bosom heaved as it would burst; tears, larger than I had ever seen from human eyes, coursed down her cheeks. She gasped for breath, and then, with one headlong effort, fell at Annina’s feet. The almost inconceivable : patience, self-abnegation, and fortitude of that pale girl had ‘touched her to the quick. She recognized and did homage to the power of a real, noble, pure love. All her furious misjudg- ments and suspicions faded away as the gleam of an angel’s wing chases away demons. Then the circumstances of his having loved and mar- ried before he had ever seen her took away from the sting of rivalry, and rapid, and violent in all her emotions, she changed at once. Forgive me. Only stay and let me prove to you my repentance. I will serve you asa slave. I will care for you as a mother. Do with me as you will; but forgive me.” Annina gathered up to the heart which she had so ennobled by her noble love; was too happy not to forgive. She gave her her hand. I left them. In a few days the Tenente went to Algiers with a light heart, for he had made every ar- rangement for Annina’s comfort. ‘She still went by the name of the Tenentina, that caress- ing little name, which so identified her with him, had no shame in its sound now. And when, three months afterwards, her little baby was born, Lucrezia’s arms were the first held out to it. That babe returned tenfold to Lucrezia her kindness to his father. She had found an ob- ject, and a sinless one, for the passionate love of her wild heart. She suffered, no doubt, at times, but that purification which always is the conse- quence of unselfish love did not belie itself in her ease. She became a better and purer woman. Shortly after the husband’s return, the young married couple went to France and settled there ; but yearly Lucrezia visited them. These visits were her yearly sabbaths, and influenced the rest of her life. oor CURIOUS MARRIAGE CUSTOM IN THE ISLAND OF ELBA. BripeEs, on the occasion of their marriage repair to the ceremony bareheaded; and, in the district round about, the mother of a newly- married man, on his arrival at his house for the first time with his wife, throws some rice or grain behind the back of her daughter-in-law, to warn her that after that day of joy and festi- vity she must devote herself to the more serious cares of a good housewife. If old persons marry, or a widower and a widow, they are probably aroused on the day of their nuptials by a noisy scampanata, or ringing of bells and knocking of saucepans, very much resembling the old English custom of marrowbones and leavers. In almost all parts of the island, during the so- lemnization of the ceremony of marriage, the husband places one of his knees on the dress of his bride, which prevents the secret powers from any malignant trick: for these latter, it appears, in the absence of this rite, on the pronunciation of the sacred words, “‘ Vos conjungo,” are apt to whisper others which have a bad effect on the future population of the island. Porto Farrajo possesses another custom which is common in the island on the occasion of marriages ; which is, that two persons prevent the exit of the newly-married couple from the church, by hold- ing a scarf across the entrance. This is re- moved on the first approach of the happy pair without even a request. The origin of this eustom is unknown, and no reason of any hind is assigned for it.

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THE ART OF SKETCHING FLOWERS FROM NATURE. Fig. 13. Grovp or Primroses.—The following direc- tions for proceeding with the sketch of a group of primroses, it is hoped will suffice for the stu- dent’s guidance in sketching any single flower, or simple group. The slight sketch represented by fig. 13 ex- emplifies the instructions of Rules I and II, as to the disposition of the whole subject. The several lines and parts are numbéred in the order in which they should be drawn. The position of the stem (1) ef the principal flower is first indicated (Rule III), to which is added, accord- ing to Rule II, the oval form (2) of the corolla, with the centre and five divisions slightly marked. The second line is the stem (3) of the flower behind (4), showing the back or under part of its corolla of a semilunar form. The ' third line indicated is the stem of the bud (5) oo with its undeveloped corolla (6) of a triangular form. Lastly, the principal vein or midrib of the leaf (7) is represented passing behind the stems, to which are added the compound curves indicating the edges of the lamina (8 and 9). In the completion of the sketch, as shown in fig. 14, the same order ought to be followed out as has been pursued in disposing the several parts of the preliminary outline (Kule III). Every part of this group was carefully sketched from originals, without the least attempt at bending, or altering them from their natural 47

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48 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. SRL oOo = Fig. 14. position. The art has been simply confined to their arrangement and disposition with respect to each other. It will be seen that all the principles set forth in the foregoing articles are in some measure illustrated in this example ; for instance, of the three stems, two are simple curves, the third is a compound one; of the three principal lines forming the leaf, one, the midrib, is a simple curve, whilst the edges of the lamina are both compound curves. The three corollas are all of different sizes and forms, and varied as to position and place. Of all the lines composing the group, no two are alike, and each is intersected by others, without any abruptness or interference with the sweep of the whole. Thus art has been em- ployed, not to the detriment of truth, but con- trariwise, and the artist is vain enough to believe that, had the sketch been presented to any one unbiassed by the previous cognizance of rules having been followed in the execution, it would have been admired for its natural gracefulness as well as truth; but now he has let out his secret, it is possible that with some the approbation may be in a measure qualified. In conclusion, the learner must bear in mind that although this, and the examples of the fol- lowing figures, may afford practice in copying. they are not given with that intention merely, but as a means of communicating the necessary instructions for, sketching similar subjects from nature. A flower ought therefore always to be obtained, when possible, and its representation proceeded with, step by step, as shown in the directions accompanying each subject. ai ee lUret,lUr.lCU Se | t]

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HOW I CAME TO DETEST BABIES! There is no speculation in those eyes ; Thy bones are marrowless; thy blood 1s cold: Avaunt, and quit my sight!” SHAKSPEARE. WeEnreE you ever asked to hold a baby for a stranger? If not, and you ever should be, don’t do it. Now, I am myself remarkably fond of babies—at least I used to be—and I say em- phatically, don’t do it. I considered a baby as the type of everything pure, amiable, inno- cent, gentle, and lovable—a rara avis—a para- gon—a mundane cherub, until I became its cat’s- paw—its dupe—its victim! Parents loved me almost as much as I loved their children. I used to dangle the unconscious little bits with such sedulous perseverance and unwavering success that papas hailed me as a universal god- father ; and as to mammas—in their estimation, soothing syrup was a subterfuge in comparison with me ; an idle application (if any application can be said to be idle) ; and I was considered, in fact, the beau-ideal of nurses—the ne plus ultra of doctors—a real blessing to nursing mothers. Babies were once my passion and my weak- ness ; and now the intensest passion is too weak to express my detestation and horror of them. The effect has disgusted me with the cause; and, just as a burned child dreads the fire which involuntarily injured it, so do I loathe the sight of the innocent occasion of the most terrible hour I ever spent in my life. And after such an agreeable day, too! Such acalm sea—such a zephyr-like breeze—such a cheerful sun—such a glorious sky! And then the viands on board—everything was first-rate, from champagne to periwinkles. And then the captain, and the passengers—all were har- monious but the two new-married couples ; they were the only contrast; but then, to be sure, one pair was going to spend the honeymoon, and the other had spent it, leaving no small change for the future. How all seemed couleur de rose to the one, and everything jaundice to the other. Wonderful what a month will do'!—a month !—an hour! Look at myself; look at my ——. Is there any stronger word than “antipathy?” If so, pray suggest it; for I’m in want of the sternest expletive that can be culled from the fiercest page in the dictionary to express my deep-rooted sentiment! And to think that I should owe it to a bonnet of the VOL. Litt.—5 ; purest style—a pair of boots of faultless sym- metry—and—twins ! You remember how perfectly riveted I stood ; but of course you don’t; how should you? you were not there. I’ll tell you, then. Ill read you a lesson shall last you a lifetime; and, if I harrow your feelings in doing so, it’s not my fault—it’s my misfortune. I was the victim of circumstance; and, if your blood runs cold at the bare recital, what must mine have done at the clothed reality ? Were I a mental artist, I should paint in detail, and in florid colors, the delightful continental tour which I had just completed, so that the flood of light should throw out the shadow of the picture in deeper shade, and make it alike truthful and impressive ; but I scorn all studied effects: and, besides, I have no doubt that you have as little patience as I have time; and so let it suffice that I had made a delightful tour—had reached Calais in an unruffled frame of mind, and was about to step upon the deck of the steamer that was ‘to transport me to Dover, when my attention was—I am bound to say, unfortunately —attracted, riveted by a lady preceding me, who wore the most engaging sub- stitute for a bonnet (I don’t know the technical name, but I mean the complicated something worn behind the ears to keep the back hair in), and the most undeniably perfect boots that I had ever beheld. With one eye upon the head, and the other upon the heels, I observed nothing further till I fairly confronted her on the deck, when I perceived that on either arm rested an infant. This was an attack upon my sympa- thies right and left; and, had I been their father, I couldn’t have taken a deeper interest in either them or the fair young creature who nursed them. She certainly was both fair and young, above five-and-twenty years of age, and as beautiful as a May morning. I looked about for her hus- band or servant, or somebody or something belonging to her; but nobody and nothing ap- peared; and, when the steamer started, she was still companionless and luggageless, save and except the bonnet, boots, and babies. Thus she sketched upon the tablet of my heart a most interesting picture, with a pencil of treble-s power, and I determined to present her with an early proof, 49

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50 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, mw ‘** Pray, madam,” said I, priding myself upon my ingenuity in opening a conversation, “are you not afraid of the custom-house ?” * Sir?” she replied haughtily, the angry crim- son rising to her temples. *T mean,” I continued, rather disconcerted, ‘from the value of the articles you carry with you.” * Sir?” still more loflily, and frowning as fiercely as an unwrinkled brow and gentle blue eyes could frown. Finding myself perfectly unsuccessful in at- tempting to take poetical license with the excise laws, I hastened to assure the lady that I merely meant to infer that the wealth of the Indies would, no doubt, be a bagatelle in comparison with the value that some would set upon the lovely little infants in her arms. The color receded from the lady’s temples; she smiled, and I was at home. ** You are not their mother, of course, ma- dam?”? I ventured to say—‘‘evidently too young !” She was their mother, and my triumph was complete. From that moment I was established as her compagnon de voyage—taking possession of my new honor by relieving her of one of her charming incumbrances. Perhaps you never had a charming incum- prance, and are no judge. J am; and I stake the credit of that judgment upon the fact of its being the most engaging infant that ever sucked coral! It was only three months old, and yet smiled like a cherub on atombstone. And then to be blessed with two of them! Happy pair, “thought I, to have such a pair. I soon learned the lady’s story from her own lips ; for my share of self-proposed responsibility levelled all distance between us, and I became one of the family in a twinkling. Her husband, she said, was an officer ; they were to have come over together in the last boat, but, unluckily, he had started first to arrange about the luggage—the dear babes having required some delicate atten- tion at the last moment; and she was unfortu- nately a minute too late, and so lost her passage. She therefore telegraphed to Dover to express her intention of following by the next boat alone, as it was arranged to leave her French maid behind her: and thus it was that I had the felicity of a charming téte-d-téte. Her husband, replying telegraphically, had expressed his con- cern at her having to travel solus, particularly as business required him to be in town as early as possible; but, as she stated, expressed a hope that the courtesy of some fatherly passenger, attracted by the interest of her positior, would LLLP LLL LPL LP om Pm mt mt tata tu srt spnt PLLA PLP prevent any annoyance arising from want of protection. I at once glowed with the feelings of a fatherly passenger, accepted the responsibility, and hus- banded all the little pleasantnesses I was master of for the novel occasion. I was quite alive to the absurdity of my situation should my fellow- passengers become aware that we were utter strangers ; but I trusted to making them, by my familiar manners, imagine that we were husband and wife; and, upon hinting to my fair friend the advisability of encouraging such a supposi- tion, was charmed by a ready acquiescence. She was really a most agreeable companion— lively and full of intelligence, with a sufficient dash of enthusiasm to render her a most inte- resting person; and, notwithstanding a some- what fragile frame, she was decidedly a strong- minded woman—evidenced, indeed, by her courage in undertaking the journey unattended. The short passage appeared shorter than ever, and I was quite sorry at its termination ; how- ever, there was still another journey to contem- plate, and, getting my luggage duly passed by the officers, we proceeded to the railway station. A train was just preparing to start, and the first bell rang as I procured the tickets, so that all was bustle and confusion. We got comfortably seated each with a precious charge upon our knee, carefully rolled up and closely and thickly veiled; for, as they were both sleeping, the young mother was most anxious to free them from the risk of draughts (particularly the one I nursed, which, it appeared, had a cold in its precious eyes), and she was giving me strict charge not to uncover it, for fear of inflamma- tion, when she suddenly recollected that she had left her reticule in the waiting-room. I called out for some one to go in search of it, but the poor thing was so anxious lest it should be lost— and with it a well-filled purse and her dear hus- band’s miniature—that she sprang out of the carriage herself, and rushed towards the office. As she disappeared, the departure bell rang, and the train was put in motion. I cried out for some one to give notice to stop it, but some one didn’t; and the door was slammed to by the guard as he hurried past; and, before I could recover my bewilderment, the engine was tear- ing along at thirty miles an hour. Here was a predicament! What was to be done? There was no one in the carriage to advise with, and I began to picture the lady’s alarm at the discovery of my involuntary ab- duction of the infant twin. I soon, however, cooled ; and, after a little reasoning, came to the conclusion that, apart from the chagrin of losing

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HOW I CAME TO DETEST BABIES. a pleasant companion, I need fear nothing for the lady or myself. She would, of course, feel no anxiety about her child, knowing it was in good keeping; whilst any uneasiness on my part, at the risk of being saddled with an un- welcome little stranger, was removed by the recollection that her husband was to meet the train at London Bridge; and, from her descrip- tion of him, and the display of my little tempo- rary pledge, I felt no doubt that I should be able to restore my baggage to its rightful owner. To make assurance doubly sure, I resolyed to send a message back to Dover, from the first station where such a proceeding was practicable, stating the circumstance to the station-master, and giving my name and address. As I said, I had no fellow-travellers in my carriage, so thought I might as well, for a time, get rid of my sleeping partner. Accordingly, I placed it, carefully wrapped up as it was, on the next seat to my own—putting it at the very back to prevent the possibility of its rolling off, and giving it the additional covering of a light over- coat, to keep off the risk of inflammation to its dear little eyes. I then took a book from my pocket to divert my thoughts, but soon began to yawn. I had been travelling a good deal for some days past; and, what with fatigue, sea air, the excitement of my peculiar position, and the monotonous noise and motion of the train, the letters danced before me—flitted in a mist— became invisible. I slept. Station after station was passed without rous- ing me to consciousness, probably from the fact of no one entering my compartment of the car- riage; but I dreamed enough to fill a volume. In every scene the chief actor was, naturally enough, the officer’s interesting wife; and she assumed as many shapes as Proteus. One I particularly remember: Fancy took me back to the deck of the steamer; and my companion told me, with tears in her eyes, that she was a widow--had fallen in love with me—and im- plored me to reciprocate the sentiment. My heart melted in a moment, and I was giving ut- terance to a fervid vow, when she exclaimed, ** Prove it by following me,” and immediately dived into the sea with her twins, rising imme- diately, and skimming alongside, with her long hair floating on the water, and holding up in either hand a comb and a looking-glass, after the most approved fashion of mermaids. The shock of this startling transformation, and the sudden stoppage of the train, roused me to a half consciousness, just sufficient to make me aware of the entrance of a corpulent pas- senger, who got in complaining, after the man- 51 PPADS aor ner of corpulent passengers in general, of the lamentable narrowness of railway doors and seats. Before I had thoroughly awakened, I was growled .back to unconsciousness, and left a prey to new dreams, consisting of fairy com- binations, and eccentric effects, only to be wit- nessed in pantomimes of the first water. The species of nightmare under which I labored must have rendered me anything but an agree- able fellow-travellcr, for I was again aroused by an angry request “to snore less like a bassoon.” I started from my sleep with an uneasy sen- sation of having negiccted a duty ; but, of what nature my senses were, for a few seconds, too great wanderers to determine. I rubbed my eyes, shook myself, and then recollected my interesting charge; I stared round the carriage, every seat of which was vacant but one. On that one sat the stout passenger: it was the seat next the door, with the back to the engine; his corpulence had restrained him from struggling further on, and he had deposited his heavy trunk upon the temporary bed of the wretched little twin ! “For gracious’s sake, rise,” I exclaimed, fran- tically, “‘and take some other seat!” “No, thank you,” he replied, gruffly; “I took this because it was the best.” ** Another moment may be too late!” I roared ; ‘you don’t know what you are sitting on.” “You should take better care of your pro- perty,” he replied, testily. ‘If people will throw their coats about they must expect to get them crumpled.” “Tf you do not instantly get up,” I exclaimed, *T°ll force you! Wretched man, you are silting on a twin !” *“You’re dreaming, my little man,” was the corpulent passenger’s astonished rejoinder. At this moment we reached another station, and the stout gentleman, after looking me full in the face, with a pitying expression, tapping his forehead and shaking his head, as if he thought me mad, lumbered out of the carriage, leaving me alone with—what ?—was it a living child, or 2 The horrible suggestion almost deprived me of the power of determining the question. I raised the coat that I had thrown over it, and there it lay, as flat as if it had passed through a mangle. I felt its side; there was no pulsation ; I thrust my hand under the folds of the veil, and its face was cold as ice. I hadn’t the cour- age to look at it, but sat trembling like an aspen leaf. My first impulse was to give an alarm, but the thought instantly flashed across me that I should

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52 be the first on whom suspicion would fall. I could give no explanation as to my possession of the child beyond what I have already stated ; and might it not be possible that the whole thing was a trick to pass it off upon me? In that case the wicked mother would never appear to prove my case, and the jury would find ample motive for my wanting to get rid of it. how could I face the wretched mother? Impos- sible! I couldn’t, wouldn’t do it. After ten minutes of mental agony, I resolved to keep the secret in my own breast, and quietly deposit the withered lily in my own garden. But a new terror sprang up. The husband was to meet his wife at the London Bridge ter- minus. He would, of course, anxiously observe every passenger that alighted ; would recognize, in my arms, his child by its dress, and perhaps give me in charge on suspicion of a triple assas- sination. One was enough at a time, and more than I could bear; for, though I had no actual hand in the terrible result, it was my want of foresight and vigilance that led to the catastro- phe; and I felt like a murderer! My only chance of escape lay in concealing the victim. How? Should I leave it under the seat, or throw it out of the window? No; in either case its little remains would be found, and I should be hunted out and hanged without remorse. At present no one had seen it in my possession since its mother went in search of i : 2 3 ; If, on the other hand, the affair was not a trick, ? ; | 5 3 § that fatai reticule; even the stout gentleman had not seen it; and, if he had, I felt satisfied that he was not the man to come forward and claim his share in the transaction. My coat was not ample enough for the purpose of con- eealment, but there was my carpet bag! It was a full-sized one, but only moderately occupied, as I had purchased another travelling-bag in France, from its ingenious make. I now set about transferring the contents of one to the other, making a small parcels’-delivery of my- self by stowing away the surplus in every available pocket. Then commenced my horrible occu pation. There are, probably, few persons who have tried the experiment; but, if I wished to re- venge myself upon an enemy by an act of self- punishment, I should certainly desire him to undergo the sensation of packing a suffocated infant in a travelling-bag. I had barely completed the revolting occupa- tion, when the train again stopped, without, however, any passengers alighting. Conscience attributed this to my own deed. Had the cor- oeeeee pulent gentleman telegraphed my hurried words, } GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. and was I already to be arrested? Fear impelled me to implore the guard for an explanation; it was simply that we were to be shunted on to a siding to allow the express train to pass us. This, in fact, was the train put on for conti- nental travellers; but the ringing of the bell at the station had prevented my asking the ques- tion. Continental travellers ?—thought of hor- ror! Might not the mother herself be in the train? But where were thetwins? Alas! both probably sleeping tranquilly ; one in its mother’s arms; the other—in my carpet bag! Certain detection would await me if I pro- ceeded to London Bridge; for how could I hope to evade the searching eye of a mother? No- thing seemed left for it but a speedy exit; but that was denied me, for no passengers were allowed to alight at the point we stopped at: and, again, with a drooping heart, I was in motion. Moments seem minutes, and minutes hours, for the next few melancholy miles. I never felt terror at being alone before ; but now, the misery of loneliness—worse than loneliness-- the consciousness of a lifeless presence over- whelmed me with horror, and a burning fever seemed to scorch every drop of blood in my shrinking veins ; then a cold sickness rendered me motionless, almost senseless, and an icy perspiration oozed from the roots of my hair and my very finger ends. I would have shrieked if only to break the blight of stillness by hearing my own voice, but the power was denied me; and I sat in rigid agony with my aching, wide- stretched eyes rooted upon the now hateful tra- velling-bag, not daring to close them for an instant, lest some hideous spectre should emerge to denounce me as a murderer! In this state of lethargic fear I remained a passive sufferer until we arrived at another sta- tion, when my blood again circulated freely as the prospect of flight opened before me. While hastily gathering up my luggage, I was again almost prostrated by hearing uttered in a loud voice, “Any gentleman in this train with a baby?” I sank back into the seat in a state of abject fear. The question was repeated and re-repeated by the guard along the whole train, till it died away in the distance; but its echo sang in my brain in shrill and discordant notes. The carriage- door opened, and I sprang forward to leap out, when on the step confronting me stood the mother of the twins! The tide rushed back upon my heart, and my head throbbed as if it would burst. As J re- ceded, she advanced; I sank into a seat, she took the opposite one. Was it real or was it a spec-

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HOW I CAME TO DETEST BABIES. RAARAARAARARAAL ADL tre? The pressure of her hand reassured me, its possession, and who esteemed and prized it but only to render me in a still more pitiable state at the reflection that I again sat face to face with my fellow-voyager, with the travelling- bag between us! Again the engine snorted, we dashed on at full speed, and I felt as if I were hurrying on to perdition. The gentle tones of the unconscious mother grated on my ear in cruel discord. “You did not expect to see me here!” she exclaimed; ‘but I was so fearful of missing you in the crowd and bustle of the London terminus, that I explained my dilemma to the officials, and induced them to allow me to alight from the express train when it stopped for a supply of water. But you look pale; has any- thing happened ?” ‘Merely surprised at our sudden meeting,” I said, with difficulty. “*T am afraid you have suffered much incon- venience on my account,” she added. Inconvenience! After the terrible calamity and its consequences, how unutterably absurd the word sounded ! ‘But where is my child?” she added, after looking curiously around. The question smote me like a thunderbolt. She half rose, with painful anxiety depicted on her countenance, saying, * Surely nothing has happened! Where is my other child?” To attempt to parry the question would have been folly; better, then, that we should both be crushed at once by the reply. “* Madam,” I exclaimed, in a scarcely audible voice, * it is gone!” “Gone!” she cried; “oh! where—where is it?” Her question suggested a subterfuge; for. could I tell her the whole dreadful truth at once? Thus it is that one fault begets another ; and I added falsehood to mine by pretending that, as I held the little innocent to the window, it leaped from my arms. ** Impossible !”? she exclaimed, furiously ; ** you have made away with it !? **On my honor—on my soul !” I asseverated. * It is useless to deny it !”? she almost screamed, interrupting me. ‘ You must have learned my secret.” * Your secret?” ** Yes; but indeed my husband did not know of it.” ‘** Your husband not know of it! his?” . **No; he objected to it from the first; and I was about to convey it to one who had a right to 5* Was it not ; ; ! | | almost beyond anything. Oh! what shall Ido?” ‘Whatever mystery hangs about the case, I sympathise with you, madam, from my heart, at your sad loss,” I exclaimed; “and would give anything for the power of tranquillizing you.” “Restore it, then, for I know it is still in your possession ; or even,” she added, lowering her voice, as if she feared to be overheard— * even a part of it!” Her eyes were restless, and she appeared wandering. * Yes,” she continued, in a tone of dejection, **T will consent even to a great sacrifice. Take out the contents of the head: present them, if you are married, to your wife, in my name; but let me have the body.” “Be soothed, madam!” I cried, shuddering and recoiling ; for it seemed that her wits were leaving her. ‘Then more—take more!” she urged, fran- tically; “ what part you please! but let me have some little remains.” “Take all!? I cried, pointing to the carpet bag, and hiding my eyes. Presently I ventured to reopen them, and observed her hastily exposing its contents. Then, casting a look of suspicion upon me, she buried her nails in the face, and commenced tearing it open. I sprang up with the intention of leaping from the window, but my purpose was diverted by perceiving her draw from the head a quantity of lace. “It has not been tampered with,” she cried, delightedly. ‘* Then, sir, you are not a custom- house officer?” ‘A custom-house officer!’’ I repeated, in a state bordering on bewilderment. “Yes,” she replied; “I thought you were, when you first addressed me; but your frank manner reassured me until I missed the—baby /” *“*Then you are not the mother of twins ?” ** Never had but one in my life, sir.” ** And the other?” “Was a mere dummy; contrived to stow away smuggled lace in. Why, haven’t you found that out yet?” “Oh, madam!” I exclaimed, “I have suf- fered the pangs of a slayer of innocents for the last hour; and am now so happy that I could—— and I did—and never stopped to count them !” The mystery was one no longer. It appeared that my fair companion (who, by the by, was the wife of a reputable tradesman, and not an officer) was under some heavy obligation to a

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54 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, eee ae wealthy patroness, who was—like many folks, wealthy and poor—an admirer of nothing that was not difficult of attainment. Being about to make holiday with her husband, she had thought- lessly given a promise to smuggle over an in- conceivable number of yards of the rarest kind of lace, and was supplied with the money for the purpose. The husband set his face against it; but, at his wife’s earnest entreaty and pro- mise never to do so any more, he consented; and the ruse of the “twin” was resorted to as the least likely to create suspicion. The missing each other at the steamboat was a fact: and the young wife managed to play her part so ingeni- ously, by ringing the changes with the real and the dummy, that I could have sworn I heard | - NR eee them both crowing with equal vigor. The true one was, of course, my plaything on the steamer, and the false one my bane in the car- riage ;and it was the sight of a custom-house officer on the platform that made her pretend to have lost her reticule, and hide till the train was fairly in motion, when she knew all fear of detection was past. I should, perhaps, have forgotten the cireum- stance by this time, but for an unfortunate habit of dreaming; and, as this one incident is con- stantly being reproduced, with every variety of conceivable dilemma, I have made up my mind to enter a protest against any and every thing less than frocks and trousers; and that’s How I CAME TO DETEST BABIES. LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL.—MADEIRA. BY CORTEZ. Tue discovery of Madeira is attributed to quite a romantic cause. It seems that about the middle of the fourteenth century (Edward III. being King of England), one Robert Macham, a gentleman of respectability, but not of noble birth, fell in love with Anne Dorset, a young lady of high degree. She returned his love, but “ The course of true love never did run smooth,” and her relatives objected to the match. In those days folks didn’t stop for trifles: so Ma- cham was confined, and Anne Dorset was mar- ried to a wealthy nobleman, who took her to his residence at Bristol. Macham and his friends followed on their track. One of his friends, disguised as a groom, took service with the nobleman; and, after some delay, the lovers escaped to the seaside, and embarked in a vessel which had been kept in readiness for the pur- pose. They made sail for the coast of France ; but a storm arose which drove the vessel out of the Channel ; and for thirteen days they were driven about at the mercy of the wind and waves. On the fourteenth day they discovered land, which proved to be the island of Madeira. They went on shore, and wandered delighted over the place. The birds sang around and close to them; the animals, unaccustomed to the sight of man, came fearlessly about them; everything, in short, breathed of innocence and nature. But the third day a storm arose and raged over the island; and, when it had passed over, their vessel had disappeared. All their ; hope of escape being thus cut off, and Anne Dorset, attributing all their misfortune to herself, and completely horror-stricken by this final mishap, died in a few days. “ Lady Nancy she died, as it might be to-day ; Lord Lovel he died to-morrow.” So says the well-known pathetic ballad which describes the tragical deaths of Lord Lovel and Lady Nancy Bell; and, of course, Robert Ma- cham did likewise. He died five days after his *ladye love,” and they were buried under the same tree. Their companions left the island in the ves- sel’s boat, which had been saved, and were wrecked on the coast of Morocco, where Mo- rales, a Spanish pilot, learned their discovery from them, and, on his return to Castile, com- municated the facts to King Henry II., who sent an expedition which re-discovered and claimed the island for Spain. Of its subsequent history, and how it became the property of Por- tugal, it is not necessary here to speak. The island is one mass of mountain rising to the highest summits in the centre; descending, on the north, to a range of lofty cliffs, bounded by the ocean; and to a lower and gentler cha- racter of coast on the south. The jagged out- line of the ridge, the rudely shaped, tower-like rocks, and numerous pyramidal shapes, are striking features in the mountain. Throughout, the island is riven with deep ravines and gorges, forming many valleys radiating to the sea.

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LEAVES FROM MY JOURNAL.—MADEIRA. —— eee ~ The cultivation is confined to the coast, or to the bottoms of some of the valleys, and occupies altogether a small proportion of the surface. The cultivation of the vine forms, of course, the principal feature. A little corn is grown; not more than enough for two months’ con- sumption of the inhabitants. The immense quantity of flowers on all sides must strike all strangers with surprise. Go where you will, even to the tops of the mount- ain, and everywhere you find a gorgeous profu- sion of flowery beauty which cannot be surpassed. Many of the flowers, too, are of kinds which with us are seen only in greenhouses, and are highly prized by us in consequence. Here the catile eat geraniums of the choicest kinds, and the beef and milk are thought by many to have the flavor of the plant; the honey actually has it. Myrtle, rose, violet, everything is here to charm the eye with floral beauty. Fruits are equally plentiful. Everything seems to grow here; as by following the rise of the mountain great varieties of climate and tem- perature can be obtained. In our worthy consul’s garden I saw the fol- lowing trees growing in close proximity: Fig, coffee, olive, banana, orange, lemon, mango, peach, cocoanut, magnolia, cherimoya, and others more common; also a curious tree called du- rante, which has a short, knotted trunk run- ning up about five feet, and then branching off in all directions into a sort of vine, which has to be supported upon an arbor, and after a time forms a perfectly impenetrable mass of tangled vine. It has a flower a little like the heliotrope, and forms a most beautiful bower. The town of Funchal has no particular merit to recommend it. It is picturesquely situated at the foot of the mountain, and its neat white houses with red tile roofs and countless turrets offer a pleasing contrast with the vine-clad hills, which present every variety of shade of green, and upon which are scattered the villas of the wealthier inhabitants. The town itself is clean, and is kept so by the streams of water which, descending from the mountain, pass through the streets. The most striking objects in connection with the town, as seen from the bay, are the Loo Rock (which stands alone in the water, a few hundred feet from the shore, and has a very volcanic appearance), and a tall brick pillar on the beach, which was erected by a cracked indi- vidual for the purpose of unloading boats out- side the surf, by means of a gigantic crane which was to be placed on the top of the pillar. It never was, though, and the pillar has never been % 5 ; ? 55 finished, and stands a monument of folly. It might be used as the tower of a light-house, but that would call for more energy than the au- thorities possess. Wherever Portugal has sway, idieness and want of enterprise reign supreme. In going on shore, the ship’s boats have to stop outside the surf, which sometimes runs very high upon the beach; and small boats, built for the purpose, come from shore and take you in. Sometimes you are drenched with water, and sometimes (though not often) cap- sized in the surf. You get ashore at last, how- ever, and are at once surrounded by beggars in filth and rags, who offer to your notice every variety of disgusting sores and deformities. Their name is Legion; and it requires a struggle to get by them. It is impossible to give to any, for the others would never quit you; and, as begging is a trade with them, one has not much trouble in abstaining from acts of charity. You get away from them at last, and, crossing the beach, enter a very pretty street, shaded on both sides by luxuriant trees, and with a stream of water pouring down the centre. You begin to admire its beauty, but are at once surrounded by a crowd of men and boys, who have, by some mysterious telegraphic communication, been made aware of your landing, and who have, each of them, a horse which they insist upon your hiring. You are almost put upon one against your inclination. They rush madly up and down the street, screaming at the top of their voices, and it requires all your eyes to avoid being run over. You may ride a fine horse for a very small sum, and the owner goes with you on foot, and you cannot ride away from him. The roads being mostly up and down hill, he holds on to the horse’s tail half the time; and, at the end of your ride, the man is at your side ready to receive his horse and pay. Twenty miles will make no difference: your man keeps up with you, and never seems tired. The needlework of Madeira (shawls, mats, tidies, &e.) is very beautiful, and is offered to you in abundance, and at prices which seem absurd. Work which must have occupied seve- ral weeks’ constant labor selling for two or three dollars only. However, a dollar goes a great way in nearly all countries but ours, and espe- cially where the people live much upon fruits which can almost be had for the picking. The men here wear comical little cloth caps like inverted funnels, and it is remarkable how they can keep them on, for they merely sit upon the top of the head.

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56 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. The churches of Madeira are not worth either visit or description, except the church of Nossa Senhora del Monte (our Lady of the Mount) which is on the side of the mountain, at an ele- vation of two thousand feet, and one of the most conspicuous objects from the bay. How- ever, when you arrive there, you find nothing to see except the scenery, of which a splendid view is obtained from the plateau in front of the church. The great charm of Madeira (after its un- equalled climate) consists in the hospitality of its inhabitants both foreign and native. There is probably no place in the world where a more open-hearted, generous hospitality can be found ; and the visitor who goes there with proper in- troductions will have more good dinners to eat, and more good wine to drink than he, perhaps, ever had in his life before. What Madeira! We talk here of our fine old ae ~~ wines; but we never had any such as can be met at some private houses on the island. There are no carriages in Madeira. They could not be used to any extent, as the streets are nearly all up hill, and very steep. Palan- quins are very generally used by both male and female; and very comfortable they are, too; carried by two men whose regular step prevents any disagreeable jolting. One reclines in his palanquin, and enjoys a large share of the ofium cum dignitate while going out in the heat of the day, and up hill to a dinner party. They are made, generally, of wicker-work ; have acushion extending the whole length, with a back piece and arms; and acurtain which can be pulled over the whole length to protect you from the sun. There are several excellent hotels in Madcira, where the fare is abundant and govd, and the prices moderate. HIAWATHA POETRY IN In an article on “ Education in the Sandwich Islands,” in the “ Penny Magazine” of June 9, 1838, the following passage occurs :— ** The compiler of the Hawaiian grammar, in an essay on the language, gives a view of the difficulties he has found in his progress. The principal ones are the want of documents as au- thorities and examples, the great vagueness and diversity of the forms of speech in different places, and even in different individuals in the same place; the unskilfulness of the natives who are appealed to as guides, and their dispo- sition to accommodate their language to the idioms and ignorance of the persons they con- verse with. The best authorities are found to be the letters of chicfs written to each other, the laws or charges delivered to the people, and the addresses of the people to their chiefs. In all these documents the best language would naturally be chosen, and there would be no temptation to use foreign words or idioms, which they are so apt to slide into. Perhaps one of the best guides would be the ancient national poetry of the islands, wifich is very copious, and frequently recited: much of this has been written, and we have seen some speci- mens which evince considerable spirit and feel- ing. Weshall conclude this article with a literal translation of a short piece on the creation of the island of Owhyhee. THE SANDWICH ISLANDS. * Born was the island; It budded, sprang up, it increased, blossoined, and ex- panded ; It blossomed on the top, it became Owhyhee. Owhyhee became an island; The land was loose, Owhyhee trembled ; It waved in the air, the earth waved, By Akea it was fixed; Fast by the roots the island and the earth was fixed, Fast in the air, by the right hand of Akea, Fast was Owhyhee fixed. Owhyhee became an island.” This scrap of Sandwich Island poetry seems very much like an imitation of Hiawatha, al- though it was translated literally from the lan- guage of the natives, some seventeen years before Hiawatha was written. Does this cir- cumstance, and the resemblance of the new poem to certain productions of ancient Swedish and other northern poets, detract, in the least, from the merits of Mr. Longfellow’s production ? We say No! It rather proves that the accom- plished American poet has seized upon the identical form, as well as the spirit, in which all savage nations express themselves in their ear- liest attempts at poetry, whether they live in the sunny isles of the Pacific, or the frozen regions of Scandinavia. It proves that Hia- watha is exactly what it professes to be—the poetry of savage life.

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MRS. PEABODY AND THE SCHOTTISCH. BY ALICE GREY. Mrs. Peasopy was a lady residing in the , the schottisch. Her ideas then were set to music country, at some distance from the great city of Gotham. She was very unsophisticated ; indeed she would have been called “ rather verdant” by those au fait to the proceedings of fashionable life. However, this good lady had a daughter who was a parlor-boarder at a large school in New York, and last winter came to town to see her. During her stay, she made her home at the house of a distant relative, with whom her daughter often spent her holidays. Richly did she enjoy her visit. She saw all the lions of the city, attended every panorama there was to be found, went to Niblo’s to see Mademoiselle Loyo ride, to Barnum’s Museum to see the Chinese family, listened faithfully to a whole Italian opera, and cried “delightful” when it was finished, albeit she was inwardly wondering what the people could see in it so mighty fine. She ate oysters and ice-cream at Thomson’s, partook to the full of the peculiarly female enjoyment of shopping, and promenaded Broad- way to her heart’s content. But the crowning wonder of all was yet to come. “T intend, my dear Mrs. Peabody,” said her hostess one morning, “to give a small party while youare here. You do not think of leaving us before next week, I trust.” J ** No, Mrs. Peabody hoped not,” congratulating herself meanwhile upon the opportunity of seeing a little of up-town aristocracy. In the buoyancy of her heart, she went down to Stewart’s, and bought her daughter Ellen a new dress for the occasion—happily, however, guided in her selection by Mrs. Taylor’s taste. Mrs. Peabody was not sufficiently rustic to suppose that knitting-work would form part of the amusement of the company, or to expect the refreshment of tea, either black or green; but still we must confess that her anticipations of the evening’s entertainment were rather be- hind the age. Not so those of her daughter. When the young lady was placed at school, her parents had given orders that no pains should be spared regarding accomplishments; conse- quently, dancing, in all the fashionable varieties of propinquity, had not been neglected. She adored the Polka, was fond of exhibiting a pretty foot and ankle in the Bolero, and was an adept in as she arrayed herself that eventful night. Long before she had adjusted to her satisfaction the Grecian knot into which her tresses. were gathered, her mother’s preparations were com- pleted. Disregarding her daughter's warning that nothing would be ready so early, she descended to the parlors. What was her astonishment to find not a creature there, and the gas not yet turned on! Making her way to a side bracket which was burning dimly, she looked at her watch, and saw it was after nine. Thunderstruck at finding it so late, up ran the good lady to Mrs. Taylor’s door to see what could be the matter. Scarcely waiting to knock, she flew impetuously into the room, nearly frightening her hostess out of her senses. Quite relieved when she found her errand, Mrs. Taylor laughingly assured her “‘ there was time enough ; the company would be there soon,” and returned to her occupation of fastening some marabout feathers in her hair. “Well,” thought Mrs. P., “I wonder when they mean to go away, if they come so late. However, if they are not here yet, I’ll have time to go and put Ellen in mind of bringing down her music. They’ll want her to play to- night, I know, and I’m not going to have her re- fuse, after taking lessons of Mr. Yerinn so long.” “ Why, ma,” said Miss Ellen, when her mother entered, telling her for goodness sake not to forget her music, “ they won’t want me to play to-night. They’ll have a musician, I suppose— perhaps a band.” ‘You don’t mean that no one will ask you to play? Mrs. Taylor certainly will.” ** Why no, indeed, ma.” * Then when, in the name of wonder, are you to play, if not in company? Do you suppose I lay out so much money on your music just for you to be able to play to your father and me at home ?”” ** No, certainly ; but young ladies very seldom play in parties where there’s dancing; only at musical sowrées.” ‘*¢ Only at musical soiries !” repeated Mrs. Pea- body and after standing a moment she left the room. It was nearer ten than nine before even the firet 57

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58 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. instalment of Mrs. Taylor’s “ few friends” were assembled in the glittering rooms. ‘Her definition of a few must be different from the Bible one,” said Mrs. Peabody to her- self, “ for I’m sure there is five times as many here already.” The first hour passed without Mrs. Peabody’s making any further mistake than asking a lady, who appeared in a splendid white crape shawl, if “she had not better throw off her shawl,” adding, “‘ that she would send it to the dressing- room if she wished ;” and calling Mrs. ‘Taylor’s eldest daughter Jane instead of Jenny, before one of her most fashionable beaux—not know- ing that since Jenny Lind’s début there are no more Jane’s in New York. At length the music struck up, and dancing commenced. Mrs. Peabody had a good position for observing the dances, and her daughter was seated by her side. The fair country girl attracted much attention, but she did not dance, not liking to leave her mother so soon. Mrs. P. was entirely engrossed by the scene before her. When the first couple began to Polka, she opened her eyes very widely ; but she soon said to herself, ““Of course they are brother and sister, or engaged, perhaps married.” But, as she saw one after another follow on, and at last Miss Taylor herself place her hand on the shoulder of a gentleman whom she knew was no relation whatever, and join the dances, her horrified astonishment exceeded all bounds. “Dreadful, dreadful! And did Mr. Taylor actually sanction such improprieties !” After a time there was a pause, and during the interval Miss Taylor approached with a moustached stranger, and presented him to her daughter. Soon another stream rang through the rooms, and while Mrs. Peabody was thinking ** Here comes more of this disgraceful exhibition,” the gentleman carelessly murmured something she did not hear, and extended his arm. Ellen rose, and the stranger, encircling her waist, whirled her away to the music of the fascinating Schottisch. Her daughter, yes, it was her own daughter that that impertinent man was whirling round the room in that style! And her own daughter that so coolly and quietly permitted such a liberty! Had Ellen no delicacy, no sense of pro- priety left? This had never entered her thoughts, even as she watched the others, that her own daughter could be made a partaker in such an improper exhibition. And how dared the man do such a thing? to take her from her very side, right before her eyes! Suddenly recovering her powers of speech and locomotion, Mrs, Peabody darted across the room, and seizing Ellen by the arm in the midst of a graceful balancé, exclaimed, ** Let go of my daughter, sir!” The astonished gentleman almost uncon- sciously retained his hold, not certain whether it was not a crazy woman who was addressing him. Mrs. Peabody then grasped his arm and shook it violently, repeating, “Let go of my daughter, sir, instantly; I will not have this. She shall not disgrace herself, if others do.” The tone and manner immediately attracted every one’s attention. The poor man, frightened almost to death, made a sudden retreat from Ellen as if she had been a serpent. Mrs. P. was left alone with her daughter in the centre of the room, all eyes fixed upon them. How fervently did poor Ellen pray that some accident would happen at the gas-works, and leave the company in total darkness! But no; the dia- monds, real and imitation, sent back the light as dazzlingly as ever—no earthquake came to her relief—the floor would not open and let her sink through, and she at last rushed sobbing from the room, deep mortification and disappointment struggling in her breast. Her mother stood still, fanning with renewed zeal, her eyes glowing with “ righteous indig- nation.”” All was confusion in those brilliant rooms. Some of the ladies, thinking it a good opportunity to show off sweet sensibility, made demonstrations of fainting—several got up a small edition of a scream—scent bottles were drawn forth, and eye-glasses put in requisition. In a few moments there was a real uproar. No one understood Mrs. Peabody. Among the re- fined and fastidious fashionables of New York there assembled, not one comprehended her feel- ings. Astonishment, fright, and sarcasm, were the only emotions excited. Never before had those frescoed walls witnessed such a scene. Mrs. Taylor made great exertions to calm her excited guests, and things were at last restored to their old train. Mrs. Peabody had seen some of the fashion- able amusements of New York. She had seen fashionable dancing for the first, and she hoped for the last time. She left the city, laying her positive and solemn commands upon her daugh- ter never again to be guilty of the glaring impro priety of dancing any of the fashionable dances.. Among the guests at Mrs. Taylor’s party the scene which she caused—an anomaly in the history of fashionable life—was long remem- bered; and Mrs. PeEasopy AND THE ScnorT- TIscH was long a byword among-them.

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THE SPRING-TIME OF LIFE. 59 **TWERE SWEET TO THINK THAT THIS MAY BE.” % BY NORMAN W. BRIDGE. (Inscribed to my friends.) On, shall I find a quiet grave By some lone stream of cadence sweet, Where in a nook or eddying wave The swan might anchér her young fleet ’Twere sweet to think that this may be When glowing Pheebus loiters, As prow-curved trains so gracefully Glide o’er sequestered waters. Will grasses rank, and flowerless weeds, Upon my humble mound be seen, Or grace and bloom, from floral seeds, On mossy turf with ivy screen? *Twere sweet to think that this may be When nature’s hand is wreathing In vernal robes each wood and lea, And winds soft prayers are breathing. Will bards with music in their wing More sigh-like sweet than harps of ours, Those lovers of the meads of spring— Oft kiss and fan my cottage flowers? ’Twere sweet to think that this may be When days are warm and sunny, And air-poised humming-bird and bee From rose-lips gather honey. Will lips that oft have pressed my own, And touched with me the spirit-lute, E’er breathe my name in pensive tone, When mine have long been cold and mute? ’Twere sweet to think that this may be When breast-like gales are sighing, O’er fading flowers in wood and lea, And leaves of autumn dying. Will loving eyes that mine hath met E’er for my presence fondly yearn, And shed warm tears of heart regret For what can never more return? ’Twere sweet to think that this may be When friends, the warmest hearted, Converse of smiles no more to see— Voices for aye departed. Will those that felt my heart-strings thrill In tones congenial with their own, Miss chords in life’s harmonic rill, When from its banks my soul has flown? *’T were sweet to think such things in store When lonely hearts are sighing For life on that celestial shore, Where friends are never-dying. As they have been a friend to me In sickness, sorrow, want, and pain, Will neighbors to my memory In coming years as true remain? ’Twere sweet to think this boon in store, When eyes, now bright, are faded, Fair brows with age are wrinkled o’er— Dark locks with silver shaded. Will those that shun the fatherless, While struggling with misfortune’s wave, With sighs recall their selfishness, When I no aid nor pity crave? t { ( ’T were sweet to think such things in store, When health for aye is blasted, The shaft draws near the bosom’s core, And life is almost wasted. As mourners round the flower-draped hearse, Where heart-pressed blossoms faded lie, Will life-warm friendships o’er my verse E’er pause, and muse, reglance, and sigh? ’Twere sweet to think that this may be, When in my numbers varied, Earth’s sweetest buds and flowers are seen Untimely crushed and buried. Will one now listening to my lyre, And noting cown the cadence here, When its last trembling notes expire, =’er hold the strain and lyrist dear? ’Twere sweet to think this boon in store, When she, I fancy, hearest The bard his heart in song out-pour On earthly laurels dearest. *Twere sweet such poesy to weave As charms a nation’s ear and heart, Unfading bloom and fragrance leave Around our name when we depart: To give the harp, in our last lay, Vibrations dying never, To swan-like sing and float for aye Our poet-winding river. But shrine to me were sweeter far In nature's tye, and voice, and book— The smile of sun, and moon, and star, The hymn of wind, bough, bird, and brook : The heaven-writ verse on leaf and flower, In volumes published yearly, Or one sweet soul in friendship’s bower, Heart worshipped long and dearly. THE SPRING-TIME OF LIFE, BY H. B. B. Ge BEAUTIFUL is spring—cheerful, bright spring, Enlivening scenery; mild, pleasant weather— The face of creation, each created thing, To praise the Creator, uniting together. Inspiring season! Buds, leaflets, and flowers, Emitting their fragrance, their beauties display. ’Midst the groves, in green fields, on the vine- covered bowers, Are the little wing’d psalmists, thanksgiving all day. Released from stern winter’s icy embraces The rivulets, limpid, resuming their motion ; In their transparent waters, the merry-finned races, Now gladden’d with joy, show sportive devotion. Have we duly reflected on life’s fleeting stream? Of eternity’s ocean, to which it is taken? Life’s time to eternity is but a dream ! Life ’s only a dream from which all must awaken. Oh! if life’s but a dream, ’tis the time set apart, When the soul must insure eternal salvation ; And the spring-time of life, the time when the heart, Young, hopeful, and ardent, should make preparation.

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60 eee nen . —— GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. TO EMMA. BY ADA L—. SwEET sister, when your soft eyes bend In pensive sadness, o’er these lines; Let fancy, fondest mem’ries blend Of by-gone times. When hope’s bright bow of promise cast Delusive hues, o’er childhood’s hours ; They steal like odors from the past, Or breath of flowers. Some youthful trusts which brightly glowed, Have perished in their hours of birth; While undreamed joys from love have flowed To brighten earth. Forever like a star of light Thou hast, my sister, been to me; And when I would see all look bright, I turn to thee. Nor have I ever turned in vain To see with love, thy fair face shine; It half-robb’d sorrow of its pain, That voice of thine. And oft it cheers my heart to know, Where’er I be, that prayers of thine Nightly, from pure lips warmly flow, For weal of mine. Loved sister, hear my wish for thee, Good angels guard thee from al! care, And oh! may we though parted be, A heaven share. CARMINA LAUDIS. BY ANNA M. D. M’coy. How dear to me those songs divine, That from my infancy I’ve heard! Sweet memories cluster round each line And sacred peace tlows from each word. “Alike when blessings fill my cup, Or when I feel the chastening rod. That song shall still inspire my hope Of “ all thy mercies, O my God.” Should, one by one, my dear loved friends Forget, or act a treacherous part— Sing, for sweet peace sad music lends, * Give me a calm, a thankful heart.” And when my heart its coldness mourns, Its vile ingratitude to God— Sing, till with holy zeal it burns, Of that blest “ fountain filled with blood.” If, lured by folly’s glittering snare, I, careless, tread the downward road, Sing, till my soul joins in the prayer, * Oh for a closer walk with God!” When standing by the graves of those Whose love we prized, whose loss we weep— Sing of their calm, their sweet repose, * Asleep in Jesus! blessed sleep !”” en tn ens porn PR nnn nn een nn ne ee DLA PEED And when my dying hour shall come, Sing to me, o’er and o’er again, Of that bright “land” beyond the tomb, “* Where rests no shadow, falls no stain.® Then may I hear the angel’s song, And, sweeter still, my Saviour’s voice Welcome me, with the ransomed throng, To share in heaven’s eternal joys. LOVE’S DOINGS. BY 8. E. W. TRADITION saith in days of eld, The world was in its prime; Ere passion’s stain with varied hue, Had spread through every clime. The earth was ornamented then By what was sweet and bright; And purity so dwelt in all, That roses e’en were white. The cheek of beauty ever fair, Was moulded smooth and round, No little witching dimples e’en Upon it could be found. But on a soft and sunny day, The flowers fell asleep; Just then a roguish little bark, Came dancing o’er the deep. Its silken sails were swelling high, With soft and balmy air; And entering the Ganges broad, It left its cargo there. A boy with bow and quiver light, Was all the wealth it bore, A tender, winning, loving child, As ever graced that shore. He sprang upon the earth with air, And step so light and free, The zephyrs sighed to know who The agile youth could be. But straight he hied to mossy dell, Where roses blow and twine, And thrust his pretty, curly head In webs of eglantine. There, ’neath the bloom on mossy bed, A maiden lay in dreams, As purely fair as lilies are, That kiss the purling streams. This sportive urchin—daring boy, On frolic always bound— Upon her cheek his finger press'd, And left a dimple round. This novel little mischief done, He laughed in merry bliss, And from the fair unconscious one He stole a quiet kiss; When, lo! her snowy, dimpled cheek Was crimsoned by a flush, That shed its hue upon the flowers, And gave the rose its blush.

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SONNET. 61 PPL PIPPIN Write, said a dying friend, upon my gravestone, “THEY SHALL HUNGER NO MORE.” BY FANNY FALES. WEARY, and sick, and sad, Tossing the long days on a bed of pain One dream I have, one yearning all in vain, Even as Kizpah had. Around my dying brow, Through close-drawn blinds the summer zephyr blows, Laden with winged song, perfume of the rose— I scarcely heed it now. Oft as I sink to sleep, In dreams I feast on viands spread around, ’Till, startled by a shadow, or a sound, I wake, sometimes to weep. I with beloved ones nigh, And the board bountiful! ’tis God’s decree— They cannot aid, but oh, they grieve fur me, Grieve that I suffer—die. Peace, peace! a little while, And my slow feet will reach the blessed shore, Where none can thirst, or hunger ever more; Friends, dear ones, with a smile Write it upon my grave; And when ye come with flowers. st morn or eve, Read, thanking God, nor for a moment grieve That e’en love could not save. They hunger there no more. Hunger for bread, with famished lips and eyes— Hunger for love, that as we fullow flies— Hunger for hopes, all o’er. They hunger there no more. Hunger for joys we ne’er can taste again— Hunger for solace of a little pain— Hunger no more—no more. Joy, joy! no more, no more. Oh, starving heart, take comfort on your way ; Oh, fainting heart, but watch, and wait, and pray, They hunger there no more, Ay, write it when I die Upon my gravestone; sufferings below Are trifles to the rapture I shall know With Christ, the Lamb, on high. My slow feet near the shore— I will be patient, and await God’s will; And friends, though grieving, read this, and be still, They hunger there no more. THE MANIAC’S SONG. BY A STRAY WAIF. * Not lost! not lost! we shall meet again Where love exults in eternal spring : And our spirits, freed from earthly stain, Repose secure ’neath the angel wing. No more, oh joy! will the parting grief Fall on our hearts with its with’ring power, As bitter winds shrivell’d flower and leaf, That clust’ring clung to our desolate bower.” *Twas ever thus the poor maniac sung, Wand’ring around each love-hallowed scene ; A shattered bark whose anchor still clung To the shore where her life-wreck had been. VOL. Lin.—6 Through summer heat, and the wintry blast, Though hunger pinched and her feet were bare, With woful smile on her way she passed, Singing her plaintive, yet hopeful air: * Not lost, beloved! we shall meet once more, And smile at the pangs of our parting here; The flowers shall bloom like they bloomed before, As spring revives from the faded year. I do but wait till our Father’s call Bids me: scend from this home of clay, As the chrysalis breaks its prison thrall And flies to its flowery realms away.” The years rolled on, and the maniac bride Saw the Reaper still passing her by, Though youth was gleaned in its bloom and pride, And »ze gave the garner a full supply; The eye waxed dim, and her back was bent, And the life-stream moved sluggish and slow, Yet ’round her accustomed haunts she went Chanting her ditty of plaintive woe. TO ONE IN HEAVEN. BY EFFIE JOHNSON. I’ve been dreaming, sadly dreaming Of the bright and happy hours When thy smile was resting o’er me Like the sunlight o’er the flowers. And I feel thy hand’s soft pressure Thrilling all my heartstrings o’er, And I see thy dark eye beaming Gently on me as of yore. When the twilight shadows deepening, Tell us of the day’s decline, Still I hear thy soft voice whisper * Would a poet’s harp were mine!”’ To the night’s mysterious music Still in speechless awe I bow; Beam the same bright stars above me; But oh, dearest! where art thou? Far away among the angels Now a “ golden harp”’ is thine; Swiftly, swiftly speed the hours When thy resting-place be mine, SONNET.—TASSO. BY WM. ALEXANDER. How consecrated is the sod which holds Thy honored dust, O Tasso, crowned when dead! Now, lilies, violets fragrance round.thee shed, And laurels shadowing thy tomb, mine eye beholds— Intwined thy memory in the breasts . Of Italy’s proud daughters, for the love Thou, erst, didst to sweet Leonora bear, Thy tutelary angel. Innocent, She peacefully like dove, anigh thee reste, While to her dreaming spirit still appear The visions of the gulden evening spent, In thy dear company. Rest—rest in peace, For in Jerusalem above, content, Thou, now, may’st sing of thy own soul’s release,

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9 a ‘LITTLE DROPS OF DAY.’ BY HENRY T. HARRIS. * Pa!’ said a little boy of five summers, “ the stars, what are they? Are they not little drops of day?’ On! ever glorious stars of night, Heaven’s poetry divine, With what unchanging light and power Ye do forever shine! Do people, like unto us, dwell In your bright realms away? Or are ye, as the child has asked, But “ little drops of day?” We look up to thee when the night Your far-off homes reveals ; And softly, with a noiseless wing, The light upon us steals, And then with wonder long we gaze Upon each glorious ray, Until we think, like the sweet child, That ye are “ drops of dxy.” Yes, we are lost in wonder, while We contemplate the power That fixed you in your spheres, and bade You light the evening hour. Unchanged, unchanging, ever there, Far as the Milky Way; We wonder not the child has asked If ye are “ drops of day.”’ If man’s proud intellect were lost In studying such high themes; If poets fail to learn of them In their sweet twilight dreams ; How could a little child but ask, In his poetic way, If those bright worlds that hang vn high Are “ little drops of day?” Bright stars that pave the heaven’s blue dome With blazing gems of light, Who wreathest with a diadem The raven arch of night! Oh! ye are ever glorious, and The poet’s rhyme will say To that sweet poet-child, that ye Are “ little drops of day.” THE POOR MAN’S HOME. BY FINLEY JOHNSON. Tuey say that mine is a humble home, And they call me very poor; Yet are the prints of the fairies’ feet All o’er my sanded floor; And I hear sweet sounds of mirthfulness, That greet me at break of day; And the fairies bright come across my path Eré I start with my spade away. And when at eve I am safely housed, One fairy will slice my bread; And a little one will climb my knee, For a kiss ere she goes to bed. Then let them prate of their-houses rich, Of their jewels, and silver, and gold; I have what is better—fairies bright, Whose love is not to be sold. ~~ PPL PLL LLL LPL Lilt tent tomate tin tn tm tata PPP RRs GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Enigmas. ANSWERS TO CHARADES AND ENIGMAS IN JUNE NUMBER. 20. Knight-hood. 21. Mid-ship-man. 22. A note. 23. A bottle. 24. A pencil. CHARADES. 25. My /irst a failure may describe, Yet names what gallants prize ; My second dominates a tribe, My whole the wise despise. 26. My Jirsi in a sailing-ship ’s sure to abound; Both on her and yourself may my second be found; And yet I conceive, on connecting the two, ’Twill not be appropriate reckoned by you. ENIGMAS, 27. DooMmeED on cold water to exist, We should the sympathies enlist Of fellow-creatures all, Whose enviable lot may be To live on earth in luxury, With water at their call. 28. Ir but my origin you’ll trace, You’ll wonder I ’ve so fair a face; For you ’ll detect (but spare your scorn) A dirty ragamuffin born. Yet, spite of my mean pedigree, You favor, trust, and honor me With what your heart must hold most dear ; And deem my confidence sincere. Then I your high regard maintain By valued services, that gain Fresh estimation every day In many a fascinating way. I vastly aid, as you must find, To cheer and edify your mind. Your fortune frequently I hold ; And compensate the want of gold. With equal truth I may aver, I’m often love’s prime minister! Though sometimes I’m an instrument In causing you much discontent ; Withholding, it may be, from you What you may deem your rightful due. Then, too, in sin I largely share, And slander, lies, and scandal] bear (And carry, much to my disgrace, Upon a smooth seductive face). This praise, howe’er, to me belongs— My virtues far outweigh my wrongs ; For all good qualities are mine, And life’s best treasures I enshrine; Gems of inestimable price, Whose worth no money could suffice. Now obvious must be to your eyes The object I enigmatize.

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OUR PRACTICAL DRESS IN STRUCTOR. BOY’S DRESS. Tue dress we give this month is for a boy of four or five years of age. The body is made of velvet, generally blue or green, with narrow bands of black velvet, as shown in the engrav- ing. The trimming up the front is vandyked at the edge, with a plain piece of velvet of the same color, but of a lighter shade, laid under- neath, finished on the opposite side with narrow lace. velvet, with a scalloped velvet to match that on The skirt is white, with pressed vandyked | ! | ; | The buttons up the body placed underneath. the front may either be flat or ornamented bell buttons; if the latter, they should be gold and white. The ribbons on the shoulders and the tassel must match the color of the velvet. dress is the newest out this season, and looks extremely well either with or without white drawers. We give in our diagram all the parts, with their proper measurements in inches for the body and sleeve. 63 This *

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64 GODEY'’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. SLEEVE TRIMMING FOR BACK 4 Nes WORKING PATTERN. NAMES. 3 ‘i t!

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NOVELTIES FOR THE MONTH. 65 APLRAP PL PDL PLLA LAPP PPL PPP PPP PANIED awe’ wees ees ees NOVELTIES FOR THE MONTH. Fig. 1.—Style of arranging the hair fora young { party. A light Persian scarf, of azure and gold, lady, suitable for dinner or evening. The hair { twisted into the bandeaux behind, as seen in is divided into three parts on each side, leaving Fig. 3. Fig. 1. $ $ | 4 ; ; ‘ Fig. 4.—Where it falls gracefully upon the about 1 tity at the back. The first out an equal quantity a e bac 1¢@ stn roll is towards the forehead; the second is re- versed, and the third and heaviest follows the direction of the first. Fig. 2.— Shows the effect from the back of the head, where the remainder is turned flat over an ornamental twist comb, the top of which only is seen. The ends of the bandeaux are disposed Fig. 2. Fig. 5. in braids around it. For a young girl having a mass of hair to dispose of, nothing could be more simply elegant than the contour given to the head and throat by this disposition. Lace basque, or spencer, of black Brussels net, inser- tion, and edging. Fig. 3.—Headdress for a concert or evening 6* RRA Annnnnnnnsnnnnnnnn

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66 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, setting close to the face, and tied with a ribbon, bow, and strings. Fig. 6.—Canezon of lace, intended to be worn over a plain silk, with low undraped corsage. It consists of a berthé, chemisette, bretelles, and sleeves. The foundation is of plain net, on which are set insertions and edgings of Valen- ciennes. Knots of satin ribbon of some pretty shade on the sleeves, shoulders, and fastening the lappets of the bretelle at the waist. Fig. 7.—Jacket or basque, intended for morn- ing wear, also convenient and comfortable for travelling. It is made of plain cashmere de bége, mohair, or any other suitable material. A small lappel turns back from the throat, the space being filled by a cambric frill, with a nar- row lace edge. Plain sleeves turned back. Trimmed with narrow velvet, or flat silk braid. Sloping side pockets for gloves or handkerchief. Cambric undersleeves coming into a band at the wrist. Fig. 6.

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EMBROIDERY FOR A FLANNEL SKIRT. 67 PRPPAPL LPL PPL LPL AL ann oe A LADY’S WORK, OR CARRIAGE BAG. (See blue Plate in front of Book.) Materials.—Twelve skeins of black, three shades of scarlet, three shades of green, and three shades of puce Berlin wool; six skeins of each will be required. Wiru black make a chain twenty-two inches in length. Work three rows in double crochet with black, before commencing the pattern. Work on one side only, detaching the wool at the end of the row; and in working with two colors change the wool in the middle of the stitch. 1st pattern row (black and scarlet).—4 black, *, 2 scarlet, 2 black, 8 scarlet, 2 black; repeat from *, and finish with 4 black. 2d.—2 black, *, 2 scarlet, 2 black, 8 scarlet, 2 black; repeat from *, and finish with 2 black. 3d. (mid. scarlet).—4 black, *, 2 scarlet, 4 black, 4 scarlet, 4 black; repeat from *, and finish with 4 black. 4th. (lightest scarlet).—4 black, *, 2 scarlet, 2 black, 8 scarlet, 2 black; repeat from *, and finish with 4 black. 5th.—Like 4th. 6th.—Like 3d. 7th.—Like 2d. 8th.—Like Ist. This completes one pattern. Repeat the pat- tern with shades of green and black, and with puce and black, till there are two stripes worked with each color; then work a third scarlet, stripe, and finish with three rows of black. Fold and crochet the sides together, and work two rows round the top with black wool. Line with scarlet or green silk. Insert two or three nient bag for many purposes. | ; 2 $ Annem nnnnnnnnnnnrney small pockets in the inside, mount on a clasp about eleven inches wide, and ccver athick cord with black velvet for the handles. Our fair readers will find this a very useful and conve- CROCHET PURSE. EMBROIDERY FOR Ns A FLANNEL SKIRT. /

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68

NEW DESCRIPTION OF WORK. FOR TABLE COVERS, OTTOMANS, OR PILLOWS. (See Engraving in front of Book.) Materials required for working a table-cover one yard square, four lengths of the pattern for each side. A skein of each of the following Berlin wools: shaded pink (yellow and blue greens), brown, scarlet, purple, orange, gray, and blue. Also a few mixed seed-beads, and a yard of puce-colored cloth, or fine dark tweed. Directions ror Worx.—Copy the design on white tissue-paper, and tack it along the edge of your cloth ; strain the cloth on a frame, and thread a fine darning-needle with any old wool of one color. Fill up one side of each leaf, taking long stitches from the end to the top of the leaf. Fill the other side the same way, but with a contrast color, and then with a crochet-hook draw away the tissue-paper, and sew over one side of the leaf (working from the centre) with the shaded blue-green wool, taking the stitches shorter near the top. Break your shaded wools into lengths, so that when the last stitches are dark, the next may join in a dark part also. Work the other side of the leaf in the same manner, always being careful not to draw your wool too tightly, as that. gives the work a puckered appearance. For the lily use light shaded gray, and fill up the leaves as you do the green; then sew over from the centre. For the pistil, work with yellow-green. The stamens are formed of a row of beads, beginning with four gray glass, the next four white glass, and then five white chalk beads. For the anther, or top of the stamen, work eight gray glass beads across, and then one row over it of pale yellow chalk beads. To work the yellow

~ GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

rose, you fill in the leaves from the bottom, and sew over with the lightest part of the shaded orange, commencing the lower end of the petal with the darker shade, and work across instead of from the centre. For the stamens, stitch on yellow chalk beads, light and dark. The green leaves are filled as before directed ; but in work- ing over, you take four long stitches from the centre out, then shorter, then long again, to form the mitre of the rose-leaf; work in the dark part of the green, getting lighter towards the top of the leaf. For the fuchsia, use the medium shade of shaded crimson, and purple for the inner petals. For the stamens, work with pink silk, placing a white chalk bead at the end of each, and the leaves with yellow- green wool. ————__<e0eer — —- A BEAD NET FOR THE BACK OF THE HEAD.

CHILD'S SLIPPER IN EMBROIDERY.

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Tuts slipper is made of either soft kid leather or black velvet. The ornament upon it is worked in soft silk, in three or four colors, according to the taste of the worker, lined with flannel, and finished with a nice chenille edging.

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DOLL’S EMBROIDERED COLLAR. ~weens eenmnmnrrnnm A BRIOCHE, aan Tue brioche knitting-stitch is simply as fol- lows: bring the wool forward, slip one; knit two together. A brioche* is formed of sixteen straight nar- row stripes, and sixteen wide stripes which gradually decrease in width towards the top or centre of the cushion. It may be made in three thread fleecy or double German wool, with ivory or wooden pins, No. 19. Cast on 90 stitches, in black, for the narrow stripe, and knit two turns; then three turns in gold color, and two turns again in black. This completes the narrow stripe. The conical stripe is knitted as follows: knit two stitches, and turn; knit these two, and two more of the black and turn; continue this, taking each time two mere stitches of the black, until within two stitches of the top, and turn; the wool will now be at the bottom or wide * Socalled from its resemblance, in shape, to the well- known French cake of that name. een nent PO PPAR 69 AALRLA LA ~ part of the stripe. Commence again with the black as in former narrow stripe, knitting the two black stitches at the top. By a turn, we mean one row and back again. The colors for the conical stripe may be blue and drab, or any two, or four colors, which assort well together, or they may each be dif- ferent, thus: white, blue, scarlet, stone color, bright green, crimson, white, lilac, deep gold color, ruby, white buff, French blue, chrysophas green, and lilac. When the last conical stripe is finished, it is to be knitted to the first narrow stripe, and the brioche is to be made up with a stiff bottom of mill board, about eight inches in diameter, covered with cloth. ‘lhe top is drawn together, and fastened in the centre with a tuft of soft wool; but they are generally preferred with a cord and tassels, as represented in the engraving. It should be stuffed with down, or fine combed wool, ewer — CROCHET LETTERS. DOLL’S EMBROIDERED COLLAR. For the young folks. ay ee

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70 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PPP LPL LLL PPP PP BOOK-MARKER. To be worked on perforated card or paper. the ends of ribbon, of a size suited to the book it is to be used in. GUIPURE FLOUNCING. \

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EMBROIDERY FOR SILK OR MUSLIN. 71 PARRA Reeeemenm annem I OE Oe eG HANDKERCHIEF BORDER. To be worked in colored cotton. OO00000900 Oo O o O O 2 6 Oo ee) ® le) Q : 3 8 6 O & OOO) OOO O fe) 0 0 Booceniooscas ee 255. 790 © ete areh * jew’ cepaabat ~ Qoogmog 9 gooonco . 8 § g 9 OQ Oo O Oo O @ OCOO000006 3 8 Coo000 Q O O 5 XOOSCOOCOOOCO0O0D Gqo00000000 EMBROIDERY FOR SILK OR MUSLIN. "a OQo*

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BRAIDING PATTERN FOR DRESS.—EMBROIDERY. VoL. L111.—7 ‘SSAATWIS GNV SGNVA ASIAAHO UOT AUAGIOUANA —_ Be TOA NUULLIVd ONIGIVUA ‘SSANVd ASIKAHO UOT A ie EMBROIDERY FOR A CHEMISE BAND. ‘SSAUd 73

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74 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ————eeeeeeeeeeEeEeEeeEeEeeOeOeOeOeOeOeOeOeeEOeeEOeOSe eee EMBROIDERY FOR A GENTLEMAN’S CRAVAT. \ HANDKERCHIEF BORDER. To be worked in colored cotton.

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RECEIPTS. an a Receipts, Ve. DIRECTIONS FOR PRESERVING FRUITS. (First Article.) Our lady subscribers will, we are sure, not find fault with us when they find the whole of the receipt depart- . ment in this and the next number, and probably a part of the September, devoted entirely to receipts for pre- serving. A portion of them we published last year, but we have added many new ones. Besides, this year we have at least thirty thousand new readers, and to all, these receipts, the largest collection ever published, will be valuable. We had to adopt this course, or we could not have published the large number of useful receipts until the time for preserving had gone by. ARTHUR’s SELF-SEALING CANs.—We recommend these cans in preference to all others, from actual ex- perience. The following is their plan for preserving fruits, and an excellent one it is. Any person wanting these cans can find them at their manufactory, corner of Tenth and George Sts., Arthur, Burnham, & Co. Pracues.—It was found that peaches could readily be kept with very slight injury to their flavor. Those preserved by the process described below were certainly better, both in appearance and flavor, than any found in the market for sale, as these had evidently been heated a great deal more than was necessary. Directions.—Take the peaches, either just ripe or fully ripe—this does not matter. Pare them, and if you desire to preserve them whole, throw them into cold water, as they are pared, to prevent them from losing color. When everything is ready, place them in the can, adding merely as much sugar to each layer as is sufficient to render them palatable. Set the can in a vessel containing hot water, and allow it to remain in boiling water until the fruit becomes heated through. his will require, if a quart can be used, from twenty minutes to half an hour. The temperature required is about 160° F. But as few housekeepers have or use a bath thermometer, a very little experience will enable them to know the proper temperature without the use of this instrument. It is not possible to heat the con- tents of the can in this way above a temperature of 180°, unless the cover is fastened down, which is not necessary, but it is evident that it is desirable to sub- ject them to as little heat as possible. When heated sufficiently, seal at once, by heating the cover, and pressing at once firmly into place, and allowing a weight sufficient to keep down the cover to remain upon it until the cement hardens. The proper temperature of the lid is easily and conveniently ascertained by putting a piece of rosin about the size of a small pea, on the cover, when it is put upon the stove; as soon as the rosin melts, the cover is ready to be put in place. This pre- caution is necessary, as the solder, with which the parts of the lid are joined together, easily melts. It is not absolutely necessary to use sugar in this process, but, as it assists in the preservation of the fruits, they can be sealed at a lower temperature than if it is not used. As sugar is used to render the fruits palatable, there can be no objection to using it when preparing the fruit for family use, as it will, in any case, be necessary, and there is no reason why the sugar should not be used before the can is sealed, as atterwards. 75 PP LLL LLP LPP PPP Pa, If soft peaches are preferred, they should be cut up as if intended to be eaten with cream, and need not be put into water. When ready, they should be put into the cans and heated in the manner described above. It is not necessary to heat them in the can, but a larger quantity may be more conveniently heated together, and put into the cans or jars, while hot, and sealed. A flat stewpan, lined with porcelain, will be found well adapted to this purpose. It must, of course, not be placed directly over the fire, but in a vessel of water, which is set directly on the fire. By this means, soft peaches may readily and certainly be preserved for winter use, in such condition as scarcely to differ at all from the fresh peach, A most delicious dessert may thus be secured, much more readily and at less expense, and much more palatable, than the ordinary preserve. This method of preserving fresh peaches was fully tested during the last extremely warm summer, and may be fully relied upon. Another Way.—A lady of Philadelphia, whose peaches keep beautifully, and retain much of their delicious flavor, takes half a pound of sugar to each pound of peaches. The sugar is put into a preserving-kettle, with half a pint of water to every pound of sugar, heated and the surface skimmed. Into this syrup the peaches, after being pared, are placed and boiled ten minutes. The peaches are then put into the cans while hot, and immediately sealed up. Another Method.—Take firm ripe peaches, force out the seed, and fill with fine white sugar. Put in the sun, and allow to remain until they are partially dried, but not enough to injure materially the natural flavor. Pack closely into a can, and seal. Peaches prepared in this way are said to be very fine. The method has not been tested, and is only suggested to those who may be disposed to try it. Besides preserving peaches in the fresh state as de- scribed, it is desirable for some purposes to stew them, This may be done in the usual way, and if the fruit is at once placed in the cans or jars, and sealed while hot, it will keep unchanged for years. OTHER Frv1Ts.—There is scarcely a duubt that most, if not all, other fruits may be kept by following the method described for peaches. Strawberries and Raspberries contain so large a quan- tity of water in proportion to the pulp, that when heated in the way described for the peaches, they shrink a great deal, and lose their fine flavor to a considerable extent. But these fruits may be kept for winter use in much better condition than is the case when they are preserved with a large excess of sugar, as is common. STRAWBERRIES.—Take fine, large strawberries, as fresh as they can be obtained, and as free as possible Prepare a syrup with refined sugar, If a lump of the sugar from bruises. using as little water as possible. is wetted with water and placed over a slow fire, it will gradually dissolve, at a low heat; to this sugar may be gradually added, until a syrup is formed containing very little water. Then put the syrup into a flat vessel, lined with porcelain, and as soon as it is boiling hot, throw in the strawberries, allow them to remain from two to five minutes, take out with a strainer, and fill the jar, previously warmed by having been placed in hot water; add enough of the syrup to fill the apaces between the berries, and seal at once. It is probable that strawberries may be preserved in this way in the most desirable condition. It is suggested that a still better way of preparing the strawberries for sealing,

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76 will be to put with them as much sugar as is desirable, throw them intwu the vessel, after standing an hour, and allow to heat as quickly as possible. In this way they will probably not shrink so much as when the syrup is made tirst. If glass is used, the jars should be set in a dark place, as the strawberries will bleach; if tin is used, and it will answer perfectly for this purpose, this precaution is not necessary. For flavoring ice-cream and custards, the plan pursued by an old and skilful southern housekeeper is well worthy of attention. By this process, fine ripe straw- berries are taken and mashed with an equal quantity, by weight, of sugar—they are then put into jars or cans, the vessel placed in hot water, which is allowed to boil until the whole mass becomes heated; about twenty minutes will answer. The jar is then sealed, and put away for use. Raspberries may be treated in the same manner. CuHERRIES.—There are few persons who are not fond of pies made of this delicious fruit, but the enjoyment of this luxury is now usually confined to the very short time that this fruit is ripening. Nothing is more easy than to preserve them in such condition as always to be at hand fur this purpose. Let them simply be stewed with as much sugar as would be intended for present use for pies, and seal up, while hot, It is only necessary to keep them over used if they were in the tin cans. the fire long enough to allow them to become heated thoroughly, and to be sure that the sugar has pene- trated them. FRESH sTEWED Frvuits.—Plums, cherries, black- berries, peaches, pears, and all kinds of fruits, may be kept in these vessels if simply stewed as for the table. It will only be necessary to stew the fruit, adding the amount of sugar required to make it palatable; fill up the vessel with the hot fruit, and seal at once. REYBOLD’s PLAN FOR PRESERVING PEACHES.— Three and a half pounds of sugar, to one gallon of pump water; make a syrup, and let it get cold; fill the ean with fruit, and pour in the cold syrup; set the can in water and let it come to a boil, boil briskly for three minutes, and then seal. GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR PREsSERVING.—Perhaps at the present season a few general hints on preserving, for the use of a young housewife, may not be unaccept- able. Several of the directions may appear needless ; but there may be some inexperienced persons to whom they may be beneficial. 1. Let everything used for the purpose be clean and dry; especially bottles. 2. Never place a preserving-pan flat on the fire, as this will render the preserve liable to burn fo, as it is called; that is to say, to adhere closely to the metal, and then to burn; it should always rest on a trevet, or on the lower bar of the kitchen range. 3. After the sugar is added to them, stir the preserves gently at first, and without quitting them until they are done; this precau- more quickly towards the end, tion will prevent their being spoiled. 4. All preserves should be perfectly clear from the scum As it rises. 5. Fruit which is to be preserved in syrup must first be blanched or boiled gently, until it is sufficiently softened to absorb the sugar; and a thin syrup must be poured on it at first, or it will shrivel instead of remain- ing plump and becoming clear. Thus, if its weight of sugar is to be allowed, and boiled to a syrup, witha { ‘ GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. pint of water to the pound, only half the weight must be taken at first, and this must not be boiled with the water more than fifteen or twenty minutes at the com- mencement of the process. A part of the remaining sugar must be added every time the syrup is reboiled, unless it should be otherwise directed in the receipt. 6. To preserve both the true flavor and the color of fruit in jams and jellies, boil them rapidly until they are well reduced, before the sugar is added, and quickly afterwards; but do not allow them to become so much thickened that the sugar will not dissolve in them easily, and throw up its scum. In some seasons the juice is so much richer than in others that this effect takes place almost before one is aware of it; but the drop which adheres to the skimmer, when it is held up, will show the state it has reached. 7. Never use tin, iron, or pewter spoons or skimmers for preserves, as they will convert the color of red fruit into a dingy purple, and impart, besides, a very unplea- sant flavor. 8. When cheap jams or jellies are required, make them at once with loaf sugar, but use that which is well refined always for preserves in genera]. It is a false economy to purchase an inferior kind, as there is great waste from it in the quantity of scum which it throws up. 9. Pans of copper or bell-metal are the proper utensils When used, they must be scoured Tinned pans turn and destroy the A stewpan for preserving fruit. bright with sand. color of the fruit that 1s put into them. made of iron, coated with earthenware, is very nice for preserving. KETTLES FOR MAKING PRESERVES.—These should be broad, and not very deep, with a handle at each side; there should be a closely-fitting cover. To preserve in very small quantities, a small kettle is requisite. Jelly bags of fine cambric are as good as any; these may be made like a lady’s reticule, with a string by which to close the top, and suspend it whilst dripping. Straw- berries, raspberries, cherries, currants, or any other red fruit, should have double refined sugar, since with brown sugar the color of the fruit and that of the sugar com- bined make a dingy reddish-brown, which is not pleas- ing to the eye; neither will it answer for green fruit. Summer fruits require more care to keep than those done A cool dark closet is the best place to keep pre- Small glass jars, or wide-mouthed bottles, are The best white earthenware, Pint tumblers of later. serves. best for liquid preserves. or stone-china small jars, are good. common glass, vrearthenware pots, are proper for jel- lies, marmalade,orjam. Glass jars may first be covered with tissue-paper, and fastened against the jar with a little sugar boiled in water, and then tight-fitting tin covers put on. Glass buttles should first be corked tight, then dipped into coarse sealing wax melted. Jel- lies, jam, &c., may be secured by first pressing a piece of tissue-paper, fitting the top of the glass closely upon it; then wet another piece with sugar boiled to candy ; paste it over the top of the tumbler, and over that put a third piece; this will perfectly secure them. Large jars may be secured in the same manner, putting several pieces of tissue-paper, and securing them each sepa- rately with the melted sugar or candy; and over this a close-fitting cover may be put, or a bladder tied over; this last precaution is not necessary. Glass is best for keeping preserves, as it may then be examined without opening the jars. Should a thick mould appear on the tup of preserves, it must not be disturbed, as it is no

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er _ == | =— wv eS SS RECEIPTS, 77 evidence of spoiling, but will rather serve to keep them. Foam or frothiness is the sign of fermentation; and as soon as it is perceived, turn the preserves from the jar or pot into a preserving-kettle, and set it over a gentle fire; take off the skim or foam as it rises; when no more rises, take out the fruit with a skimmer, and, having washed the jar with cold water, and perfectly dried it at the fire, put in the fruit; give the syrup one more boil; skim it, and put it in a pitcher to settle; when nearly cold, pour it carefully over the fruit, leaving whatever sediment there may be at the bottom. When perfectly cold, cover them as at first. To Keep Preserves.—Apply the white of an egg, with a suitable brush, to a single thickness of white tissue-paper, with which cover the jars, overlapping the edges an inch or two. When dry, the whole will become as tight as a drum. To CLARIFY SUGAR FOR PRESERVING.—Put into a preserving-pan as many pounds of sugar as you wish; to each pound of sugar put half a pint of water, and the white of an egg to every four pounds; stir it together until the sugar is dissolved; then set it over a gentle fire; stir it occasionally, and take off the scum as it rises. After a few boilings-up, the sugar will rise so high as to run over the side of the pan; to prevent which, take it from the fire for a few minutes, when it will subside, and leave time for skimming. Repeat the skimming until a slight scum or foam only will rise; then take off the pan, lay a slightly wetted napkin over the basin, and then strain the sugar through it. Put the skimmings into a basin; when the sugar is clarified, rinse the skimmer and basin with a glass of cold water, and put it to the scum, and set it by for common pur- poses. To PRESERVE FRUITS WITHOUT SUGAR OR VINE- GAaR.—At a meeting of the Horticultural Society, Mr. Lovejoy, butler to J. Thorne, Esq., of Mawbey House, South Lambeth, obtained a medal for preserving dam- sons, greengage plums, gooseberries, rhubarb, cherries, black and red currants, raspberries, and mulberries—all without sugar or vinegar. The specimens exhibited were as piump and transparent as when first gathered. They were preserved as follows: Pick the fruit from the stalks; put them into the bottles. Put one drachm of alum into four gallons of boiling water; let it stand till it is cold; then fill the bottles with this liquor, bung them tight, put them into a copper of cold water and heat to 176 decrees ; and then tie them over with blad- der and seal them. PRESERVING FrurtT BY HERMETICALLY SEALING.— Mrs. Bateman gives the following directions in the “ Ohio Cultivator :”"— First, select good fresh fruits or vegetables; stale and fermented articles can never be preserved. Vege- tables decomposing quickly, such as green corn, green peas, asparagus, should be preserved within six hours after being picked, particularly in hot weather. Berries always within twenty-four hours. Peaches, quinces, pears, apples, should be pealed, and the seeds removed before preserving. Vegetables should be partially cooked first—such as eorn, peas, and tomatoes should be boiled a half hour; asparagus a quarter hour. To the vegetables, add a half pint of the water they are cooked in, to the quart. Fill the can with ripe fruit, adding, if desired, a little sugar—simply enough to render the fruit palatable, and get in a vessel of water (warm orcold). Let the water 7* : : : : | boil, and continue boiling until the fruit is well heated through—say for halfan hour. Direction has been given to simply let the water boil, but such direction is defec- tive, as at this time the fruit in the centre of the vessel will be scarcely warmed. Should the vessel be then sealed, fermentation will take place. The heat must thoroughly penetrate the contents of the vessel. As soon as the fruit is sufficiently heated, seal the can, and the work is done. Another way is to make a syrup of two pounds of sugar for every six pounds of fruit, using half a pint of water for every pound of sugar. Skim the syrup as soon as it boils, and then put in your fruit, and let it boil ten minutes. Fill the cans, and seal up hot. Some make a syrup of half a pound of sugar to every pound of fruit—and some use only a quarter of a pound of sugar to a pound of fruit—while some use no sugar at all. To keep peaches, pare and cut them up. If thrown into cold water, they will retain their firmness and color. Heat them in the cans as above—or boil them ten minutes in a syrup. In this way, strawberries, raspberries, cherries, plums, peaches, &c. &e., may be kept for any length of time, in the same condition that they were sealed up, with their flavor unchanged. For small fruit, it is best to make a syrup without water, and boil the fruit in it for only a few minutes. Tomatoes should be boiled and the skins taken off, and then placed in a kettle and brought to a boil, and kepl so while filling the cans. —_— STRAWBERRY JAM, OR MARMALADE.—Pick ripe strawberries free from every hull; put three-quarters of a pound of sugar for every pound of fruit; crush them together to a smooth mass; then put it in a pre- serving-kettle over a gentle fire; stir it with a wooden or silver spoon until it is jelly-like and thick; let it do slowly for some time, then try some on a plate; if, when cold, it is like jelly, it is enough. Put it in small jars or tumblers, and secure as directed. Currant-juice, with a pound of sugar to a pint, to four or five pounds of strawberries, and the required quantify of sugar, makes the jam very nice. Half a pound of sugar for each pound of fruit will make very fine jam, or marma- lade, which is the same, cooked until it is very thick, and reduced ; take care that it does not burn, To PRESERVE STRAWBERRIES WHOLE.—Another excellent way is to make the syrup boiling hot; and having picked fine large strawberries free from hulls (or, if preferred, leave them and half an inch of the stem on), pour it over them; let it remain until the next day, then drain it off, and boil again; return it hot to the fruit; let them remain for another night; then put them into the kettle, and boil gently for half an hour; cut one in two; if it is done through, take them from the syrup with a skimmer, and spread them on flat dishes to cool; boil the syrup until thick and rich; then put the fruit into glass jars; let the syrup cool and settle; then pour it carefully off from the sediment over the fruit. STRAWBERRIES STEWED FOR TARTS.—Make a syrup of one pound of sugar and a teacup of water; add a little white of eggs; let it boil, and skim it until only a foam rises; then put in a quart of berries f-ee from stems and hulls; let them boil till they look clear, and the syrup is quite thick. Finish as directed fur tarts, with fine puff paste.

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78 GODEY’S STRAWBERRIES PRESERVED.—Strawberries for bot- tling or preserving, except for jam, should be ripe, but not in the least soft. Make a syrup of a pound of sugar for each pound of fruit. The sugar should be double- refined, although refired sugar does very well; the only difference is in the color of the preserve, which is not so brilliant as when done with the other than crushed or loaf-sugar. To each pound of sugar put a teacup of water; set it over a gentle fire, and stir it until it is all dissolved; when boiling hot, put in the fruit, having picked off every hull and imperfect berry; let them bvil very gently in a covered kettle until, by cutting one open, you find it cooked through. That will be known by its having the same color throughout. Take them from the syrup with a skimmer, and spread them on flat dishes, and let them remain until cold; boil the syrup until quite thick; then let it cool and settle; put the fruit into jars or pots, and strain or pour the syrup earefully over, leaving the sediment, which wiil be at the bottom of the pitcher. The next day, cover with several papers wet with sugar boiled to candy; set them in a cool, airy place. Strawberries keep perfectly well made with seven pounds of sugar to ten of fruit; they should be done as directed above, and the syrup cooled quite thick. A pint of red currant juice and a pound of sugar for it, to the pound of strawberries, make this syrup very beautiful. To PRESERVE STRAWBERRIES OR RASPBERRIES, FoR CREAMS OR ICES, WITHOUT BOILING.—Let the fruit be gathered in the middle of a warm day, in very dry weather; strip it from the stalks directly, weigh it, turn it into a bow! or deep pan, and bruise it gently; mix with an equal weight of fine dry sifted sugar, and put it immediately into small, wide-necked bottles; cork these firmly without delay, and tie bladders over the tops. Keep them in a cool place, or the fruit will ferment. The mixture should be stirred softly, and only just sufficiently to blend the sugar and the fruit. The bottles must be perfectly dry, and the bladders, after having cleaned in the usual way, and allowed to become nearly 80, should be muvoistened with @ little spirit on the side which is to be next to the been cork. To PRESERVE STRAWBERRIES.—Tc two pounds of fine large strawberries add two pounds of powdered sugar, and put them in a preserving-kettle, over a slow fire, till the sugar is melted; then boil them precisely twenty minutes, as fast as possible; have ready a number of small jars, and put the fruit in boiling hot. Cork and seal the jars immediately, and keep them through the summer in a culd dry cellar. The jars must be heated before the hot fruit is poured in, other- wise they will break. RASPBERRIES.— These may be preserved wet, bottled, or made jam or marmalade of, the same as strawber- Raspberries are very good dried in the sun or in They are very delicious stewed for table ries. a warm oven. er tarts. To Preserve RASPBERRIES WHOLE.—Take five quarts of raspberries, and cull from them about three pints of the largest and firmest,and set them aside; put the remainder in the preserving-pan, and put them on the fire to extract the juice. When they are boiled enough, let them cvol, and then strain them through a eloth. While they are cooling, boil up the sugar in the proportion of one pound to one quart of the fruit, and when you have removed the scum, and it is a good i AAARARAAL PARARALAS a PPP PPL LLLP LLLP LPP tm toa tat RAAAAAAR nn eennnn nes LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. syrup, throw in your whole raspberries; let them boil rapidly a few minutes, but be careful they do not fall to pieces or become ragged. Take them out with a skimmer full of holes, and spread them over a large dish to cool ; then throw into the syrup the juice of those you have previously boiled, and let it boil till it is nearly a jelly ; throw in again the whole fruit, and give it a smart boil ; then put in your jars hot, and do not cover them till cold. BLACKBERRIES.—Preserve these as strawberries or currants, either liquid or jam, or jelly. Blackberry jelly or jam is an excellent medicine in summer com- plaints 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 a 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 expressed juice of ripe blackberries as there are pounds of sngar; 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. BLACKBERRY WINE. — The following is said to be an excellent recipe for the manufacture of superior wine from blackberries: Measure your berries and bruise them, to every gallon adding one quart of boil- ing water. Let the mixture stand twenty-four hours, stirring occasionally; then strain off the liquor into a cask, to every gallon adding two pounds of sugar; cork tight, and let stand till following October, and you will have wine ready for use, without any further straining or builing, that will make lips smack as they never smacked, under similar influence, before. BLACKBERRY AND WINE CorDIAL.— We avail our- selves of the kindness of a friend to publish the follow- ing excellent recipe for making cordial. It is recom- mended asa delightful beverage, and an infallible specific for diarrhea or ordinary disease of the bowels :— Recipe.—To half a bushel of blackberries, well mashed, add a quarter of a pound of allspice, two ounces of cin- namon, two ounces of cloves. Pulverize well, mix, and boil slowly until properly done; then strain or squeeze the juice through homespun or flannel, and add to each pint of the juice one pound of loaf-sugar. Boil again for some time, take if off, and, while cooling, add half a gallon of best Cognac brandy. Dose.—For an adult, half a gill to a gill: for a chiid, a teaspoonful or more, according to age. CuRRANTS PRESERVED.—Take ripe currants, free from stems; weigh them, and take the same weight of sugar; put a teacup of sugar to each pound of it; bvil the syrup until it is hot and clear; then turn it over the fruit; let it remain one night; then set it over the fire, and boil gently, until they are cooked and clear; take them into the jars or pots with a skimmer; boil the syrup until rich and thick; then pour it over the fruit. Currants may be preserved with ten pounds of fruit to seven of sugar. Take the stems from seven pounds of the currants, and crush and press the juice from the remaining three pounds; put them into the hot syrup, and boil until thick and rich; put it in pots or jars, and the next day secure as directed.

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EDITORS’ “Sne shall be called woman because she was taken out of man.”’—Bibdle, In our October number of last year we alluded to the habit of many writers who use the term female as a substitute or synonym for woman; and we endeavored to show the impropriety of this mode of expression. We were gratified to find our suggestions well received, many of the popular journals fully indorsing our views. Still, there may be some (one individual at least) who take the Bible record, “ God created man male and female,” to mean that the latter is the proper cognomen. If such caviller would read the second chapter of Gene- sis, he would find the true name of the feminine human being is given in our motto. The Bible is remarkably clear on this point, as we might expect the Word of God would be—carefully dis- tinguishing the human from the animal female. The name of WOMAN being, by divine inspiration, given, she is always thus designated throughout the sacred books, excepting when the distinction of sex in contrast with man is in question. In the whole Bible the term Semale, applied to woman, is only used in eleven places, and each time in contradistinction to man as male. We will particularize the passages. 1. Male and female created he them.—Genesis i. 27. 2. This is the law for her that hath borne a male or a Semale.—Lev. xxvii. 4. 3. If if be a female, thy estimation, &c.—Lev. xxvii. 5. 4. For the female ten shekels.—Lev. xxvii. 5. 5. For a female a month old, &e.—Lev. xxvii. 6. 6. Both male and female shall ye shut out.—Num. v. 3. 7. The similitude of any figure, the likeness of male or female.—Deut. iv. 16. 8. There shall not be a male or female, &c.—Deut. vii. 14, 9. God made them male and female.—Matt. xix. 4. 10. God made them male and female.—Mark x. vi. 11. In Christ there is neither male nor female, &c.— Gal. iii. 28. 2 The reader will see at once that these instances are to designate the sex; not to express the name which, in the Hebrew, was always significant of character. If we use the feminine we must also use the masculine term of sex as a name, because in every instance the inspired writers do this, never putting man in contra- distinction to female, which, if it had been done, would have inferred the inferiority of the latter, as bearing the animal designation. To make this matter more clear, let the term female instead of woman be substituted in the following passages of Scripture :— 1. I will put enmity between thee and the female.— Gen. iii. 15. 2. Man that is born of a female, &c.—Job xiv. 1. 3. Who can find a virtuous female, &c.—Proverbs xxxi. 16, 4. Oh, female! great is thy faith, &¢.—Matt. xv. 28. 6. And he (Jesus) turned to the female, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this female, &c.—Luke vit. 44. 6. Of the chief females not a few.—Acts xvii. 4, 7. Help those females, &c.—Phil. iv. 3. 8. God sent forth his son, made of a woman.— Gal. iv. 4. a TABLE. Who would dare substitute the term referring only te the animal in the sex, where the hallowed humanity of our divine Redeemer is disclosed? Thus we have proved that the word of God is true to the feminine nature, giving its testimony to the honored name of woman, which is repeated, in the singular or plural, over two hundred times in the Holy Book. If any man doubts these statements, let him search the Bible. We assure him that the perfect appropriateness of its lan- guage will be a profitable study. While divine precedent thus establishes woman as the true name of the human feminine, let us see what the highest authorities among men have sanctioned. The poets are the best expounders of language, because they must use the most appropriate words in their truest, which is their noblest signification, in order to exalt, beautify, and perfect their themes of song. Let us take a few examples, changing the style in regard to woman to the vulgar mode of female. 1. Igrant Iam a female; but, withal, a female that Lord Brutus took to wife. I grant lam a female; but, withal a female well re- puted—Cato’s daughter. Shakspeare’s Julius Caesar. 2. For none of female born shall harm Macbeth. Hamlet. 3. To whom thus Adam fervently replied: ‘“ Oh, JSemale! best are all things as the will of God ordains them.” Milton’s Paradise Lost, 4. Oh, female! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please; When pain and sickness wring the brow, A ministering angel thou. Scott’s Marmion, 5. Female! blest partner of our joys and woes, Sand’s Yamoyden. 6. Ah, female! in this world of ours What gift can be compared to thee? George P. Morris. Earlier than J know, : Immersed in rich foreshadowings of the world, I loved the female. Tennyson's Princess. The absurdity of these substitutes is at once apparent, and the beauty as well as truthfulness of the word woman in place of female must be acknowledged. But there is yet another and clearer demonstration. If we are to be influenced by the letter of that particular verse of Scripture—“‘ God made them male and female”— for the term to define the one sex, we are equally bound Let us see how this « Ts to apply this rule to the other. would influence our classics. He was a male, take him for all in all, We shall not look upon his like again. Hamlet, Oh! but male, proud maie, Dressed in a little brief authority, &e. Measure for Measure. An honest male’s the noblest work of God. Pope, The lamps shone o’er fair females and brave males. Byron, Festus. 79 Male is but half without female.

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80 Oh, male! while in thy carly years iow prodigal of time! Burns. Then, if we come to the plain prose of common life, we should see accounts of the males who had robbed the mail being arrested; of a drunken mele taken up for insulting a female; of an honest male returning some valuable article he had found; of a noble male who had given largely for the relief of the poor, distressed males thrown out of employment, &c. Should this phraseo- logy be adopted by journalists, and the term male for man be used as female now is for woman, the ridiculous impropriety of the language would be seen at once. It wuuld be a good subject for satire. We have looked chiefly at the serious results of the misnomer. One is that it degrades the woman, and thus deprives her of the sympathy and respect of men. Names are signifi- cant, and while woman or lady indicates that the being is a female, the latter term does not certainly include woman, and rarely, if ever, excites the idea of a lady. We naturally think of females as women of the lower if not lowest order. Is not this one of the chief reasons why our brave American men seem to have become careless of the championship of women, and leave them to go down in the foundered ship, or to perish in the burning boat? In commenting on that dreadful catas- trophe, the destruction of the Camden ferry-boat, the editor of one of our leading papers, describing the awful scene, which he did with great power, boldly condemned the selfishness of the “‘ strong men who only sought their own safety, and left the helpless females to their fate.”’ Females, indeed! They might have been sheep. Why not shout the rallying cry of Paul— “Help those women!”—and you would awaken the Saint best feelings of man’s nature, the sympathies of his heart, the honor of his manhood, the sensibilities of his Christian faith. History has many noble examples of the romantic chivalry, the self-sacrificing generosity of strong, brave men who have laid down their lives, not in the heat of battle, but calmly awaited death on the sinking wreck to insure the safety of women; but never for animals. Editors are not, however, the only writers in fault. Our swarming works of fiction are nearly all infected by this low taste of using female for woman or lady. The word occurs so often in some of these books that it alone would give vulgarity to the style. Many, perhaps most of these works, are written by women whose lack of self-respect in this is the more remarkable, except we consider that the authors are not aware of the effect of their style. It they would study the best writers more, and exercise their own pens less, our literature weuld be much Prescott’s histories are models of language, and the term female for woman is never used by him; nor by our best poets. There is still another source of this popular corruption of words which we are considering, more important and more to be lamented than any we have mentioned. We allude to the almost universal! habit of the clergy of our country to speak uf woman only as a female. Thus, the terms “ female hearers,’’ “ female converts,” “ fe- males of the Church,”’ “ female Bible societies,” “ fe- male associations,” &c. &c., are tonstantly enunciated from the pulpit; while rarely is the beautiful Bible name of woman pronounced by a preacher of the Gos- pel, except it happens to occur in his text. Might nota Brahmin, if he could hear from our preachers this oft- repeated word “ female,’ applying equally to all of that sex which brings young, from the elephant to the em- benefited. PPP LLL LLLP PPP PLP Pf tt tt tnt at ~ ae — PARAL AAL APP ~ GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PALA met, draw the conclusion that Christian ministers held the Eastern doctrine of woman’s inferiority, even that she had no soul! Has an animal a soul? Is it not strange that the order of men, whose province it is to refine, purify, and exalt language as well as morals, should adopt the lowest term of designation for the largest portion of their friends and followers? Christ did not speak thus. The apostles did not so teach. The terms they used were WOMAN and LADY. These are the Scriptural mode of defining man’s companion, not for earth only, but for an immortality of glory. Would it not be as easy to say, ‘* women of the church,” “women of the congregation,” ‘* women who are con- verts,”’ “ ladies’ Bible societies,” “ ladies’ associations,” &c., as to use the present vulgar style? We would humbly present this question to the clergy of the United States. They might, by their influence and example, soon correct the present improper, inelegant, and un- scriptural modes of expression.* Nor is this a matter of small importance. Language is a powerful instru- ment for good or evil. Words are things of mighty influence. The manner of speech indicates the habit of mind. If we seek to improve our taste, we must be careful that our expressions are appropriate and refined. A vulgar word will often destroy the good effect of a moral lecture; while ‘‘ words fitly spoken are like apples of gold in pictures of silver.”’ ARE YOUR SONS PROPERLY EDUCATED? WE propose this question to the earnest attention of the many mothers who meet us each month around the Editor’s Table. Perhaps some may reply by asking us to point out the way. All are willing to do their best, or they feel the importance of the duty, and would have it done if they could. It is difficult to lay down rules for the conduct of life, unless we can show that these rules have been success- fully carried into action. A model is more attractive than a moral to place before the young. Among the bovkst published during the last year was one that deserves to be made widely known. Its influence will be of incalculable benefit, not only for the guidance of young men, but as an aid for parents in fashioning the training of their sons. We shall give & very brief sketch of this good, prospercus, and happy man, trusting all who read it will wish to know more of his history. Mothers could hardly overrate the beneficial impression this true story of active life will have on their own boys. To know that one man has passed unscathed through the trials of business and of great prosperity will incite and cheer many a brave- hearted youth to strive after a like glorious career. The life of Mr. Lawrence was one of unremitting industry, scrupulous integrity, and charities great, almost beyond precedent, and all directed by the same careful, pains- taking sagacity as his most successful business enter- * The custom has become prevalent of styling “ col- leges for women’’ “ female colleges,” “ female institu- tions,” &c. This is quite vulgar, if net improper. A school cannot be female, though it may be for that sex. Why not give the true name—‘school for young, women,” “college for young ladies,” &c. ? ¢ Extracts from the Diary and Correspondence of the late Amos LAWRENCE, with a brief Account of some Incidents in his Life. Edited by his son, William R. Lawrence, M. D. Boston: Gould & Lincoln,

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EDITORS’ TABLE. PLP PPL PPL LLLP PPP AAR OPDPARDPDDDLDOPPDLODS prises. Mr. Lawrence began right; and this is a prin- ciple he insists much on in his advice to young men. When he first set out in life for himself, a mere lad in a country store at Groton, Massachusetts, against the influence and example of all the older and wiser ones around him, as well as the jeers of his companions, he adopted, and throughout his life carried out the prin- ciple of total abstinence, not only from spirituous liquors, but from tobacco in all its forms. From the beginning of his business life he never took advantage of the ignorance or inexperience of the buyer to enrich himself or others. He attended as faithfully in his clerkship to the business of his employers as he did in after life to hisown. What a salutary lesson his steady and continued prosperity is in showing the truth of that axiom—‘ honesty is the best policy.” Having thus gained the confidence of all in his native town, Amos Lawrence went to Boston, at the age of twenty-one, with twenty dollars in his pocket as his capital. He died there at the age of sixty-six, leaving behind him a princely fortune, and a name synonymous with integrity, goodness, and philanthropy. For many years before his death he had expended, year by year, a great part of his income in making, as he said, “other people happy.” In his liberality he followed implicitly the Bible. That was his chosen guide through life. He gave secretly with cheerfulness and with simplicity. And now the promise is fulfilled. What he did in secret is proclaimed publicly. He gave in his lifetime. He had the satisfaction of seeing that his donations were not perverted from their true purpose. It is computed that the sum of his charities amounted to seven hundred thousand dollars in his lifetime, all given for the benefit of his fellow-men. As a son, brother, husband, father, as well as a citizen and man of business, he scrupulously performed all his duties. He ascribed much of his success in life to the early lessons he learned at home, where he was taught the true principles of piety—to love God, and to do as he would be doneto. His letters to his mother ire full of affectionate gratitude and the tender love of filial piety. He was a man of capacious mind, and of a will inflexible in duty, as well of a warm and affectionate His purity of life and conduct makes him an his high-toned heart. exemplar for Christidn men; integrity and his pleasant courteousness of manner completed the ideal of a Christian gentleman. When we read his life, and learn that such noble virtues and such a lofty spirituality grew and were constantly displayed in the midst of the cares, and anxieties, and engrossing and almost sordid occupations of commercial life, we feel that out of this Nazareth, also, good things have come. The literary part of the book is worthy of the subject; and the selections from the Letters and Diary are very We give one or two of these pearls of while interesting. wisdom, hoping thus to induce our friends to search for others in the work itself. It will be a valuable aid in family education. From LETTERS TO nts Son.—‘‘I give you this little book that you may write in it how much money you receive, and how you use it. It is of much importance, in forming your early character, to have correct habits, and a strict regard to truth in all you do. For this purpose I advise you never to cheat yourself by making a false entry in this book, remembering, always, that there is One who cannot be deceived, and that He re- 81 PARRA PL PRADEEP LLP quires his children to render an account of all their dvings at last.” . * . . . . o “Every American youth owes his country his best talents and services, and should devote them to his country’s welfare,” * * * . o . . * Long life does not consist in many years ; but in the period being filled with good services to our fellow beings.” “ Temptation, if successfully resisted, strengthens the character; but it should always be avoided. ‘ Lead us not into temptation’ are words of deep meaning, and should always carry with them corresponding desires of obedience."? OnE OF PHARAOH’s DAnLias.—Lord Lindsay states that, in the course of his wandering amid the pyramids of Egypt, he stumbled on a mummy, proved by its hieroglyphics tu be at least two thousand years of age, In examining the mummy, after it was unwrapped, he found in one of its closed hands a tuberous or bulbous root. He was interested in the question how long vegetable life could last, and he therefore took that tuberous root from the mummy’s hand, planted it in a sunny soil, allowed the rains and dews of heaven to descend upon it, and in the course of a few weeks, to his astonishment and joy, the root brought forth and bloomed in a beauteous dahlia, A Russtan Princess.—When we had taken our seats in the coupe of a diligence, it was duly announced that a Russian place in the compartment. breathing princess in a diligence! our mind what such a personage in such a situation would resemble, and had just come to the conclusion that she would look and fee! very ‘like a fish out of water,” when a short, plump, good-natured looking lady made her appearance, and an instant afterwards we were half-smothered in the ample folds of petticoat. Off drove the ponderous vehicle; and a dozen heads of princess was to occupy the vacant A princess! A real, living, We had revolved in as many Norwegian officers were lowered as we moved away. Some of these were loungers, others had come to bid our fair companion adieu; but all appeared We soon found that the princess We there- acquainted with her. eould make herself at home in a diligence. fure concluded that she had been accustomed to “ rough it,’ or had the good sense to take things in this world as they occur—a quality of mind often possessed by persons of nobility, who frequently submit to inconve- niences in travelling with much better grace than many of more plebeian origin. We found her lively, agree- able, and always willing to talk. surprise that we should have remained so long as five minutes without smoking, and begged us to make her no ebstacle to our doing so; but she was extremely amazed on finding that we had neither cigars nor to- She expressed great bacco in our possession; perhaps, also, a little disap- pointed, for a cigarette might have proved acceptable to her, as we subsequently saw elegant-looking women in Russia beguiling themselves by smoking in their travel- ling carriages.—Travels of two Brothers. PENNSYLVANIA ACADEMY OF FINE ARTS, THE twenty-third annual exhibition of this interesting gallery is now open, and displays growing skill and talent. In the opinion of superior judges, this is the

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, _— finest collection that has been offered to the public by the Pennsylvania Academy. The many beautiful pic- tures and statues owned by the institution are familiar to all who have visited it in past seasons, and therefore require no notice. But we must particularize some few among the new pictures, though our limits preclude any elaborate criticism, The poet painter, T. Buchanan Read, stands eminent among American artists of merit. His portraits are admirable in coloring, drawing, and fidelity of resem- blance. His original pictures are exquisite in expres- sion, tone, and finish. We would point out “‘ Excelsior” and ** The Rescue of Proserpine” to persons of taste. Mr. Darley’s “ Portrait of a Child’? supports his well- deserved reputation. And the ‘Child and Dog” proves that Sully is still master of his art. And Paul Weber’s would ; beautiful lendscapes, particularly his ‘‘ Sunset,’ compensate the visitors to the exhibition were there nothing else of value there. We must not omit a very clever historical picture by J. P. Hasenclever. The subject—* Petition of the working Men,” &c.—is full of interest. Each figure is wonderfully adapted to the spirit of the whole ; and the expression of each separate face is a study of character for the physiognomist. The perspective and the lights are excellent. Among the portraits is one by Wm. F. Jones, of Mr. Vaux, which will attract attention. The capital photographs of McClees, Root, Penabert, and Germon can hardly be too highly praised. The crayon and water-colored drawings have much merit. In short, we never re- member to have seen sv large a collection of works of art where there were so few to be condemned. All visitors to Philadelphia should see this gallery, or rather galleries. It is worth a journey from any part of our republic, THE LADIES’ MOUNT VERNON ASSOCIATION. ALTHOUGH there has been some misunderstanding in respect to the arrangements for the purchase of the estate of Washington, yet no permanent obstacle is anticipated. The ladies are going on with their collec- tions, confident that we shall obtain the property when we have secured the funds. How can we hesitate when we have such a cuvadjutor as the Hon. Edward Everett, who has already gained, by his noble oration on Washington, nearly ten thousand dollars, which he invests for the purchase of Mount Vernon? He is intending to repeat this oration throughout the country, as all the people are pressing him to do; and the whole amount he gains is to be sacred to this object. The following will show his faith in the enterprise and his great devotion to the cause. Mr. Everett, in reply to an invitation to lecture at Springfield, Massachusetts, thus alludes to the Mount Vernon estate :— “The recent letters of the proprietor throw some doubt on his present willingness to sell the estate. It cannot, however, be doubted that it will eventually become public property. In the mean time, I do not understand that the efforts making to raise the requisite funds will be relaxed. The sums which have already been re- ceived by me have been safely and advantageously invested in trust, and I shall make the same disposition of what may hereafter come into my hands, without the deduction of a dollar for personal expenses. “Should the attempt to purchase Mount Vernon eventually fail, the funds raised can be appropriated to some other patriotic purpose of general interest con- nected with the memory of Washington. “ T remain, gentlemen, with high respect, faithfully, EDWARD EVERETT.” We trust our friends will forward their subscriptions without delay. These are lately received :— Mrs. E. A. Henderson, Duncan, Virginia, $1 Mrs. Mary P. Beeson, - - 1 Miss Meggie W. Henderson, “ e 1 John H. Mails, Brownsville, Texas, 1 Wa. A. Isbell, Grand Traverse, Missouri, 1 To CoRRESPONDENTS.—The following are accepted : “ The Icebergs’’"—*‘ Spring’”—“ Let ’s never give way”— “A Child at Prayer’—*“ Pulseless Heart and quiet Hand”’—‘* My Sweet Sister’’—‘* Admiration”—“ The Songster of the Snow-storm’’—‘‘ Lela”—“ We'll meet again in the Morning’’—“ The Soldier’s Grave” —* This is Life,” and “ Nora Lynn.” The following articles are declined: “The Angel Three”’—“ There is a Beauty,” &c.—‘ He comes in Dreams’’—‘* The Rose”—** Early Memories’”’—“‘ To our Bride’’—“ Lines suggested by the question, Is God unjust ?’’—* Daisies”—** An Evening in Summer’— * Lines to ——’’—“‘ To Emma in Heaven”—*“ The cruel Guardian”—* Autumn’’—“ My little Girl’”—** A long Story’’—‘“‘ The Wind”’—“* The lost Hope’’—‘ Exter- lot? nals’’—* A quiet Day”’—‘* The Impromptu Marriage’’— ” ** Man from First to Last requires Assistance’’--(we do not care to publish “ Illustrations of engravings” after he number in which these appeared has been issued) “The Past,” &c.—** Ruth’’—‘ Art versus Heart”— aud “ Flowers,” &e. “ Henrietta Cleveland” and “ Poems.”? We have re- ceived these from Saint Anthony’s Falls, but no letter with them. Will the author please write us? Literarn Notices. Booxs By MatL.—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. When ordering a book, please mention the name of the publisher. From J. B. Lrpprncott & Co., 20 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia :— POEMS. By Gold-Pen. Second edition. It is say- ing a great deal for a volume of modern poetry, that it has reached a second edition, especially if it be of that unpretending description of poetry which comes so- lemnly from the heart, and is the result of deep religious and philosophic reflection. These poems have already made a most favorable impression upon the public mind; but they are destined, in our opinion, or we greatly mistake the good sense and enfightened judg- ment of American readers, to become still more popular, and to be more admired as their merits are more gene- rally investigated. ABBIE NOTT AND OTHER KNOTS. By “ Katin- ka.”? The tales and sketches embodied in this hand- some volume are graceful and interesting, and show the author to be a keen observer of life and manners. oa ath th ae S.. de ee —-._ ae on a oe ok ee. A wee

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LITERARY From GARRETT & Co., New York, through J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia :— HENRI DE LA TOUR; or, The Comrades in Arms. By J. Frederick Smith, author of “ Fred Arden,” “Charles Vavasseur,” “‘ Amy Lawrence,” etc. etc. A brilliant novel. Price 560 cents. From E. C. & J. Bippie, No. 8 Minor Street, Phila- delphia :— THE RISE, PROGRESS, AND PRESENT STRUC- TURE OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, By the Rev. Matthew Harrison, A. M., late Fellow of Queen’s College, Oxford. This volume, the merits of which have already rendered a second American edition necessary, is divided into three parts. In the first, we have a con- cise, but satisfactory, account of the origin of what is commonly called the Anglo-Saxon tongue; in the second, Mr. Harrison presents us with an interesting philological inquiry into the genius and character of the English language, the grammatical principles of which, in the third division of his volume, he treats of copiously and in a manner eminently clear and logical. The numerous examples of faulty and even ridiculous gram- matical con8truction, contained in the latter portion of this invaluable work, and taken from the writings of the most celebrated English divines, poets, and histo- rians, will, we think, make it evident to any ingenuous mind, that, while we may have rendered ourselves very familiar with the principles of the ancient lan- guages, we have strangely neglected to establish any definite rules as to the proper construction of sentences in our mother tongue. We sincerely hope, then, that this volume, already a handbook with our best scholars, may soon become popular with all who desire to speak and write the English language correctly. , From Linpsay & BLAKISTON, Philadelphia :— THE CHRISTIAN LIFE; its Hopes, its Fears, and its Close. By Thomas Arnold, D. D. From the fifth London edition. The contents of this volume embrace forty-two lectures, drawn from texts of Scripture, and are consequently of the highest interest and importance to the devout and practical Christian, and should be in the possession of all whose aim it is to lead a peaceful and godly life. It is refreshing, amidst so many works of imagination—mere human speculations on human trifles—to meet occasionally with a production which | draws the mind by sweet persuasion and calm reason to the consideration of subjects of divine revelation, intimately connected with our hopes and our fears of eternity. The style of these lectures is clear and sim- ple, their arguments are forcible and logical, their ap- peals to the heart touching and persuasive, and their assurances full of peace and consolation to the weary spirit seeking repose. From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :— LINDA; or, the Young Pilot of the Belle Creole. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of “ Ernest Linwood,” *“ Courtship and Marriage,” “‘ The Pianter’s Northern Bride,” etc. ete. This delightful novel has already won a deserved popularity, which no commendation of ours can possibly enhance, From Bunce & BroTHER, New York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :— SHOEPAC RECOLLECTIONS: A Way-side Glimpse of American Life. By Walter March. We have here a . 83 NOTICES. most interesting and original tale, illustrative of life at an early period in the history of Michigan. The pic- tures it affords us of frontiersmen and their habits and customs, though not very brilliantly colored, possess a naturalness that will recommend them to the kind con- sideration of all judicious minds. From D. APPLETON & Co., New York, through T. B. PETERSON, Philadelphia :— YANKEE TRAVELS THROUGH THE ISLAND OF CUBA;; or, the Men *and Government, the Laws and Customs of Cuba, as seen by American Eyes. By Demo- ticus Philalethes. In anticipation of the extension, even unto the adjacent islands of the Atlantic, of the area of American liberty, this volume should be read by all who desire to see or contribute to that result. Both the Spanish and Creole character are laid bare for examination and study, by one who seems to have per- formed his task with as much impartiality, and with the exhibition of as few religious or political prejudices, as could be expected in a person educated among a people so different, in their manners, customs, and institutions, from those he has attempted to describe. GLEANINGS. Some Wheat—Some Chaff. By Miss A. A. Goddard. A very handsome volume of entertain- ing and instructive tales and sketches. The author writes naturally, and evinces considerable power as a delineator of character, as well as the possession of a deep insight into the condition of, and a most benevolent sympathy for, the laborious, suffering, and virtuous poor. From C. Scrrpnen, New York, through T. B. PerTer- SON, Philadelphia :— SIGHT AND HEARING: how Preserved, and how Lost. By J. Henry Clark, M.D. The preservation of sight and hearing, the loss of either of which blessings leaves a gloomy void in human existence, is certainly deserving of the most assiduous care and earnest solici- tude. To such as feel this natural solicitude, whether for themselves, or for those under their charge, the ad- monitions of this volume are especially addressed, The author has evidently taken great pains to adapt the style and language, in which he discusses his subjects, to the comprehension of all who may desire to study their importance, and has presented his treatises in a popular form, which, we are of opinion, will render them extremely serviceable to every class of readers, what- ever their age or condition in life. THE SECOND MARRIAGE; or, a Daughter’s Trials. A Domestic Tale of New York. By Charles Burdett, author of “The Convict’s Child,” ** The Gambler,” * Never too Late,” etc. etc. All the previous works of Mr. Burdett have enjoyed an unusual degree of popu- larity. We think we may safely predict that the volume now before us will be received with equal favor, al- though the incidents are somewhat improbable, and are introduced so rapidly as to leave but little time to the author or the reader for profitable reflection. REALITY; or, the Millionaire’s Daughter. A Book for Young Men and Young Women. By Mrs. L. C. Tuthill, author of “ Queer Bonnets,” “Tip Top,” * Beautiful Bertha,” etc. etc. The author of this volume is deservedly a great favorite with the readers of moral- ly-toned fiction. The characters introduced in the pre- sent work are all drawn to the life, and the plot is conducted to its denouement with no little skill and naturalness.

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84 GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ~~~ PPP OO . - ane From Mason & BroTHers, New York, through T. B. PETERSON, Philadelphia :— WAYSIDE SONGS. By Edward C. Goodwin, author of “ Hampton Heights.’? There is nothing very brilliant or startling in these beautifully printed pages. The poems appear to have sprung from a close examination of the usually unnoticed aspects of nature and the inci- dents of common life, and are written in a subdued, melancholy tone, which, however, will find a welcome response in the hearts of those who are prone to minute observation and calm reflection. From W. P. FetripGe & Co., New York, and Fet- rnipGE & Co., Boston, through T. B. Pererson, Phila- de!phia :— ROMANCE OF THE HAREM. By Miss Pardoe, author of the “ Life of Marie de Medicis,’’ “ Confessions ofa Pretty Woman,” “ Rival Beauties,” etc.etc. Equal in interest, and in its lifelike pictures of oriental man- ners and customs, to the far-famed “‘ Arabian Nights,” this volume, in our opinion, possesses a much higher artistic beauty. It belongs to Fetridge’s uniform edition of Miss Pardoe’s works, and may be had for the sum of fifty cents. T. B. PETERSON has in press a duodecimo edition of the complete works of Charles Dickens, which will be issued in ten different styles, at various prices, so as to suit all tastes and a ockets. The publisher says truly, “ No library is complete without a set of Dickens’ works.”’ From Harper & Brotuers, N. Y., through PARRY & MeMILLan, Philadelphia :— THE TEACHER. Moral Influences employed in the Instruction and Government of the Young. A new and revised edition. By Jacob Abbott. With engravings. We are pleased to find, by the author’s preface to this valuable treatise, that the system he has recommended is one “ of authority—supreme and unlimited authority— a point essential in all plans for the supervision of the young; but it is authority secured and maintained as far as possible by moral measures.” This declaration, we fear, is not a very popular one now-a-days, when even children are permitted to assert, and to act upon, the erroneous principle that obedience to authority is a epecies of human degradation. But we did not stop at the preface of this instructive volume—instructive to parents as well as to teachers—and, therefore, are pre- pared to say that, in our judgment, it is worthy of the general commendation it has received. The author isa practical and observing man, especially in all that re- lates to the peculiarities of the youthful mind, and to the best methods of instructing it. THE SPANISH CONQUEST IN AMERICA, and tis Relation to the History of Slavery and to the Govern- ment of Colonies. By Arthur Helps. Two volumes. In regard to the Spanish Conquests in America, these volumes present to the reader very little that can be called new; but, as to the results of those conquests— “the mode of colonial government which ultimately prevailed—the extirpation of native races—the introduc- tion of other races—the growth of slavery,” etc. etc., the work will probably be found to contain many new facts and deductions, interesting to the politician as well as to the student of history. THE RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC. A History. By John Lothrop Motley. Three volumes. It ~ nro aw would require more time than we have had to devote to this work, to speak critically of it as an historical com- position. Romance, at the present day, so often assumes the dignity and, apparently, the truth of history, that it is sometimes very difficult, especially by hasty glances, to discover the difference between the one and the other. We could wish, indeed, for the honor of humanity, and for the sanctity of religion, that the bloody and impious scenes so vividly portrayed in these volumes, could be obliterated from the pages of history, and transferred to those of romance. But, as the author informs us that they have been fairly and faithfully transcribed from original records, and as we have not time to seek for anything that, if found, might mitigate their sanguinary horrors, we must suffer them to pass into other hands, with the simple remark that Mr. Morley supports his statements with numerous authorities, and that this, his first work, is finished in a manner highly creditable to the rapidly progressive historical literature of our country. THE TRAGEDIES OF ZSCHYLUS. Literally translated. With Critical and Illustrative Notes, and an Introduction. By Theodore Alois Buckley, B. A., of Christ Church, Oxford. To which isadded an Appendix, containing the new readings of Hermann’s posthumous edition. Translated and considered by George Burges, A.M. This is another volume of Harper’s excellent “ Library” of literal translations of the Greek and Latin classics. From J. 8S. RepFrreLp, New York, through ZieBEr, Philadelphia :— EUTAW: A Sequel to the Foragers, or the Raid of the Dog-Days. A Tale of the Revolution. By W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of ** The Partisan,’’ ‘‘ Charlemont,” “ Mellichampe,” etc. etc. The numerous admirers of Mr. Simms’s Revolutionary Tales will find in “ Eutaw”’ a rich literary treat. The incidents are abundant and startling, but natural, and seemingly necessary to the full development of the plot, which is intricate and well sustained to the last. In depicting the characters of * Harricane Nell’? and “ Dick of Tophet,” our author has exhibited a spirit and skill that can scarcely fail to rank him among the best of American novelists. If he has not obtained a popularity in England equal to that . enjoyed by some of our lesser literary lights, there is a somewhat obvious reason four it in the fact that his prin- cipal works are commemorative of events of which our transatlantic brethren have, and very naturally, too, no extremely pleasant recollections. CONFESSION; or, the Llind Heart. A Domestic Story. By W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of “ Guy Rivers,” “Richard Hurdis,” “ Beauchampe,”’ etc. etc. New and revised edition. As a story in which the analyzation of the passicns, and of comparatively un- wonted conditions of the human mind is the chief object, this “ Confession”? presents its author’s genius in a novel light, so far, at least, as the knowledge of the writer of this notice extends. It is a powerfully written tale, and, though terrible in its catastrophe, one which no reader should shrink from perusing, if he or she would learn lessons of the highest importance to the formation of a truly domestic character. INTRODUCTION TO SOCIAL SCIENCE. A Dis- course in three parts. By George H. Calvert, author of “Scenes and Thoughts in Europe,” etc. This is a volume, to give a fair and correct notice of which would, if we regard the important nature of the princi-

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LITERARY NOTICES. 85 aeaaciinenapaciiiitingsas <te ples it lays down, require a more thorough investigation than we have been permitted to devote to it. From a hasty glance, we are led to conclude that it comprehends a deeply philosophic examination into the evils which are supposed to oppress society, together with a very specious, if not really valuable, plan for the suppression of such evils by a species of universal spontaneous jabor. From D. APPLETON & Co., 346 and 348 Broadway, New York, through C. G. HenpeRson & Co., Phila- delphia :— APPLETON’S CYCLOPZEDIA OF BIOGRAPHY: Embracing a Series of Original Memoirs of the most Distinguished Men of all Times. American Edition. Edited by Francis L. Hawks, D.D., L.L.D. With na- merous illustrations. A universal biograPhical diction- ary has long been a desideratum in literature. The volume before us supplies the deficiency in a very satisfactory manner. It is based upon a British publi- cation, the American portion being supplied in the new edition by Dr. Hawks, assisted by other able writers, and the embellishments increased from 200 to 500. The original work is on a new plan, each class of lives being furnished by writers peculiarly fitted for the task, by their special studies anti pursuits. This feature is noticed as follows in the preface :— “ The volume now issued aspires to be a first attempt in the important direction alluded to. The publishers have desired to intrust the execution of the principal lives, of each class of remarkable men, to practised writers, who have cultivated the corresponding depart- ments of learning: and from whom they had, therefore, reason to expect biographical notices, really character- istic, and of assured value. “The principal names in the department of the Ma- thematical and Physical Sciences were intrusted to Sir David Brewster and Prof. Nichol. In the experimental sciences, the department of Chemistry has been treated by Dr. R. D. Thomson; that of Natural History by Dr. Baird; and Applied Science by Prof. Gordon. The listinguished names in Medical Science are treated by Mr. McConnechy. The eminent Geographers have been attended to by Mr. Bryce, who has endeavored, by con- siderable research, to give exact information on the dis- coveries made by great travellers. “‘ The list of articles written by Prof. Eadie in Theo- logy and Church History includes the Fathers and Re- formers, besides many of the mediwval Divines and Schoolmen. Dr. Jamieson’s catalogue is graced by the names of our modern divines, missionaries, and phi- lanthropists. In the department of the Fine Arts, the great painters, engravers, sculptors, and architects are characterized by Mr. Wornum, whose exact acquaintance with the literature of these subjects is well known. The same may be said regarding the musicians, under charge of Mr. Manson; and of the gréat actors, whose lives have been written by the dramatic writer and critic, Mr. Herand.” The general result of this arrangement is most satis- factory, as each memoir is entitled to confidence as to acouracy, and is at the same time a fine specimen of biographical writing. The work is for sale by C. G. HENDERSON & Co. From Dersy & JACKSON, 119 Nassau Street, New York ~~ MARRIED, NOT MATED: or, How they lived at Woodside and Throckmorton Hall. By AliceCary. This VOL. L111.—8 Eee eee exquisite novel will, we are sure, add new names to Miss Cary’s long list of admirers; for, in many points, it is superior to her “ Clovernook”’ pictures, which, when not sad, are simply morbid. Not so with this story; it has strips of real sunshine running through it, and the shadowings are only suggestive of melancholy. The first part of the book introduces the reader to a pretty little spot, called Woodside, the residence of an old miser, Richard Furniss, and his two daughters—the gentle, uncomplaining Nelly, and Annette, a dashing black-eyed little rustic, who, fortunately, gets married, but is, unfortunately, not mated. These two characters are felicitously drawn, and stand in a strong light. Annette visits the home of Henry Graham, a young farmer, with whom she flirts desperately; they become engaged, but the match is broken off by the presence of Harry’s brother, Strafford, a cold, heartless specimen of masculine beauty, who wins her heart, without going through the usual preparatory course of having his own broken. In the mean time, Nelly dies. Annette weds Graham, who doesn’t seem to know what he wants, and is delightfully miserable. The love episode between Martin and Rache (“the short for Rachel’) is “a stroke of genius.’’ In the second part, Throckmorton Hall, the style of the story is changed from a narrative in the third person to an autobiography. This gives a freshness to the whole affair which is charming. Then we have another couple not mated—Mr. Samuel Peter Throckmorton and his wife, the first of which personages is a hit. The book throughout is exceedingly clever, while here and there are bits of elegant prose, descriptive of Western scenery in its various phases, with all of which Miss Cary has had a rare opportunity to become familiar. As regards the getting up of the volume, the type and paper, like most of Derby’s publications, are luxuries. JANE EYRE, SHIRLEY AND VILLETTE :—Derby & Jackson, New York, have published a very beauti- ful uniform edition of these celebrated novels, by Cur- rer Bell (Miss Bronte). This is a good opportunity for supplying libraries with a handsome edition of the works of a celebrated novelist, printed with beautiful clear type, and pure white paper. From Derspy & JACKSON, 119 Nassau Street, New . York, and H. W. Dersy, Cincinnati, through Parry & McMILLAN, Philadelphia :— THE LADIES’ GUIDE TO PERFECT GENTILI- TY. This is acapital work, and should be in the hands of every lady. It treats of Manners, Dress, and Conver- sation, in the family, in company, at the piano-forte, the table, in the street, and in gentlemen’s society; with valuable receipts, and instructions in letter writing; articles on the hair, teeth, hands, lips, complexion, &e. An excellent work. We will furnish it on receipt of one dollar. From Dersy & JAcKsoN, 119 Nassau Street, New York, and H. W. Dersy, Cincinnati, through C. G. HENDERSON & Co., Philadelphia. THE SPARROWGRASS PAPERS; or, Living in the Country. By Frederick S. Cozzens. ‘It is a good thing,” remarks our new friend, Sparrowgrass, “ to live in the country,” an observation which he has himself proved to be correct, by presenting to us, as one of the fruits of his living in the country, the-genial papers em- braced within the volume now lying upon our table. Comic humor, sparkling wit, quiet sarcasm, hearty,

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86 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, natural, and kindly sentiment, cannot fail to render these records of Mr. Sparrowgrass’s rural existence desirable reading for all seasons, but especially for the summer. Nor will they, in our opinion, prove less in- structive than amusing. The wealthy city resident, who, perfectly unsophisticated as to the realities of country life, has left the whirl and merriment of busi- ness, and the dust and din of the great town, to seek ease, and quiet, and pure air, in some romantic rural district, will find in this volume that the annoyances and disappointments almost sure to beset the outset of his new existence may, by a year or two of patient perseverance, be changed into those solid comforts, and that almost unalloyed happiness, which his fond anticipations had pictured to his yet untaught imagina- tion. From Puiiuips, SAMPSON, & Co., Boston, through C. G. Henperson & Co., Philadelphia :— HUMOROUS POEMS OF THOMAS HOOD: In- cluding Love and Lunacy, Ballads, Tales and Legends, Odes and Addresses to Great People, and Miscellaneous Poems, now first collected. Edited by Epes Sargent. The numerous admirers of Hood will feel grateful to Mr. Sargent for this handsome volume. Its contents have been principally derived from various collections published by the poet himseJf, and may, therefore, be relied upon as the unquestionable effusions of his ver- satile genius, which could adapt itself so readily to the whimsicalities or sentimentalities of human life and character, COLOMBA. By Prosper Merimee. Translated from the French. There is a freshness and originality about this volume that will recommend it to the favorable notice of the readers of light literature. The style is lively and piquant, and the exciting interest of the story is fully maintained to the last. Asa vivid repre- sentation of Corsican life and character, we have met with no fiction equal to the one under notice. From De Witt & DAVENPORT, New York :— THE CITY ARCHITECT. A Series of Original De- signs for Dwellings, Stores, and Public Buildings, adapted to Cities and Villages. Mllustrated by Drawings of Plans, Elevations, Sections, Details, etc. etc. By William H. Ranilett, author of “ Cottage Architecture.” Vol. I. In the language of the introduction to this valuable series, it will be “ a work of great benefit to those who employ the services of a professional architect, as well as to those who are compelled, or who may prefer to make their own plans and designs: for it will enable them to guard against deception, and errors of calculation, and prevent them from being imposed upon by unprincipled contractors or incompetent builders.” It “will be completed in twenty numbers, and each number will be complete in itself.” Price 60 cents a number. From Ticknor & FrEeLps, Boston, through W. P. HAZARD, Philadelphia. MEMORIALS, and other Papers. By Thomas De Quincey, author of “ Confessions of an English Opium Eater,” etc. etc. In two volumes. These volumes are uniform with the handsome and convenient edition of De Quincey’s collected works, which has been for some time past in course of publication by Messrs. Ticknor & Fields. As we learn from a highly complimentary let- ter addressed by the author to his American publishers, they contain many new papers, which, he hopes, “ will not be without their value in the eyes of those who have taken an interest in the original series.” Referring, in this same letter, to the conduct of Messrs. Ticknor & Fields, De Quincey pays them a compliment no less deserved than it is creditable to their sense of propriety and justice, they having, as he informs us, made him a participator in the profits of the American edition of his works, “ without solicitation or the shadow of any ex- pectation on his part; without any legal claim that he could plead, or equitable warrant in established usage, solely and merely upon their own spontaneous motion.” In the absence of all necessity to praise, much less to criticize the literary labors of the “Opium Eater,’’ we have thought that his testimony, so honorable to his American publishers, would have its due weight with his American readers. THE ANGEL IN THE HOUSE. The Betrothal. Had we not glanced over the pages of this beautiful poem, we might have lived out our life, perhaps, in the belief that love, as a subject for the bard, was very nigh destitute of freshness, and equally incapable of being originally treated. While the unknown author of the “ Angel in the House” sings passionately of love, as every poet-lover must sing, he seems instinctively to shun all false sentiment, contenting himself with de- picting those pure and serene, yet not the less ecstatic enjoyments, which the true lover only can experience. Nevertheless, though he does not seek fur originality by laying bare the human heart in its most unhealthy con- ditions of passion, he charms us by the singular novelty and simple wisdom with which he has touched upon a very ancient theme, Goden’s Arm-C hair. Our JuLy NuMBER.—As we promised, so we perform. In fact, several of the numbers published since our first issue of the year have been pronounced superior to the January number; and we are certain that our pre- sent number will not be pronounced inferior. “ Hal- lowed be thy Name” is as fine an engraving as we have ever published; while the fashion plate is far superior to those published in any other magazine. We promise a succession of beautiful numbers throughout the year, and the same number of pages that we commenced with. We have some sterling novelties in store that will be given before the year expires. The July number commences the fifty-third volume. Subscribers can commence with this number or from January, as they please, GopeEy’s AMERICAN SLIPPER.—This looks beautiful made up, and is very easily worked in the common stitch. “THREE THOUSAND DOLLARS PER MONTH FOR Parer.”’— Yes, friend “ Columbian” of Columbus, that was correct when we stated it; but it is now nearer $4,000 per month; and our circulation is 19,000 copies more than it was last year. Tue “ Moment of Trial,’ published in our March number, seems to have met with the unanimous ap- proval of the press and the public. The “ Richmond Messenger” says: ** We have got to see the magazine which has ever given its readers anything to compare with it.’ And yet we have many more that we think equal to it. ea ye 6C! dit up thes our whc the Ohi G GLA furn inqu price Ww don Som com! sine crim pose the « that the o Al the 1 been emp! Frui (See Su we re mone of Hi: publi nothi

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. Ad PRAPPLLALAALA Cuivus and single subscribers are informed that we ean always furnish numbers from the beginning of the year, and will send to any post-office where the sub- scriber may reside. A club of six may be sent to six different post-offices. It is not too late now to make up clubs. BALM OF A THOUSAND FLOWERS.— We have received many orders for this most delightful of toilet append- ages; but we cannot send it by mail. We believe that the proprietors, Fetridge and Co., of Boston and New York, have made arrangements to forward it to those who order it, or at least inform them of the nearest agency at which they can procure it. Were we to mention the immense number of bottles of this article that are sold in the course of a year, our assertion would hardly be credited. There is one virtue in the “‘Balm,” and, if it had no other, this alone would recommend it. Pour a single drop of it on your tooth-brush, and wash the teeth night and morning. It will not only render the breath sweet, but leave the teeth as white as ala- baster. For a cosmetic, also, it is invaluable; and for shaving, the gentlemen only have to try it, and they will never use anything else. Our Frrenp of the “ Tuskegee Republican” is in- formed that we take him for an honest domestic husband like ourself, and we contend that we are right. We should be sorry to think that his wife was not still his sweetheart. CHANGE OF ADDRESS AND NON-RECEIPT OF NuM- BERS.— We have received several letters, lately, upon these subjects; and the names have not been found on our books. It would be well for persons to remember to whom they send their subscriptions. If a subscriber to the “* Cosmopolitan,” address C. L. Derby, Sandusky, Ohio. GRECIAN PAINTING AND ANTIQUE PAINTING ON Guiass.—J. E. Tilton of Salem, Massachusetts, will furnish all the materials and directions. Our numerous inquirers will please make applications to him. His price is $3 for all the materials for Grecian painting. Wurprine Wives.—The great question now in Lon- don is, how to prevent men (!) from whipping their wives. Some time since, power was given to the magistrates to commit for six months to the house of correction, and since, the amount of punishment has increased: the crime has increased in proportion. It has been pro- posed to whip those who whip their wives; and that is the only way the evil can be cured. For every blow that a scoundrel gives his wife, let him have ten. It is the only remedy. ARTHUR’s SELF-SEALING CaNns.—We understand the sale of these best of preserving cans has already been very great. We have tried them, and pronounce emphatically that they. are superior to all others. Fruits and vegetables can be preserved the whole year. (See notice on page 476 of May number.) SuBSCRIBERS do not seem to understand that, when we receive money for any other publication, we pay the money over to that publication. If they miss a number of Harper, Arthur, or Graham, they must address the publisher of the publication they miss. We have nothing to do with it. eee eee 87 MATRIMONIAL AGENCY— PRIVILEGES oF LEAP- YeEAR.—We are determined to do some good in our generation; and, to commence, we are going togive, for the benefit of our young lady subscribers, a list of bachelor editors. It is leap-year, and they can make the proposal. We know that editors make good hus- bands; and we know that an editor’s wife has a proud position. We have a word or two to say upon the subject of position. Of late we have seen a ten- dency on the part of some editors to lose their self- respect, and suffer themselves to be made members of Congress, and accept foreign missions. This should not be; and we particularly request all those young ladies whom we mean to marry to our now bachelor friends to endeavor to keep before their eyes the import- ance of the station that they now fill, and not allow them to accept of any office whatever. And to the young gentlemen themselves we offer the following, extracted from a contemporary :— “ Wire.—There is no combination of letters in the English language which excites more pleasing and interesting associations in the mind of man than the word ‘wife.’ There is magic in this little word. It presents to the mind’s eye a cheerful companion, a dis- interested adviser, a nurse in sickness, a comforter in misfortune, and a faithful and affectionate friend. It conjures up the image of a lovely, tender, confiding woman, who cheerfully undertakes to contribute to our happiness—to partake with you the cup whether of weal or woe, which Destiny may offer. The word * wife’ is synonymous with the greatest earthly blessing ; and we pity the unfortunate decreed to trudge along through life’s dull pilgrimage without one.” The following gentlemen—we were about to give a personal description of—but will waive that and say: An editor is always good-looking, sometimes handsome; about five feet nine inches high; dark hair—when not gray; either blue, black, or gray eyes; smiling counte- nance, if their subscription list is large, and subscribers pay up well; manly appearance; amiable manners when the boy is not waiting for copy; liberal as princes— allowing their wives any quantity of pin-money, when they have it; domestic habits—when there is no theatre in the town; have no particular dislike to dogs and cats; deferential to mothers-in-law; do not particu- larly object to widows. * Here commences our list. The editor of the “ Atlantic,’? Middletown Point, New Jersey, acknowledges that he has no better-half. A nice place is the Point; very near to New York; almost too near. The editor of the “ Spirit of Democracy,’ Newmar- ket, Virginia, says heis so fortunate as to have neither wife nor sweetheart. Rash man! He will be one of the first to go off. The editor of the Troy, Alabama, * Bulletin” is in the market. The editor of the “ Tem- perance Advocate” at Norwich, New York, says he is “a confirmed old bachelor.” Yes, until his time comes. Wait until this notice reaches our lady read- ers. You know what Benedict says—* When we said we would die a bachelor, we did not think we would live to be a married man.” The editor of the “ Toulon Advocate” has neither. No one to interfere with you here, ladies. The editor of the “ Courier,’”’ Newcastle, Indiana, is another forlorn one. This is all for the present. A pretty good choice is here offered. SHORT, BUT TO THE PuRPosE.—* The ‘ Lady’s Book’ is the best magazine in the world.”"—Springville Herald.

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8&8 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PRARPP LPP A LS roe PRLPLLP LLL PALL —~ — ~ —— —_ Tue “GERMANTOWN TELEGRAPH.” —Our good friend, Freas, is now in the twenty-seventh year of his publication. We started nearly together—the major a little ahead. We have been friends all that time. It is rather singular that two persons, each starting a differ- ent kind of publication, should, twenty-six years after- wards, be the publishers of the best paper and magazine in the country. Freas, like ourself, has conducted his paper from the commencement. There never has been any change of proprietorship. The “ Telegraph” is ably conducted and handsomely printed. May he con- tinue to succeed! He has our best wishes. “How wAs sHE Dressep?”’—This is always the anxious inquiry when a young lady makes her first appearance in the fashionable world. ‘ What had she on?” Our young friend, the princess royal of England, “came out,’’ on a late occasion, and thus was she at- tired: A dress of white glacé silk, with three skirts of white tulle looped up with bunches of cornflowers, ribbon, and blonde. The train was of rich white moire antique, trimmed with bouillonnées of tulle and corn- flowers. Headdress was formed of a wreath of corn- flowers, feathers, and lappets. The queen wore a red poplin train, with a running pattern of gold trimmed with gold blonde. The petti- coat was white satin trimmed with gold blonde to cor- respond. Headdress of opals and diamonds. Very much obliged to the “Columbus Reporter.” We hope that the “beautiful young prairie girl’ is pleased with her “ Book.” THe patterns in this number can all be readily copied Price 25 cents a package, Manufactured by J. E. Til- by using our copying paper. containing several colors. ton, Salem, Massachusetts. How to useit. Lay your muslin on a hard surface, such as a table without a cover, then place over that the tracing paper, then over that the pattern which you wish to be on the muslin. Take a hard lead pencil or a stencil, and trace the pattern over carefully, bearing on pretty hard, and you will find the impression on the muslin. If you wish to preserve your pattern, place tissue paper over it, and trace over that instead of the pattern itself. GopeEy’s Monthly List of New Music, which will be furnished at the prices annexed. “Empire Polka,” by H. C. Harris, 25 cts. “ Wyoming Waltz,” with a beautiful Vignette, 38 “ * Clarinda Polka Quadrilles,” 38 New Ballads, by the popular composer Alice Haw- thorne. " The Pet of the Cradle,” embellished with a ener lithographic title in seven colors, 50 cts. Plain title, 2 “ 5 ** Love of one fond heart,’’ 25 cts. “ How sweet are the Roses,” 60 “ “* How sweet, how sweet are the roses, And how we watch for their bloom; We gather them in their glory, And scatter them over the tomb. But weeds unheeded lift their heads, And in their stillness wave; Like better friends in silent hours, ; Beside the ionely grave.” $ “ My Early Fireside,” Ir we knew whom the following came from we would give the proper credit :— LADIES’ HOOPS. “Tt cannot be said, it cannot be!” The lady said, right mockingly. * Fain would I grant a parting kiss, But how can it be done in this ?”’ She pointed to her hooped dress ; And he sighed out in dire distress. - = Full fifteen paces round about— Ah me! it makes one look so stout! And full five steps, if measured through; Oh, goodness! my! what shall I do? We can’t e’en take a last embrace, Much less approach with face to face.” He walked the lady round and round ; She seemed intrenched upon a mound: Securely spanned and fortified, As if all lovers she defied. You ’d say, if you that hoop should see— A war-hoop it was meant to be. He walked the lady round and round, And sank all weary on the ground. “I’m sold,” quoth he; “’tis all no go. Oh, love! how could you serve me so? Farewell: in foreign lands I’ll range, At least until the fashions change.” He went to Cali-for-ni-a ; And in her hoop she walked away. The world once called her quite the fun; And she was hooped, in fact, like one. Such hollow hearts once wore a mask. They dress now @ la brandy cask. MvsIcAL DEPARTMENT.—It will be perceived that We now give original music. That department is under the superintendence of Professor F. N. Crouch, the composer of over two thousand pieces of music. Tue “ ScHOOLFELLOW.”—A child’s magazine, and an excellent one. It is published by Dix & Edwards, New York, at $1 a year. A BEAUTIFUL piece of writing was lately shown us. It is the resolution passed by our legislature in favor of Doctor Kane, the celebrated Arctic traveller. It is the most perfect piece of penmanship we ever saw; and was executed by William J. Canby, southwest corner of Seventh and Arch Streets. Coorer’s NoveELS—PEoPLe’s Eprtion.—Stringer & Townsend of New York have published a cheap edition of these novels at $1 per volume. Tue difference between $3 and $5 is $2. That much is saved by purchasing those splendid pearl card-cases through us. The store price is $5. Peart Carp CasEs.—We have an opportunity of obliging our subscribers with these beautiful cases at $3 each—a very superior article. We have the pick from the manufactory before the stores can get them ; and can, therefore, send the handsomest, and they are beautiful. At that price we pay the postage also; such an opportunity has never before offered. WE have no agents for whose acts we are responsible, -—~- ew & eo ~~ a ee 4 Oe Oe ll | SS tee

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. PAPA AAL AAD ARAL PLA PL LPP PPL SCHUYLKILL Excurstion.— We have labored for severai 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. Ir can be seen in a village or town who takes the * Lady’s Book,” and who does not ; at least, the “ Clyde Times” leads us to suppose so by the following: “‘ We know that there are many ladies here who take it; and any one else may know the same by observing the ex- tra taste displayed, and the difference in choice of em- ployment by those who take the ‘ Lady’s Book.’ ” Rapp’s Pens.—We are constantly receiving direct from the manufacturer choice lots, made expressly for us, of those celebrated pens. We annex the prices with- out holders. Goose-quill size ° . . . . $2. Swan * - ° . ° ° $2 50. Condor “ ° ° é . ° -» $5. With holders this pen is— Goose-quill size ° . ° . ° - $3. Swan * “ ° ° ° e - Condor * ba ‘ é ; . ‘ * Best fourteen carat gold, and pens warranted, A SENSIBLE APHonisM.—There is a deal of truth in a remark which Mademoiselle de Somery frequently repeated : ** The world stigmatizes many men with the reputation of being wicked with whom a woman would be but too happy to pass her life.” Hatr DveE tn Four DIFFERENT CoLors.—The most perfect article of this kind, manufactured by the cele- brated Berger of Paris, is now for sale in this city by Fouladoux, in Chestnut Street above Fourth. It will color the hair black, brown, light brown, or of a very light almost flaxen color. for we have seen the article tried, and pronounce it, without any exception, the very best Hair Dye we have ever seen. Those who order will please specify what kind they want—as one case only contains one particu- lar dye. In addition to the above, Mr. Fouladoux manufactures Wigs and Fronts, and furnishes every article in the hair line, BOARDMAN, Gray, & Co., PIANO MANUFACTURERS or ALBANY.—The employees of this celebrated estab- lishment have formed themselves into a company; and had a parade, lately, and a banquet. We copy two of the toasts :-— By Mr. Sherman:—Tne B., G., & Co. GuARDs.— A fine-toned Company, all “Seven Octaves’’ with “ grand action” well regulated.—May they be tuned in equal temperament, and always “stand at concert pitch.” Mr. Wood, being called upon, gave the following :— Mr. SipeRIA OTT, THE JUNIOR PARTNER OF THIS ConcERN.—A gentleman of eminent financial abilities. In him we find a zealous promoter of art and mechan- ism ; whose highest aim is to further the interest of the employee. g* There is no deception in this, ‘ —— — RAPALA ore 89 LRP PL oo PATTERNS.—Our fashion editor continues to furnish patterns of any of the dress articles in the Book.’ Terms made known on application. We cannot pub- lish the prices, as the postage varies according to the size of the articles ordered, and that we have to pay in advance. The demand for patterns for infant’s clothes is immense, and they are of the most beautiful and Mrs. Hale is not the fashion editress. newest styles. Harr ORNAMENTS.—Ladies wishing hair made inte 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 satisfae- 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 50 to $3. Necklaces, from $6 to $15. Fob-chains, from $6 to $12 LARDNER’S ONE THOUSAND RECEIPTS UPON EVERY Suspsect.—We wili furnish copies of this celebrated work on receipt of twenty-five cents. PHILADELPHIA AGENCY, No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it. All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-oflice 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. “ Mrs. J. C. B.”—Sent patterns 19th. “Mrs. E. A. M.”—Sent patterns 19th. * Mrs. P.”—Sent infant’s shirt and patterns 2ist. *S. C."—Sent patterns 21st. “ Mrs. J. V. W.”—Sent pearl card-case 21st. *S, T. J.”—Sent box by Adams’ express 22d. “J. G. G.”’—Sent Rapp’s pen 22d. § Mrs. J. A. W.”—Sent hair ring 22d. “FE. S. H.”—Sent hair ornaments, “ Faith, Hope, and Charity,” 22d. “Miss H. M. N.’’—Sent bonnet by Adams’ express 2th. “G. F.”—Sent patterns 24th. “ Mrs. B. W. H.”’—Sent patterns 25th. “ Mrs. A. V. Du B.”"—Sent patterns by Howard’s ex- press 25th. Sent pearl card-cases to “A. V. D.,”” “8S. R.,” “ B. M. T.,°* “A. U. H.,” “HH. D. O.,°* “M. McV.,” “C.F. J.,” “MM. R.” We have now on hand the most beautiful ones ever seen. These card-cases cost $5 in the stores; we fur- nish them for $3 and pay the postage. “Mrs. W. W.”’—Sent stamped patterns 25th. “EE. E."—Sent Rapp’s gold pen 25th. “ Miss R. V. D.”—Sent “ Faith, Hope, and Charity,” hair ornaments 26th. “Mrs. F. H. 1.%—Sent pearl card-case and latest style visiting cards 26th. “J, M.—Sent shaving book 26th. “S. V. H.”—Sent patterns 28th. Mrs. O. H. A.’ —Sent infant’s clothes and patterns 28th.

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a a A LS aN — 90 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Mrs, R. A. A.”’—Sent hair ear-rings and bracelets 28th. “J. P. E.”’ Lowell, Mass.—You did not send a stamp or your full name. “* Miss M. D.’’—Sent ear-rings 29th. “ Emily.””—We think the Family Bibie the best place, at least that is where we keep ours. “Mrs. A. E. G.”’—Sent patterns 29th. * Mrs. F. 8. K.”’—Sent, patterns 29th. “ Miss F. B.”’—Sent hair ring 30th. “ Mrs. B. B. F.”"—Sent patterns 30th. ‘ Miss M. A. G.”—Sent “ Faith, Hope, and Charity,” hair ornament 30th. “A. S. O,’"—The mourning can be laid aside for the eccasion. ** Mrs. S, A. B.’’—Sent patterns 30th. “ Mrs. A. V. Du B.”—Sent patterns 30th. “Mrs. D. J. H.”’—Sent patterns 30th, “ Mrs. D. E.”°—Sent bonnet, riding hat, &e. 30th. “ Mrs. M. T."—You did not send a stamp to pay re- turn postage, and presume you do not take the “ Lady’s Book,” for the information you ask is given in every number. “J, E. Carpenter.”,—We have received a letter from you, but no date or address of any kind by which we may find out where you live. “ Miss V. A.’’—Sent patterns Ist. “ Mrs. L. R. 8.”"—Sent “ Faith, Hope, and Charity,’’ hair ornaments Ist. “ Mra. D. 8S. V. T..°—Sent infant’s wardrobe Ist. “ Mra. W. W.”—Sent stamped collar 2d. “WwW. J. T.’—Sent bonnet materials 3d. “ Mrs. E. M.’’—Sent patterns 3d. “ Miss M. M. G.”—The bridesmaids ought to be all dressed alike. “ Mrs. A. T. R.”"—Sent infant’s wardrobe and pat- terns Sth. “ Miss D.”—Yes, Always, when writing toa stranger, use the prefix Miss before your name. “Mra. M. R. P.’’—Sent iniant’s wardrobe and pat- terns 5th. ‘Mrs. M. 8. O.”—Sent infant’s wardrobe and pat- terns 5th. “ Miss V. A.”"—Sent Rapp’s gold pen 5th. “Miss P. R.”—Sent pearl card-case Sth. “Mrs. E. G. H.”—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams’ express 5th. “* Miss S.’"—Sent pearl watch hook 5th. “ Miss E. B. J.”.—Sent worked collars 6th. “Mrs. A. J. M. D.’’—Sent hair breastpin 6th. “ Mrs. O. H. P. 8.”—Sent patterns 7th. “Mrs. R. A. S.”—Sent patterns for infant’s clothes 7th. * Miss O. R. R.”—Leave a card for every one you wished to see. “* Mrs. S. M. A.”.—Sent pearl card-case 7th. “ Mra. O. A. H.”’—Sent infant’s clothing 8th. “ Miss H. A. R.’’—In introductions it is always proper to mention as follows, if the person is a stranger in the city--“ Mr. Smith, from New York.” “Mrs. T. R. 8.’—Sent patterns for infant’s clothing 8th. “G. H. R.”—Sent “ Language of Flowers” 8th. “ Tuscaloosa, Alabama.”— Do not answer anonymous letters. Send your name and a stamp to pay return postage; besides, the answer is too Jong for this depart- ment. “Mrs. M. M. V.”—Sent infant’s wardrobe and pat- terns Sth. PPP PLL LLLP LLLP Pm nm pn ALLL Ma nnnnnnnnnnnnn~ ees es “ Mrs. M. H. D.’’—Sent embroidery pattern 8th. Sent pearl card-cases to “ A. R.,” “ M. McS.,” “ T. M. A.,” “A. G. L.,” “8S. U. A.” “N. O. Q.,” “B. G. s.,” “FF. J. H.,” “K. N. A.” “P. A. C.,”? “HH, R.,” “D, S.,? “ W. L. A.” 8th. * Bessie.”’—Send your name and a stamp to pay re- turn postage. “S. E. A.’—Sent patterns 8th. “ Miss M. M. H.’’—Sent “* Language of Flowers” 8th. Sent 12 packages of hair dye to different persons. “M. E. R.”—Sent “ Faith, Hope, and Charity,” in hair 9th. “M. V. 8.”—Sent pearl card-case 9th. “ Miss R. O. M.’”»—Sent embroidery patterns 9th. “Mrs. A. C. H.”—Sent patterns for infant’s ward- robe 9th. “ Travelling Dresses and Bonnets.’-—Once for all, ladies, send a stamp and sign your real names to letters, and we will give any information in our power, whether you are subscribers to the “* Book’’ or not, but we can- not every month publish an article about travelling dresses, and we will not answer anonymous inquirers. An answer is almost always requested in a number that is already printed and in the hands of our subscribers. “Mrs. A. V. Du B.”—Sent goods by mail 10th. * Miss M. M. D.”—Sent trimming and pattern 10th. “J. W.’—Sent knives and forks by Adams’ express 10th, * Miss F. R. McA.”—Sent hair rings 10th. “ Misses L. W. and L. S.’’—Sent hair rings 10th. * Miss D. R.’’—Sent pearl carved card~-case, price $5, 12th. “ W. B. D.””—Sent hair breastpin, ‘‘ Hope,” 12th. “ Miss R. H.”—The engagement ring should be worn on the first finger of the left hand. Subscribers to the “ Cosmopolitan Arts Union,” if they miss their numbers, must address ““C, L. Derby, Sandusky, Ohio,’* and notus. We have nothing to do with sending them the numbers, and do not think it fair to be asked to bear the expense of postage in answering their letters. In future, when & name is not on our books, we will not answer the letter. “H. F. H. G.’—Sent colored cotton 12th. * Mrs. J. R. A..”—Answer toolong. Send yourname and a stamp to pay return postage. We do not answer anonymous letters. June number was in California before your letter was received. “ Mrs. G. J. B.”—Sent blue working cotton 13th, “Miss E. M. G.’*—Sent carved pearl card-case, $5. “ Mrs. R. R. A.”—Cannot answer. Have as much as we can do to attend to those who favor us with their names. “Cc, Y..—Sent sacque 13th. “J. F.C. 8. P.’—Sent Rapp’s Gold Condor pen 13th. “ Writing.’—In our January number we published an excellent article upon letter-writing. For $1 we can send you a book upon Etiquette, and if you are so anx- ious to learn you will not object to the price. “T, L. 8."—Noname and nostamp. Cannot answer such questions except by letter. “ Miss E. M. G.’’—Sent paint box and ring 14th. “Miss B.”—When writing to a stranger, sign your name (Miss) Jane Smith, supposing that to be the name. “Mrs. J. M. S.°°—Sent “ presents” 14th. “FF, M. E.”—Sent hair breastpin, hair ring, two hair necklaces, and one pair hair bracelets 15th. “PF, J. W.”—Sent ladies’ hair fob chain, with ap- pendages, “‘ Faith, Hope, and Charity,” 16th. “J, W.”—Sent spectacles 16th, — 2 8 oe oe ah an ae oe 8 ow oO the ble B81n the

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. 91 “J. A. M.’’—Sent patterns 16th. “ G. W. McM.”’—Sent hair bracelet 16th. “ Mrs. M. A. F.’"—Sent patterns 16th. “ Mrs. C. T. C.”°—Sent patierns 16th. “Mrs. W. P.’’—Sent patterns 16th. “H. D.”—Had better send a stamp and have an an- swer by mail; it is too long for this department. “Mrs. W. P. C.”—Sent infant’s wardrobe and pat- terns 17th. Centre-Cable Gossip. THE CHINA CLOSET. NO.1. UNLEss one can afford the luxury of a perfectly com- petent and well-trained waiter, it is almost impossible to have the china closet in perfect ordez, without the personal daily supervision of the mistress of the family. Crumbs, smears of sweetmeats, flies-soiled napkins, and general disorder, are the inevitable results of two or three days’ neglect, while a quarter of an hour every morning is quite sufficient to prevent all these evils. If it is possible, a china closet and store-room should never be united; it is much easier to look after the two separately—although silver, knives, the table-cloth, napkins in use, properly have room there. The last should have a drawer or closet appropriated to them, beneath the first row of shelving, though, when once pronounced unfit for the table, they should never be returned to it, as a careless girl is very apt to do, rather than take the trouble of putting them, at once, with the soiled cloths, and thus you have the risk of seeing them put in use again. It is best to have regular days for changing the table linen, it is least likely to be neglected. The same of crocheted table-mats. Baskets, or oil-cloth mats, trays, etc., have also their appropriate place in the china closet. Every dish should have its own place, and a girl can soon be taught to save herself trouble by putting it there at once, instead of heaping things in confusion on one shelf. Many ladies still hold to the old fashion of washing up the breakfast dishes and silver, arranging the salts, castors, and then replacing them on their appropriate shelves, thus making certain that every thing is in order for the day, and for the dinner table. It is very little trouble if the cook regularly brings in a small cedar or painted tub of hot water, towels, soap, and a small mop, with a handle sufficiently long to keep the hands from unnecessary contact with the suds. These, placed upon a large tray, will secure the varnish or polish of the table from spots and splashes. Many use a porta- ble Butler’s tray for the purpose. Washing up the breakfast things may seem a matter simple enough for any child of twelve to undertake, but there are certain things, in the care of glass and china, which even sensible grown people do not always under- stand, enough to form a separate article the ensuing month. BRAZILIAN DESSERTS, In the perplexity which often befalls housekeepers as to “‘what they shall have for dessert,” we suggest attention to the following novelty, which we find in * Ewbank’s Brazil.” Celestial Slices. —Fine bread soaked in milk and steeped in a hot compound fluid sugar, cinnamon, and yolk of eggs. ne eee ae Mother Benta’s Cakes.—An angelic dainty, invented by an ancient bun of the Adjuela convent; the ingredients rive-flour, butter, sugar, grated meat of the cocoa-nut, and orange-water. Widows.—Sweet paste, thin as paper, piled an inch thick on each other, and baked. Heavenly Bacon.—A light pudding compound of al- mond paste, eggs, sugar, butter, and a spoonful or two of flour. Then there are “sighs,” “lies,” “angel’s hair, “egg-threads,” and “rosaries,” brown, we dare say, eight and ten inch rings, or strings, of praying beads, by which the Credo may be acquired in burnt almonds, and Ave Marias counted with pellets of jujube paste. Parkinson & Thompson should certainly experiment in these novelties, which might have a tremendous run in the next party season. We wrote the suggestion in a paradise for sponge-cake and custard loves, where eggs are seven dozen for fifty cents, and where one lot passed our window, two days since, amounting to twenty-three hundred dozen. What would a northern housekeeper, or a Market Street huckster woman, think of such a prize? ROYAL BABY CLOTHES, A COLLECTION so magnificent as that described by a Paris correspondent was probably never before pre- pared ; we only hope the juvenile Napoleon is not subject to the common ills of *“* baby flesh”—for colic and Alen- con lace, satin quilts and Dalby’s Soothing Compound, could present a strange incongruity. The first thing that strikes the spectator in entering Mdille. Felicie’s warerooms is the exquisite beauty of the various articles displayed to view. Three rooms, one of them of great size, are thrown cpen, and everything exhibited in them forms part of the layette. At the first glance, one would imagine that the only color to be seen was white; but afterwards the eye perceives that the ribbons and satin used for trimming several of the arti- cles are blue. But as blue is the color appropriated to male children, as rose or pink is to those of the opposite sex, the idea would occur to the looker-on that every- thing had been prepared exclusively fora prince. Such, however, is not the fact, for, as the imperial infant has been voué au blanc, blue is used in such a case indiseri- minately for either sex. As some of our readers are not perhaps aware of what vou/ au blanc exactly means, it may be as well to state that sometimes in France a mother consecrates her child, before its birth, to the Virgin, placing the infant under her especial protection, and, as a sign of her having done g0, clothes the child in white only, with rare ornaments of blue at times, and keeps it in that attire for a certain number of years—three, five, or seven—and on some occasions to the period of the child’s first communion. It is in ac- cordance with this custom that some of the articles of the imperial layette have been ornamented with blue, without any reference to the sex of the infant. In the large room at Malle. Felicie’s, all the tables along the sides, as well as an exceedingly broad one down the centre, are completely covered with the most beautiful articles of lace, embroidery, silk, satin, and cambric, that, perhaps, were ever collected together for any one child. The number of dresses alone appeared so countless that we took the liberty of inquiring the number, and were informed twelve dozen. All are em- broidered with such rare perfection as to really merit to rank as works of art, and the vast quantity of point @’Alengon with which they are trimmed must be of

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92 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. —_—e immense value. Along the tables are also to be seen baby’s caps, hats, and headdresses, in such abundance as to excite one’s wonder; and of these, also, twelve dozen have been prepared—all beautifully embroidered, and all trimmed with the most costly lace. Twelve dozen appears to have been the magical number in the order given, as everything—stockings, gloves, shoes, boots, gaiters (such exquisite gaiters!), chemises, sheets, &c., were all to the same extent. All the sheets were marked with the imperial crown and cipher, and trim- med with Valenciennes lace. Of course, the richer arti- cles were not ordered in such profusion; as, for instance, the long mantles, of which there were a dozen for State occasions, most richly embroidered and trimmed, while others were in satin, in silk, or in cacbemire, but all of the greatest beauty. The quilts, also, some in blue satin and some in white, were on a more limited scale, but all as rich as human ingenuity could make them. At the end of the room stands the cradle—pot that which the city of Paris is preparing for the imperial in- fant, but still one of great beauty. A lofty fléche at the head, formed of a vine-branch of gilt bronze, gently bends over the part in which the infant is to sleep. From the /léche, curtains of Mechlin lace, lined with blue silk, are suspended at each side, the whole being looped up with gold cords terminating with torsades to match of the same metal. One couvre-pieds is of white satin, and another of blue, and the whole is covered over with Alencon lace, with the initials N. E. in the centre, the whole producing an effect of the rarest elegance. Opposite the cradle, on the centre-table, stands the robe de baptéme, all of point d’ Alen¢gon, with mantle and headdress to match. Near it is a muff of ermine, with a mantle of white satin lined with ermine. On the .able lay the child’s coral for the period of teething—in this instance made of amber, the ball for the rattle being hollowed from the solid mass. This little plaything alone cost 600 f. Near it was placed an amber necklace, with a small gold medallion in the centre, to which the Archbishop of Paris has given his benediction. Three corbeilles de baptéme lay near, all lined with blue satin, and covered with Alengon lace, and bearing the imperial cipher and arms. To go on would be to fill a column, and yet not a word has been said of the contents of the other rooms, equally worthy of being examined. We cannot, however, help stating that the articles prepared for the nurse (twelve dozen in number) are also of extraordinary beauty and richness, as may be judged from the fact that her aprons are embroidered with as much care as the articles for the child, and, like them, trimmed with Alengon lace. The taste with which the whole is laid out is not the small- est charm of this exhibition, which, of its kind, has perhaps never been equalled. It adds to the admira- tion excited to learn that the whole was designed, em- broidered and made up in the short space of two months and a half. THE CENTRE-TABLE COMMONPLACE BOOK. TROUBLE IN BATTALIONS.—How often is it our best earthly comsolation that one grief takes off the edge of another—that one anxiety pushes off, as it were, the burden of another. People are thought to be peculiarly afflicted, sometimes even hardly dealt with, when a series of troubles fall upon them in quick succession ; but a single solitary grief standing out in the midst of life’s sunshine, a single arrow sent into the heart when all else is peace, and luxury, and repose, a single adder in the path when the ground is thickly strewn with flowers, a single drop of poison in the draught when the lips are regaling themselves with sweets, we fancy these, in the experience of any human heart, would be found even worse to bear than a whole host of calamities heaped one upon another. Such calamities fall like winter upon the soul, and like winter it braves them. We know, when the frosts of autumn come, that the leaves will fall from the trees, and we prepare for blast, and storm, and biting cold; but the hurricane of sum- mer leaves a desolation behind it, more cruel in propor- tion as the peace and the beauty which it found were more entire. Tue days of life go drearily! Peace, coward soul, be still and wait, Though varied visions, dark and strange, Speak but of gloom, of death or change; God’s eye is over every state. , Peace !—thou may’st yet be fortunate! CHEERFULNESS.—True jey is a serene and sober motion; and they are miserably out that take laughing for rejoicing; the seat of it is within, and there is no cheerfulness like the resolutions of a brave mind.— Seneca. As in our lives, so also in our studies, it is most becoming and most wise so to temper gravity with cheerfulness that the former may not imbue our minds with melancholy, nor the latter degenerate into licen- tiousness.—Pliny. A Wirer’s Neep.—Without ignoring accomplish- ments, or casting a slur upon any of the graces which serve to adorn society, we must look deeper for the ac- quirements which serve to form our ideal of a perfect woman. The companion of man should be able tho- roughly to sympathize with him—her intellect should be as well developed as his. We do not believe in the mental inequality of the sexes; we believe that the man and the woman have each a work to do, for which they are specially qualified, and in which they are called toexcel. Though the work is not the same, it is equally noble, and demands an equal exercise of capacity. A MOTHER’S MORNING PRAYER. (We must beg pardon of the unknown author for altering the title of this sweet nursery hymn from a ** Teacher’s”’ to a “* Mother’s’’ morning prayer. It is the natural utterance of a Christian mother’s heart.) Up to me sweet childhood looketh, Heart, and mind, and soul awake; Teach me of Thy ways, O Father! For sweet childhood’s sake. In their young hearts, soft and tender, Guide my hand good seed to sow, That its blossoming may praise thee Wheresoe’er they go. Give to me a cheerful spirit, That my little flock may see It is good and pleasant service To be taught of Thee. Father, order all my footsteps; So direct my daily way That, in following me, the children May not go astray. Let Thy holy counsel lead me— Let Thy light before me shine, That they may not stumble over Word or deed of mine.

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>» FASHIONS, PPP LPP PPP PLP LDL AAP PPP OPPO a anne Draw us hand in hand to Jesus, For His Word’s sake—unforgot, Let “‘ the little ones come ‘o me, And forbid them net.” TO CORRESPONDENTS. “ONE WHO DESIRES TO BE A HELP TO HER HUS- BAND” will find it best to act from principle, not by rule; we give a few maxims, however, that may be an assistance. Pitch your scale of living one degree below your means. Feel a want before you provide against it. When you are undecided which course to pursue, choose the cheapest. Never hesitate to work at any period of life; it may be the benefit will not come to thyself, but the fruit of thy labor will be a blessing to posterity. In the same connection we quote the often-quoted de- scription of a “good wife,” by Fuller. “ She commandeth her husband, in any equal matter, by constantly obeying him. She never crosseth her husband in the spring-time of his anger, but stays till it be ebbing-water. Surely men, contrary to iron, are worst to be wrought upon when they are hot. Her clothes are rather comely than costly, and she makes plain cloth to be velvet by her handsome wearing it. Her husband’s secrets she will not divulge. Especially she is careful to conceal his infirmities. In her hus- band’s absence she is wife and deputy husband, which makes her double the files of her diligence. At his return he finds all things so well that he worlders to see himself at home when he was abroad. Her children, though many in number, are none in noise, steering them with a look whither she listeth. The heaviest work of her servants she maketh light by or- derly and seasonably enjoining it. In her husband’s sickness she feels more grief than she shows.” “Mrs. S. or LANGDALE.”—Oaken furniture is as much in request as ever for any room but a parlor. It is not generally known that new oak may be made to assume the tint of an antique by being exposed to vapors of ammonia. A new carved arm-chair will in twelve hours have all the appearance of having been made two hundred years before. “ Miss E. L. or N.”—Lace for evening-dress, though a profusion of lace is not in good taste in the’street, unless in very warm weather. “ ADELINE.”—We give the instructions required for making a feather basket: Take the quill feathers of any bird whose plumage is variegated or beautiful; for instance, that of the pheasant: remove the bottom, or quill parts, and introduce the feathers into a piece of pasteboard, pierced for their reception, and cut to what- ever form you may think fit; bend a piece of wire into the same form, but rather larger than the bottom; fix the ends together, and fasten the feathers into it at regular distances from each other, A handle of wire, or pasteboard, covered with a portion of skin with the feathers on it, may be added. The basket should be lined with colored silk, quilted lightly on to a sheet of wool. “Mrs. ALGER OF Lowoop.”—We commence a series of hints on gardening next month. Mignonette is nota French flower originally, but came from Egypt. “ Miss M. J. J.”—Dyeing the hair with anything is pernicious; black pomatum almost invariably leaves an untidy crease, and is readily detected. 93 “An INEXPERIENCED Nurse.’’—The best and ches pest deodorizing fluid is half a pound of sulphate of iron (common green copperas), dissolved in a gallon of water. Its cost is comparatively nothing—its effect instantaneous and complete. The odor of roasting coffee is also said to be an ad- mirable disinfectant, and to some persons by no means disagreeable. 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, envelops, hair-work, worst~ eds, 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 expendi- 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.’s; cloaks, man- tillas, or talmas, from Brodie’s, 51 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from T, White & Co.’s; jewelry from Warden’s or Caldwell’s, Philadelphia. When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here govern the purchase; therefore, no articles will be taken back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be considered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR JULY. Ftg. 1.—Dress of summer silk, suitable for second mourning. The skirt is very full, and has five distinct puffs of the same, put on at regular intervals and fast- ened by flat bows of ribbon. The basque is long, in hollow plaits behind, to correspond with the top part of the sleeve, which has a bell puff beneath it. Hair drawn back from the forehead, with an ornament of jet and velvet, Fig. 2.—Evening-dress of pink tarleton, over a pink glacé slip. Triple skirt bordered by rows of narrow satin folds, or pipeing. Berthe tocorrespond. Bouquets of large rose-colored geraniums, with black centres, with foliage of the water-flag. Wreath for the hair of the same. JUVENILE FIGURES. Fig. 1.—Walking-dress of nankeen-colored linen, trimmed with English embroidery. Fig. 2.—Party dress for a little girl of twelve. White silk, with bands of broad pomona green ribbon. We give these last not for their simplicity or grace, but for their novelty. We have always opposed, as our readers well know, overloading children with dress and orna- ment.

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94 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. RLLLAL LLL LPL LLLP CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILA- DELPHIA FASHIONS FOR JULY. THERE is little dress or visiting in the city this month. Parting calls have been paid; and those who have not gone to the springs, the sea-shore, and the country, live in Philadelphia back buildings and New York basements, with jealously closed shutters and uncleaned door knobs to give the public an impression at least of absence. The streets and shops are still filled with late South- ern purchasers preparing to follow the residents in their flitting, and to surpass them in costliness and variety of dress. Among the most delicate morning dresses, or peignoirs, devised for the extreme heat of summer, we notice one of white embroidered muslin intended for a bridal out- fit. The front is in a full pattern of sprays, surrounded by foliage in open work, and ornamented by a row of rosettes in pink gauze ribbon. This style of rosettes is quite new, and may be made up in any color for capes, spencers, bretelles, etc. Each has five different tones or shades of pink, like the gradation of color in a rose. A small pelerine of worked muslin goes with this dress ; it descends to the waist, and is edged by a deep row of Mechlin lace. The sleeves are trimmed by two rows of the same, caught up inside the arm by two rosettes of the ribbon. A tiny breakfast cap completes this delicate costume. It is made of three puffs of tulle over pink ribbon. Between each puff a row of lace is set on with a slight fulness, and droops backward. They meet at the ears with loops of ribbon in five shades of pink. Strings of broad pink ribbon float over the shoulder, edged with lace. This will be found a most bewitching dress. Lace is now so generally worn that it is manufactured in great profusion and variety. It is remarkable for the richness of the pattern. Mechlin, always the most ladylike of points, is regaining its ancient form. Alengon, Brussels, and Honiton are chiefly adapted to flouncing. Many of the new collars are small and square, com- posed of Valenciennes or Mechlin; others are much larger and more showy, being scalloped or vandyked at the edge. The undersleeves correspond exactly with the collar, and are ornamented with tiny butterfly bows of ribbon, or transparents with ribbon drawn through them, and fastened by a single bow with floating ends, Bretelles, spencers, capes, and jackets of mixed lace and embroidered muslin are just in season. They are also ornamented profusely with ribbon, and worn with an elegantly fitting under-waist of cambric or linen, enriched with edgings and insertions of embroidery. The skirt may be bardge, tissue, or a summer silk. Dresses with high and close corsages being now s0 much more generally adopted than they recently were, the fancy buttons employed as fastenings are manufac- tured in greater number and variety. Among the ex- travagances invented by Parisian taste, but not as yet adopted to any great extent on this side of the water, are buttons composed of jewels or precious stones; such, for instance, as emeralds, turquoises, diamonds, pearls, and sapphires. Some buttons are made in the form of a small rosette or a tie set with jewels of differ- ent colors; others are shaped as a butterfly, the body being in white enamel, the wings in sapphire, and the head in rubies. But the most beautiful and costly fancy buttons we have yet seen are a set in which each button is im the form of a bee, the body being composed of topaz, the head of rubies, and the wings of black enamel speckled with diamonds. ; $ Ladies’ equestrian costume does not admit of any considerable change. The riding-habit has, necessarily, always a long skirt, and the corsage is always made to fit close to the figure. The most fashionable riding- habits which have recently appeared are of cloth, either black or of some dark color. The corsage has a long basque, and is ornamented in front by brandebourgs and fancy buttons. The sleeves, which are very wide, descend only midway between the elbow and the wrist, and are finished by a turned-up cuff, which is slit down on the outside of the arm, and on each side of the slit are brandebourgs in transverse rows. The under- sleeves consist of one large puff of cambric, covered with very narrow tucks running longitudinally, and having on each side a row of hem-stitch. The collar is of cambric, vandyked and ornamented with hem-stitch. The riding-hat of black or gray felt has rather a broad brim, and inclining somewhat over the forehead. It is ornamented with a feather of the same color as the felt, and placed so as to wave towards the back of the neck. The veil most frequently consists of black tulle, either spotted or plain, and edged with a broad hem. At this season of the year a broad straw flat, usually of a coarse braid, and trimmed lig)‘!y with a dark or white Mantua ribbon, will be found picturesque and much more comfortable than felt or beaver. A correspondent requests more definite information with regard to the capelines or drawn bonnets intended for the country or the seaside, which we have already mentioned. They are intended chiefly for children or young ladies; and are found very convenient in the country, as they project beyond the forehead sufficiently to protect it from the rays of the sun, whilst a large bavolet or cape shades the neck. The bavolet is pro- longed at the sides so as to fasten under the chin, the ends being fixed by a bow formed of the same materia) as the bonnet. Small, light slips of whalebone are passed through the runnings. A capeline of maroon- color silk has been lined with pink, and ornamented with an under-trimming consisting of a ruche of pink ribbon, two bows of the same ribbon being placed at the sides. Attached to the edge is a voilette of maroon-color tulle, bordered by six rows of very narrow pink ribbon, set on in a zigzag pattern. Capelines of a plainer kind are composed of white muslin, or gray batiste, lined with pink or cerise-color, and trimmed with ruches of ribbon. Same are composed of very fine jaconet sprigged with lilac, pink, or blue, and are trimmed with ruches of the same material, edged with plain tulle about an inch wide. Some of the Parisian ladies are adopting for the seaside capelines of a very gay descrip- tion. They are composed of pink or blue silk, and are covered with tulle or bobbinet, either spotted or sprigged. The tulle or net, whichever may be employed, falls over the brim, and forms a voilette with a scalloped edge. A frill of the same covers the bavolet, and two long ends drooping at the sides serve the purpose of strings. Bows of pink gauze ribbon, placed under the brim on each side, are made in a style somewhat re- sembling full-blown roses without leaves. Batiste and barge are the two most serviceable materials, however, either alone or lined with marcelline of a delicate shade. Parasols are of every tint, as usual. Those wh; strive to avoid rather than court notice upon the prome- nade usually choose a plain, reliable shaae of moire, without embroidery or fanciful decorations. The bow under the point or ferule is of narrower ribbon than last season, and sometimes has several floating ends, giving a light and graceful effect. FASHION.

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—_-—_ + } } ] ' | rr , ot ‘Dp T _ THE JOSEPUINE. {From the establishinent of G. Bropre, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Vorert, from actual articles of costume.] Tuts truly elegant style of mantilla is as simple in construction as it is effective in appearance. It is shawl- shaped, just half a square, cut bias. It is three-quarters of a yard deep from the neck to the peak. The tabs are one yard each, measured from the middle of the neck to their termination. The neck is hollowed slightly, in order to cause it to lie gracefully upon the shoulders. The materials are alternate Lauds of moire antique and tulle, black, with an ornament of black velvet rib- bon running in parallel and cross directions with the main bands of the garment, forming checkers; these velvet stripes are arranged in groups of fours, with a neat fancy frog set in the centre of each checker. The seams uniting the tulle and moire antique are covered by a neat net trimming, matching in character the ornaments of the mantilla. A heavy fringe completes the trimming of this beautiful article. 100 at - | — — ——!

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