Godey's Lady's Book 1858-01: Vol 56 Iss 1

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GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK. PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, “CATCH THE BY *“*T am weary! Oh, so weary !”’ The speaker’s head sank back into the cushions of her easy-chair. She was young and still pretty, although the lips had lost their carnation tint and the cheek its round- ness. Her hair, once fine, but now faded and dry, was stretched back from her temples, unrelieved by ripple or bandeaux, and confined in a loose, untidy-looking knot at the back of the neck. Nor was her apparel better adapted to heighten natural comeliness or atone for the loss of personal charms. A cashmere robe—cut after the pattern so aptly denomi- nated ‘the blouse’’—neither clean nor new, worn because it was comfortable, hid her figure in its clumsy folds; and a pair of worsted slippers, whose only recommendation must have been this same comfortableness, since they preserved on all sides a respectful distance from the tiny feet, rested upon the tiger-skin rug. The room betrayed none of the negligence of its mistress. It was taste- fully furnished as a nursery-parlor, but with evident reference to the wants, intellectual and physical, of children of a larger growth. The window-bars were concealed by azaleas and japonicas above whose evergreen branches hung a canary’s cage; choice pictures decked the walls; there were books in costly bindings in cases and upon tables ; a cottage-piano, shut, stood against the further side of the apartment, and the stand at the lady’s side bore a small but beautiful bouquet of the most fragrant flowers winter can win from their allegiance to summer. The blinds of one window were bowed ; those of the other closed, and in their shade a child was sleeping in her crib. The pouting mouth and delicate skin were the mother’s, but the forehead, clear and broad, VOL. Lv1.—2 | | SUNSHINE.” MARION HARLAND. and the wreath of chestnut curls must have been the father’s gift. She slept soundly, the very picture of happy innocence; one hand, like a plump white shell, folded over its pink lining, lay upon the outside of the ecoverict, the other indenting her cheek. smiled in her slumbers, and at the same in- stant the mother stirred uneasily, and a fretful moan again moved the silent air. ‘* Weary ! weary !”’ The door opened unheard, and the advance of the intruder was as noiseless. There were no creaking hinges or thin carpets in that establishment. The rustle of garments caucht the sick woman’s ear just as a smiling face, flushed with exercise in the frosty wind, bent over to leave a kiss upon hers. ‘‘Hatty Dale! I am glad to see you!’ was her greeting in a tone of pleasure that formed a strange prelude to the languor with which she added, ‘‘ But you startled my poor nerves , Once she terribly coming in so abruptly.’ ‘As if I did not always enter in the same way,’’ returned Miss Dale, pulling off her furred gauntlets to warm her fingers at the fire. ‘‘ Nothing that is expected can be a surprise, disagreeable or pleasant, and I should like to inquire, Mrs. Temple, what you have to do, at this hour of the day, but wait and wish for my coming ?’’ She crossed over to look at the babe. “I will not kiss her just yet. Her start at the touch of the tip of my nose would be more reasonable as well as more genuine than was her mother’s. And now, my dear lady prisoner, how do you find yourself this morn- ing ?”’ ‘*Worse, if possible, than when you were here yesterday, ill as I appeared then, and 13

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14 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. this confinement is robbing me of my little I weaken every hour.”? Why don’t you go remaining strength. **So I should think! out ?’’ ‘*Hatty! what are you saying? This wea- ther!’’ “This weather!’ said Hatty, stoutly. ‘“What if the thermometer does stand at zero? The air is as dry and pure as ever breathed in the tropics, and tenfold more bracing. Are your lungs diseased ?”’ **Mercy! no, I hope not !’’ with a shudder. ‘* How thoughtless in you to put such a notion into my head! I shall not have a moment’s peace of mind until I have an auscultation. Candidly tell me, do you detect any symptoms of—”’ ‘Consumption, do you mean?’’ asked the other, coolly bringing out the word her nervous friend failed to articulate. ‘*‘ About as many as I detect in myself or in little Blanche there. You may rest assured that I would instantly communicate any suspicions of that kind to you, for, should they prove well-founded, I should feel that I had done you a signal ser- vice instead of injury. My opinion, Mary, has always been that, when you discover what your disease is, you will cure it yourself.’’ It was hard to be angry, however cutting her language, in its hidden meaning, may have been, with that kind good-humored face before one’s eyes. Yet Mrs. Temple colored in vex- ation or embarrassment as she answered: ‘That is scarcely fair, Hatty. You are well aware that Dr. Pilson, whose skill nobody questions, after a careful investigation of my case, is completely at fault as to the seat of the complaint. How can I presume to judge for myself ?’’ ** Just what I said !’’ replied Hatty, stealing a roguish glance at the kindling face. ‘‘I do not dispute Dr. Pilson’s skill when he can make out a ‘case,’ nor his ability, when he fails here, to make out a bill, that, in length and clearness of details, must compensate himself and the patient’s friends for the triding disappointment in the first instance.”’ **One fact you will admit,’’ said the other; ‘*my enforced extravagance in that respect, if extravagance you choose to call it, is the only expensive folly in which I indulge. My silks and furs and laces for the year do not draw heavily upon my husband’s pocket.’’ ‘Better that they should. I venture to affirm that he had rather settle a milliner’s bill for a hundred dollars than balance that ‘little account’ of your courtly physicians by half that sum. I have heard house-owners say that a continual outlay for repairs was very disheartening when the tenement ope- rated upon seemed none the better for the labor and money expended. The best thing to be done then is to pull down entirely or throw the property into market.”’ ‘*Which means, I suppose, that Horace ought to tire of me and wish me in my grave. I shall be there soon enough, Hatty; never fear !”’ ** Soon enough, I allow, dear Mary,’’ rejoined Miss Dale, changing her bantering tone to one of earnest tenderness. ‘‘Many years hence will be too soon for your devoted husband and true friends to consign you tothe tomb. It is to avert the terrible woe that would attend upon your untimely death that I would incite you to a different mode of existence. You have much to live for, Mary; everything that makes life desirable and beautiful; yet I have often heard you declare it to be a burden.”’ *Itis!’’ sobbed the weak dyspeptic. ‘* You, who have never suffered a day’s illness, can philosophize and preach about the necessity of altering my habits, my ‘ mode of existence,’ and so on. I own I do not live like a well person, for the obvious reason that I am not well, an argument to which, as Dr. Pilson says, some exceedingly sensible, healthy peo- ple are strangely obtuse. You ascribe your freedom from sickness and pain to your cheer- fulness, and active exercise in the open air. You sleep soundly ; you think it is in conse- quence of your contented frame of mind, and because you have not done injustice to your digestive organs. You see me sitting day after day in my easy-chair in this close, warm room; averse to undertaking even the trifling journey of a single flight of stairs; capricious in appetite and spirits; and you cry, ‘No wonder she is sick!’ You confound cause and effect, Hatty.’’ ** Well argued, Dr. Pilson!”? laughed Hatty. ‘““If my eyes had been shut, I could have fancied you the worthy Galen himself. There now, Mary, don’t get angry. It is to his interest to make you believe yourself sick ; it is to mine to convince you that you might be well if you would ‘make an effort,’ as Mr. Dombey’s sister says—what was her name ?”’ **T do not know, I am sure’’—a little fret- fully. ‘‘I have never read the book.”’ ** No; but Horace told me he meant to read it aloud to you, since your eyes would not permit you to enjoy its contents for yourself.’’ ** He offered to do so’’—with a sigh; ‘* but

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‘““CATCH THE SUNSHINE.” 15 I was too nervous to bear the rustling of leaves near me, especially in the evening, which is the only time he can spend at home. You think me very foolish, no doubt; but I cannot help it.”’ ‘*T do not say that you are ‘foolish ;’ but I regret, as you must also, that this extreme susceptibility to light and noise deprives your husband of what would otherwise afford him creat pleasure. He cannot read to himself, either, unless he withdraws to another room, which he will not do, I know, while his pre- sence gives you any comfort.” ‘*He never complains,’ said Mrs. Temple, in a voice that had a touch of offended pride. ‘*And you are longing to add: ‘When he does, it will be time for you to interfere in our domestic arrangements,’’’ finished Hatty. ‘* You cannot quarrel with me, Mary; so give up the attempt. Youcannot forget the depth and sincerity of my love for you, and that, in my estimation, Horace has not his peer upon this continent.”’ The right chord was struck. The spark in the eye was dimmed by dew; and the lip trembled while it smiled. Hatty went on: ‘*‘ Whatever may be your trials—and I know they are not few—you have the blessing of one of the noblest, fond- est husbands that ever was given to woman. You were his pride, his glory, while your health lasted ; now’’—her glance ran around the chamber—‘‘ you are no less his idol, although the sick-room is your temple.’’ The wife’s tears flowed afresh, but in a more abundant and healthful stream. ‘“‘It is true—all true; and I, poor wretch! can offer him no return for his goodness. I wish, sometimes, that I were out of his way, that he had a companion more worthy, more You may well say that my trials are not light. Oniy four days ago, I suffered extreme mortification—worse than that— agony of spirit, because I felt that I was de- Oh, if his love should congenial. preciating in his eyes. wear out under these constant tests, this in- cessant demand for his patient forbearance !’’ ‘“‘T hope there is no need of such a fear,’’ said Hattie, soothingly. ‘‘ But what is this new trouble ?’’ ‘““You may recollect Eleanor Stewart, whom it was said Horace addressed before he knew me—a dashing belle, who spent a winter here with her sister, Mrs. Manners ?’’ **T do, perfectly.”’ ‘““Whether his admiration was, in truth, mingled with love, I cannot tell,’’ pursued Mrs. Temple ; ‘‘ but certain it is that he has always remembered her as the finest specimen of a certain type of beauty he ever saw. She had not seen him since his marriage until one day last week, when he met her on the street. He came home fairly raving about her. | wish you could have heard him. Three years, he said, had wrought no visible change in her, unless, indeed, they had added to her attractions. Her style was peculiar—in its way, inimitable. She had accosted him with the most engaging friendliness, congratulated him upon his happiness as a husband and father, and expressed a desire to become ac- quainted with me. He represented the state of my health which debarred me from visiting my most intimate friends; whereupon, with what he called a ‘ graceful disregard of eti- quette’—with what J considered bold imper- tinence—she begged to be allowed to pay her respects to me in person, at as early a day as might be convenient to me, She ‘could not think of standing upon ceremony with the wife of an old and esteemed friend.’ By the time that he got thus far, I was half mad with a nervous headache, for he talked faster and louder than usual, and was in such a merry bustle that I positively feared his head was turned. I had to entreat him first to lay aside the poker, inasmuch as the fire did not need stirring; and he only used it to beat time upon the grate to the chant of Miss Eleanor’s perfections; then to stop chirping to the bird, and to throw the cover over the cage, for Dicky, in reply, was piping his shrill- est notes ; then please not to finger my flowers, and finally to sit down, and tell me, in as few words as possible, what his commands were.”’ ‘Oh, Mary!’’ uttered Miss Dale, involun- tarily. ‘‘ Yes, I was cross; but, if you had the least conception of what nerves are, you would sympathize with me. Well, he quieted down, and asked my pardon for his thoughtlessness. ‘I have no commands whatever, Mary,’ said he; ‘but it would please me to see Miss Stewart in my house, if the thought is not too repugnant to you; and I believe that her so- ciety would do you good; she is so lively and entertaining.’ Think of that, Hatty, when Dr. Pilson has said, over and over, that excitement is the very worst thing in the world for me in my present condition! and my favorite de- testation is one of your so-called ‘lively’ women.”’ ‘I had better take my leave, then,’’ said her visitor, rising.

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ar 16 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. A hasty motion of Mrs. Temple’s arm stopped her. ‘‘ You are too bad!” she said, half erying, half laughing. ‘As if I could thean you, my best, almost my only friend! Sit down, and hear me through. The conclu- sion of the matter—for I was too weak and weary to dispute—was, that Miss Stewart might call the following morning, if agreeable to her ladyship, and that Mr. Temple should be at home to receive her, for I could not sus- tain so much brilliancy alone. I was misera- ble all the forenoon, for my panado was too sweet, and soured as soon as I had swallowed it; and I shall always be sure that that blun- dering housekeeper of mine mixed green with my black tea, although she has been told twenty times that it is rank poison to me. Blanche, too, according to her father’s direc- tions, must be dressed in her prettiest frock ; and, when the maid brought her to me to see that all was right, I found that the stupid creature had looped up her sleeves with blue ribbons, instead of letting her wear the set of coral and gold I had ordered expressly for her. By the time this was corrected, I was, as you may suppose, completely worn out, and made up my mind that I could not see company at all that day. If Miss Stewart called, Horace must meet her in the parlor, and explain mat- ters. Just as I had formed this determina- tion, and resolved, moreover, to send for the doctor if I did not get better very soon, Horace came running up stairs. I felt really sorry at the sight of his great disappointment; yet I could not but think him somewhat incon- siderate when he tried to prevail upon me to alter my plan. ‘If I would only let her come up for a few minutes,’ he urged, he ‘ would not ask more than this.’ He had seen her down town but an hour previous, and in- formed her that I was in my usual health. Now, this was perfectly preposterous, for, in addition to the fatigue of talking with a stranger, there was the trying process of dressing. For once, he was obstinate in re- fusing to see the propriety of my reasoning ; and I was worried to the very brink of an hysterical attack, when the conversation was cut short in a truly dramatic manner by John’s announcement, ‘Miss Stewart!’ and, to my unutterable horror, the lady herself was at his heels. What I said or did, I hardly knew then, or can recall now. I have a con- fused recollection of the touch of her dainty glove, of her fluttering silk flounces and waving white plumes, and that my old wrap- per looked shamefully mean by contrast with her magnificence. This was my first over- whelming impression; then, as the hot blood began to retire from my brain and cheeks, I saw more clearly a tall, finely formed woman, dressed in the height of the mode, filling, overflowing with shining silken waves, a chair just opposite to me—a mocking sneer in her eyes that belied the polite accents her lips were forming. I could not complain of any want of attention, for she addressed all her observations to me, in spite of Horace’s at- tempts to divert her notice. In speech, she ignored my disordered dress and deportment ; but each flash of those eyes told me that no- thing of all this escaped them, and that, at heart, she triumphed mercilessly in my dis- comfiture. Blanche was a ‘love,’ an ‘ angel,’ and the very ‘miniature of her mother ;’ the chamber was a ‘fairy nook, a bower of plea- sure, the home of the graves ; and it was easy to divine whose taste had been at work here.’ She crushed me with flowers, flung and piled them upon me—musk-roses and other sicken- ing sweets—until I was suffocated into silence. Then, and not until then, when she saw that I was ready to faint under the load of flattery, more intolerable than abuse, did she leave me alone. Horace attended her to the front door, and, returning to the room, rang for the servant who had showed the visitor up. The man excused himself by stating that Miss Stewart had told him we were expecting her, which he supposed to be the truth from some- thing my maid had said in his hearing. Ho- race dismissed him, and stood for a minute looking at me, oh, Hatty, with such an ex- pression! a mixture of shame and sorrow I shall never forget, then quitted me without a word. He was absent until tea-time. Dr. Pilson had called three times in the afternoon ; and my husband found me sick in bed. No allusion has been made by either of us to the terrible scene of the morning; and he is, if possible, kinder than ever before; but his suffering must have been surpassed only by mine. To live to be a disgrace to him, a source of incessant anxiety, everything except what his wife should be! is not this grief greater than I can bear?” ‘*Heavier than you should bear,’’ said Hatty, significantly. ‘Did it ever occur to you that you are exceedingly inconsistent both in language and action ?’’ ‘‘No. How?’ **You would die, you assert, rather than lose your husband’s love; yet, when you are acquainted with the means of avoiding this

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“CATCH THE SUNSHINE,” 17 catastrophe, you will not exert yourself to use them, through fear of bringing on one of your celebrated nervous headaches, which, how- ever painful, will not, I am convinced, what- ever Dr. Pilsom may say to the contrary, endanger your life. Positively,’’ she con- tinued, ‘‘if any modern Celebs were to consult me as to the necessary qualifications of a wife, I should advise him, above all things else, to seek one who never complained of this most fashionable malady. I have no consolation for you, Mary. You know your danger, which I also acknowledge ; and you have a woman’s heart. I must go now. Forgive me if I have appeared harsh, unsympathizing.’’ The tear-sprinkled handkerchief was again pressed to the invalid’s face. ‘‘I am for- saken! comfortless !’’ was now her cry. Miss Dale laid her hand upon her arm, and pointed to Blanche’s crib. Through a crack in the shutters darted a solitary sunbeam, falling directly across the babe’s coverlet. The little one had probably been awakened by it, and was evidently highly delighted with the bright intruder. Both eager hands were outstretched to grasp the golden pencil that broke into fragments in the dimpled fingers. ‘*Catch the sunshine,’’ was all Hatty said, as she kissed mother and child. The nurse entered for her charge ; and Mrs. Temple had leisure and solitude in which to ponder upon this last sentence. There was a time when life was steeped in glorious sun- light, such radiance as her soul drank in as its food and delight. She remembered the proud satisfaction of the lover, then of the husband, in her beauty enhanced by the vi- vacity of youth and happiness; in the quick intellect, now, alas, so perverted! A petted child at home, she brought to her new estate little knowledge of the trials incident to it. Perplexed, harassed, discouraged, it was no marvel that her spirit soon succumbed, and that she was willing to believe the flesh still more weak. She confessed to herself, this morning, what she had often been dimly con- scious of before, that there had been times in the past when reformation would have been easy—when, stimulated by the wifely love which still burned in her bosom, she felt almost persuaded to defy disease, and, more formidable still, doctors; but habit and indo- lence mastered resolution. ‘‘ Now’’—and, with a hopeless sigh, she held up her wasted hands, tremulous as those of palsied age— ‘‘what can I do?’’ The wedding-ring hung loosely upon its oe finger. She groaned with the pang that came “vith the suggested omen. Was the bond it typified, although purer and stronger than gold, slipping from the hearts it united, or growing weaker and thinner from constant abrasion? ‘* Dark! darker than ever!’’ she murmured, ‘‘ Nothing is left for me but the night of the grave.’’ With the languid pace that had taken the place of her once elastic gait, she tottered, rather than walked, to the window, and opened the blinds. The warm flood poured over the plants, and enlivened the bird, whose trill of ecstasy proved his instant appreciation of the favor. Struck by the rich coloring of a newly opened azalea, Mrs. Temple bent for- ward to examine it more nearly, when her eye fell upon two pale yellow leaves, breaking through the mould on the side of the pot A touch would have crushed them; and their form was yet too indefinite to declare their parentage. They might have derived their being from the su- perb plant towering above them, or been the nearest the window. plebeian product of some waif seed, dropped, as sometimes happens in humana parterres, in aristocratic earth. Yet each feeble fibre lent all its might to expand its covering towards the light. Need we repeat the lesson taught by the twin leaflets to her who gazed upon them? She had been resigned to a living burial, sinking beneath the mould and dust self-indulgence was heaping upon every fa- culty of usefulness; or if, at intervals, spas- modic quickenings, longings for the sunbeams, stirred within her breast, the difficulty of the first step paralyzed them anew. Oh, hers is not the only immortal nature that burrows, and grovels, and languishes out—we cannot say a vegetable existence, for the thousand forms of strength and loveliness, to-day feed- ing upon air and sunshine, bowing and bloom- ing their thanks to Him who has sent both, forbid the calumnious comparison—but a life that has no parallel in nature, unless we trace a flattered resemblance in the silly sloth, clinging to his tree so long as there remains bark sufficient for his daily sustenance, and wailing out his weak cry at every step towards a new home. It was long since Mary Temple had thought deeply upon any subject except her own bodily ailments and imaginary grievances ; but the touched heart now aided the brain. There, before her frail teacher, she knelt, the sun- shine resting, like a blessing, upon her bowed head, and thanked God fervently for the loves

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18 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. of earth, the hopes of heaven, to which h eyes had been so wilfully blinded, and en- treated strength to quit her prison cell. She was really wearied by the unwonted excite- ment of the forenoon, and obliged to lie upon the lounge until within an hour of dinner- time; but her husband was surprised to see her open the door as he bounded up stairs— a fleet, soft tread, acquired by months of prac- tice—still more astonished and pleased at the cheerful voice in which she saluted him, and the change in her accustomed dishabille. The dingy worsted wrapper was superseded by one of dark, rich silk, whose pink facings relieved the sallowness of the wearer—a robe hitherto reserved for the very rare occasions deemed important enough to justify the trouble of dressing. ** Are you expecting company, Mary ?’’ She was listening for the question; yet it caused a sharp twinge of self-reproach. ‘‘ Only my husband,’’ was her gentle reply. He noted the emotion she strove to conceal, and kissed the quivering mouth, his own eyes full of tender feeling. Even in his refusal of her timid petition to be allowed to dine with him, there was such affectionate kindness that she could not feel disappointed. ‘‘We must be careful, and not get well too fast,’’ he said ; and both hearts gave a sudden throb at the words. ‘*Get well?’’ She repeated them over and over after he had gone, not with the despair- ing moan in which it was her wont to utter them, but in a trust that was almost con- fideuce. She had set her face steadfastly towards the light, and the shadows were cast backwards out of her sight. Brother merchants who passed Horace Tem- ple on his way down street, that afternoon, wondered what successful speculation had given such a rise to his spirits; and his clerks compared notes on the same subject, some of them more than hinting at an extra glass of champagne, which they knew, per- haps better than he, ‘‘ maketh glad the heart of man.’’ Several days elapsed before Hatty Dale’s next visit. She heard a man’s voice as she opened the door of her friend’s sitting-room ; but, relying upon the footman’s assurance that his mistress was not engaged, she en- tered. Her impulse was to retreat as she beheld the portly figure of Dr. Pilson; but Mra. Temple called her forward. ‘‘ The doctor and I are only having a friendly chat, my dear,’’ she said. **To which we are more than happy to ad- mit Miss Dale,’’ subjoined the bland physician. ‘*For myself, I regard your coming as particu- larly opportune. I have such faith in your sound judgment, that I rely upon you to assist me in enlightening our patient here as to the fallacy of a theory she has adopted lately. What think you, Miss Dale, of this gentlest of natures stubbornly resisting the advice of her medical man, and scouting at the science of medicine itself ?’’ Mrs. Temple smiled brightly; but the an- swering gleam upon Hatty’s face was very faint. ‘* Perhaps the ‘ patient’ considers that ‘patience has had its perfect work,’ ”’ she re- plied, with an attempt at playfulness. ‘*Let me answer you from the same book,”’ said the doctor, readily: ‘Be not weary in well-doing.’ ”’ **T have had very little experience in well- doing for eighteen months, doctor,’’? Mrs. Temple interposed. ‘‘I hope to tell you a different story before long.’’ **T wish you may find your system a suc- cessful one, madam. Would that I could say ‘I hope so’! You will hardly believe me’’— turning to Hatty—‘‘ when I inform you that yesterday noon I met her and Mr. Temple riding out in a sleigh, actually a sleigh! This fragile creature who, a fortnight since, could not leave her chamber, this tender flower, this mimosa, this—’’ **Dormouse!’’ suggested the quondam in- valid, ‘‘who, having been most thoroughly awakened by that same sleigh-ride, is very much disposed to repeat the experiment fre- quently while the snow lasts.”’ Dr. Pilson arose, dignified, yet polite. ‘* As you judge best, madam,’’ he said, gravely. ‘*My remonstrance was meant in kindness. I have performed my duty. If, at any time, you should need my poor skill, I beg you to let me know. I have always served you to the best of my ability. Heaven forbid that I should ever cease to do this!’’ And, with this pious ejaculation, he bowed himself out. ‘*Now, Mary, what does all this mean?” asked Hatty. ‘‘ Have you really disobeyed his directions, and to the extent that he says?’ ‘* My study, since your last visit, has been to obey nature and conscience,’’ was the re- joinder. ‘It is hard work, Hatty—far more arduous than I conceived of when I began it; but, thus far, the ‘grace has come with the burden.’ ’’ ‘** And ever will,’’ said her visitor, feelingly.

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‘‘CATCH THE SUNSHINE.” 19 ‘‘T pray that it may, for I am deplorably Twenty times a day I am tempted to I seem never weak. abandon the attempt at reform. before to have understood the meaning of the word ‘inertia.’ Body and mind are alike averse to the new regimen, for I no longer feed the one with professional dietetics, or the other with morbid musings, nor suffer both to drone for hours and days together. My pro- gress is painfully slow.”’ ‘*Few great works are accomplished in a day,’’ was Hatty’s encouragement; ‘‘and you have been sick. Do not fly into the opposite extreme of imagining all your maladies unreal because they have been aggravated by fancies and drugs. I am truly glad to leave you thus, Mary, for I believe you will perse- vere.’’ “Leave me?’’ repeated Mrs. Temple, in some alarm at her voice and manner. ‘ Are you going away ?’’ **On a long journey, to ——.”’ ‘*To pay a visit ?”’ “Yes. I have relatives there, and may remain with them until spring,’’ said Hatty, stooping to lift Blanche from the floor. Her look was so sad that Mrs. Temple forbore to make further inquiry, without suspecting that her melancholy arose from any deeper feeling than natural regret at leaving home and friends for an absence which might be pro- longed indefinitely. ‘‘Still,’? she thought, after she had gone, ‘‘ her present home is not a paradise that she should grieve to leave it. I have often wondered if her cold, worldly aunt could supply the wants of an orphan’s heart, and such a heart as hers.’’ Hatty wrote with tolerable regularity during the winter, but such short, unsatisfactory letters that her correspondent was disposed to think her careless of their friendship or forgetful that the return epistles were penned with difficulty, sometimes with absolute pain. The most sunny day has its clouds, and there were still hours of depression, days of irri- tability, imperfectly controlled, that shaded Horace’s hopeful face and wet the wife’s pillow with tears of penitence. The demon Dys- pepsia had been too assiduously courted, too tenderly nursed to be exorcised by a single effort. The twin-teachers had exchanged their sickly hue for a dark green, then relapsed slowly into sere second infancy and died meekly in the shadew of the thrifty off-shoots, their ascendants ; snow and thaw were gone, fine days were frequent, when exotics and Canary revelled in air as well as sunshine, before our heroine could safely take upon herself the duties of a housekeeper, and ven- ture ocvasionally into society. More than one card had passed between Miss Stewart and herself, for, by a succession of mischances, neither had ever found the other at home. ‘*Have you any engagement this evening, love ?”? she inquired of her husband one morn- ing, as, in neat wrapper and most becoming cap, she sat behind the coffee-urn. ‘* None; Iam quite at your service,’’ replied he with alacrity, for he was not yet quite used to the delight of possessing a wife who could have evening engagements. ‘*Then’’—blushing a little at her own memo- ries—‘‘ if you have no objections, I will invite your friend, Miss Stewart, to take tea with us.”’ Horace was speechless for a moment in ab- solute amazement; then, pushing back his chair, walked around to his wife’s place, and kissed her as though they had not been mar- riedwfull two years and a half. She coull have cried heartily as she hid her face upon the dear shoulder, but she battled bravely with the happy shower, and conquered. A gloriously happy woman she was all that day, for struggles, weariness, self-denial were am- ply rewarded by the words he had said in her ear, ‘*My noble wife; God bless you !”’ Miss Stewart returned a gracious acceptance to Mrs. Temple’s note of invitation, although not generally partial to quiet tea-drinkings. ‘* But,’’ she said to her sister, ‘‘ if this visit proves as rich a farce as the first I made at that house, I shall not suffer for lack of entertainment. Oh, dear!’’ she laughed, ar- ranging the picturesque net of crimson and gold in the hair she knew to be one of her chief beauties, while her black eyes flashed back from the mirror their scornful light, “‘the remembrance of that scene will be fresh in my mind twenty years hence. If I were dying, the picture would excite a smile. My unheralded entrance was a coup d'état. I owed Horace Temple a grudge, as you do not need to be told; but from that hour, I have almost forgiven him ; I could not have desired a more complete revenge. I suppose we shall sup upon weak tea and Graham bread in that second-story nursery; and that Madame will sport her recherché dressing-gown—I verily believe she has worn it by day and by night for the last year; and that her hair has not been thoroughly combed in the same time. And this is the wife of the fastidious man, who, as he once informed me—impertinently

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20 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. e iough—had in his early youth formed a standard of womanly excellence which he had never seen approached since, yet was deter- mined not to marry until he did. Sic transit gloria mundi resolves !”’ Mr. Temple stood ready to welcome the belle at the outer door, and had a most cordial greeting. Then a lady came from the parlor, and the imperturbable woman of fashion was nearly surprised into an exclamation as she spoke the usual phrases of reception due from hostess to guest. A slender figure, with just enough fragility to make it almost ethereal in its grace, attired with exquisite neatness and taste; a face classically oval, every feature of delicate beauty and illumined by a smile of heart-sunshine—these made up the apparition that utterly confounded her. Mrs. Temple saw, and it must be confessed enjoyed, the effect of her appearance. This consciousness of an advantage gained at the outset reassured her to meet the would-be haughty condescen- sion with which Miss Stewart recovered her- self. Two or three gentlemen and as many ladies followed her arrival, ‘‘ just such people as it was an object to cultivate,’’ she said internally, and to this species of agriculture she accordingly addressed her best energies. But, as is often the case, the force brought into action seemed so egregiously dispropor- tionate to the work to be done, that the at- tempt was ridiculous. She was over-dressed, too talkative, too prononcé, as she would have said of another, in modern American too ‘‘loud’”’ and ‘‘fast’’ for the refined group, particularly beside the gentle, lovely lady of the mansion, whose sweet tones, ever ready to fill up the pauses in the conversation, were like flute solos heard in the rests of clarion music. Miss Stewart was a failure, and as this was discovered to be irretrievable, she became ill-natured, what in a plain dowdy would have been rude and snappish. The most pleasant time of the evening to her was when her carriage was announced. Mr. Tem- ple escorted her home. He was in high spirits, **could afford to be,’’ she unwillingly allowed to herself. Her adieux were less elaborate than formerly, and it is to be doubted whether there was much sincerity in her reciprocation of his hope that they ‘‘ should see a great deal of her now that Mrs. Temple’s health enabled her to partake more freely of the company of her friends.’’ His wife was sitting in a thoughtful mood by the fire in her room, awaiting his return. *‘ Bravely done, darling!’ he said merrily. **T have been right proud of my household fairy to-night.’’ ‘* Almost as well satisfied as if you had married your first love ?’’? was her arch query ; but there was anxiety in the eyes so fondly raised to his. ** Better satisfied than if any other woman in the world were my wife.’’ She could not mistake his truthful emphasis. ‘A million times more pleased than if the queenly Eleanor occupied your place.”’ ‘*Thank you |’’—drawing his brow down to her lips—‘“‘ thank you! oh, so heartily! Yet, dear Horace, there was a time when she made you sadly ashamed of me.’’ ‘“Notaword! Nothing you ever did caused me one tithe of the mortification I should feel, this evening, were I her husband. She is a gay humming-bird, brilliant, but spiteful, and fit only for summer weather. Let her pass, Mary. Her gyrations cause but little commo- tion in our quiet home-nest. A dear and lovely one it is to me.’’ He did not say: ‘‘ You made it so;’’ but she felt that this was his meaning. ** Darling !’’—she started from her reverie at the word and the pressure of his arm, and withdrew her gaze from the fantastic pictures she was tracing in the coals—‘‘ you mentioned my first love awhile ago. Have you any idea who she was ?”’ ‘*T referred to Miss Stewart.’’ **So I supposed. But I never loved her, never gave her the least intimation of any intention on my part to address her, although I have heard that she numbers me among her slain.”’ ‘*T am glad to hear that,’’ interrupted his listener—‘‘ very glad.’’ **But I had a ‘first love,’ notwithstand- ing,’’ pursued he. ‘‘ Don’t look grieved, and accuse me of a want of frankness towards you, whom you and Heaven are my witnesses I love as well as ever man did a wife. I never thought it expedient to tell you the story until now. Years before the never-to-be-for- gotten visit to your native place, which made me acquainted with its fairest ornament, I loved Hatty Dale.’’ ‘*Hatty Dale!’’ **T loved her, and told her so. I was then twenty-two, and an ardent suitor. She, a girl of eighteen, with one of the warmest hearts that ever throbbed or ached, and, as I truly believe, preferring me to all the rest of the world, rejected me decidedly, repeatedly.’’ ** But why ?’”’ on o - Hy — © mee ae a, me LS le! le el hm

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‘CATCH THE SUNSHINE.”’ 21 Mary flushed with indignation, never con- sidering that this rejection had been the foun- dation of her wedded bliss. ‘For a long time, she would assign no rea- son for acourse which, I could see, was fraught with anguish to her as well astome. At last, in an overflow of emotion, a wild, sweeping ficod of sorrow, that left bare the inmost re- cesses of her soul, she revealed all, a secret which I have kept sacredly until this hour; nor would I disclose it now, even to you, with- out her expressed desire as my warrant for doing so. I had a letter from her, this after- noon. Its contents I purposely withheld till your company had gone. Hatty’s mother, whom she was called to -—— to nurse, is dead.”’ ‘‘Her mother? I thought she lost both parents while an infant.’’ **So says the world, which also reports her to be an only child, adopted by her father’s sister. She was taken, at an early age, by her present guardian; but she is the youngest of three living children. The others, a bro- ther and sister, much older than herself, are in the insane asylum at ,» where their mother spent the last fifteen years of her life.’? Mrs. Temple turned very pale, and burst into tears. Horace was scarcely less agitated. **This terrible story the noble creature im- parted to me as the sole cause of her deter- mined resistance to my proposals. If it effectually extinguished all hope and indeed desire to make her mine, it also increased my respect, and did not diminish my regard for her. We learned the calmer love of brother and sister, a sentiment which has made me a better man, and, I trust, has brightened her lonely path a little. When I made you my bride, dear one, I bore with me her blessing and prayers. Let her subsequent conduct testify to her nobility of heart, her purity of motive.’’ ‘* She has been a blessed sister to me,’’ said Mary, tearfully. ‘‘ All that I am this night, all that brings you happiness, under God I owe to her! My poor Hatty! What a life hers has been !”’ ‘* Hear what she writes,’’ continued Horace: ***Tf you think she can bear it, I wish you to tell Mary everything. That I have never spoken to her of the fearful cloud which has hung over my head for so long has not been because I doubted her discretion or friendship, but I dreaded the effect of the communication upon ' her nerves and spirits. She is stronger now, and perhaps able to hear and sympathize with the distress of one who loves her sotruly. But even through this thick darkness pierces one ray of sunshine. It is the thought that in the grave where I have laid my mother—beloved, although I never knew the full meaning of that sweetest of names—in that rest are ended the wanderings, the woes of her troubled spirit—that, restored to the serene loveliness of her youth, in the presence of her Father and ours, she now ‘sees light.’ And oh, I rejoice to remember that, upon earth, in the deeply sunken vale through which He has decreed my way shall lie, there is no gloom His smile cannot dispel, except when the shadows in which we are enveloped are cre- ated by ourselves! May His love keep us from such !” —_~w3oceer- — FEMALE EDUCATION. Let the education of woman be commensu- rate with her influence. Is it true that, in the completion of social life, she is mistress of that which decides its hues? Then let her be trained to wield this fearful power with skill, with principle, and for the salvation of social man. Does she sometimes bear the sceptre of a nation’s well-being in her hand ? Cato said of his countrymen: ‘‘ The Romans govern the world, but it is the women that govern the Romans.”’ The discovery of this very continent testifies to the political influ- ence of woman. Who favored the bold genius of Columbus? Do you say Ferdinand of Spain? I answer it was Isabella prompting her partner to the patronage he so reluctantly bestowed. Her influence unexerted, the Ge- noese mariner had never worn the laurel that now graces his brow. Will you leave this all- potent being illiterate, to rear sons debased by ignorance, and to become dupes of the de- magogue? Look at the domestic circle! Not more surely does the empress of night illumi- nate and beautify the whole canopy of heaven, than does woman, if educated aright, irra- diate, and give its fairest tints to her own fireside. To leave her uncultivated, a victim to ignorance, prejudice, and the vices they entail, is to take home to our own bosoms a brood that will inflict pangs sharper than death. For the love and honor of our homes, let us encourage the most liberal culture of the female mind.

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THE SCIENCE OF DRESS.—NO. I. FPLOUNCES.—THEIR EFFECT UPON THE HEIGHT. ** Room for the ladies !’’ for in this subject, as in all others, they have first to be consi- dered. A writer in the Quarterly Review, who has indulged in a degree of careless badinage, which that journal sometimes allows, declares that, however badly the woman dresses, it is the fault of the man, since ‘‘ she dresses her- self to please him, and he dresses her to please himself.’’ This is not quite the fact; but that each sex dresses to attract the opposite, as well as to please itself, is true ; and what we have now to consider, is how these objects inay be attained. A becoming dress depends upon its fitness to the wearer; the agreement of its colors with the complexion of the person, and with its own component hues and shape. The dress of a young person upon the body of one who is aged can never look well, since there is a disagreement between the wearer and the dress. A splendid, handsome; and costly fabric may not look well when made up into a dress. It is a constant remark that things appear better in the shop window than on the back of the wearer. The reason is that, when in the o | window, the seller has contrived, either har- moniously to blend, or contrast the color with others. That dress which is seen to advantage on a tall and graceful lady, is frequently like a caricature upon one shorter and ill-made. It does not suit the shape. ** Simplicity in dress,’’ says one of our best essayists, ‘‘can be scarcely carried too far, provided it be not so singular as to excite a degree of ridicule.”’ also be requisite in regard to the value of dress. Though splendor be not necessary, one must remove all appearance of meanness and poverty. So important is this fact, that fre- quently grandeur and harmony of dress are mistaken for beauty of person. A plain woman attired gracefully, richly, and becomingly, will attract more attention than a pretty woman badly and carelessly dressed. Richness of dress, however, adds little or nothing to the beauty of person. ‘It may,’’ says Shenstone, “ possibly create a deference, but that is rather an enemy to love and fa- miliarity.’’ The same caution may in

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THE SCIENCE OF DRESS. 23 SIMPLICITY IN STYLE. Harmony of color depends upon that nice arrangement by which violent contrasts are destroyed, and two or more colors blend and lose themselves in each other. Nature in this case, as in others, is our best teacher. The red and deep orange colors in the glow of sun- set blend into each other; whereas in the commen fabrics, with large white and black squares, the contrast is so great that the pat- tern becomes staring and ugly. When, how- ever, the white and black are very small, as in the shepherds’ plaid, at a short distance the colors blend and harmonize, and a pleasing gray tone is produced. The primitive colors, from which all others spring, are three, yellow, red, and dlue; all other colors are combinations of these: thus, red and blue are purple in various shades, blue and yellow make green. Black and white are to be considered as nocolors. Of these colors red and yellow are warm, and blue, in its variations, cold. The want of certain tints in the complexion should be supplied by the colors of the dress. The abundance or want of color in the face should also be remedied by the cap, bonnet, or headdress. Thus, fair persons should not attempt to wear yellow or pink by daylight, although becoming for evening costume to all but blondes, and those who have red hair; to the latter almost all shades of blue are becoming, especially “‘ mazarine blue,’’ for morning, and a somewhat lighter shade for evening dress. Ladies of the complexion mentioned can also wear green, which will have the effect of making a brilliant brunette complexion per- fectly dazzling, if the proper shade be chosen ; it should be a bright leaf green. Pale greens, and violet, or more particularly lilac, can be worn but by very few persons without in- juring the flesh tints, which ladies should always bear in mind. Brunettes may wear most shades of brown, especially cinnamon color; with advantage, maize color. Black is also becoming to them, and to those who have fresh complexions and light, warm, brown hair. In addition to these colors we recommend violet and white for daylight; for evening, pink, white, maize, orange, and all shades of gray, which may, with suitable ribbons and flowers, be advan- tageously worn by every one; rose-color may also be found very suitable. For blondes, blue, gray, white, or primrose, if the complexion be not too rosy in its hue; and, indeed, most light colors, excepting pink and yellow, are in good taste. In mentioning primrose we mean real primrose, and not the disagreeable sulphtr-color that usually passes under that name. Light green is favorable to a pale, fair com- plexion, in which the rose tints require to be increased. Those of a dark or olive com- plexion can wear most warm and brilliant colors, such as red and orange, of every shade, or black and brown, with brilliant ribbons.

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MARGARET’S

HOME. A HOUSEHOLD TALE, BY ALICE B. HAVER. CHAPTER I. Have I not been nigh a mother To thy sweetness? Tell me, dear, Have we not loved one another Tenderly from year to year, Since our dying mother, mild, Said, with accents undefiled, “Child, be mother to this child”? Mas. Browyrna. ‘<On, it is cold and so dark, sister! I don’t think it cen be five o’clock.’’ ‘*But it is, Susie. I heard it strike just before father called us.”’ ‘* Just one more little nap,’’ urged the child, sleepily. ‘*My side ached so when I first came to bed! It seems as if I had just got warm and comfortable.”’ The elder sister felt the force of the appeal, as well as the silent pleading of the thin arms wound tightly around her neck, and the face nestled more closely to her own. It required effort, even for her, to rise in the cold and darkness of the wintry morning, and to bring her mind to the routine of the day’s employ- ments. Susie was never well, and had turned so restlessly the first of the night, that she knew she must be suffering more than usual. ‘* Margaret !’’ called a voice again from the foot of the stairs, and this time impatiently. ‘‘Margaret! Susie! come! come! what are you abont up there, both of you? Your mo- ther’s had a bad night, and wants Susie to take the baby.”’ It seemed as if ‘‘ bad nights’’ were much the fashion in Mr. Grant’s household. His wife was always complaining that the baby had kept her awake, and she ‘‘must have her morning nap, or she shouldn’t be fit for a thing all day.’’ Mr. Grant never made his final appearance until an hour that would have been inexcusable in a poor man, but for midnight vigils that kept the curiosity of the whole neighborhood alive. Margaret, the eldest daughter, who shared the little upper chamber with her sister, would willingly have borne the morning drudgery, but that she had separate tasks of her own. As it was, she nerved herself to meet the cold 24

air of the room, and passed her hand tenderly over the sharp outline of the face she could not see for the darkness, rousing the little sleeper with a kiss. **T can’t give you another minute, Susie. It is very late, I’m afraid. Father has called us twice. Yon won’t mind, after you are once out of bed; and I will have the fire lighted by the time you come down.”’ ‘Oh, sister, I do wish we were rich !’’ the child said, wearily turning again, and clasp- ing the pillow Margaret had deserted. ‘I wouldn’t get up for two whole weeks.”’ ** And what would you do?’’ said Margaret, cheerfully, groping about for her clothes, and talking that she might rouse Susie more effectually. **T’d have a fire in my room all night; wouldn’t you, dear? and you should stay at home with me; and we’d live all by our- selves ; wouldn’t we, Maggie ?’’ ‘* What a selfish little thing!’’ Margaret’s voice was still p'ayful, though she fairly trembled with the cold; and her hands were stiff and benumbed as she arranged her abun- dant hair. ‘‘There! I’m almost through; and you hav’n’t stirred. Come! here’s your dress and apron; and I put your stockings under the pillow, last night, to keep them from freezing. Let’s see if you won’t be ready first, after all! Tell me some more of your famous plans, if we were rich.’’ ** You should be a lady,’’ said Susie, start- ing up at last, but more with eager thought than strength of will—‘‘a real lady, and ride in a carriage, and never have to go poking off to that store, and get wet through and through in rainy weather, and come home tired to death. You should have everything; you ’re so good! I don’t want much, you know, only to be warm, and rested, and have plenty of books, and no children to tend.’’ Poor Susie! The last was the great trouble of her young life. There was always a baby in the family ; and Mrs. Grant’s babies were invariably cross. They were neither sweet, nor sprightly, nor affectionate—not that it was any fault of theirs, poor, neglected little

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MARGARET’S HOME. 25 things ! and were heavy and lumpish, with hanging cheeks and projecting eyes, a great weight for any one to lift, and a perpetual strain upon Susie, to whom the chief care fell. She was Mr. Grant’s child by a former marriage, Mar- garet’s own sister, and as different as possible from the present juveniles of the family. Her figure was slender, and bent into a settled Her face, though delicate, wanted the roundness and coloring of health to make it attractive ; while her large gray eyes, ‘‘ neither joyous nor sorry,’’ had a dreamy, unchildlike ex- pression. It was no wonder that, with the habit of reverie, so natural to ashy, gentle disposition, made quiet by pain and weakness, They throve bodily, nevertheless, stoop by this continual child-nursing. Mrs. Grant and her familiar friends should consider Susie a stupid little thing—* obsti- nate and sulky into the bargain,’’ Mrs. Grant to them. ‘‘ But that was Marga- Margaret was always putting her would ret’s fault. up to notions, and interfering, if she tried to make her mind.”’ It was true that Margaret was the only one say that ever took Susie’s part in the systematic household oppression, of which she was the subject; but, to the child, she was always soothing self-restrained. She listened every night, with motherly love and patience, to the trials and grievances of the day; and, and though they wrung her heart and chafed her spirit, she was ready to excuse Mrs. Grant to the child. She doesn’t mean to be cross, I don’t believe. We won’t say anything about it this time; It will all come right one of these days.’’ Yet Margaret could not see how any better than her weary little sister. *“*T wouldn’t mind, if I were you. father worries so. , , So far, everything had ‘‘come wrong’’ since Mrs. Grant’s introduction to the family. She had never ceased wondering how her father could have married a person so unlike her own mother, who had supplied energy to his wavering but kindly disposition, and, by cheerful, industrious ways, always managed to keep their home in peace and comfort. She had seen heavy trials before her death—first of all, the failure of her husband’s numerous projects, a gradual settling down in society, as he became more and more a schemer; while those with whom she had commenced life rose above even the remembrance of their early intimacy. Then came the loss of two chil- dren younger than Margaret, both boys, who seemed to promise in the future the stay and dependence she had not found in their father. VOL. LVI.—3 > Settled ill health followed, in addition to the slow inroads of poverty and care, before the birth of little Susie, a wailing, feeble child. When Margaret’s mother came to end the hard struggle with adversity, and lay down to die—knowing that it must still be borne by her children—many wondered at her compo- sure, and the cheerful loving-heartedness for all others in sorrow and affliction; which was shown in word and deed. She had her secret struggles with a mother’s natural affection and solicitude. Many a wrestling prayer went up in the still midnight for faith and trust for them. For herself, she did not doubt the wisdom and goodness which were hidden in the losses and disappointments that had subdued the pride and ambition of her charac- ter to the humble meekness of a Christian, and taught her to look forward with longing to the ‘‘rest’’ which is thus won. But, for them! oh, how her mother’s heart yearned unutterably to bear the sickly little baby with her, away from all pain, and wailing, and to secure her fair bright Margaret from the trials which she had endured! It is so much harder to be resigned to the needful chastening of those we love, than to bear the heavy stripes ourselves. In the blindness of earthly affection, we would re- move them from the stroke, though acknow- ledging that for ourselves in very mercy he hath corrected us. The prayers were heard, and the angel of His presence came, with the consolation of a trust far greater than human foresight, to that lonely death-bed, that revealed the blessing of the lingering illness—time to teach and to illustrate by patience in suffering the lessons of her own life, to the daughter on whom her burden was to be laid. Already matured by sharing her mother’s anxieties, Margaret saw the last look turned from her father’s face to the sleeping baby sister, and then resting on herself with a mute, wistful pleading. She comprehended its fullest meaning. She was to watch over, and care for them, to supply as far as possible her mother’s vacant place. She had tried to do this, in her ignorance and inexperience, looking for help, as she had been taught, to a Counsellor that could also aid. Her father called her his ‘‘ comforter ;’’ the child repaid her love with clinging fondness. But this was not her life-trial. Another came to them in her dead mother’s stead, a selfish, charac- terless, aimless woman, whose influence upon her father was the reverse of all that the first

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26 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Mrs. Grant had been; and he settled more and more a dreamer, with a spirit broken, and a temper made irritable by repeated failures, and the taunts that were sure to follow. Her present occupation relieved Margaret in a measure from the irksomeness of home; but Susie’s bondage was a constant, daily trial. Rebelling in heart at the change, she still prayed, and tried to hope that all would be well in the end even for her motherless little charge. But it needed constant watchfulness over herself; and now that winter had come again, with no cessation of Susie’s toil and hardships, the temptation to murmur and despond was ever present. This cheerless day dawn especially weighed upon her spirits, but her face lightened, as she heard the slow, unwilling footsteps of the child creeping down the stairs. She had been moving about quickly herself, and a fire already began to speak for itself with a little sup, and crackle, which did its best to sound like household music. ‘*There,’’ said Margaret, as Susie crouched down, and held her benumbed hands close to the very bars of the grate; ‘‘ you see I always do as I say, and here’s the fire I promised you; take care, the stove will heat faster than you think. Now here’s the teakettle, and the baby has gone to sleep again I think, for I haven’t heard a sound since I came down stairs.”’ **But my side aches as bad as it did last night, and it hurts me so to lift off the kettle, and the children are always so cross, and won't stand still when I try to wash their faces. Oh, dear, what shall I do, sister ?’’ ‘Give up trying, and lie down and die!”’ rose to Margaret’s lips, bitterly ; for she knew it was all so, and saw no brighter future before them. But it was not the first time she had checked promptings like these, and no one would have guessed they had arisen from the tone of her reply. ‘Do? Why, as well as you can, Susie. No one can do more than that. I’ll rub your side again, to-night. That always rests you, you know; and perhaps Ill be home in time to finish that story after you are snug and warm in bed. I’ll keep it in mind to comfort me, too, when I get tired and cross waiting on people.’’ ‘*T don’t think you know how to get cross.”’ And the child brightened with the love that prompted this firm belief. ‘‘Ruth says you don’t; and she says you get prettier every day.”’ ‘Poh, Susie! Is that all you and Ruth have to talk about? What does she know of my temper? I do get outrageously cross sometimes, and shall new, if that kettle doesn’t boil pretty soon. It’s high time it was off.’’ ‘*T wish it wasn’t so far to the store.”’ **So do I; and then you could come and walk home with me sometimes in the spring, when the days get longer, and you get stronger,’’ she added, in the playful tone which was such a cordial to Susie’s depres- sion. ‘But we shouldn’t quarrel with our bread and butter; should we? I’m all ready for mine.’’ Susie did not insist on old Ruth’s opinion ; but her faith in Margaret’s perfections was unchanged, as she watched her eating her hurried meal by the gray dawn that now came to aid the red flashes of the firelight. The surroundings were humble enough ; the small room scantily furnished, carpetless, and in its early morning disorder; nor did Margaret’s dress add much to the picture, a chocolate print, close fitting, and witheut any attempt at elegance, save its first element, simplicity ; but, as she stood before the window, a bright tartan shawl wrapped around her, and the early sunlight just tinging the masses of her abundant hair, she was not unpicturesque, though far from being as beautiful as the child regarded her. When the cup was set down, the shawl pinned closely over her well-de- veloped figure, and the straw bonnet with its faded ribbons tied on, no stranger would have looked at her a second time in passing. There was nothing of the elegantly distressed he- roine of romance about her. She looked exactly what she was—a store girl on the way to her daily morning tasks. CHAPTER II. My heart’s sympathies go with the woman who labors for herself through all the difficulties, the prejudices, the disadvantages of pushing on her own course through life, who yet does it bravely and in sincerity. Such a woman is a heroine. —Mary Howitt. Ir was now three years since Margaret Grant had the good fortune to secure a situation in the large establishment of Churchill & Choate, one of the oldest and most respectable firms in the city, and, though not situated in Chest- nut Street, with its own share of fashionable popularity. Some of the handsomest car- riages and best people in town were always to be found there. Highly respectable old ladies, a i, a ee ee =m

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MARGARET’S HOME, particularly of the Quaker connection, whose wedding-dresses of soft dove-colored silk had been purchased at its counters, brought their daughters in turn to choose the more worldly brocade or moiré, in which they were to declare their intention of taking to themselves a hus- band before the assembled ‘‘ meeting.’’? Sub- stantial families who were contented with the width and comfort of a cross-street house, without even aspiring to the narrower gen- tility of the West End squares, made liberal purchases in the spring and autumn, paying cash for the same; and, though it was of rather equivocal advantage to the firm, long bills from those fashionable quarters accumu- lated greatly at Christmas, particularly in the items of lace and evening-dress generally. Their gloves were native Parisians beyond dispute; and in shawls there was the most unlimited choice, from the comfortable Bay State to the brilliant hues and designs of De- lisle, from the last exposition, or the faded splendors of real Indian cashmeres. But, if Churchill & Choate had one reputation above another, it was in the household furnishing department. Such blankets and counterpanes ! such Irish linen and Russian table napery! such stout Huckabuck and Allendale flannels ! It was a treat for any one with housekeeping propensities to inspect them; and it always had been so from the time of young Mr. Chur- chill’s father, who had handed down the re- putation of the house, and the wherewithal to sustain it, to his only son, and his faithful head clerk, Caleb Choate, whose conservative principles were sure to check any modern business innovations. It was, perhaps, owing to this balance-wheel in the internal ma- chinery that the firm owed nothing of their prosperity to outward display and decoration. The younger Mr. Churchill had natural good taste, heightened by artistic cultivation, as was proved by his selections in the depart- ments especially under his control; and fo- reign travel and association had made a visible difference in address between him and the late respected senior partner. Mr. Churchill, who had been the founder of his own fortunes, was bluff, good-natured, and thoroughly respecta- ble. His son, with the same kindly disposi- tion, had an almost womanly gentleness of manner and speech, with an outward reserve the reverse of his father’s hilarity. He never could have made their present popularity with all classes, though his well-known integrity sustained it. Mr. Caleb set his worthy face ateadily against the spirit of the times, frown- 27 ing down plate-glass windows and brown- stone fronts, loudly asserting that what had made his father’s fortune would secure theirs, and that a solid reputation for good articles and fair prices was worth all the gingerbread work of modern architects. As nearly in the centre of the multiplied wholesale and retail divisions as it was possi- ble to plant it stood the desk, an awful bar of judgment to delinquent cash boys and late or idle clerks, for it was the post of observation from which Mr. Caleb surveyed all things with a far-seeing scrutiny. Now and then, when it was least expected, he descended from the stool of state, and walked, in an apparently absent way—as if for the moderate exercise which health demanded--through the length and breadth of his domains. The pen, ex- tending stifly from behind his ear, was not more unbending than Mr. Caleb’s figure; the red silk handkerchief, flourished at intervals from the desk, now drooped slightly from the pocket of his gray office coat ; his shirt collar described an exact angle from his close mown chin; his long thin hands were folded after a fashion of his own, suggestive of a descent from broad brims, and a distant connection with yearly meetings. At the moment of his appearance, absent-minded though he seemed, wo to any delinquent on whom his keen eyes fell. Pocket mirrors were replaced with mar- vellous rapidity by young gentlemen specu- lating on the whisker crop; groups of dam- sels, gossiping over the last bit of scandal reported by ene fashionable customer to another, separated silently, and commenced a hasty re-arrangement of dress goods. Order and diligence followed everywhere in the path of the upright Mr. Caleb. The influence of Mr. Churchill on this great community of employees was quite as great, though outwardly less marked. His father’s daily appearance—for the old gentleman had still an unconquerable longing after the scene of his busy life—was the signal for smiles and harmless jests from all quarters; but they would have as soon thought of venturing on a pleasantry with the austere Mr. Caleb, as the younger man who made his round, as a mat- ter of necessity rather than choice. It was quite as well, considering how many bright eyes and fair hands he was in daily contact with, that he had this pride or rather reserve of character. All were not as prudent as Miss Choate, Mr. Caleb’s maiden sister, who still occupied her ancient post, and was, by gene- ral acquiescence, considered as sub-manager

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28 GODEY'’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. under him of the female flock. Miss Choate’s spectacles looked with forbidding coldness on the introduction of all elaborate hair-dressing, whether plaits or curls, and smiled only on the dark prints and woollen stuffs which she had worn in the days when she first set out to help Caleb ‘‘ make his fortune,” still adhered to, though the object was aceom- plished. Such, then, was the internal rule of the nighly respectable house of Churchill & Choate, where Margaret’s day, from seven in the morn- ing until seven at night, was invariably passed. Cheerful and animated as the whole establish- ment seemed at the fashionable shopping hour, when a line of carriages stretched around the corner, and their late occupants added brilliancy to the interior by rich and fanciful toilets, it was scarcely even comforta- ble when the arrivals for the day began. Cot- ton hangings secured the costly fabrics on the shelves from the dust of a daily cleansing; the counters were empty, the windows un- draped, the uncarpeted floor so cold, the atmosphere gray and chilly everywhere. Margaret always dreaded this beginning of her day. Fresh from home, and the recollec- tion of its annoyances, they pressed more heavily in the midst of physical discomforts. It was especially so now. She could not rid herself of Susie’s suggestion. Why, indeed, could they not have a home of their own, free from the exactions demanded of herself, and the constant tyranny to which the child was exposed? What claim had her father’s wife on her hard earnings, more and more absorbed in the household expenses, while the simplest necessities of her dress were allowed to her grudgingly? Her daily associates led, by comparison, gay, pleasant lives. They talked of balls, and parties, and concerts, after the fashion of those whom they served. She had never known an evening’s indulgence, with all her passionate love of music. Was it just, this hard, self-denying life, to herself, and, above all, to Susie, with her bright, quick intellect, and a voice, her mother’s voice, though stronger and richer, almost thrilling, even with the lack of all cultivation? This surely ought to be developed and trained as a means of livelihood. Susie would never be well enough to stand behind a counter, lifting and folding heavy fabrics, that made her own strong arms ache with fatigue—or, worse still, to bend over her needle at the trade Mrs. Grant was always threatening herwith. Mar- garet’s face grew grave, almost to sullenness, as a rash determination of escape, at all ha- zards, sprang up; and her hands busied them- selves abstractedly in the arrangement of her wares. “I’d thank you to let my pattern-cards alone,’’ said a pettish, disagreeable voice at her side, for she was searehing boxes in charge of her next neighbor as she indulged in this little reverie. This young girl, whose companionship was particularly distasteful to Margaret, was a general favorite with their regular customers, and took airs accordingly. She knew that many of them would wait to be served by her, and that the knowledge of this attraction was not without weight at head-quarters. Even Miss Choate, with her rigid notions of dress and propriety, overlooked many a fault in Addie Long, and was always ready to siield her from Mr. Caleb’s displeasure. But, with her pretty face and winning manner, she was giddy and frivolous, without a thought save dress and admiration. It was not amiability, but to win this needful stimulant that she had a smile for every lady customer, and a glance for every gentleman awaiting a wife or sister’s purchase. She could never under- stand how the grave and quiet Margaret was almost, if not quite as great a favorite as her- self; but she was, in some sort, a rival, and therefore to be annoyed with the petty shafts of ill-natured jealousy. ‘‘ You are growing very careless and disagreeable, Margaret Grant, I can tell you,’’ she added, though Margaret had instantly resigned the box with an apology. ‘‘I’m not the only one that sees it, either. I heard your name at the desk, last night, while I was kept waiting with that last bill of goods. Mr. Caleb it was, and Mr. Churchill himself. I shouldn’t like to be brought up by him, with all his smooth words. You needn’t get so red over it.’’ Margaret’s face grew scarlet. She was over- sensitive to blame. That was a part of her nature; and this she felt was undeserved. She had been unhappy for a month past, ever since the first sharp autumn days had added to Susie’s hardships; but she could not ac- cuse herself of the least neglect. The young girl’s loud tone had attracted the attention of all around ; and yet the charge was so indefi- nite that she could say nothing in return. It was the commencement of a weary morning, and made her apparently guilty of the very faults with which she had been charged. She could not bring her thoughts to the work be- fore her. Twice her bills were sent back from Pp be

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MARGARET'S HOME, 29 the desk with an error in the reckoning, marked by Mr. Caleb himself. She named wrong prices, forgot her measurements, and answered all questions with a preoccupied abstraction that excited the remark of all around her. Never had she been more thankful to hear the measured stroke of the State House clock, which released her for the noon recess. She longed to be alone; but the dressing-room was in a stir and hum as she entered it. A good-natured girl, with no pretensions to beauty, ran up to her. **Do come with us for once in your life, Margaret. Let your lunch be for to-morrow ; *twill save you just so much trouble.”’ “Come? Where?’’ said she, wishing in her heart they would go anywhere, so that she could have her coveted quiet. ‘*To Brooks’s first. I know you think we are awfully extravagant.’’ “It’s my treat, though,’’ said another, tying her bonnet before the little mirror. **Come on! cream-cakes and coffee; and then we’re going through Second Street to look at I saw a beauty at White’s—pink un- cut velvet.’’ ** Addie Long says she is going to have pink velvet, Mariane.’’ ‘**Then I won’t; that’s certain.’? And the speaker spread out the very elaborate bows she had been tying. ‘‘ What are you going to have, Margaret ?”’ ‘Nothing, now, that I know of,’’ said Mar- garet, forcing herself to be interested, or, at least, to listen pleasantly to the chatter of these foolish girls, who daily fostered an un- healthy appetite by dainties, and spent every dollar that remained on dress. **T declare! you’re not a bit like other people !’’ said Mariane. ‘‘ Where ’s my shawl, Do somebody look for it! I don’t be- lieve you ’ll ever be married.”’ hats. girls? **T don’t suppose I ever shall.’’ ** Well, I mean to; that’s certain, if I can find any one to have me. Come, Ellen Boyne! Betty, do hurry! can’t you? I should hate to think I’d got to settle down into an old maid.”’ ‘*Like ‘Spectacles.’’? And Ellen Boyne pointed over her shoulder to the brown silk bonnet of Miss Choate, occupying the highest peg in the room. Bang went the green baize door at last, swinging to upon their noisy exit; and Mar- garet had the quiet which she craved. ‘*I don’t suppose I ever shall’’ had been 3* said in grave earnest, for she was slowly re- nouncing the one bright dream which colors every young girl’s life. With the giddy crea- tures who had just left her, it was a vision of flattering attentions never to cease—of unre- strained liberty, and dress, and sight-seeing. With Margaret, it was the hope of finding the affection and companionship which she had yearned for ever since her mother’s death, which her father, even when kindest, never could wholly satisfy, and Susie’s clinging, grateful heart was too childish and inexperi- enced to give. She never had had, like most other girls, intimate friends of her ewn age. It was not pride which kept her from the asso- ciation, but a lack of sympathy in what occu- pied her thoughts. She could talk to old Ruth of her troubles; and the good woman had always some kind and consoling thing to say: but Ruth was uneducated, with all her honest goodness; and Margaret’s mental ad- vancement, commenced by her mother, and carried on mostly in this precious noon hour, had been rapid even beyond her own realiza- tion. Books were to be had for the hire ; and they were the one self-indulgence of her busy life. To-day, she could not read. One cou- rageous, prayerful thought, and the difficul- ties which beset her would have resolved themselves into the phantoms they so often proved, or Heaven-sent trials, bringing with them their own strength; but she could not even pray. The last random words of those who had just left her filled her heart, already brooding over the sorrows of her young life, **No; I shall never marry,’’ she said to herself, slowly. ‘¢ Who would ever ask me to be a wife, that I could love and respect, as I must a husband? Then there are father and Susie! Poor father! with inexpressible bitterness. poor Susie !”’ Some one opened the door rudely. It was a messenger in search of her, with an unusual ‘*Mr. Choate desired ’ and startling summons. to see her in the office immediately.’ Once a month, they entered, in turn, this inner shrine of Mr. Caleb’s authority to re- ceive, from his exact hands, the amount of salary due, and to give a receipt for the same. Otherwise, Margaret had never entered it in the three years of her service; and she knew that even Miss Choate seldom ventured to penetrate so far into Mr. Caleb’s confidence. He was there before her, seated with all the authority of a magistrate at the table, his spectacles perched on the upreared lock of iron gray hair above his forehead. But he

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80 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. was not alone. Mr. Churchill stood by the window, though he only bowed as she entered, and did not move or speak. ‘*T am sorry to cut short your hour of re- laxation. Ahem! Take achair, Miss Grant,’ prefaced Mr. Caleb. For the moment, Margaret could not even guess for what she was arraigned. Something of importance, with all this solemn prepara- tion; and then Adelaide Long’s taunt, and the carelessness which she knew herself to have been guilty of since then, flashed into her mind. ‘*Sorry to have to trouble you on such an unpleasant business,’’ continued Mr. Caleb, waving his hand stiffly before the still vacant chair. ‘ But it’s best for all parties that the investigation should be made at once. Do you know—to come to the point—anything of a robe, No. 297, brought from the wholesale department on the 27th of last month ?’’ ‘* Sir?’’? said the bewildered Margaret, not comprehending the insinuated charge against her. ‘*A robe @ volant,’’? said Mr. Caleb, with a decidedly English accent, and referring to the memorandum before him. ‘ No. 297, A. X.; three flounces, in oriental scroll pattern, blue and silver.” Margaret remembered it perfectly well. It was in Ellen Boyne’s hands at the time it was shown toher; and Adelaide Long took it from her, and held it up in all lights, saying how very becoming it would be to Mrs. John Thompson, a leader in fashionable society, a blonde beauty. Miss Adelaide flattered her- self that she bore a strong resemblance to her. Mr. Caleb drew off his spectacles, and re- placed them in his red morocco case, as he silently awaited Margaret’s answer. ‘*T have seen the silk—I recollect it,’’ fal- tered Margaret, beginning to comprehend that the robe was missing, and suspicion was di- rected towards her; and conscious, at the same time, that Mr. Churchill had turned, and was listening to her answer. She felt his full, penetrating eyes as they were fixed on her face, and the quick color rushed to cheek and forehead. ‘*Ah, you recollect it ;’’ and Mr. Caleb made a note on the back of the memorandum. ‘It was on or nearthe 27th that you saw it; that was Friday, two weeks ago Friday.”’ ‘Yes, sir; that was the day; it was sent for to show Mrs. Ashton.’’ ‘* Precisely. Now when did you see it last ?’’ the framing of this inquiry ; he expected it to startle forth an instant confession, or an in- volved reply that would settle the matter as easily. But Margaret said nothing for a moment; she was trying in vain to recollect; all was confusion and shame. At any other time, she would have borne the examination and answered quietly, but, disturbed as she had been all the morning, self-control deserted her. She did not resent the implied accusation, but it stung her, and the presence of Mr. Churchill, seldom consulted in the details of the establishment, made it doubly humiliat- ing. ‘* Indeed, Mr. Caleb, I do not know; I can- not tell; I do not believe I have seen it since that day.’’ ‘“‘Yes, or no, Miss Grant, if you please. Have you seen it since, or not? It is highly important that we should be precise and deti- nite. The box is gone, not without hands.”’ When was Mr. Caleb anything but “‘ precise’’ and ‘‘definite’’? Margaret looked up at him as he spoke, sitting there almost as rigid as the iron form of his counting-house chair. Mr. Churchill was still listening; it recalled her to herself, as she noticed this. ‘*T have not seen the silk,’’ she said, more firmly than she had yet spoken, and choking down the sobs of womanly shame and morti- fication that she felt rising up within her. **T know nothing of it since that day. I have nothing more to say.’’ ** You may go,’’ said Mr. Caleb, glancing up at his partner to see if he had any inquiry to make; ‘‘and be so good as not to mention to any one the subject of our present conversa- tion.’’ There was not the slightest variation of voice or feature as he spoke. No one could have told whether he was dismissing a con- victed criminal, or a person in whose inno- cence he had always held unshaken faith. Margaret turned, still proudly as she had last spoken, but with a cruel sense of injustice and shame, which no concealment could crush. Mr. Churchill stepped quickly before her, and laid his hand upon the lock. Mr. Caleb coughed, and turned the chair with a warning creak; but both signals were unheeded by the younger man. He met Margaret’s almost defiant look with one so kind, so troubled, that her resolution almost failed her. “IT wish you to understand, before you go, Miss Grant, that Mr. Choate makes no distinct Mr. Caleb took great credit to himself for | charge against you, and that it was not my

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THE FAMILY DRAWING- MASTER. 81 wish to have you questioned. You will be- lieve mé when I say that I never have for a moment supposed that you were implicated in this unhappy affair.”’ He even held out his hand in his eagerness to reassure her, as if he wished to convince her by a departure from his usual reserve. It was very kind in him, almost brotherly. Margaret felt it to be, and wished that she had a brother who could resent this accusation, and have her innocence fully established at once. She longed to take the hand so frankly extended, and thank him; but the distance between them was too great. She remem- bered it, if he did not; but she looked up once more to show him that she was not ungrateful for his sympathy, and met his kindly glance now with quivering lips and eyes full of hot, blinding tears. (To be continued.) THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER.—NO. VIII. IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS. - QUADRILATERAL FIGURES. P. Will you let me hear the names of the triangles you have heard of, once more, Ion? fon. Yes, papa. We have learned about an Equilateral Triangle Isosceles Triangle, Scalene Triangle, and A Right-Angled Triangle. P. To-day, we will learn of figures with four angles. Here are two different ones. Who can describe them ? W. I can, papa. Let me see! The first is—a square. P. True, Willie; but then you are not de- scribing it. If a blind man were to bring you an animal to describe, and you were to say to him, ‘It is a dog—’’ W. Then he wouldn’t be any wiser. He would say: ‘‘You are only telling me its name. Tell me all about it—what sort of a thing it is.’’ P. Then, suppose I am blind! Now, I want you to tell me what the square is, not what it is called. W. Well, then, the square is a thing— P. It is not exactly a real thing; it is a shape, a figure. W. Then the square is a figure with four sides, all of the same size—all equal, I should say. It has four equal sides, and four right angles. P. Now, what is the next figure? W. What is it called, papa? P. Never mind its name. What is it ? W. It is a figure with four equal sides. I can tell that without measuring. P. And so is a square. W. But I have not finished yet, papa. It has two acute and two obtuse angles. That is it. It is a figure with four equal sides, and two acute and two obtuse angles. P. Very good; but are you sure now that you have described it exactly? Have you given me such a description that I cannot mistake it for any other figure? W. I think so, papa. P. Perhaps I might think that you were describing this one :— See! It has twoacute and two obtuse angles. W. Ah, papa, but it has not four equal sides! I think that, if you make a figure with four equal sides, and two acute and two obtuse angles, it must be like this one. What is its name, please ? P. It is called a rhomb.

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. W. Now, I will give its description once more. A figure with four equal sides, and two acute and two obtuse angles, is called a Ruoms. Jon. Or, if you like, you may say with paral- lel horizontal sides and parallel oblique sides. P. To day, you may sit down, and copy the square and the rhomb. When you have done this with exactness, you can point out the squares and rhombs in this drawiug; and then you may copy it. Ton. Is not this drawing rather difficult, papa? P. No. If yeu will first take pains to draw the square and rhomb properly, you will then find it very easy to join them together, and to make the drawing. — didi PIN MONEY. Tat allowance for a lady’s own private and especial use, which is now so generally known in genteel society as ‘‘ Pin-money,’’ owes its title and its origin to an old French custom. Although the manufacture of pins has reached a point of perfection in England unattained, if not unattainable, in other countries, yet the rough article, made from the brass wire, was not introduced here until the year 1543. As brought here through foreign commerce, we find pins first mentioned in 1483. In Paris, one of the articles of the statutes of the an- cient pin-makers enacted that no master should open more than one shop for the sale of pins, excepting on New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day. Those who are familiar with the gay metropolis of France will remem- ber how peculiarly this season is noted and celebrated, the miles of Boulevards decked out with their vast variety of attractions like a continuous fair, and the exchange of pre- sents which accompan es the complimentary good wishes between rich and poor, embracing the whole community in the bonds of national good-will. The privileges of this season are commemorated in the statutes of the Pin- makers of Paris, since, on the opening of the New Year, it was customary to make presents of pins, or of money to enable the recipient to purchase them. Hence the term ‘‘pin- money,’’ which with this origin has at last become the accepted term for expressing the separate allowance received by a married lady for her own especial and personal expenses. It is recorded that Catherine Howard, one of the wives of Henry VIII., was the first who used the pin in England. Before that time, many were the expedients which preceded its invention. Ribbons, laces with points and tags, loops and buttons, clasps, hooks and eyes, skewers of brass, of silver, of gold. We are not by any means intending to say that the pin has superseded these various appliances ; on the contrary, the use of this little article ought always to be as much circumscribed as possible. Useful as we must acknowledge it to be, yet as a substitute for other fastenings it should be carefully avoided. The sight of a pin is a blemish in a lady’s dress, and with children they should be stil: more entirely banished. se & at ot a6 acu —

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SMILES FOR HOME. BY T. &. ‘Take that home with you, dear,’’ said Mrs. Lewis, her manner half smiling, half serious. ‘Take what home, Caddy?’? And Mr. Lewis turned towards his wife, curiously. Now, Mrs. Lewis had spoken from the mo- ment’s impulse, and already partly regretted her remark. ‘Take what home ?’’ repeated her husband. ‘*T don’t understand you.”’ ‘“*That smiling face you turned upon Mr. Edwards, when you answered his question just now.”’ Mr. Lewis slightly averted his head, and walked on in silence. They had called in at the store of Mr. Edwards to purchase a few articles, and were now on their way home. There was no smile on the face of Mr. Lewis now, but a very grave expression instead— grave almost to sternness. The words of his wife had taken him altogether by surprise; and, though spoken lightly, had jarred upon his ears. The truth was, Mr. Lewis, like a great many other men who have their own business cares and troubles, was in the habit of bringing home a sober, and, too often, a clouded face. It was in vain that his wife and children looked into that face for sunshine, or listened to his words for tones of cheerfulness. ‘*Take that home with you, dear.”’ Mrs. Lewis was already repenting this suggestion, made on the moment’s impulse. Her hus- band was sensitive toa fault. He could not bear even an implied censure from his wife. And so she had learned to be very guarded in this particular. ‘Take that home with you, dear! Ahme! I wish the words had not been said. There will be darker clouds now, and gracious knows, they were dark enough before! Why can’t Mr. Lewis leave his cares and business behind him, and let us see the old, pleasant, smiling face again. I thought this morning that he had forgotten how to smile; but I see that he can smile, if he tries. Ah! Why don’t he try at home ?’’ So Mrs. Lewis talked to herself, as she moved along by the side of her husband, who ARTHOR. had not spoken a word since her reply to his query, ‘‘Take what home?’’ Block after block was passed, and street after street crossed, and still there was silence between them. ‘*Of course,’’ said Mrs. Lewis, speaking in her own thoughts. ‘‘ Of course he is offended. He won’t beara word from me. I might have known, beforehand, that talking out in this way would only make things worse. Oh, dear! I’m getting out of all heart !’’ ‘What then, Caddy ?’’ Mrs. Lewis almost started at the sound of her husband’s voice, breaking, unexpectedly, upon her ear, in a softened tone. ‘*What then?’’ he repeated, turning to- wards her, and looking down into her shyly upturned face. “Tt would send warmtl and radiance through the whole house,’’ said Mrs. Lewis, her tones all a-tremble with feeling. **You think so?”’ “Tknowso! Onlytry it, dear, for this one evening.”’ ** It isn’t so easy a thing to put on a smiling face, Caddy, when thought is oppressed with care.’’ “It didn’t seem to require much effort just now,’’ said Mrs. Lewis, glancing up at her hus- band with something of archness in her look. Again a shadow dropped down upon the face of Mr. Lewis, which was again partly turned away; and again they walked on in silence. ‘He is so sensitive!’’ Mrs. Lewis said to herself, the shadow on her husband’s face darkening over her own. ‘‘I have to be as careful of my words as if talking to a spoiled child.’’ No, it did not require much effort on the part of Mr. Lewis to smile, as he passed a few words, lightly, with Mr. Edwards. The re- mark of his wife had not really displeased him ; it had only set him to thinking. After remaining gravely silent, because he was un- dergoing a brief self-examination, Mr. Lewis said— ‘You thought the smile given to Mr. Ed- wards came easily enough ?’’ 33

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84 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. **It did not seem to require an effort,’’ re- plied Mrs. Lewis. ‘No, not much effort was required,’’ said Mr. Lewis. ‘But this must be taken into the account; my mind was in a certain state of excitement, His tones were slightly depressed. or activity, that repressed sober feelings, and made smiling aneasything. Sowe smile and are gay in company, at cost of little effort, because all are smiling and gay, and we feel the common sphere of excitement. How dif- ferent it often is when we are alone, I need not say. You, Caddy, are guilty of the sober face at home as well as your husband.’’ Mr. Lewis spoke with a tender reproof in his voice. ‘But the sober face is caught from yours oftener than you imagine, my husband,’’ re- plied Mrs. Lewis. ‘* Are you certain of that, Caddy ?’’ ‘Very certain. You make the sunlight and the shadow of your home. Smile upon us; give us cheerful words; enter into our feelings and interests, and there will be no brighter home in all the land. A shadow on your countenance is a veil for my heart ; and the same is tyme as respects our children. Our pulses strike too nearly in union not to be disturbed when yours has lost its even beat.’’ Again Mr. Lewis walked on in silence, his face partly averted ; and again his wife began to fear that she had spoken too freely. But he soon dispelled this impression, for he said— ‘Tam glad, Caddy, that you have spoken thus plainly. I only wish that you had done 80 before. I see how it is. been for the outside world—the world that My smiles have neither loved nor regarded me—and my cloud- ed brow for the dear ones at home, for whom thought and care are ever-living activities.”’ Mr. and Mrs. Lewis were now at their own door, where they paused a moment, and then went in. Instantly, on passing his threshold, Mr. Lewis felt the pressure upon him of his usual state. The hue of his feelings began to change. The cheerful, interested exterior put on for those he met in business intercourse, began rapidly to change, and a sober hue to succeed. Like most business men, his desire for profitable results was even far in advance of the slow evolutions of trade; and his daily history was a history of disappointments, in some measure dependent upon his restless anticipations. He was not as willing to work and to wait as he should be; and, like many of his class, neglected the pearls that lay here and there along his life-paths, because they were inferior in value to those he hoped to find just a little way in advance. The con- sequence was that, when the day’s business excitement was over, his mind fell into a brooding state, and lingered over its disap- pointments, or looked forward with failing hope in the future—for hope, in many things, had been long deferred. And so he rarely had smiles for his home. “Take that home with you, dear,’ pered Mrs. Lewis, as they moved along the passage, and before they had joined the family. She had an instinctive consciousness that her husband was in danger of relapsing into his usual state. The warning was just in time. ‘*Thank you for the words !’’ said he. will not forget them.”’ And he did not; but at once rallied himself, and to the glad surprise of Jenny, Will, and Mary, met them with a new face, covered with fatherly smiles, and with pleasant questions, in pleasant tones, of their day’s employments. The feelings of children move in quick transi- tions. They had not expected a greeting like this; but the response was instant. Little Jenny climbed into her father’s arms. Will came and stood by his chair, answering in lively tones his questions, while Mary, older by a few years than the rest, leaned against her father’s shoulder, and laid her white hand softly upon his head, smoothing back the dark hair, just showing a little frost, from his broad, > whis- “] manly temples. A pleasant group was this for the eyes of Mrs. Lewis, as she came forth from her cham- ber to the sitting-room, where she had gone to lay off her bonnet and shawl and change her dress. Well did her husband understand the meaning look she gave him; and warmly did her heart respond to the smile he threw back upon her. ‘* Words fitly spoken are like apples of gold in pictures of silver,’’ said Mr. Lewis, speak- ing to her as she came in. ‘* What do you mean by that ?”’ asked Mary, looking curiously into her father’s face. ‘*Mother understands,’’ replied Mr. Lewis, smiling tenderly upon his wife. ‘Something pleasant must have happened,”’ said Mary. ‘‘Something pleasant? Why do you say that ?’’ asked Mr. Lewis. ‘You and mother look so happy,’’ replied the child.

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THE GHOST IN ST. TIMOTHY’S. 85 ‘* And we have cause to be happy,’’ answered the father, as he drew his arm tightly around her, “‘ in having three such good children.”’ Mary laid her cheek to his, and whispered: ‘If you are smiling and happy, dear father ! home will be like heaven.’’ Mr. Lewis kissed her; but did not reply. He felt a rebuke in her words. But the re- buke did not throw a chill over his feelings ; it only gave a new strength to his purposes. ** Don’t distribute all your smiles. Keep a few of the warmest and brightest for home,”’ said Mrs. Lewis, as she parted with her hus- band on the next morning. He kissed her, | | | | | | but did not promise. The smiles were kept, however, and evening saw them; though not for the outside world. Other, and many evenings saw the same cheerful smiles, and the same happy home. And was not Mr. Lewis a better and happier man? Of course he was. And so would all men be, if they would take home with them the smiling aspect they so often exhibit, as they meet their fel- low-men in business intercourse, or exchange words in passing compliments. Take your smiles and cheerful words home with husbands, fathers, and brothers. Your hearths are cold and dark without them. you, THE GHOST IN SAINT TIMOTHY'S BY PATIENCE PERKINS (LATE PATIENCE PRICB) Tne Widow Angelina Sowerby, relict of Clement Chrysostom Sowerby, D. D., LL. D., vacated her pew in St. Timothy’s Church, Fairview. The reason for her indignant re- tirement was, that the wife of the rector, Rev. Barnabas Grace, wore, in receiving morning calls, a vain cap, presented to her by one of her much attached parishioners, myself, to wit, Patience Perkins. It was with an over- powering sense of the just, but tremendous vengeance that she was taking that the widow ventured upon this condign punishment of the whole church and congregation. It was with some misgiving that she consigned the struggling parish of St. Timothy’s to perish ; but the duty was imperative; and the warn- ings of conscience must be obeyed. She was bound to refuse her further countenance to a vain and frivolous people who could tolerate such extravagance in their rector’s wife as the wearing of a cap which cost hera ‘‘Thank’ee,”’ and nobody else much more. My fingers put that cap together ; and I am ready, with the figures, to demonstrate that the expense need not be objected to, even in these hard times. I have not been a widow’s daughter, a petted brother’s sister, and the step-mother to ten children to no purpose. In these various re- lations, I have very perfectly learned (by the assistance of Godey’s Lady’s Book) what may be done with a needle and a few unconsidered remnants. The Widow Sowerby arose, betimes, on the morning succeeding the day on which she publicly abdicated her place in St. Timothy’s, to go over to the new congregation which | occupied the Town Hall. I hope she said her prayers, and trust, in charity, she did. But her first look out of doors was at the spire of St. Timothy’s, to ascertain if it had survived, over night, that abstraction of one of its pil- lars which was implied in her withdrawal. I think that she professed to be thankful that the edifice still stood. But Ido suspect that hers was a very faint thanksgiving, and that a shade of disappointment came with her re- luctant conviction that St. Timothy could still sustain himself erect without the aid of Angelina Sowerby, relict of Clement Chrysos- tom Sowerby, D. D., LL. D. After the church and steeple, the Widow Sowerby passed in review the parsonage and grounds. Wonderful to relate, the house had not disappeared ; and the evergreens were not defoliated. The grass was as verdant as it could be, under the many feet of Rev. Mr. Grace’s seven children and the ‘‘ taken girl,’’ who filled the post of maid of all work in the minister’s family. No judgment had over- taken the vain and worldly Mrs. Anna Grace ; nor had her husband, complicate in her vanity, suffered anything. Mrs. Sowerby distinctly saw him feed the pigs as if nothing had hap- pened ; and he brushed off his horse, at arm’s length, with a broom (his original mode of currying) with as much unconcern as if the amiable widow had not turned schismatic. And, when the widow’s observation was di- rected to the other objects which came within her daily sneeroscope, her benevolent feelings were as little gratified as at the placid aspect of matters under the church steeple. The sun

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86 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, shone as benignantly and beautifully as if the light of Mrs. Sowerby’s smile had not been taken from the parson and his congregation. People went about their daily avocations as quietly as if Mrs. Sowerby’s bosom were not boiling with wrath. Nobody even looked to- wards her house, or betrayed any appreciation the most trivial of the consequences of the vir- tuous indignation of the lady who domiciled therein. Slowly she surveyed the unconscious landscape in her sullen anger, as she made her toilet. At length, she paused in lacing her gaiters, transfixed with astonishment, and paralyzed with indignation. It was not one hard knot which gave her pause, but a cord of knots. And yet the circumstance which had caused this almost comatose state in the widow was not, in itself, very remarkable. Wood is usually hauled upon carts. In the construction of the farm-cart belonging to Mr. Perkins, I am wheelwright enough to say that there is nothing strange or peculiar. Yet St. Catherine’s wheel, with the musical lady upon it, could not have more horrified the Widow Sowerby. Nor in the load upon the cart was there any remarkable feature, except that it was decidedly fine hickory fuel. When Per- kins makes a present, he likes it to be of the best ; and as fine a cord of wood was thrown off at the parsonage, that morning, as ever toasted clerical toes. And, while Perkins’s cart was discharging its freight at the wood- pile, there was an arrival at the kitchen-door of a barrel of flour, a bag of coffee, and several baskets of sundries. Next arrived potatoes, apples, and hams. Aring at the front door demanded admission for a hat-box; and par- cels of dry-goods at the front were simultane- ous with a ton of coal at the rear. Unusual and astonishing activity prevailed in the par- sonage, thus unwontedly besieged ; and dis- may too deep for utterance kept the widow silent as she watched. Her toilet was not completed when she was called to breakfast. With a heavy heart, she finished attiring her- self, sighing and saying, asshedidso: ‘‘ Well, they are resolved to sustain them in their vanity. Let us see if it will last.’’ While the widow takes her breakfast, I may as well enlighten you upon the cause of these unusual offerings to the minister’s family. When the defection of Miss Sowerby was per- ceived, an impromptu meeting took place at the house of the warden, my husband. It was not that the gentlemen thought the pre- gence or absence of Mrs. Sowerby of such vast consequence. They came together to laugh at her overweening idea of her own import- ance, and to wonder what had become, all at once, of the ‘‘ church principles’’ with which she had been in the habit of teazing the ree- tor, and plaguing the vestry. Perhaps there was not even so much purpose as that in their impromptu gathering. They “just naturally dropped in,’’ as one of them expressed it. In the city, you have no deficiency of themes of excitement. Bank runs and me» cantile expansions, great arrivals and myste- rious disappearances, and other events of interest, furnish topics for conversation. We, in the country, are compelled to make much of smaller matters. Widow Sowerby fur nished the subject of social chat on the event- ful Sunday which made public her determina- tion that ‘“‘ the church might go down for all she would do more for it.’? How she could have done less, except in the way of entangle- ment and trouble-causing, it were hard to say. The discussion in our parlor resulted in some- thing. Perkins said it was a pity that so much ado should be made about so small a matter as the modest maintenance of Rev. Mr. Grace and his family. He announced his intention to send to the parsonage material aid forthwith. The plan took wonderfully. The others were provoked to good works ; and the people bestirred themselves at once to keep the wolf from the minister’s door. After her breakfast, the widow sallied forth. Before she knew it, force of habit had placed her hand on the parsonage gate. Her recol- lection came to her in season to cause her to jerk up her fingers from the unlifted latch, cs if it had burned them. Anna Grace and I were peeping through the blinds, and it isa wonder that the discomfited widow did not hear our laugh at her perplexity. Her dis- tress was pitiful, and we ought to have cried. Here was a houseful of new articles, in the way of food and clothing, and not a word of direction could she give about the use or dis- posal of one of them. Not a syllable of inten ference could she utter about the frocks of the children, or the wardrobe of the mothers. And not a shadow of pretence could she make that any one of these things had come to the house through her kind intervention. The work of seventeen committees, and the bust ness of five-and-twenty society meetings had been dispatched in one forenoon, without the use of a particle of the stereotype machinery for such operations made and provided. And the Widow Sowerby, busy Widow Sowerby, charitable Widow Sowerby (with the means

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THE GHOST IN of other people) was completely left out. She was no more to St. Timothy than an indifferent person. ‘She was not even aneighbor. She could not come into the parsonage under pre- tence of a friendly call, and make herself mischievous. She had taken her own name out of St. Timothy’s visiting list, and knew not how to turn or whither to go. And soshe moved away, undecided what course to take. Talk she must, or her pent up wrath would suffocate her. Talk she did, and plenty of her sharp sayings came to the ears of the rector and wardens of St. Timothy; but no- body seemed to grieve at her departure, or to heed her words. Still she would have scolded on, until she had spent her fury, and perhaps her life, had it not been for Perkins. There is some juvenile mischief in that dear old gentleman yet. I saw a grim smile on my husband’s face, one night at tea. I knew that it portended trouble for some person, and fun for the rest ofus. Mrs. Sowerby had just finished a course through the parish, looking for an opportunity to renew the disturbance from her outside position, which she had once kept up as a member of the flock. She sounded the weak, tampered with the disaffected, and iabored with an earnestness which would have befitted a better cause, to make us feel that she was not an enemy to be slighted. I had silenced the children, who had been deepening the wrinkles in Perkins’s savage smile, by re- counting what they had heard of Mrs. Sower- by’s sayings and doings. They had left the table, and Mr. Perkins was sipping his third cup, which he always takes téte-d-téte with me. I ought to have told you, by the way, that, by the recent death of the old treasurer, Mr. Perkins has succeeded to his oflice—the custody of an empty purse, and the care of useless records—fashionable assets, as times go, on which you can realize nothing. ‘** Patience,’’ he said, ‘‘do you know that Widow Sowerby has never paid a penny of pew rent since she came here?’’ ‘ Very likely,’? I answered; ‘‘ but surely you will not ask her for anything now she has left the church.”’ ‘* Nothing new, certainly, Mrs. Per- kins; but Widow Sowerby must pay ner old debts, or—’’ ‘‘Mr. Perkins,’’ I interrupted, ‘*remember that she is a widow and entitled to—’’ I don’t know what I might have added, if Perkins had waited to hear. But his hat was on, and he was off, before I had time to invent anexcuse forthe widow. She certainly was not entitled to make promises she never kept, or VOL. LVI.—4 _ ST. TIMOTHY'S. $7 to enjoy immunity in scandal and mischief, or to license of tongue in evil speaking, lying and slandering—or—or—but I am growing personal. _I hate malice, and will stop. I don’t know what Perkins said to Mrs. Sowerby, orshe to him. But I do know that for several weeks the parish was in an eestatic condition of peace. Widow Sowerby subsided into perfect quiet, looking, it must be owned, like a person who could say something, but disdained to do it. She was such a pattern of meekness, that I began charitably to fear we had done her a wrong. My heart warmed towards her. I wished she was back in her old place in the church, pew rent or no pew rent, for nobody could look more subdued and unhappy than Widow Sowerby. If I had thought Perkins could do wrong, I should have accused him of some kind of strange cruelty in the means by which he so effectually locked the widow’s lips. It certainly was a shame, I began to think, that Mrs. Sowerby had been driven away from the church of hei youth and her choice, to become a wanderer in strange pastures. I wondered if IT was to blame for the mischief, and would have un- capped Anna Grace again with all my heart, if that could have repaired it. But then Anna looked so nice and so cheer- ful; and the Rev. Barnabas had improved so much in his discourses. The congregation visibly increased. The building and grounds were better cared for. Under the dynasty of Sowerby & Company, the care of the property had been cared for by ‘‘ committees’’ of ladies. Perkins told the tenant of one of his cottages that, if he would undertake the office of sexton, he would give him his rent. The man was delighted at the offer, and so was his wife ; and in the fulness of her heart she undertook the church laundry also. The robes neve were before so neat and white; for Anna Grace, it must be confessed, is better at getting up smiles than at getting up the chancel linen Everything went on delightfully till about a month ago. Then we became aware of a brewing storm in St. Timothy’s parish. No- body at first could tell what it was, where it could strike, or how it would fall. Rev. Mr. Grace announced a course of Fri- day evening lectures. The first one was crowded. Everybody in town was there, ex cept the Widow Sowerby; and I am sure that it was not want of desire that kept her away. I did wish that the silly old lady had not put herself in so unhappy a position. The week rolled round. Friday night came

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38 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. again; and, instead of the crowded house, there was no congregation, none I mean to speak of; not enough to make it worth while to light the lamps. It was a dark night, to be sure; but the people were not at their homes. We met little parties standing off at a safe distance, as if St. Timothy’s had been plague-stricken. We heard low voices; and all tongues seemed to be muttering something, we could not tell precisely what. We over- heard some say that ‘‘one man had seen it;’? and then that ‘‘ another had seen it.”’ ‘Mrs. Sowerby had seen it as plain as your hand, and as tall as the sign-post.”’ ‘« Seen what ?”’ said Perkins, walking straight up to the speaker. ‘““ Why, the ghost!’ she answered, ‘‘that walks in the yard of your church, Mr. Per- kins. Mrs. Sowerby told me so herself; and I don’t wonder the place is haunted, more I don’t, when you’re a driving your Christian members out, with your pride and your vanity. There, now, I hope you know!”’ ‘*Come!’’ said Perkins. And, beforat had any notion where he was taking me, we Were in Mrs. Sowerby’s parlor, confronting some twenty people inside, while more followed us. ‘* What is the story, Mrs. Sowerby ?”’ ‘‘That ’s what J would like to know too, Mr. Perkins. I only do know that, with my own eyes, last Saturday night, I saw an appa- rition in the church-yard. I sat at this very window, and saw it distinctly, as plain as I see you now. It went the whole length of the yard, and into the church. It was tall as Goliath of Gath, and a great deal more terri- ble. If you can explain it, I should be much indebted and relieved; and so would all the company. Perhaps the warning will not be lost upon a vain, and pleasure-seeking, and finery-bedecked congregation, from the minis- ter’s wife to the sexton’s daughter.’’ ‘*Tlas any one seen this ghost, except Mrs. Sowerby ?’’ persisted Perkins. **T hope you don’t doubt my word,’’ said the widow, haughtily. Nobody else said anything, till Perkins solemnly declared: ‘‘I can explain the appa- rition, Mrs. Sowerby. No one saw it but you. It was a special visitation; the ghost of old Mr. Berry, our late warden, come back to sum- mon you to pay your pew rent !”’ ‘Why, Perkins! how could you ?’’I said, as he hurried me out, for fear of a broom- stick. ‘*How could I?’ he answered, as soon as he could for laughing. ‘That old woman knows, as well as I do, and you, too, if you will think a moment, that the apparition was nothing but Jane carrying into the church the surplice she washed last week, lifted on a long brush-handle to keep it out of the dust.’’ The next Friday evening’s lecture was as full as the first. Mrs. Sowerby has recovered her tongue, but lost the last vestige of her influence. IRON MORE USEFUL THAN GOLD. **T HAVE now in my hand a gold watch, which combines embellishments and utility in happy proportions, and is often considered a very valuable appendage to the person of a gentleman. Its hands, face, chain, and case are of chased and burnished gold. Its gold seals sparkle with the ruby, topaz, sapphire, and emerald. I open it, and find that the works, without which this elegantly furnished case would be but a mere shell—those hands motionless, and those figures without mean- ing—are made of brass. Investigating fur- ther, and asking what is the spring, by which all these are put in motion, 'made of, I am told it is made of steel. I ask whatis steel? The reply is that it is iron which has undergone a certain process. So, then, I find the main- spring, without which the watch would always be motionless, and its hands, figures, and em- bellishments but toys, is not of gold (that is not sufficiently good) nor of brass (that would not do), but of iron. Iron, therefore, is the only precious metal, and this watch an em- blem of society! Its hands and figures, which tell the hour, resemble the master-spirits of the age, to whose movement every eye is di- rected. Its useless but sparkling seals, sap- phires, rubies, topazes, and embellishments are the aristocracy. Its works of brass are the middle class, by the increasing intelligence and power of which the master-spirits of the age are moved; and its iron main-spring, shut up in a box, always at work, but never thought of, except when it is disorderly, broken, or wants winding up, symbolizes the laboring class, which, like the main-spring, we wind up by the payment of wages, and which classes are shut up in obscurity, and, though constantly at work, and absolutely necessary to the movement of society, as the iron main- spring is to the gold watch, are never thought of, except when they require their wages, or are in some want or disorder of some kind or , other.’

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COUSIN TOM. BY ANNA HASTINGS. My Dear Sir: Permit me to recall to your remembrance some of the scenes of your life years and let it awaken at least asmile upon your grave face, all that I can But time was, Tom, when your laugh was the loudest and merriest, even at your own ex- ten ago; now ask of your ministerial dignity. pense; and it is at that ‘‘stage of your exist- ence,’’ cousin mine, that I prefer to introduce you to ‘my dear readers.”’ Behold him, then, a tall, robust youth of twenty-one years, with a fair, open brow, unwrinkled by care, and unshaded by a trace of the clerical honors with which it is now graced. Tom was not handsome, for he had a great nose, which could boast of no classic style—a large mouth, and great gray eyes. But these were atoned for by the frank, genial smile which lighted his gray eyes, the splendid teeth which graced his great mouth, his bril- liant talents, and rare excellence of character. Tom was a great favorite, not only with ‘the fellows,’? who appreciated the hearty grasp of his hand, the frequent tender of his cigar-case, and generous ‘‘treats ;’’ but the of C , old and young, liked To tell the truth, the only weakness Tom had was his devotion to the ladies; and fair dames al iom. this was the occasion of some adventures, which will bear the light, I think, though years have passed since then. Tom was decidedly a flirt, and easily won There had been i. dearth in that line, for some weeks past ; by fresh beauties and graces. and, consequently, Tom had gained and re- tained the head of his class, a position in which it was easy for him to excel. But his ambition was short-lived. One day, he called me into the parlor, and confidentially informed me that ‘* he had seen a lady, a real, genuine beauty.”’ ‘“‘As if that was anything new!’’ I ex- claimed, half angry at the implied slight to our belles in C ° ‘It is, though, now-a-days, Cousin Anna, with all due deference to yourself. But now, really, coz, this one is a splendid beauty, | } ' I know, although I can only judge her by her walk and form. terday ; and to-day I followed her, respect- I met her on the street, yes- fully, of course, into the store; but, as her back was turned upon me, I tried to get a glimpse of her face in a mirror opposite. But I could not.’’ **Why, Tom ?’’ ** Because the jealous beauty persists in concealing her peerless face behind an odious green veil. Wonder why ladies must always wear veils. I hate Decidedly too much like the barbarous Mohammedan cus- toms.”’ them. ‘*T admire her modesty, though, cousin.’’ It ’s proper, of course, for females to play bo-peep behind a thick veil; but, so far as I’m con- I'm half crazy, Anna, to find out who this new belle **Oh yes, of course you do! very cerned, it’s decidedly vexatious. may be; and I want your help.”’ ‘“*T humbly thank you, Master Tom, for your condescension in applying to me in the depths of my plainness and nothingness. So you really think that I will introduce you to a belle radiant with charms, and lose, thereby, the convenience of your arm to concerts and lyceums ?”’ ‘* Not at all, my dear cousin.’’ Tom was always remarkably affectionate at such times, and on such errands. ‘I ’ll be your devoted You have one arm at your service, at “Take care, Tom ! You don’t know what may happen in for the next six weeks. shall always all events.’’ Don’t make rash pro- mises, that time. in her chains, by that time, as to forbid so Our lady may have you so fast plain an appendage as myself.’’ ‘*But I’ll have my own way, cousin. No woman shall ever dictate to me.’’ Tom threw back his head, and looked fierce. He had a full realization of the dignity apper- taining to the favored ‘‘lords of creation,”’ although he was really the easiest subject in the world for woman’s control. But hold! I ll not divulge secrets, lest the ‘‘ minister’s wife’’ might gain a valuable hint in the ma- nagement of her liege lord. **So you promise me ?”’ said I.

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GODEY’S 40 ***Pon my honor, Cousin Anna, I’il be yours to command, for the next six weeks, if you will discover my charmer, and procure me an introduction.’’ ** Agreed! Was she well dressed ?”’ ** Really, I did not notice particularly. That is always the first question with you women.’’ ‘From which fault, you men are remarka- bly exempt,” I retorted. ‘Don’t be angry, cousin, or I shall believe you are jealous already of my fair lady. Now, that I recollect, she had a handsome shawl, which fell in graceful folds from her beautiful Her foot was small and neatly She is about a medium height; shoulders. dressed. her motions are as graceful as a fairy’s, and her step queenly.”’ **Hold, cousin! You are coloring your pic- ture so highly that I shall never be able to find its counterpart on this sublunary sphere, which she would scorn to dwellin. Did you discover that this being had a habitation, Tom ?”’ “Certainly, Anna. She is undoubtedly boarding at the National, for I watched her until the door closed upon the beautiful vision.’’ ** Ah, then she really eats, sleeps like the rest of her race to know that she has with her fellow-mortals. and drinks, and ! I feel relieved common ;o much in ** When will you call upon her, Anna ?”’ *T’ll call to-day Alice Thornton, who, I presume, is worth a dozen upon my friend of your new beauties ; and I can learn from Then I will call with you when I am introduced.”’ ‘Thank you a thousand times, my dear her about the lady. ’ cousin!" exclaimed Tom, grasping my hand, and bestowing a real cousinly kiss upon my cheek. After dinner, I called upon Alice, and made some discovery regarding the stranger, which somewhat amused me; and together we formed a plan by which we could revenge ourselves on Tom for his slight of our pretensions to beauty and other attractions. The lady in question proved to be a young widow from the better class of Irish. Becom- ing reduced to earn her livelihood some way, she had accepted the honorable office of cham- in the National. But she was de- sirous of changing her situation for one in a bermaid private family ; and the knowledge of this fact helped us wonderfuily in our arrangements. “The widow really has a good form; and her manners are somewhat superior to others LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, of her class,’’ remarked Alice. ‘‘ But she is real Irish, full of blarney; and her brogue is rich. The reason of her green veil is obvious at the first glance, for she shockingly marked with the smallpox, from which she As I am somewhat is has recently recovered. of a favorite, I will have her ready to play her part, and mollify her, if she should be- come angry.’’ That evening, while Tom was smoking and chatting with a group of my mother’s board- ers, I took the occasion to remark that ‘I should be glad of his company for a short walk.’’ ** Certainly, he whither your Cousin promptly ; ‘‘and may I inquire Anna,’’ replied, ladyship will lead me ?”’ ‘*To the National,’’ I replied, liar look. “Good! Why really you are I’ll be ready in a moment.’’ to straighten his dickey. with a self-satisfied air, as if he was sure of making a favorable impression. We walked rapidly. I was amused at the haste and evident trepidation of my good cousin, who forgot, in his eagerness, to apply the questions, which I was puzzled to know how I could truthfully answer, and not arouse with a pecu- expeditious ! And he hast- his smooth his hair and ened to room He soon rejoined me his suspicion. In the parlor, I called for Alice, and begged her to inform the Widow McCracken that we would be pleased to see her below. Tom stared at me, but, seeing me perfectly in earnest, whispered: ‘‘ What a barbarous name !”’ ‘*What’s in a name ?’’? I had just time to reply, when Alice returned with the widow ; and, presenting her to me, I immediately in- troduced her to my dainty cousin. The lady, who had been duly instructed by Alice, advanced towards him, with one arm bared to her shoulder, and grasped his hand. Tom was fairly shocked when his eye fell upon the repulsive face of the widow ; but, unabi- to solve the mystery, he glanced imploringly towards I sat perfectly unmoved, al- though I did want to laugh at the poor fellow. He turned to Alice. “Miss Thornton, I think there must have been some mistake.”’ **Indade, an’ is there a mistake, yer honor? Sure an’ Miss Alice towled me ye wished to see me! An’ wasn’t it this same gintleman, Miss Alice, as sint for the Widow McCracken ?”’ * Yes, Bridget. This gentleman has seen me. ,

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COUSIN TOM. you on the street, and wished to become ac- quainted. Perhaps he would like to secure your services for his wife.’’ ‘** And it’s a wife ye have, is it? The purty crature! Sure an’ it’s Biddy McCracken that will be glad to oblige sich a fine gintleman as yourself, an’ the misthress too.. It’s meself that kin wash, an’ iron, an’ bake, an’ swape, an’ all in the natest manner possible. An’ what will ye give me if I work for the swate lady ?’? Tom was in a fever. Half angry, he glanced from Alice to me, and then down upon the broad, disfigured face before him. ‘* Speak a little louder, Bridget,’’ said I. ‘My cousin is somewhat deaf.’’ ** Dafe, is it ?’’ screamed the widow. ‘Thin the gintleman did not understand me whin I tells ye that I kin wash, an’ bake, an’ iron, an’ swape—”’ Tom interrupted her by bursting into a hearty laugh. He now appreciated the joke; and Alice and I joined him to our infinite re- lief, for we were ready to choke with our sup- pressed merriment. The widow was now angry in her turn. ‘It’s a rude set ye are, anyhow,’’ she muttered, as she flung herself from the room. Alice and I confessed our wickedness ; but he was not inclined to believe the identity of the widow to his incognita, until I triumphantly pointed out the lady sallying forth for a walk. ‘You observe, cousin, the handsome shaw] falling in graceful folds from her beautiful shoulders, and the little foot, neatly dressed, peeping from beneath her gown ?”’ ‘*Don’t, Cousin Anna, I beg of you!”’ pleaded Tom, going off again into an uproari- ous fit of merriment. ‘“‘As I live!’’? exclaimed Alice, ‘“‘if the jealous beauty has not concealed her peerless features behind an odious green veil !”’ ‘‘ Ladies, I am completely and beautifully ‘sold,’ as the boys say. But I will do almost any penance, if you will never divulge this little affair.’’ ** What? come ?’’ I demanded. ‘¢ Yes, Cousin Anna, with all my heart. Do have pity on me, for, should the boys get hold of this, I’d suffer. Indeed, I’d have to leave college, and seek some other Alma Mater.’’ ‘Well, Alice, as we have had our revenge, suppose we let him off this time? We must be generous to a vanquished foe, you know.’’ ‘‘T am willing, Anna; but I must go and pacify our widow.”’ Be our escort for six weeks to 4* 41 ** Buy her a new gown, cousin, and ask her to accept it from me. Tell her it was a mis- take.”’ This was a lesson for Tom, which lasted at least six weeks, during which time Alice and I had no reason to complain for want of attention from Tom, who was our escort to all the con- certs and other entertainments the town afforded. We had a “rich man’’ in C - What village has not? He lived in the largest and handsomest house, drove the finest carriage, and his wife outshone all the other village dames in the richness of her attire. Besides these marks of superiority, he was a deacon in the church, and, in earlier days, had filled most of the important offices of the county All these made a man of note; but by none and town. considerations Deacon B was he more truly appreciated and highly re- spected than by himself and his wife, the sole occupants of the great house, except an old mother, whom no one ever saw outside the gate, and a thin, frightened-looking bound- girl. There were few so favored in the village as to exchange calis with the Deacon’s wife; and a visitor was still more of a rarity. There was, consequently, a great excitement in the town when it became currently reported that a handsome coach had been seen to stop be- fore the Deacon’s gate, and that, after sundry trunks, and boxes, and bundles had been safely deposited in the hall, Deacon B had assisted a young lady to alight, actually greet- ing her with a kiss and a solemn shake of the little hand. She was followed by a servant, bearing divers little boxes and packages, the indispensable luggage when a lady travels. No sooner had the hall-door closed upon them, than a hundred tongues were busy; and the news spread rapidly through the town, up College Hill, and among the students. It was a three days’ wonder; and undoubtedly the lady’s advent was the cause of the unusual concourse of people the following Sabbath at church. Every pew, gallery, and even the aisles were filled ; but it was no less a palpa- ble fact that the Deacon’s pew received more devout attention than the minister’s pulpit. There she was, true enougl?, nestled closely to the side of the grim old Deacon, the sweet- est creature I ever beheld, looking for all the world like a stray sunbeam lighting the dark masses of storm-clouds in winter. This much I was obliged to confess to Cousin Tom, who

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= co was somewhat reserved in my presence, re- membering full well the scenes of the past. But any slight remark was sufficient to start him off, for he was greatly excited. ‘*Wasn’t she a beauty, though? Did you observe, Cousin Anna, her clear complexion and the pure color tinging her round cheek— her beautiful eyes, exquisite features, perfect figure, and graceful movement ?’’ ‘*No, Master Tom, I cannot say that I did. I only had time for a hasty glance before the minister began the service.’’ ‘* Now, Anna, you don’t pretend to say that you heard a word of the sermon to-day ” **Indeed I do, sir. I go to church for that purpose, and not to be gazing at strangers. I think it would be decidedly a bad example for others to imitate.’’ **SodoI; but I must confess to my wicked- ness, for indeed I do not recollect a word of it, not even the text. Hope uncle will not call upon me for that, this evening, for I have not the remotest idea where it is.’’ ‘* You had better atone for your wickedness, Tom, by dismissing the little beauty from your thoughts for the rest of the day.” **A severe penance, Anna, but a just one. I believe I will try.’’ I left Tom intent upon some excellent Sab- bath reading; but, to judge from future de- velopments, his mind was less upon that than the bewitching beauty of the morning. The following day, we had a long consulta- tion about the most available mode of obtain- ing an introduction to the lady, which I was as eager to accomplish as even my good cou- sin. The Deacon was an old curmudgeon, both agreed, and the Deacon’s wife ditto. J had never been invited to call, and, of course, should not, unless I was assured of a welcome. Tom was quite as certain that he would be ordered out, if he should be so bold as to attempt it. ‘*But the dear little beauty,’’ added Tom, apprehensively. ‘It will surely kill her to be shut up all winter with those cross old people, without even a young lady friend in whom she can confide.”’ ‘*Or even a young gentleman to worship at her shrine and gal’ant her about,’’ I added. ‘* Certainly, hers is a doleful fate.”’ For nearly a week, I studiously placed my- self in the way of Mrs. B , hoping she might invite me to call upon her young friend, whom the bound-girl assured me was a niece and ward of the Deacon’s; but all in vain. The lady swept past me as haughtily as ever, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. recognizing my appearance only by a frigid nod. So I gave over the attempt in despair. Not so with Tom. He was untiring in his efforts, and each day invented some new measure to make the acquaintance of the lady. Indeed, so constantly was he now seen lurk- ing about the Deacon’s mansion, that the students dubbed him ‘ Lazarus,’’ because he literally ‘‘ lay at the rich man’s gate.” Fortune, however, seemed to aid my brave cousin, for he was so favored, one day, as to receive a grim smile and gracious ‘‘ Thank ye’”’ from the old Deacon, in return for his exer- tions in checking his runaway horse. Soon after, the little beauty lost her veil in the street ; and Tom, ever near and watchful, returned it to her with a profoundly reveren- tial bow. He was rewarded by a sweet smile and pleasant ‘‘ Thank you, sir,’’ from the fair stranger. From that day, he was quite sure she recognized him, although with the slight- est possible bow. He had no doubt she had noticed and approved of his silent devotion. This made him the more desirous of a more A bright thought ov- following week, when the full, he would sere- Tom sang delightfully, accompaniments, made intimate acquaintance. The the moon would be in curred to him. nade the fair charmer. and, with the guitar his serenade highly prized by our young ladies. Accordingly, he selected some new and appropriate songs, and drilled himself thoroughly, until he was fully satisfied with his own performance. Wednesday evening was as fair and clear as he could wish; and just before midnight he sallied out, and was soon standing in the deep shade of the ma- ples, beneath the window of the room where, as he fondly believed, the beautiful girl lay sleeping. Scarcely had his full, rich voice awaked the silent echoes of the night, when the whole window shone with the reflection of the bril- liant light of herlamp. He was greatly en- couraged ; and his song grew more impressive and earnest as his feelings entered more fully into it. The second song finished, the faint echo of applauding hands fell upon his de- lighted ear. Imagine the depth of his emo- tion when he commenced hjg third and last song! As he was about to leave, the window was lifted with a slight noise, and an exquisite bouquet of choice flowers fell at his feet. Almost overcome with the intense joy and happiness of the moment, Tom seized the bouquet, and, pressing it to his lips again and again, hastened to his rooms, and deposited it

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THE WIF safelyin avase. I cannot pretend to say how much he slept that night ; but his happiness was quite apparent the following day. Tom now thought he might venture a call. He waited until the following week, and then presented himself at the door with a trem- bling heart. The ebony waiting-maid admitted him with a broad smile upon her expressive E | AT HOME, 43 evening ; and I regret that I could not have heard you. Iam passionately fond of music, particularly at night.’’ “You undoubtedly had a friend awaiting you, then, Miss Gray, for I am quite sure | had a listener, and evidently an appreciative one.’’ ? replied the litt] **None more so,’ e lady, face. Sending his card to her mistress, he | with a mischievous smile. waited in the parlor, fearing each moment the | ‘*May I inquire who she may be?’’ asked appearance of the cross Deacon instead. Tom, somewhat reassured. Greatly to his relief, however, the little ‘‘l owe you an apology, Mr. H——,’’ Miss beauty soon glided in, greeting him gracefully, | Gray answered, frankly, ‘‘ for the occurrences and, by her friendly manner, making him feel | of that evening. I had directed Chloe, my quite at his ease again. | waiting-woman, to sit up, and keep the fire An hour passed very pleasantly, in which | for me, expecting to be at home that night. Tom learned that Miss Gray was from fhe | Uncle was unexpectedly detained ; so that we south; that she had come north, hoping to | did not return until the following evening. recover her health, somewhat impaired ; and My servant then informed me of the liberty that she was an orphan; and that Uncle B—— | whichshe had taken, for which I reproved her had been her guardian a long time. severely.”’ All this was very satisfactory; and now ‘*Then your colored maid was my apprecia- Tom thought he would merely advert to the tive listener?’’ asked Tom, laughing, in spite serenade, and give her an opportunity to ex- of his embarrassment. press the pleasure she undoubtedly experi- ‘“*Yes. And she assures me that you sing enced by his performance. delightfully,’’ replied Miss Gray, joining heart- ‘*We had some fine evenings, last week, ily in his laugh. Miss Gray.”’ Tom shortened his call, and was rather ** Delightful, I enjoyed one in particular ; more quiet than usual about the new beauty. the sleighing was excellent ; and I accompa- But the affair leaked out ; and poor Tom was nied uncle to the city.’’ unmercifully handled by the fellows. He ‘**Ah, indeed! I was not aware that you was, moreover, sincerely complimented by had been absent. What day did you return ?”’ two others, more cognizant of his achieve- ‘*We started Wednesday morning, and did ments for his successful wooing of Irish not return until the following evening.’’ chambermaids and colored waiting-women. There was a very perceptible smile lurking One thing, however, remained to comfort in her eyes as she said this. Tom colored. him. Miss Gray favored him the whole win- ‘*Then you were not at home Wednesday ter with her company; and I am not quite evening ?’’ sure but she is as much of a charmer as ever, ‘““No. And I have great reason to regret although years have passed, and the minister my absence, I assure you. I thank you sin- and his wife have grown older and graver be- cerely for the compliment you paid me that neath their shadows. oil — ~ THE BY F. H Ir is within the circle of her domestic assi- duity that we must go to judge of the true worth of a woman—to make a correct estimate of her forbearance, her virtue, and her felicity. There are displayed all the finer feelings of which the pure heart of woman is suseeptible. It is in the midst of trial and suffering, mis- fortune and anguish, that the nobler traits of WIFE ST AT HOME. AUFPFER. the true wife are displayed in all their charac- teristic grandeur. Adversity only increases the ardor of her attachment ; and the constancy and intensity of her devotion are such as no changes or chances can estrange or subdue. There are to drive away, no violence te alienate the heart, no All no recriminations love neglect to impel to desperation. is love,

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44 GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. kindness, and persuasion. Oh, what is more sweet, more calculated to enhance the value of domestic relationship, than for a man cast down, worried, almost driven to despair, to turn his footsteps away from the busy world, to and mingle with the loved ones at home! have a place where feeling and sympathy are manifested, where glance responds to glance, and heart to heart—where the sweet musical voice of one nearest and dearest to the soul, life-inspiring yet unobtrusive in its counsel, sends him forth again, with a stronger shoul- der to stem the tide of adversity ! Few secrets are so important as that of knowing how to make home happy. Beauty of features is not Ordinary fea- tures, when lit up with the sunbeams of sen- necessary. sibility, generally excite the same passions which they express; and the winning attrac- tion of their smile invests them with peculiar charms, like the variegated hues with which a brilliant rainbow tints the gloomy clouds. The proud and dangerous gift of genius is not necessary. Let a woman possess what is infi- nitely more valuable—good common sense, and intellect sufficient to direct it in the most ap- propriate manner to all the practical purposes of life. Let there be truthfulness and inte- grity in her nature, strengthened by a tho- rough course of mental discipline; and it will not fail to give beauty and power to her thoughts and character. It does not consist in the ready flow of conversation, captivating in its vivacity, brilliant in its fresh concep- tions, charming in its polished sentences, daz- zling in its witticisms, and instructive in its solidity. True, these qualifications, combined with those constituted to render home happy, may make a woman the embodiment of all the most noble and imaginative heart could wish or desire; but they are not essentially neces- sary. A lady with ordinary features and ordinary abilities may make home very pleasant and agreeable. And who would not prefer such a one to her who—no matter how beautiful or bewitching—puts on her smiles like her orna- ments, and dresses her mind, like her person, for company, in painted colors, fictitious cha- rity, and pinchbeck benevolence ? The true secret of making home happy is to have the heart in the right place, to have the charity to overlook foibles, to learn to forgive and to forget, and never to be too proud to make concessions—ever, as it were, intui- tively, with a blind man’s instinct, detecting those thousand little things that evince, in silence, a devotion and affection unspeakable. But, above all, the wife should possess that genuine piety which leads her to forget her- self in seeking the glory of God and the hap- piness of her fellow-beings. The useful at- tainments of life should be blended with the lighter accomplishments; and the attractive amenity of her manners should spring less from the polish of intercourse, than from the inborn sweetness of her disposition. She must be a woman true to herself, her nature, and her destiny—one daring to break away from the slavery of fashion and the allure- ments of pleasure, and to seek her happiness in the path of duty alone. She must be sensi- tive in her organization, ardent in her feeling, whole-souled in her attachments, calm and gentle in her wisdom, tender in her sympathy, firm, yet not ostentatious in her piety—a wornan self-possessed, having the tranquil air of one conscious of her own moral strength, and of the existence of impulses and feelings too sacred to be lightly displayed to a world which has nothing in common with them, and which, therefore, in the ark of love at home, gush forth, like a leaping fountain, in all their fulness and their glory. She can be strong in the very reserve and shrinking deli- cacy of her character, and, even while appear- ing to waver, diffuse a tranquillizing influence over all around her, like the falling of the pure, soft light, felt, but not heard, swaying all by the magic cestus of her love. The pains the wife took to charm her hus- band before marriage should be doubled after- wards. From that period, they become a world of their own. The tie that binds them should be immaculate strength—impossible to be withered by the false refinement of vitiated society. To a husband wearied with toil, dejected in body and spirit, there is nothing so sweet as a look, a word, an act of kindness dictated by a good disposition. It is like dew to the flow- ers, like water to the parched lips of a weary traveller over Asiatic dearth, like the soft, cool hand of friendship on the fevered brow of the convalescent. How rich a man must feel in the consciousness of possessing a wo- man’s love that cannot be wearied or ex- hausted, that cannot be chilled by selfishness, weakened by unworthiness, nor destroyed by ingratitude—a love that rises superior to the afflictions of misfortune, leaping from ‘the heart of a woman, who, when all the world forsake him, will be all the world to him'

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AN FOUNDED BY CHAPTER I. Tue red men of America are rapidly becom- ing extinct. The grand old forests whose solemn stillness once echoed their tread now resound with the strokes of the woodman’s axe, or have given place to cities and villages, whose spires and domes, reared heavenward, mark the advent of another race. The streams, whose waters were cleft by their birchen canoes—the brooks, whose crystal drops slaked their thirst, are now navigated by winged and spirit-driven boats, or flow through cropped fields and cattle-haunted pas- tures. Those children of the forest, whose places we have usurped, are passing away; but they leave behind them many a history and tradition of self-sacrificing generosity and thrilling romance, which may fitly serve to ‘** point a moral or adorn a tale.”’ t was near the close of the Revolutionary War that a party of Oneida Indizns were en- camped on the banks of the beautiful Oris- kany, within sight of the range of hills, on one of which was the famous ‘‘ Council Rock,” that has within a few years been removed from the spot where for ages it had lain, and now rests%in the cemetery at Utica, New York. Their wigwams, which were about twenty in number, were grouped together; and at the entrance of each were stacked three or four muskets, as if in readiness against a surprise. It was just at even; and the setting sun, streaming up from behind the hills, with a thousand golden rays, threw to the furthest eastern cloud a warm ‘‘Good-night.’’ Seated together upon the ground, apart from the rest, were the old men of the tribe, gravely smoking their pipes, and conversing in low guttural Although they preserved that stoical indifference to the things around them, which is a marked characteristic of the red man, yet it was evident, from the fierce tones. glancing of their eyes towards the western horizon, and the studiousness with which each avoided the other’s look, that some deep emo- tion agitated their minds and occupied their thouchts. INDIAN **SEUL. ON TALE, FACT. Some rods from these old chiefs were assem- bled the younger warriors, to the number of about forty, gayly adorned with paint and feathers, and their belts hung about with scalps. They were collected around their chosen leader, Tisha-Mingo, whose noble form towered above the rest with an air of majesty that bespoke his lofty soul and spirit. Like the others, his head was shaved, save the long scalp-lock; and that was gray. His eyes were deeply set in their sockets, and generous glowed with extreme brilliancy ; and his fea- tures, which, unlike the rest, were not painted, were remarkably handsome. Around his neck, he wore a gold chain, to which was attached a jet cross; and over his left shoul- der hung a black ostrich feather, or plume. These few peculiarities in the dress of Tisha- Mingo, though trifling in themselves, would not have been allowed to another than the remarkable personage who wore them; but a respect and admiration for his singular bravery, and perhaps, too, fear of his terrible power, prevented any who might have borne him envious hatred from interfering with his pleasure. On the present occasion, however, as Tisha- Mingo harangued his brother warriors, threat- upon their ; and dissatisfaction, as ening scowls were faces occasional grunts of he proceeded, told that his words were received with displeasure. Proudly defiant of their murmurs, the dusky orator continued his fiery discourse, until his Indian eloquence held every heart vibrating on the chord of sympathy that grew from out their hearts unto his own. Strained forward was each neck ; and eager ears drank in the music of his tongue, until the rich tones of his voice fell upon the still evening air, as if uttered harmoniously with something from above. The aged chieftains had drawn near to listen ; and the Indian mothers and maidens cautious- ly approached, and hung upon his words in awe. So motionless were all, that like a pic- ture was it into which the artist was breathing life. proclaimed : ** He shall go free!” The speaker ceased; and every voice 45

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46 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. A single warrior darted from the crowd, and entered a wigwam which stood apart from the others. The next instant, reappearing, he led forth a youth, whose arms were closely pinioned, and brought him into their midst. With his dagger, Tisha-Mingo severed the cords that bound him; while others took from their own dress feathers, and beads, and a tomahawk, and placed them upon the youth whom they had freed. And, as the gentle blood of France that flowed in his veins man- tled his cheek, and tears of gratitude filled his eyes, the pale-faced youth spoke out his heart among them, and warmly pressed each ex- tended hand; while, with a swelling breast, Tisha-Mingo looked on, and smiled mourn- fully. What thoughts were passing in his mind at that moment, let the cross he wore and the grief-stricken lock upon his head hint at, while we relate a portion of his former life. CHAPTER II. Srx years prior to the occurrences which we have just related, there lived, in a newly formed settlement on the Mohawk River, a French gentleman of rank, whose political misfortunes had driven him from his native country to seek a home in the land for the homeless. Here he cultivated a little patch of ground, and devoted his leisure hours to books and to the education of his two mother- less children, a boy and girl. In the educa- tion of these children, he was exceedingly careful; and, indeed, this seemed to be the single purpose and aim of his life. All the enthusiasm of his nature seemed to have been pressed into the service of this end, and all the affections of his heart centred in these two objects of his care. Early in the morning, he might have been seen busily at work culti- vating his little patch of land, so that the remainder of the day might be spent with his children ; while, during the day, sitting under the wide-spreading oak that stretched its arms protectingly over his humble cottage, he taught them in their various studies—more by his own words than from books ; or, taking them to the banks of the river, or into the woods, he joined with them in sports, teach- ing them to guide the light canoe, or use the rifle without fear; and, in the evening, taught them to read the golden lines upon the sky, calling the stars by name ; or repeated to their attentive ears wild legends of Germanic lore, and choice morceaus from those olden bards whose songs came floating down to us upon the billows of time, until the hour for them to part came, when a song of prayer was said, and the three, in one embrace, bade each other ‘‘ Good-night.”’ Four years, passed thus peacefully and hap- pily in their humble home, had attached these two children to their father, and him to them, so strongly and so closely, that their lives, as it were, beat in one pulse; their hearts flowed back and forth into each other; while their neighbors, few in number, loved and respected them, regarding the father with a certain awe which the mystery of his former rank and station inspired. Emilie Granger was now seventeen years old, and her brother Adolphe thirteen. The education they had received placed them far above others of their own age, and unfitted them for companionship with those among whom they were thrown; and this caused them to seclude themselves in a measure, and to be almost constantly together. The taste of Emilie led her to seek its gratification in the wild beauties of scenery about her home ; and her lively imagination turned every rock into a castle, every bird into a fairy, and made the winds sing serenades and dirges at plea- sure. Her physical training had been such that she knew not fear; and she plied the paddle, or pointed the rifle, with skill and pleasure ; and when, in her wanderings in the thick woods, she met any of the dusky sons of the forest, whose friendly footsteps not unfrequently brought them even to her father’s door, she delighted to sound their untutored minds, and unlock the gecrets of their simple hearts. One day, she had wandered further than usual, having paddled up the river alone in her canoe, and, leaving it, strayed into the woods in search of wild flowers, when the low mutterings of thunder announced the approach ofastorm. Hastily springing from the mossy seat where she had been arranging her flow- ers, she hastened to regain ber canoe, and paddle down the stream to her home. But the clouds gathered quickly; and hardly had she pushed from the shore when the tornado fell across her path with terrific force. The fragile canoe was lifted on the swollen tide, and the next instant dashed against the limb of a tree which had been whirled into the river, and split asunder; while the paddle which she held was snatched from her hands by the violence of the wind, and she herself hurled intothe water. Stunned by the shock,

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AN the poor girl would have sunk, when a dark form darted through the trees that overhung the banks of the river, and plunged into the foamy waves with a wild yell that outspake the storm. He grasps the sinking maid, and, throwing her senseless form across his shoul- der, buffets the rising tide, and, straining every nerve, reaches the opposite bank in safety with his precious burden. Placing her upon the ground, he sustains her, still sense- less, with one arm, and shields her from the storm with his own body. Half terrified by ler pale beauty, he dares not speak to her, or even remove the hair that partly veils her face; but, motionless, and breathing sub- duedly through his dilated nostrils, his black eyes grow upon her transparent lids until they part, with a sigh, and the lustrous monitors beneath return his gaze. Once more they close, as if she would return to the dream of her happy home from which she waked ; and her strange preserver waits, breathless, till they ope again. This time, she recovers her senses, and starts back as she meets the half- averted look of the timid savage, whose arm still supports her. And now the young war- rior stands up, raising his tall form erect, and, folding his arms across his breast, waits for the maiden to speak, for the storm has passed. Her scattered thoughts returning, Emilie thanks her preserver with tears of gratitude, and, taking from her own neck achain and cross, bids him stoop while she puts it upon The young brave kneels at her feet to Alas for the warrior’s happi- his. receive the gift. ness, the unconscious girl has won his simple heart, and, with broken utterance, he lays it at her feet! It was at this moment that Emilie’s fathor, seeking her with frantic grief, having started in pursuit of her at the first indications of the storm, perceived his daughter with hair dis- hevelled and face yet pale from exhaustion, sitting on the ground, while a dusky figure knelt by her side. The river lay between them ; and, upon the impulse of the moment, seeing only his daughter’s pale face, and the wild-looking savage so near her, he raised his rifle and fired. The report caused Emilie to look up; and, seeing her father rushing towards the river, she cried out: ‘* Here, father—here I am!”’ Then, turning to her dark friend, she was about to ask him to help her father to cross the river, when she perceived blood trickling down his shoulder, and saw that his right arm INDIAN TALE, 47 hung powerless at his side. ‘‘Oh, Heavens !’’ she cried; ‘‘it is my father’s bullet! Oh, father, what have you done!’’ And, throw- ing herself upon her knees before the warrior, as he had just now knelt to her, implored him, with clasped hands, to forgive her father for her sake. ‘*The White Fawn has won the heart of Tisha-Mingo. His life is hers; and he will forgive her father,’’ was the noble answer. By this time the excited parent had suo- ceeded in crossing the river, and Emilie ran to meet him. In a few words she told him all, keeping back only the gonfession of the brave warrior, and the unhappy man, stung with towards the wounded chief, who still stood motionless, and, having received from him assurances that forgiven, em- self-reproach, hastened his unfortunate rashness was braced him with true French warmth of heart, overwhelming him with thanks and grateful protestations for having saved his daughter's life. With all his other accomplishments, Mr. Granger was a skilful surgeon, and, having probed the wound, he found to his sorrow that the ball had shattered the bone, so that it would be necessary to convey the wounded man to his house before he could properly dress it. The chief hesitated to accept Mr. Granger’s proposal to go home with him, but an imploring look from Emilie decided him, and the three took the shortest path through the woods to their house, where they arrived in about an hour. When they had reached the house, Tisha- Mingo was faint from loss of blood and pain. Some blankets were thrown over the low set- tee under the old oak-tree, and the sufferer reclined upon them, while Emilie, having sent her brother for the blood that oozed from his wound, and spoke words of comfort and cheer that caused him to forget his pain. As evening crept on, and the lord of day some water, stanched cast his last rays upon the forest-trees, this little family of father, son, and daughter sat around the wounded warrior as he lay under the dreamy influence of a powerful narcotic. Mr. Granger had been rendered truly unhappy at the unfortunate occurrence which had stretched the warrior upon a bed of pain, and he sat near him, watching his very breath, and fearing the setting in of fever. He con- stantly moistened his lips, and felt his pulse, while the concerned expression on his face conveyed his fears to the anxious Emilie, who

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458 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, sat near watching the countenance of her preserver and of her father alternately. Towards the latter part of the evening, the chief was in a high fever, and his mind wan- dered deliriously as he tossed to and fro upon his couch. Now, he was leading on his braves to the fight, and he sounded the fearful war- whoop; anon, he joined in the councils of his tribe; and again, the more recent scenes of that afternoon flitted before his disordered imagination, and he was struggling in the water, bearing Emilie up the bank, asking the Great Father to unseal her eyes, confessing to her his simple heart, and his fingers sought the chain and cross, turning the latter over and over; now, a shudder passed over his frame, and his lips were compressed as if to subdue a terrible pain, and again those words, ‘* The white fawn has won the heart of Tisha- Mingo—he will forgive her jfather,”’ while a smile passed like a gleam of sunshine over his dark features. Mr. Granger had watched tenderly his pa- tient, holding him when he struggled, that he might not injure himself, occasionally moistening the bandages upon his wound, and paying little heed to what he muttered in his delirium; but at these last words of the unconscious man he started with surprise. The kneeling attitude of the Indian as he first caught sigkt of him was explained, and the truth flashed upon his mind; nor could he refrain from tears as his manly heart received this assurance of forgiveness for the rash act of his hand, from the lips of the sufferer. Emotions of generous friendship towards the sick man, and of gratitude to him for having rescued his daughter from a watery grave, alternated with feelings of pride—fear concern- ing what might be the consequences of the events which had already transpired, and tender solicitude for his daughter’s happiness, while he deplored every occurrence of that unfortunate day. But he ceased not in his exertions to relieve the sick man’s pain; and morning dawned as he sat alone by his couch. The fever had passed, and the chief, though much exhausted and very weak, showed symptoms of recovery. Some days elapsed before the chief’s return- ing strength enabled him to rise from his couch; during which time Emilie, Adolphe, and their father had taken turns in administer- ing to his wants; although the latter found frequent excuses for keeping his daughter away from the chief. The quick-witted Indian observed this and discerned the cause, but he made no betrayal of his knowledge, only keeping the cross which Emilie had given him concealed under his dress. It was many weeks before Tisha-Mingo re- covered the use of his arm, and during that time he had remained under the care of Mr. Gyanger, who, though he saw with pain the growing friendship between the chief and Emilie, and secretly longed for their separa- tion, was yet too hospitable, and felt too keen a sense of the wrong he had innocently inflicted upon the chief, to allow him to de- part until his wound had entirely healed. Notwithstanding the watchfulness of her father, Emilie had held many a secret inter- view with Tisha-Mingo, whose noble and generous spirit she had, from the first, re- spected and admired; and whose character, which had developed many a hidden beauty, and almost womanly tenderness, under her tuition, she had learned to love, as his dark skin became familiar to her eyes, and his eloquent tongue spoke of a love such as her whole romantic nature responded to. Tisha-Mingo had passed several years of his life among the French in Canada, where he had acquired their language, and received those strong early impressions which ever in- fluence the after life of the white man or the red. He had seen the courtesies of the French officers towards their ladies, witnessed their devotion to the other sex, and been familiar with every scene of ‘‘court and hall,’’ for which at that early day the French in Canada were somewhat noted. It was not strange then, being thrown once more among French people, and when his heart favored, and in some measure taught, his memory, that these early scenes came back to him, and entered into his very nature as it were; so that, not only did his handsome and stately bearing, and his Indian eloquence, so novel, so touching in its simple earnestness, combine to win the heart of Emilie; but added to these, the grace and delicacy of address and action, which re- minded her of her own people, the wooing in her own tongue, and a half French gallantry and devotedness, could hardly fail of leading captive her unresisting heart; and so it was that the beautiful and accomplished Emilie bestowed the matured and maiden affections of her heart upon the brave Tisha-Mingo. At length the day arrived when their Indian guest was to return to his tribe, and Mr. Gran- ger, with Adolphe and Emilie, stood with him on the river’s bank where lay the canoe which was to bear him away. Mr. Granger embraced

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AN INDIAN TALE. 49 him affectionately, and handed him a costly rifle as a souvenir of his visit there, and Adolphe stuck in his belt a black plume which had once graced his father’s chapeau, while Emilie placed in his hands a book out of which she had many times read to him during his sickness. Brushing away a tear from his cheek, Tisha- Mingo waved three times an adieu, and, step- ping lightly into his little bark, paddled swiftly away, never once turning his head, but, as he passed out of sight, sending back a wild whoop. All felt the absence of their Indian friend, for he had now the friendship of all; but Emilie wept in secret, and continually recalled to mind the many little acts of kindness and attention that he had performed. She wan- dered alone in the woods, and visited every spot where they had sat and talked together ; here they had watched the setting sun as he went down to the land of the Great Spirit; here they had gazed upon the moon and stars ; here had he given to her the wampum string which should bind their hearts together. Months wore away, and winter had bound the river in icy fetters, and covered up the forest-paths. As yet nothing had been heard from Tisha-Mingo; and the heart of Emilie was drooping within her. Suddenly she was taken ill of fever, and, despite every attention and all the skill of her father, she grew rapidly worse, and at length sank beneath the disease and died. She was buried under the old oak- tree, where she had requested her body might be laid, and the grief-killed heart of her father was buried with her. He refused to be com- forted, and from morn till night, and night till morn, mourned her loss with passionate grief, cursing the Providence that had taken her away, in the bitterness of his soul. Adolphe shared his father’s sorrow, but his young heart rebounded from the shock, as spring with its varied charms came on. One evening, towards the last of spring, Mr. Granger and Adolphe sat under the oak-tree talking about leaving a place where everything so painfully reminded them of their lost Emilie, and removing into Canada. The thought of leaving a spot where so many happy years had been spent, cheered by the presence of her so recently lost, filled the minds of Adolphe and his father with sadness. They sat silently, buried in their thoughts, for more than an hour, when the unusual sound of an Indian whoop startled them, and caused them to look in the direction from whence it arose. The VOL. LVI.—5 next moment a tall figure approached, and, dropping his bearskin, Tisha-Mingo stood be- fore them. The moon shone brightly down upon the three, revealing to Tisha-Mingo the bowed form and sorrowful countenance of Mr. Granger, and the tearful face of Adolphe. Fearful apprehensions filled the mind of the chief; and he could only advance to shake hands with his friends, without uttering a word. He looked from one to the other, and then pointed to the vacant place beside them with trembling finger and a heaving breast; and, as the bereaved parent pointed to the mound near by, and to the cross which sur- mounted it, the chieftain’s head drooped towards his breast; and his staggering foot- steps just bore him to the grave, when he fell upon his face above it, and poured out his grief in low moans; nor could he be induced to rise; but there, in the morning, was he still stretched upon the ground. This pa- roxysm of grief at length subsided; and the chief arose as Mr. Granger called him by name. Alas for the ravages those few short hours of grief had made upon the brave warrior! His forehead was marked with one deep fur- row ; his eyes were glazed; and the flowing scalp-lock had turned from black to white. Mr. Granger started back with horror as he marked the fearful change one night had wrought upon his Indian friend; and, as he extended his hand to him, he could only say, as he pointed to the little mound, and looked upward: ‘‘ She is in heaven.”’ The breast of the chief rose and fell with stifled emotion; and the feelings of his big heart burst forth in words: ‘‘The White Fawn was Tisha-Mingo’s eye. She has gone to sleep. Tisha-Mingo will see nothing beau- tiful any more. The White Fawn has carried away his thoughts. The White Fawn’s spirit has gone to live with the stars. Tisha-Mingo will wait here until the flying star brings it back again; for the White Fawn said that her spirit would visit him if the Great Father took her away too soon.”’ CHAPTER III. Montus had passed; and Mr. Granger and his son had gone to Canada to pass the sum- mer and fall; but the mournfal warrior still waited under the old oak-tree for the coming of the White Fawn’s spirit. He had encircled the little mound with a high osier fence, and

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50 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, built two seats of stone and moss near it, in one of which he sat and read aloud for hours every day out of the little book she had given him; and, in the long evenings, he sat wait- ing for her spirit to come and take the other seat beside him. At length, one day, he went into the woods to kill some game, and, in pursuit of a deer, wandered so far away that he could not get back until the following morning. When he returned, he found the house of Mr. Granger burned to the ground, the fence he had made around the mound torn away, and the mound itself dug up, the cross broken, and the grave empty ! At this spectacle, the chief was at first overwhelmed with surprise ; then frantic grief took possession of him as he marked the empty grave; and, rushing to the smoking ruins, he saw in their midst a blackened heap of bones within a half-burned box; then all the revengeful spirit of his fathers returned and burned within his breast. Seizing his rifle, he brandished it above his head, and gave the terrible war-whoop, for his experi- enced eye had detected the recent footprints of some Indians who were the deadly enemies of his own tribe; and, in the first transport of passion, he wished that his yell of defiance might reach their ears ; then, casting a rapid glance over the ruins, with every sentiment of grief and love changed to revenge, he turned from the spot, and struck into the forest upon the trail of the foes, whose doom was already sealed. Burning with revenge, the maddened chief followed on the trail of his enemies; and, just at dusk, overtook them as they were preparing to encamp forthe night. Concealed in some thick bushes, he waited until their fires had gone out, and the warriors were stretched upon the ground in sleep. Then, as a tiger creeps upon his prey, he came out from his hiding-place, and, with stealthy steps, approached the sleepers, unconscious of their impending danger. Already had eight felt his keen knife piercing their hearts, and expired without a groan, when the relentless chief, turning to strike another victim, accidentally trod upon the arm of another, who sprang to his feet with a cry of alarm, rousing the three remaining survivors. He who had sounded the alarm had already fallen, his skull cleft by the unerring tomahawk of Tisha-Mingo, who then rushed upon the others with up- lifted rifle, felling the nearest ere he could avoid the biow, then, hurling away his rifle, | | | | falling upon the other two with his knife, both of whom, after a severe struggle, fell before his terrible fury by the might of his powerful arm. ' An exultant yell rose from the lips ot the victorious warrior as he gazed upon his vic- tims, whose ghastly features the moon shone calmly down upon; and, hastily removing their scalps, disdaining to plunder them of their weapons and ornaments, he piled their bodies one upon another; and, pinning a piece of braided wampum to the nearest tree with his bloody knife, that their fellow-warriors might know by whose hand they had fallen, and in token of defiance, he plunged into the forest to return to his own tribe. Every emotion, save that of revenge, had been crushed out of the heart of Tisha-Mingo : and from that time his name became a terror to his foes. His belt was ever hung with reeking scalps ; and his arm was never raised but to slay. At the time when this story commences, the Oneidas were in league with the Americans in the Revolutionary struggle; and the captive whom Tisha-Mingo had rescued from the death that awaited him had been taken by a war party in a skirmish with a detachment of English troops to which he belonged. At sight of the captive youth, Tisha-Mingo immediately recognized the boy Adolphe, the brother of the ‘‘ White Fawn’’ whom he had loved and lost. The memory of his more peaceful days, when he learned his first ies- son of love at the feet of Emilie, and listened to her gentle voice, was revived in his heart ; and he resolved that the captive should go free. But it was no easy task to bring the minds of his brother warriors to consent to this, for many of their number had been but recently slain, and their bodies brutally dis- figured by the English; and they had sworn to be revenged. Finding that his words were received with great disfavor (as we have seen), it was then that the brave Tisha-Mingo had related to his brother warriors the story of his love. He had told them of the surpassing beauty of the ‘‘White Fawn,’’ who had nursed him in his sickness, and of her father, who had dressed his wound (with Indian sagacity, concealing from them who had inflicted it), and watched him through the ravings of delirium ; then he told them of her death, drawing off their thoughts from the present object of their re- venge, until he turned it upon the tribe whose warriors had desecrated the ‘“‘ White

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MARINE AND FRESH-WATER AQUARIUMS. ol Fawn’s’’ grave, and whom he had slain with his own strong arm, With Indian eloquence, he had pictured the many touching scenes of his visit with the ‘‘ White Warrior,’’ who had given him his own rifle, and flattered their pride by telling them that the ‘‘ White Fawn’’ had consented to become the red man’s squaw ; then, dropping his voice, he asked them if they would kill the ‘* White Warrior’s’’ son, the ** White Fawn’s”’ brother. It was in answer to this appeal—when they learned why it was that Tisha-Mingo wished the captive set free—that all exclaimed: ‘* He shall go free!’? And, after loading him with presents, they sent the captive on his way rejoicing. MARINE AND FRESTi WATER AQUARIUMS. Tue pretty fashion which we were the first to introduce to ordinary usage, on this side of the water, is already a rage, so much so as to demand the latest improvements in con- structing and stocking them. It is the sim- plicity of the Aquarium that insures its suc- cess, and most excites the admiration of the scientific observer ; for, like the Wardian case, it is an adoption of the means employed by nature to secure to certain kinds of life the conditions essential to continuance and pros- perity. If we take the obsolete fish-globe in which gold-fish have perished by dozens, we find that, to maintain the lives of our pets, we must change the water frequently ; and when- ever this is forgotten or neglected, the fishes get exhausted, come to the surface to gulp air, and very soon perish. Their condition in such a vessel is analogous to that of a number of persons shut in a room or dungeon with no supply of fresh air; the fish-globe is a sort of crystalline Hole of Calcutta, and the finny prisoners die for want of oxygen. But if, instead of changing the water—a troublesome and dangerous throw into the vessel a handful of any common water-weed, gathered from the nearest brook or river, a great change takes place ; the fishes cease to show signs of exhaustion, exchange their dull movements for playful gambols, catch flies at the surface, and in various ways show that their health and happiness have Unless the vessel be operation—we been vastly increased. unduly crowded wich fish, it will be found possible to discontinue entirely the changing of the water; or, if crowded, the necessity for a change will be less frequent. The philosophy of the matter is very simple : the fishes exhaust the water of its atmospheric air in the act of breathing, but the plants in- crease their substance by absorption of hydro-

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52 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. gen, and in so doing, set oxygen free for the respiratory use of the fishes ; so that in water, as on land, vegetable life performs the essen- tial service of providing animal life with the gaseous element of respiration. In stocking a marine tank, a stratum of sea- sand and pebbles should first be laid down, or, if these are not easily procurable, common silver-sand may be used if the precaution be taken to wash it well previously, so as to dis- solve out any solvent matters. From this point the difficulties begin. A beginner may introduce plants that speedily decay, and animals that perish in a day or two. If asea- side rambler, he may gather many curiosities for the tank, and soon have the mortification of finding that some of the prettiest of his specimens have ruined the whole by their rapid decomposition. Marine fishes are suitable for none but very ripe tanks, and even then are difficult to pre- serve for any length of time. Gobies, blennies, and wrasses are, however, too beautiful not to be worth an effort to domesticate them, and the experience gained in establishing the collection will enable the possessor to proceed with proper caution in the introduction of such lively and intelligent inmates. If the weeds hang out their gay banners, and put out their slender fingers with certain signs of healthy growth, pipe fishes, suckers, marine sticklebacks, small lobsters, and nudibranch molluses may follow, until an extensive col- lection is formed of creatures that we never before had opportunities of observing alive, many of which we were never previously acquainted with, even when dead. As a domestic ornament, combining instruc- tion with a novel kind of recreation, the fresh- water aquarium has already taken precedence of the marine, and will doubtless keep it. The marine tank is certainly the most attract- ive to the eyes of a student, but the fresh- water tank is at once cheaper, more easily stocked and managed, and unattended with the risks that beset marine life even under the most favorable circumstances. The near- est brook or pond will furnish fluviatile spe- cimens, and generally speaking these are so easy of management that a child might set upa tank of this kind and maintain it in a flourish- ing condition. Yet it must not be supposed that there is nothing to learn even in this case, though the experience acquired through many trials and disappointments may be very briefly told for the benefit of beginners. As a rule, it may be held that either rock-work or branching coral is a necessity as well as an ornament of a marine tank, but rock-work of any kind is a positive injury to a fresh-water collection ; it soon gets covered with conferve, which is the greatest enemy to the collection. It may here be mentioned, too, that propagating glasses are not strong enough to bear the weight of rock-work; and if they were, it is scarcely an ornament to any cylindrical vessel: so that, in the case of marine stock, a piece of branching coral is the only ornament of the kind suited to a cylinder. In forming the bed of the fresh-water tank, we should advise the use of sharp sand only with a few small pebbles, the whole well washed previously. Writers on aquarian subjects have invariably recommended the use of mould, but the tank can be kept more free from objectionable vegetable growths, and hence more brilliantly transparent, if pure sand be used, while all the ordinary weeds, Vallisneria Anacharis, lilies, &c. grow just as well in sand as in mould, and if the barbel and stone loach are inclined to stir it up with their bearded snouts, there is no muddy deposit on the sides of the vessel in consequence. Indeed, when a hungry loach smells a worm, he will stir up the bottom as violently as a cook would stir up batter; and if there be any solvent matter there, the leaves of the Vallisneria and Stratoides will soon be coated with slime, and upon that slime fucus will soon appear. As to the plants for a fresh-water tank, there is scarcely a weed to be found in any brook or river but may be safely transplanted’ to it, a little washing and trimming being necessary to remove decaying mattez. Unlike the marine tank, the fresh-water vessel may be stocked with fishes and plants at the same time, but the precaution must be taken to throw in a few handfuls of some com- mon weed, which should be left to float about and supply oxygen until the plants at the bottom have fairly taken root. A mass of floating weeds is a decided improvement to the tank, and creates a rich green shadow in which the fishes delight, and most of the suc- culent weeds from brooks will flourish in this way for many months, and even increase con- siderably by the numerous white rootlets they send down from their joints, some of which will probably reach the bottom and produce a forest of vegetation. Among the animal stock, minnows, carp, barbel, stone loach, perch, dace, roach, bream,

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MARINE AND FRESH-WATER AQUARIUM. bleak and chub, and water lizards, are all suitable. Dace and roach are perhaps the most delicate, carp and minnows the most hardy. We have at the present time about a hundred of various kinds of fresh-water fish, some of them so tame as to take food from the hand, and even nibble the fingers sharply; they swarm to the side of the vessel when we tap on it with the finger nails, and will hunt a piece of bread or white of egg, as we move it up and down outside, in a lively style that would make phlegmatic dulness laugh itself into hysterics any time. The molluscs to be most strongly recommended are Planorbis corneus, &@ handsome snail of a ram/’s-horn shape, Paludina Vivipara, all the kinds of Lymnea, Bithinia tentacula, and the very useful bivalves, the swan mussel, Anoden cygneus, and the duck mussel, Unis pictorum. Though we recommend these, we are bound to add that the Lymnea, though good cleaners, are given to the vice of eating the Vallisneria and the Stratoides; that Paludina is of little use as a cleaner, his beauty only recommending him; and that Planorbis is the best of all cleaners, and rarely deserts the side of the vessel, where snails should remain as much as possible. We seldom feed our marine stock, but occa- sionally the flesh of a cooked prawn, or a few minute shreds of mutton, may be given ; fresh- water stock delight in the crumbs of home- made bread, white of egg minced very fine, soft insect food of any kind, particularly mag- gots and flies, and above all, small red worms. A romp may be got up at any time by drop- ping in a lively worm; the minnows seize it and fight till they tear it in half; before they can gorge it, the loach attack them, and there is so much floundering, that the fragments of the worm are dropped into the jaws of a newt, who seizes it in the manner of a cat seizing a mouse, and the game ends by the newt retain- ing a firm hold, with half the worm projecting from his mouth, and half a dozen fishes scram- bling to tear it out, till the newt triumphs by a sullen perseverance, and gets the prey fairly swallowed, in little less than an hour, during the whole of which time it is worried, in vain, he uv by ar:most every one of its more lively neigh- bors. In every case the success of an Aquarium depends upon the adjustment of a fair balance of forces, and if care be taken to remove any matter that might decay and create corrup- tion, and to introduce only as much animal life as the plants are capable of supplying with oxygen, death will then bearare event. The water should not be changed at all, that is one of the leading features of the Aquarium, and if you cannot keep your stock in health with- out a change of water, depend upon it you have gone the wrong way to work, and must begin again de novo. An important matter is to avoid overstocking ; keep down the amount of animal life, until the plants are strong, and

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54 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. then increase it slowly, so as to see your pro- gress safely. Whenever you find your fishes gasping at the surface, be sure that there is insufficiency of oxygen, and remove a few to another vessel; for whenever a fish stands upon his tail at the surface for any length of time, it is certain that disease is at work, and that his hours are numbered. The use of a common syringe will revive the stock if occasion require it, and is a much more effectual method than the bee-glass re- commended by Mr. Gosse; but, in our opinion, aeration is a troublesome operation, only ne- cessary to palliate the effects of the most in- judicious overcrowding. A good supply of plants, a full exposure to daylight, and with shelter from the sun only during the mid-day in summer, protection from frost in winter, and the avoidance of any sudden changes of temperature, such as might result from the keeping of large fires in a room one day and none at all the next, and an occasional super- vision, and regular but moderate feeding, are the main elements of success; and for all the minor accidents, common sense will readily point out the proper course for sustaining the health of the tank and the happiness of its pretty inmates. LUCY IN THE CITY. BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE TALLOW FAMILY.’”’ THERE, now, mother, I am almost ready to sit down and tell you all about it. I had to run out and milk Sukey first. She was so glad to see me! and so were the chickens and old Brownie—but not more glad than I was to see them. Three weeks seers to me like an age. Let me put away those tea-things—oh, no, I’m not too tired !—and then we will sit down in the door; and you may knit, and I’ll talk—and peel those apples, too, for the pies to be made in the morning. Well, you know father saw me safely in the cars, after we got to Jacksonville, and put my ticket in my hand to give the conductor. After he had shaken hands, and gone out, I felt almost like—crying at being left alone among so many people, and the bells ringing, and the locomotive screaming—such a horrible noise, mother! You never heard it, did you? But, after the cars were once in motion, I grew quite composed, for no one seemed to mind me; and I felt quite exhilarated by the rapidity with which we flew along. I suppose you thought I looked very nicely when I set out—didn’t you, mother ?’—with the black silk dress which we had made over, and my bonnet newly bleached and trimmed. I’ll confess J thought I was rather smartly dressed ; but, when I came to compare myself with the ladies whom I saw about me, I found that coat-sleeves, and bonnets large enough to shadow one’s face, were out of date; and, when I heard a handsome girl in the opposite seat whispering ‘‘ Antediluvian,’’ with a very amused and sarcastic face, I supposed she meant me, and blushed and fidgeted awhile, but finally concluded not to mind it. Every little while, the train would stop at stations ; and people would get on, and others off the cars; so that I had enough to keep me interested. The women looked very queer, the most of them. I could not imagine what was the matter with them, and finally studied it out that they had on some kind of car life- preservers ; so that, if there was a collision, they would be in less danger of being crushed. This made me uneasy, because I had none; yet they looked so ugly, that I was almost willing to run the risk of one ride without such apreserver. Byand by, I began to grow uneasy about uncle’s being at the cars to meet me. I did not know what to do in case he should be kept, for I had forgotten the number of his house which he had been so particular togive me. So, when the conductor came for my ticket, I asked him if he knew Ebenezer Wilmot, and, if he did, if he would please to tell me what the number of his resi- dence was. He smiled, and said that he did not recollect him. I told him I thought he must know him, for he had lived in New York a great many years, and that his house was ip Union Place; but I had forgotten the number He replied that there were a great many per- sons in the city; and he was not personally acquainted with all ofthem. Again I sawthe young lady opposite me smile, and look at me from head to foot. I am sure I thought it rather strange that he should never have heard of an old citizen so wealthy and respect- a —-_. ee

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LUCY IN THE CITY. 55 able as Uncle Eben. So I asked him, then, if my uncle was not at the station waiting for me, if he would see my trunk safely out of the baggage-car, and put it with me into an omnibus, describing the trunk to him as well as I could; but he seemed in haste to get away, and told me to give my checks to an omnibus man; and he would attend to my baggage, and drive me where I wanted to go. I was just as uneasy on the subject as ever, when the train stopped, and everybody jumped from their seats, and caught up their shawls, carpet-bags, bundles, babies, &c., and I with the rest, though, mercy, it didn’t seem as if we could be half way to New York yet! Only four hours to come almost a hundred miles! Old Brownie wouldn’t have carried us more than sixteen miles,*and would have thought that he had done well, then. I got all mixed up in the crowd, and had to go along, whether I wanted to or not, though I tried to stop, and look about for uncle, and to go and see about my trunk. ‘“ Please, don’t push me so,’’ I said to a large fat wo- man, who was almost running over me. ‘I want to go back, and get my trunk.’’ ‘Run along, you little fool! Youll find your trunk on the ferry-boat,’’ was her polite rejoinder. And I did as I was bid, because I could not do anything else. Sure enough, when I got on the boat that takes the passen- gers over into the city, I saw a monstrous wagon full of baggage; and, going up, I gave the man my check; and he set my trunk off; and I sat down on it to keep it safe. I was glad enough to see uncle’s smiling face, the moment the boat touched the wharf; and it did not take him long, with his quick, keen eyes, to find me out. ‘Ah ha, little daisy! here you are, fresh from the clover fields !’’ he cried, as he came up and kissed me right before everybody; but I was so glad to see him again, I’m sure I didn’t care. ‘‘I meant to have come down early enough to cross over, and meet you at the cars. You were not afraid, were you ?”’ ‘¢ A little, Uncle Eben; but I got along very well.”’ “Well, you’re all right now, my dear. Got your baggage? Ah! this is all, is it? Here, Washington, put this in the carriage.’’ A negro man, dressed a great deal nicer than father is on Sundays, stepped forward, and picked up my poor little hair-trunk with a look of curiosity and contempt, which I saw very plainly. ‘‘ Better get a cartman tote dis trash,” I heard him grumble under his breath. ** Massa has no respeck for de position of his coachman.”’ Uncle helped me into his carriage ; and we were driven along at a cautious rate through such a jam. Why, I expected we should be run into on every side! We went through Broadway, that you and I have read so much about. The noise, and crowd, and splendid buildings were more than I had expected ; and, though we were more than an hour reaching the house, I was not a bit tired. I should not have known whether we had been on the way one hour or ten, I was so absorbed in looking, and in listening, too, for dear uncle talked all the way, and explained everything. I was almost afraid to go up the fine marble steps, when we at last got out of the carriage. You’ve never been at Uncle Eben’s, have you, mother, since he had his last house built? It seemed as if even my best morocco slippers were not nice enough to step upon the carpet in the parlors. I thought of the rag one which you and I made with so much labor, and were so pleased with when we got it down in the front room. Uncle rang a bell; and a mulatto girl came to the door. ‘* Show Miss Wilmot to her room; and help her to anything she wants,’’ he said. Miss Angeline looked at me from head to foot, and was about to giggle; but, catching her master’s eye, she suddenly grew more “Step dis way, if you please,’’ she said. And, as I followed her, uncle told me that, by the time I had rested a few moments, and washed the dust from my face and hands, polite. tea would be ready. My chamber was almost as nice as the par- lor—the most beautiful curtains, and carpet, and chairs, and a great mirror, and so many little things on the toilet-table which I did not know the use of. The colored girl stood in the centre of the room, and watched me as I took off my bonnet and gloves, and then made a show of putting them away for me; but I could see very well that she thought me a great curiosity. I began to feel that Iwas a worse ignoramus than I had supposed; but I did not choose to be laughed at by a servant ; so I sat down, and looked at her, a moment, quite steadily, and then told her she might leave; I did not need her services at present. ‘‘ Well, ring when you do,mum. I suppose you know dat, by pulling dis here circumfin- ous knob, you cause de ringing to divert my attention from de regions I may be occu- pyin’.’’ And, with a superb courtesy, she backed out of the door, which she could not

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56 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, get through with one effort, she was so puffed and swelled out with that mysterious arrange- ment which had attracted my attention in the cars, and which I now saw could not be a life- preserver, I brushed the dust off me, and bathed my face and hands, and smoothed my curls, taking pains to have them very nice, because I knew uncle liked them. I could see my whole fig- ure in the mirror; and I must confess I was not quite so contented with my old black silk as I was when I left home. The girl had ona better one, and a dozen little fixings besides, that J should have thought good enough for a party. However, there was no help for it; and I was glad that Uncle Eben was an old bachelor, and had no finnified wife and daugh- ters to be mortified at their country cousin. **T will stay altogether in the house,’’ I thought, ‘‘and not put him to the blush by my ignorance of city fashions. He will like me just asIam.’’ Comforted by this conclu- sion, I went down into the parlors, and found him awaiting me, sitting in a great velvet- cushioned chair. He pulled me into his lap, just as if I was still a little girl. ‘* Little Daisy’s curls are as bright as ever, and her eyes and her cheeks,’’ he said, pinching my face until I am sure it must have been rosy enough. ‘*That comes of milking the cows, and running in the meadows, and living on peaches and cream, I suppose; hey, little girl?” **T suppose it does, uncle. Just look at my hands, how brown they are! Butwhydo you call me little? I am seventeen, now.”’ You ought to have heard him laugh! I grew quite confused, and was afraid he would think me foolish. **You are, are you ? you my little puss, or my little daisy, or my little You have grown tall since And I’m not to call Lucy any more? I saw you. But you are not so very Bless you, you are not a young If you large yet. lady, I hope! had a hoop on, now, I could not have you in my lap, nor yet near enough to you to kiss I hate young ladies. ” you. ‘* What is a hoop, uncle ?”’ ‘‘Bless my soul! A hoop? Why, it’s a prodigious circle, an immense balloon— bones—crinoline—a skeleton—a what-not— a—in short, a petticoat of anew fashion. Don’t you take the magazines? I'll show you what it is, to-morrow, when we go out to walk. I'll show you crinoline in perfection.”’ ‘* Was that a hoop that made your servant | | | look so like a big yellow pumpkin with a little black stem, uncle ?”’ ‘Yes, my dear. The encroachments of the other sex upon our rights are getting to be intolerable. Yesterday, I happened to get squeezed in between two ladies in an omni- bus; and only a small part of my nose was visible. I was afraid I would never come to light again; but one of the fair ones departed ; and I emerged to view much to the surprise of an old lady who was sitting opposite. ‘Sakes alive!’ she exclaimed; ‘was you in there?’ And then the men laughed; but the women did not blush. They do not know how, now-a-days.”’ I laughed, too, at Uncle Eben’s story, and at his railing at the women; and then we went into his library, where he had ordered the tea to be served ; and we had a cozy sup- per all to ourselves, with only one waiter, who did not embarrass me much. I believe my dear mother has taught me the principles upon which politeness is founded; and, for the rest, I used my wits and my eyes, when there was anything new. I had a delightfulevening. Uncle offered to take me to the opera, or to see the Ravels ; but I was too tired to care to go out the first night ; so he showed me over his house, and played the piano for me, told me the names and sub- jects of the beautiful pictures on the walls, and did all he could to amuse me. I do think he is the best old bachelor uncle in the world, mother; don’t you? Before I left him for my room, he told me that he had invitations out for a party, to come off the very next evening. He said he had asked-me to come at this time on purpose to have me present ; and he had made it a fancy dress party in order to have me play the cha- racter which he had chosen for me. It was the first party since his acquaintance had come back from the watering-places ; and he meant to have it very fine. ‘*Oh, uncle !’’ I cried, in dismay, ‘‘I shall never be able to meet so many people! And I have no dress that is fit. Imdeed—indeed, I must keep hidden in my room !”’ ‘“You must do nothing of the kind. Your name is on the cards of invitation. I made the ball on purpose for you. Have you no festival dress at all in that little hair-trnnk you brought ?’’ ‘Nothing but a white mull that has been done up a dozen times. It is tucked; and I thought it very pretty before I came here. Mother ironed it nicely for me; but I am sure

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LUCY IN THE CITY. 57 now, uncle, that you would not let me wear it.” ** Yes, I will, and shall insist upon it. It is just what I expected you would have; and I should have been disappointed if youn had fixed up anything more splendid. There, puss, you begin to look tired and a little sleepy. Goto bed, and dream that you will be the prettiest girl at the ball, to-morrow.”’ I should have thought he was quizzing me, if Ihad not known that he really loved me, and would not hurt my feelings for the world. So I kissed him good-night, and went to bed, but not to sleep for some time. Iwas excited by my journey, what I had seen, and what I had got to see. However, I was awake in the morning, and up and dressed two hours be- fore I heard any stir in the house; and I had grown actually hungry before breakfast was served. After breakfast, I saw some preparation, but not half so much stir as we should have made for acommon tea party. The waiter was busy with the silver and glass in the dining-room ; and the parlors were being dusted, and some fancy lights arranged; and I suppose there was an extra servant or two in the kitchen. About eleven o’clock, uncle asked me if I did not want to go down town, and do a little shopping, saying he would like to show me the fashionable stores; and we might stop at the Dusseldorf Gallery on our way back. I told him that you had given me ten dollars for spending-money; but I had not decided what I should get with it yet. I had just had my bonnet bleached and trimmed, and was not really in need of anything. ‘*Not in need of anything !’’ he exclaimed. ‘*T wonder if there is another woman in the city so well off as that! You ’ll make a good wife for some man, my dear. But run, and put on that aforesaid bonnet which has been ‘bleached and trimmed’—how many times, daisy ?’’ “Three, Uncle Eben. But I do not like to go out with you. You have so many fine acquaintances ; and you will be so ashamed when you meet them, with such a queer, old- fashioned little girl by your side !”’ ‘Who told you you were queer and old- fashioned? Have you found that out already? Well, your waiting-maid, Angelina, is a very good imitation of my bon ton lady friends, in the way of dress, and manners, too, perhaps. Do you already aspire to be like her? When I am ashamed of my rustic blossom, she shall first have given me some real cause.”’ I thought if uncle, who knew so well, didn’t care, that I needn’t; and so I tied on my bonnet quite gayly ; and we started out. I wonder if all old bachelors are like uncle, mother ?—he has such strange ways of saying things, and is so sarcastic, sometimes, in spite of his good nature and his real kindness. I hardly knew what to make of his talk, at first, as we went along, I stumbling over people, almost, in my eagerness to use my eyes; but at last I entered into the spirit of it, I guess. ‘*So we are going a shopping, are we?’ he begun. ‘‘I’ve a little silly female friend, a married lady, who informs me that shopping is quite an art, much cuitivated and prized by her associates; and, from what I have ob- served, I should think it must beso. In fact, I should think it might almost be called one of the fine-arts. As our fair ladies are not alto- gether destitute of talent, and have no other means of exhibiting it, it is natural that they should seek the only avenue open for a useful and agreeable employment of the faculties which their Creator every fine day, you will see the most fashion- able thoroughfares of the city brilliant with the gay creatures, fluttering about, happy in They purchase, and has bestowed. Upon their favorite pursuit. purchase, and purchase everything recom- mended by the ineffable young men making their ko-tows (that’s Chinese for grand sa- laams, my dear) behind the counter, until their purses are emptied, and the patience of their husbands exhausted; but this does not damp- en their ardor in the least. Yesterday, I overheard two elegant creatures conversing something in this wise:— * ‘¢* What do you propose buying to-day, my dear ?’ ‘““¢Oh, I do not know, my sweetest! I spent all my allowance yesterday. But we can look at the lovely things, you know. And, if the merchants get out of patience, we can purchase a skein of silk or a spool of floss.’ ‘** But you know they never get out of pa- tience. I spent four hours, the other day, looking at the dear, delicious laces and shawls at Alltherage’s, after I had mine for the sea- son; and I took nothing; yet that elegant Slim-Waist, who shows them, smiled as gra- ciously when he bowed me out as when I What white teeth he has! hasn’t I heard, last came in. he? Let’s go in there now. evening, that some charming tissues had ar- rived. By the way, love, I have been told something so curious!—that the spines of

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58 GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. shopkeepers were made of caoutchouc, and their tempers of the same.’ *** Ah, how queer! I’ve got some tissue- paper stuffed in my purse, and some gilt buttons.’ “**Oh, it’s so agreeable to shop! there was nothing else in the world to do. But I must be home in three hours. My hus- I wish band is going to Europe; and he asked me to be at home to dinner, to bid him good-by. It ’s such a bore to bid your friends farewell !’ ‘** Husbands are getting to be so exacting!’ **T tried to lag, so as not to be compelled to play listener; but, as they warmed with their subject, their own steps lessened; and I do not know how much I might have gathered, if I had not turned aside in desperation, and larted into a bazaar, where I stumbled among a whole crowd of butterflies fluttering about a garden of gay tissues, and Slim-Waist him- self, thrown into an admiring attitude, gazing ecstatically upon a strip of faded leaf-colored something, which he had gathered into airy folds, and was gently waving to display its beauties. to don the airy vesture he so elegantly recom- I felt almost tempted to advise him mended, and so fully appreciated ; but, upon glancing at the slight moustache whose glossy curves it would have been a pity to sacrifice, I refrained, and made my exit, encountering at the door the lovely feminines to whose soft conversation I had unwillingly been a con- fidant. I do not know if these beautiful crea- tures have ever heard that ‘time is money.’ If so, they must pay a double price for what is already dear enough. My friend, Bulbul, I call her, describes the fascinations of shopping as irresistible—quite equal to the catching of husbands—and a good substitute for every sensible employment; and I take the sweet lady’s word for it, and tell you as ’twas told to me, my artless daisy.’’ We had now got down into a more crowded part of the city ; and he was obliged to cease preaching ; but his air was su funny, when he imitated the ladies, that I could not help laughing. ‘‘There, uncle! [ are some of your patrons of shopkeepers,’’ I said, as a couple of women fluttered past us, with their purses hanging from their fingers, and little bouquets on the back of their heads for bonnets, and flounces that spread out like a wide-open fan. You ought to have seen them, mother. Uncle told me they had a thousand dollars’ worth of finery apiece upon them, just fora morning promenade. ‘‘ They bowed to you, didn’t they ?”’ suppose those ** Yes, Lucy; I expect to meet half my lady friends out, this morning, making some last purchases for my ball to-night. The cards have been out ten days; and they regard it as a great affair. But don’t be afraid of their knowing you. They think Miss Lucy Wilmot is a very different person; and, besides, they cannot see your face in that bonnet.”’ “Oh, uncle!’? But he did not heed my tone of reproach. ‘‘Here, puss, here we are at Stewart’s. We'll go in, and look at the things. They will be very polite to me, and not expect you to buy. I don’t suppose you would find it possible to expend all your money in so small an establishment, if you felt disposed.’’ It was so much like a fairy palace, that I forgot to be embarrassed by the splendid things or the splendid persons about me, any more than as if they had been enchanted peo- ple that I was seeing by the light of Aladdin’s lamp. I followed Uncle Eben from depart- ment to department, and examined things it took my breath away to hear the price of. When we were looking at the silks, I saw one piece of small blue and white plaid that was I almost sighed for the power to It looked almost modest enough I just said to uncle that “That would certainly so pretty. purchase it. for my small means. I thought be becoming to my little girl,’ said he, and ordered the salesman to cut off a dress pat- tern; and, while I was wondering what it meant, he took out his purse, and paid for it. I expect I looked delightful, for he laughed, and called me a true child of Mother Eve. Oh, dear, but didn’t I want to ask him if it could not possibly be made up by evening! But I did not dareto. ‘‘ What makes so many ladies look at me?’’ I asked, when at last I came to my senses enough to feel self-con- scious. **T suppose it ’s because your dress is small, it sweet. and your bonnet large, and your sleeves tight, &c.” ‘But why do you want me to wear such a dress to-night, uncle ?’”’ ‘*Oh, it’s just awhim of mine! Nobody will find fault with it, be sure. My distin- guished niece, Miss Lucy Wilmot, is going to act in the character of the ‘ Country Girl,’ you know.’’ I wanted much to visit the Gallery; but, as we were rather later than we expected, and uncle had to go somewhere to see about his bouquets for the vases and tables, we were obliged to defer it. You’re a little sleepy,

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POETRY.

are n’t you, mother? and I am, too; so I'll tell you about the party in the morning

FAMILY PRAYER. BY REV. H. HASTINGS WELD. (See Plate.) Wira the orient’s dawning ray, Saviour, for Thy light we pray ; And when night its darkness brings, feek the shelter of Thy wings: Thou who still for us dost plead, For our weakuaess intercede, Jesus, through whose only name, Life, and hope, and heaven we claim. Grant to us the boon they sought, Who, to Thee, their children brought, When, descended from Thy throne, On the earth Thy glory shone: By Thy words of mercy free, Suffer us to come to Thee, Jesus, through whose only name, Life, and hope, and heaven we claim. For our children hear our prayer, And, for us, their pleadings hear: While our hearts in love entwine, Let us all be one in Thine, And before Thee as we kneel } In our midst, Thy presence feel, Jesus, through whose only name, Life, and hope, and heaven we claim. Ss MIDNIGHT MUSING: (From “‘ The Everglades.”’) BY N. FP, Bptttee, I ’m thinking of the time, darling, When first I gazed on thee— On thy drooping eye, and pallid cheek, In the hall of mystery. Thy voice was pouring music, sweet As the angels hymn on high: But smileless was thy lip, darling, And joyless was thine eye. I’m thinking how I long’d, darling, To whisper a word of peace To the throbbing heart and aching breast That spoke in thy sorrowing face : A wreath of flowers I longed to weave To crown thy grief-bowed head— But I saw thereon the sable weeds That told of the honored dead. I’m thinking of the time, darling, When, ‘neath the moon’s pale ray, We talked of friends, and childhood scenes, And our homes - Began my misery.

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60 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, THE PIONEERS. BY MISS M. LOUISA SOUTHWICK. Tury came to the west when the forest stood Mighty, and solemn, and grand ; And built their homes in the shade of the wood, That covered our western land. Where the blue wide waters, crystal clear, Flowed onward swift and free, As the unchained love of the pioneer Gushed forth for liberty And the holy stars had watched at night While the still-winged hours passed by ; While the old years died in their garments white, Recorded alone on high. Long, long had the secrets lain concealed, Which the dim weird forest knew: But its hidden wealth was to be revealed, And the treasures oped to view. So the woodman came with a high intent And a strong right arm to do; As a conqueror of the dark woods sent, To the work of the brave and true. Then the deer fled far from its olden haunt, And the fawn turned back to the plain; But there rose in the forest a thrilling chant From the home he had reared again. Where the glorious sunlight never fell Through the thick-wrought screen of leaves, They cleared broad meadows, and seeded the dell, And bound in the sun their sheaves. They planted the maize in the rich brown soil, Which the Indian left in sod: And when the harvest repaid their toil, Their thanks went up to God. On the shadowy hillside grazed the herds, In pastures emerald green ; And the bright air rang with the songs of birds, Where the wigwam once had been. The voice of childhood, gieesome, sweet Floated upon the tide ; And prints were made of the little feet, Down by the river-side. But suffering brought the crown of peace, And sorrow, and bleod, and tears; For the flery war-god’s crimson trace Marked the page of those sad years His banner trailed through glen and field, And his red torch flamed afar, O’er the daring white who would not yield, And the chieftain trained to war. There were drooping sisters, captive bound, And brothers burned at the stake ; And mothers were lying upon the ground In the sleep that none can break. Wives bent in anguish above their dead ; And the maiden on her breast Pillowed her lover's fainting head, And the weary soothed to rest. Their tombs were made by sighing streams, And in the sunbright glade; But never a lofty monument gleams Where their cold forms are laid. Though many died as heroes fall, They found no burial brave, And the fower-gemmed sward was the only pall That enshrouded the pioneer’s grave. STANZAS. BY J. B. HICKEY. A BLIGHTED flower within my heart Again hath freshly bloom’d ; A light that in my soul was quench’d Once more is all relum’d. And may all goodly things be hers Who doth again restore The joys that I had deem’d could be Renew'd on earth no more. Oh! if it were that buman love Could live but once on earth ; If it must die with that which first Awakes it into birth ; How cold, how drear this woria would be! How fieeting human bliss! But thanks to her who teacheth me Another love than this. May earth a sinless Eden prove To her who now suppiies The place of one whose girlhood’s love Is mine above the skies. Thus, thus to me a double share Of happiness is given: As pure a love as glows on earth, An angel's love in heaven. DEATH OF THE HON. JAMES MEACHAM. BY JULIA A. BARBER. EARTH may not claim thee more. Her homage, and the wreath of fame prepared To deck thy brow, is gemmed with many tears, And laid upon thy tomb. ‘Tis worthless now, For thy freed soul doth wear its starry crown, And in the presence of the King of kings Doth bow in prayer before the Great White Throne For loved ones who are treading life’s dark way. Within the halls Of stern debate, thy voice shall ne'er again Awake the sleeping echoes. Never more Wik thon be found among the faithfal few Who love their country, and the cause of truth Better than fame or gold. And ye who sorrow for the gifted dead Endear’d by ties of kindred to your hearts, Bind the phylactery of ‘‘ Praise to God”’ Around your souls, for He hath given life And immortality beyond the grave. So may your night of sorrow gather stars To shed their glory o’er the heavenward path, Till, at the pearly gates, you greet once more The loved and lost ones who are gone before!

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POETRY. 61 MY BABY. BY HELEN HAMILTON. ASLEEP my little baby lies, My bad new fallen from the skies, My pear! just brought from ocean cell ; Fond similes! they crowd apace, As close I press the tiny face, And little form we love so well. She is our first-born, this fair girl, This little paly human pearl, This best of all gifts Heav’n eer brought. Oh, life was all unfinished, Till in its woof this golden thread By kindly angel hands was wrought! God sent her in autumnal hours, When heavily the fading flowers Drooped ‘neath the chilling touch of frost. Mid wailing wind and leafless bower, Awoke to life our little flower, A sweeter bud than earth had lost. Now summer's breath her soft hair stirs, Not yet a twelvemonth’s life is hers— O baby ! ours so short a space ; What wondrous gift of magic power, What royal crown, what golden dower Could ever fill thy vacant place ? God! pluck not back thy little flower ; O monarch Death! thou hast a dower Of many a rare and radiant gem ; Spare, spare to us our little pearl, Our dearest treasure, our sweet girl, Our own fair blossom on life’s stem. THIS WORLD IS NOT ALL DARK, BELOVED. BY FINLEY JOHNSON. Tuts world is not all dark, beloved— Hope’s sun has not yet set ; Life’s skies are clear and beautiful, Arrayed in glory yet; And though misfortune’s clouds now frown On life’s tempestuous sea, Though birds of sadness hover near, Still shall I cling to thee. Life’s storms I scorn—TI heed them not, If thou art by to cheer ; I gaze within thy eyes of love, And see no danger near. When first we wed, broad lands and gold, Beloved one, were thine; No jewels rich, nor gems had I— No wealth, save love, was mine; And pow that sorrow's cloud hax dimm’d Thy path, which was so bright, My love will shine as radiantly As stars in darkest night. Thy gold was naught to me, dear one; But thy true, nvble heart Was all I prized ; and me from thee Death, death alone can part. Vou. LVI.—6 I grieve not that thy wealth, beloved. Hath fled on wings away, For through the present gloom I see A future gladd'ning ray ; And though our fragile bark of life Be rudely tempest-tost, And every bliss and joy of earth, Save hope, were to us lost, Yet o'er the wreck and stormy clouds Bright sunshine streams above ; And heart and soul drink in the bliss— Tis the sunshine of thy love. A TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. BY ROBERT G. ALLISON. Cuore of muses, a plaintive song prepare, A noble spirit now requires your care, Renowned for truth and genius rare; Oh, who can now with her compare? Let Love and Friendship now combine, In a glorious wreath, Hope's flowers to twine ; Nor should ye, ye fair sisters nine, Ever to others your pious care resign. Long did her lute, in mellow strain, Each noble heart on earth enchain, Elicit good, and all ill restrain. How oft her tales of scenes domestic fill Each generous heart with a responsive thrill! Now, alas! we can only mourn That she has gone to the grave's dark bourne, Zealous to deck Love and Friendship’s ura LOOK ALOFT! BY J. W. BRYCE. Wuevs fierce storms toss your fragile bark, And threatening waves around you roar; When clouds are low'ring wild and dark, And distant lies the friendly shore, Then, look aloft! When fearful shipwreck threatens most, And not a harbor you can find ; But all along the rock-bound coast Wild beats the sea, loud moans the wind, Oh, look aloft! No star of hope may beam above, No beacon shine upon your way; Your compass may unfaithful prove, Your ship no more her helm obey: Yet, look a'uft ! Above the clouds there is an Eye Can pierce their gloom to wateh your course ; And though the tempest rages high, A voice can quell its mutterings hoarse. Then, look aloft' Oh, fear not, Christian sailor, fear Nor storm, nor wave, nor rock-bound shore! Launch boldiy forth, He will be near, And Faith shall guide you safely o’er Then, lovk aloft !

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62 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. A RECOLLECTION, BY c. 8 A. In the distance, dim and dreary, Of a childhood long agane, When young thoughts began to wander, And sweet joy began to dawn; Sat I by the streamlet’s sparkle, "Neath a cool and gentle shade, Where, for many happy hours, With a sixter I had played. Bat where now the shadows lengthened, And the flowers began to die, And the birds from out the branches To the south-land ‘gan to fy— Then, beside the streamlet musing, Sad thoughts my young beart did fill: And with many dear remem beriugs In the twilight, softly still, Long I thought upon the grievings That would fasten on the soul, And the heavy waves of sorrow That would often o’er it roll— And amid the darkness, questioned Whether ‘twere a happier lot Now to die, in life’s young moruing Die, and be by all forgot. Or, when life had gained some glory, And the heart had learned to live, Live forever on. in loving Some dear friead that God would give— Then to leave this vale of gladuess, Made by loving doubly bright, Leave these myriad, dreaming fancies Bathed in welling waves of light: And, while sitting by the waters, Thinking, thinking, all the time, Gently, then, an angel-spirit, From that fer-off, blessed clime, Seemed to whisper in my ear, In a tone so soft and low, * Better have some love to cherish Than wrloved, from life to go.” SONNET.—PARADISE. BY WM. ALEXANDER. A aroron lies beyond the starry sky, Where reigas, they tell us, everlasting spring ; Where birds of Paradise are ever on the wing, Their voices making sweetest melody ; And nigh the river flowing ‘neath the throne, Walks the good Shepherd with his flock. And one Immortal tree—the Tree of Life is there, Transplanted, too, by God. Celestial light lllumes the many mansions of delight, Ambrosial fragrance filling all the air High overhead a bow forever green, Its beauteous arch dispreads—the covenant sign Held out by Him all merciful, benign, At whose right hand are pleasures eye hath never seen. Enigmas. ANSWERS TO CHARADES AND ENIGMAS IN DECEMBER NUMBER. 20. Wave. 22. Misled. 23. Smile. A PUZZLE. I am composed of five syllables. My Ist is an insect. My 2d is a vowel. My 3d is the first word usually spoken by infants. My 4th is the name of one of our most distinguished living politicians, My 5th is composed of a vowe: and a consonant. My whole is an article of modern invention, found in almost every parlor. CHARADES. 1. Ox my first you will find varied pictures of lif, Of the quiet of peace, and the turmoil of strife ; The scenes of all countries, all climates, all ages, Where the breeze gently blows, or the hurricane rages. The frenzy of passion, the calm of despair, All the pleasures of earth, yet its every care ; The city, the country, the palace, the cot, Each successive appears, yet my first changes not. My second pertains to the lofty and great, Nor oft at the door of a beggar may wait; But, though ornamented with jewels and gold, All its uses depart as its body grows old ; Like its architect, man, ‘tis of time the sure prey, And the food of the worms, as it crumbles away If mounting my whole as you journey abroad, Any “fixed resolution” you 've taken, Though stubborn your will, and of ‘‘iron-like mood,” You will find that you, too, may be shaken ENIGMAS. 2. THERE 's scarce a man but likes to see That | am in his favor, la arguments—in theory— And, ah, impossibility! With wine-merchant and tailor. But though to make equality 's My province and endeavor, And to take care that jnstice be *Twixt buyer and the seller, For, or against I'm sure to be, And mine no fault whatever So all my honest wishes thus Serve not my reputation ; And though I seek but to cedrese The wronged of every station, Either as debt, or power, alas! I trouble man and nation, Aud often bring on them distress, And ruin, and vexation.

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DESIGN FOR A SUBURBAN COTTAGE RESIDENCE. BEAUTIFUL VIEW. THERE are ten rooms, besides offices, in the accompanying design. Stone or brick should be used; no cement externally. Kitchen Landing [= ing) oom

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64 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. NOVELTIES FOR JANUARY. NEW-YEAR’S DAY OUT OF DOORS, WE gave, last month, a Christmas fireside party, and here we have a group of courageous juveniles trying their holiday presents in the open air. The little girl, with her unseasonable hoop, cannot wait until the spring, for which it is designed, but must trundle it, despite the keen, frosty air, upon the trellis. The grace- ful expanse of crinoline bespeaks another hoop beneath the full skirt of crimson merino. The black silk jacket is covered by a basquine of gray beaver cloth, fitting closely to the figure. Green drawn bonnet, with a plume of the same shade. The lad, edifying his sister and cousin with an explanation of the buoyancy of his new toy, has jacket and trousers of black kersey- mere, with a circular cloak of brown cloth, which has a small velvet collar. Flat cap, of black cloth, with a velvet band. Their cousin, who is content to be a specta- tor, folds her hands snugly in the flowing sleeves of her street sacque of fawn-colored merino, with a border of pigué in silk, of the

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NOVELTIES FOR JANUARY. 65 same shade. It is a pretty contrast with the blue cashmere dress. Fawn-colored beaver hat, with blonde fall and a plume. HEADDRESSES. We give two charming styles for arranging the hair, suited to young ladies, and season- able just now for evening parties. Fig. 1.—The hair, turned back from the forehead, and separated into four broad bands, Fig. 1. is gathered at the back by an ornamental comb, and curved by a graceful arrangement of roses, buds, and foliage, with grass droop- ing to the shoulder. Fig. 2.—The wreath, which is of fine flowers, forget-me-nots, daisies, and rose-buds, is ter- Fig. 2. minated b,abarbe of point lace, falling grace- fully to the berthé of the dress. Nothing could be more simple or tasteful. Fig. 3.—Habit-shirt and collar: the collar only intended to be worn in sight. It is of lace, a fine, bold pattern, with runnings of pink ribbon around the throat. Fig. 4.—Pointed collar of embroidery, edged with lace. Habit-shirt in fine plaits, alter- nating with plain spaces, and crossed by inser- tion. Fig. 5.—Undersleeve belonging to Fig. 3. A large puff of net, with the lace turned back 6* from the hand; smaller puff at the wrist, with bows of pink ribbon. Fig. 5.

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66 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Fig. 6.—Puffed undersleeve of muslin and embroidery, suitable for collar Fig. 4. The trimming is of black velvet. Fig. 6. A LADY’S NETTED CAP FOR MOURNING. (See blue plate page 4.) Materials.—Two reels of cotton, No. 36; one reel, No. 20; two meshes, No. 8, No. 16; two rows of black glass beads, large size; one and one-quarter yards violet sarsnet ribbon, for strings. For tHe Froyt.—Work with 36 cotton and *small mesh, net on a foundation 30 stitches, then turn, and continue netting till there are 34 diamonds in depth. Net 8 rows, increasing 1 at the beginning of each row (reckon 38 stitches across). Net 5 rows without increase. Net 12 rows, decreasing 1 at the end of every row by not netting into it (there will be 6 edge stitches or loops on each side the decrease). Net another row to within 1 loop of the end ; another to within 2 loops; another to within 1 loop; another to within 3 loops ; another to within 1 loop; another to within 6 loops; another to within 1 loop; another to within 3 loops ; another to within 1 loop; net 5 loops only in next row; 3 in the next; 2 in the next; lin the next. Cut off the cotton. On one slope side there will be 14 edge loops, and this is where the strings must be after- wards attached. Cut the netting from the foundation ; this forms one-half the front. Now net the other half the same, but run in a colored thread to mark the half. For THE Crown.—Net on a foundation 32 stitches, unite by netting into the Ist stitch ; net 4 rows, or 2 diamonds, * Net 2 together, net 6 plain, repeat from * 3 times more (count 28 stitches in this row). Net another row the same, only 5 plain instead of 6. Another row the same, only 4 plain instead of 5. ; Another row, only netting 3 plain. Now cut off the foundation, cutting the stitches close to the knots, that the latter may be more easily pulled out. Run a needle and thread through every loop of the small part, drawing it up very tight; fasten it securely. Leave a double end of cotton by which to pin it to a leaden cushion. Then net 2 rows round the circle of netting, counting 32 stitches. lst. —* Fancy row, large mesh: net 2 stitches into 1 loop. 2d.—Small Mesh. 1 stitch into each loop, but netting second stitch first, and first stitch second. A plain row (thus making 1 diamond), 64 stitches, repeat from * Ist fancy row. Continue netting till there are 8 diamonds, counting from the increased row. Large Mesh. Net two stitches into each loop. Small Mesh. 2 rows plain. Large Mesh. * 1 row. Small Mesh. Net second stitch first and first second, repeat from * 3 times more. Small Mesh. 2 plain rows. Here the crown terminates; but the borders are netted on to it, and afterwards cut off. (Z) Row. (This row will be hereafter cut through )—Large Mesh: 1 row. Small Mesh. 3 rows, or diamond and half. Large Mesh. 2 stitches in each loop. Small Mesh. 2 rows. Large Mesh. 1 row. Same Mesh. Net second stitch first, and first secondly. Small Mesh. Large Mesh. loop. Small Mesh. 2 rows. Small Mesh for remainder of border; 1 stitch in each of 5 loops, miss the connecting loop between the shells. l into each of 4 loops, miss the connecting loop. l into each of 3 loops, miss the connecting 1 row. Net 6 stitches in each alternate loop. 1 into each of 2 loops, miss the loop; there

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 87 will now be only 2 loops, or 1 diamond, on the mesh. Cut off this border from the crown at (Z) row, and make a aecond border. Cut this off also; then for Borper on Crowy.—Large Mesh: Net 1 row round the crown. Small Mesh ; Net 13 loops ; T (or turn on re- verse side), net 13 loops again ; T, net 12 loops (that is not net into the end loop); T, net 11 loops ; continue turning, netting, and decreas- ing every row by not netting into the last loop till there is only one loop on the mesh ; then cut off the cotton, tie it in a secure knot into the loop of the shell just under where the 13 loops were netted; that is, there must be no loop of the crown left between the scallop. With No. 20 cotton, darn three spots in each scallop—4 diamonds are in each of these spots. To MAKE UP THE CAP.—Sew a border (without cutting) to the front, and round where the strings should come; turn it up at the ears; let it fall over the front as in engraving. Cut the second border, sew it on the front about an inch above the sewing of Ist border, round the ears and slightly under the fold of 1st bor- der which turns over. Double the crown, not exactly in half, but so that one shell shall fall above the other; sew this by the double part on to the back of the cap, and trim as in engraving. In washing this cap, it must not be starched. FLOWER VASE MAT IN CRYSTAL AND BLUE BEADS. " (See blue plate page 8.) Materials.—Two bunches of small blue beads; one bunch of white crystal; five yards white riband wire; two yards white blind cord ; one-half ounce shaded apricot 8-thread Berlin wool. No. 1 penelope hook. Work 14 dc or the end of cord, double, and unite by working into Ist stitch; work 2 dc in every stitch in this and next row, then 1 into every alternate stitch, then a row without increase, then 1 in every alternate loop; work over 8 rows of cord, increasing as may be re- quired ; then fasten off. Cut the riband wire into lengths of 10 nails, draw out the wire by cutting through the linen part, double these lengths of wire in half, and insert one in every 4th or 5th stitch; when 3 or 4 are inserted make the border of blue beads thus: Thread on the left-hand wire 3 beads, on the right- hand wire 2 beads, hold the Ist wire down over the finger, pass the 2d wire upwards through the Ist bead on Ist wire, and pull it very tight, one wire in one hand and the 2d wire in the other, continue working the same till 7 rows are complete, when the border is finished. At every point of diamond there will be 2 wires ; thread 2 white beads on left- hand wire, one bead on right hand; pass the right hand wire up the Ist bead of left wire, and pull tightly. Continue this on the same two wires till there are 8 centre beads on the wires, then twist the ends of the latter very tightly, cut them off to within half an inch of the end, bend the ends down close to last bead on the right side of the mat ; now proceed with every two wires the same. When finished, bend these up towards the first wool row, with needle and doubled cotton fasten into first row of mat nearest the border, pass the needle through the bead and through the mat exactly over the Ist half diamond nearest the row of mat; let the stitch be made very firm. This crystal border must be raised up with the fingers. GROUP OF FLOWERS, IN IMITATION OF TAPESTRY. (See blue plate page 9.) Tue Orné wool has the design printed on it, and is wound in a ball, consisting of many threads of wool, of equal length, each length forming arow. We can furnish these balls. PATCHWORK.

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68 GCDEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. THE METROPOLITAN GYMNASTIC COSTUME. [From Dsmorest’s Emporium of the Fashions, 375 Broadway, New York.] Tris unique and charming costume is ex- ceedingly comfortable and appropriate for the purpose for which it is designed. As gymnastic exercises among the ladies have now become very popular, and as the advantages which result from them on the form, color, grace, ease, dignity, beauty, and health of the ‘‘ human form divine,’’ can only be thus developed, and as they are beginning to be more generally appreciated, and the in- stitutions devoted to this subject more gene- rally patronized, we were induced by the sug- gestion of Prof. Sedgwick, of the Metropolitan Academy, to procure and present to the nu- merous readers of the Lady’s Book an illus- tration of the most appropriate costume. As will be readily seen, the general outlines comprise a full skirt, and Turkish sleeves and pants. The material may be either fine flannel, or French merino, of any two colors that will contrast prettily. The suit, of which the above is a correct copy, was of Maria Louise blue, and bright crimson; the darker shades indicating the crimson, and the lighter shade the blue. The scallops are edged with plush trimming. A correct pattern of this costume can be procured at Demorest’s Emporium. basque waist,

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 69 NETTED CHEESE OR CAKE D’OYLEY. (See blue plate, page 10.) Materials.—Crochet cotton, No. 1, steel mesh, No. 10, and bone one, half an inch wide. Wirn the wide mesh commence with eight stitches, close for a round, and in the next round do three stitches in each stitch. Take the fine mesh, and do two plain rounds. With the large mesh, do four stitches in each stitch of the next round. With the small mesh do two plain zounds. Do one plain round with the wide mesh; then, still using the same mesh, net the second stitch of the round, then the first, the fourth, and then the third, and so on all round. Follow this by two rounds with the small mesh, then the wide mesh; miss one stitch, and work three in the next all round. Four rounds must now be worked with the small mesh, and eight with the wide mesh ; four more with the small, eight with the large, and finish with four rounds with the small mesh. The netting is now completed. To make the D’Oyley up, wash and starch it extremely stiff. Then gather the four rounds done with the fine mesh, with the eight large rounds be- tween, together; so that the large rounds form puffings, like the border of a widow’s cap. It is an extremely pretty cheese-mat, and may readily be made of larger dimensions for other purposes. SECTION OF POINT COLLAR. (See blue plate, page 11.) Tus is a full-sized section of a point lace collar. The petals are marked by button-hole bars ; and the divisions filled in alternately with a close and an open stitch. Most of the large flowers are outlined with braid. EMBROIDERY. FOR CHILDREN’S COLLARS AND CUFFS. d09y090 02920 y 50505 © FOR AN INFANT’S FLANNEL SKIRT.

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70 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. THE CASTIGLIONE. [From the establishment of G. Broprr, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Vorat, from actual articles of costume. } Tre Castiglione may be fashioned of any desired shade. The above is drawn from a mode-colored cloth. It is pecn- liarly beeoming a dark or black cloth, possessing a chaste and rich effect. The style is plainly indicated by the engraving. The duplicate fold of drapery over the arms constitutes its especial novelty; but the cut of the deep collar has aleoa freshness that adds to the beauty of the cloak. The trimminy varies considerably upon these garments; this particular ove is an exceedingly neat etyle of arabesque plush, with buttons down the front, and corresponding ornaments to match.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 71 TABLE-COVER. To be worked with zepbyr on canvas. Z > = = | nn = > i] A Z i) ty e as we Ke he iy”: DESIGN FOR A TABLE-COVER. Worked with zephyr on canvas. at er and VV UV AC v.

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72 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. CROCHET A LA BRODERIE ANGLAISE, NO. 2. Festhe, ASTID LTD TT KX : I v.. * * RS RE Ee SL EOD Ef ® Wa SD Sa? Sf MAA TTI TON PO Pe TTD KIO Se 2) Se SE te = ° . © . Materials.—Thread, No. 12, three reels; cotton, No. 8, twelve reels ; embroidery cotton, No. 14, two skeins; also a mesh, No.1. For an ottoman or sofa couvrette. To form the ring for the centre of the pat- tern, wind the thread 8 times round the mesh; tie and cut off the ends ; work into the circle 48 stitches of double crochet ; work another round of double crochet, 1 stitch into each loop. 3d round.—W ork 4 stitches of double crochet into successive loops; make 10 chain, miss 2 loops, and repeat. 4th.— Work 4 stitches of double crochet over the 4 in last round; work 10 into the 15 stitches of the double crochet ; repeat. 5th.— Work a stitch of double crochet into the 8th of the 15 chain in last round; make 9 chain; repeat. 6th.— Work 1 long and 2 chain stitches al- ternately, missing 1 loop between; repeat. 7th.—Work a stitch of double crochet into each loop. 8th.—Work 4 stitches of double crochet into successive loops; make 6 chain; miss 2 loops ; repeat. 9th.— Work 2 stitches of double crochet over the 2 centre ones of the 4 in last round; work 9 stitches of double crochet into the 6 chain ; repeat. To fill up the ring, work 8 threads across, passing the needle through 3 stitches each time; this is done with the thread, and the circle in the centre with embroidery cot-

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 73 ton, passing the needle alternately under and above the threads. For the triangular pieces that unite the rounds, make a chain of 17 stitches; work a stitch of double crochet into each loop, turn, and decrease a stitch at the beginning and end of every row, till only 1 stitch remains ; join the pieces as shown in the engraving. This pattern is also very beautiful for cush- ions done in colored wools. CROCHET A LA BRODERIE ANGLAISE, NO. 5. A BEAUTIFUL BORDER FOR CURTAINS. Materials.—Cotton, No. 20, fourteen reels; thread, No. 16, six reels; embroidery cotton, No. 16, four skeins; mesh, No. 2. For the rings, wind ihe thread 6 times over the mesh, tie and cut off the ends, work into the circle, with cotton, 64 stitches of double crochet ; work on the inner part of the circle a stitch of double crochet, make 2 chain, miss 3 loops; repeat; join the rings as shown in the engraving. To fill up the centres of the rings, take the thread and work 4 threads across, missing 6 stitches between each; then work the circle in the centre with embroidery cotton, passing the needle alternately over and under the threads. To fill up the dia- monds between the circles pass the thread across, from circle to circle, as shown in the engraving, and overcast with the embroidery cotton. ——— ~~ 2 ee oe ____. DIAGRAM OF JACKET. (See blue plate, page 1) m Pique jackets are much worn with colored | it will be found very elegant and suitable, if skirts. We are sure the pattern we now give made of cloth and velvet. will be acceptable to our readers, especially as ! In piqué, the berthé should be made of the VOL. LVI.—7

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74 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. same material, cut bias, and trimmed with needle-work. A bias fold also finishes the sleeve, and goes all round the jacket. The sleeve is closed only for a short way from the top, and it requires the sleeve that is worn under it to be very much ornamented. The buttons should be gilt or any fancy jewelry. If made in cloth, all the trimmings should be in velvet, and the berthé finished with a rich fringe. A rich moire antique, or other silk, would look very handsome. INFANT’S APRON. N08 30 JIWH 3A33 12 40 4TVH Cut like a plain sack, only wider in the back, nd open behind instead of before. Measure the length you wish the waist behind. Cut straight across the back nearly to the side- seam. Make a wide hem on the waist part of | wove —-— Se re the back, and gather the skirt part of the back into it. Button up the back. Either long or short sleeves, and trimmed or not as you choose. Made of white plaid muslin or cambric.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 75 BRODERIE FOR A DRESS.

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Leceipts, &e, COOKERY FOR THE Arrow-roor Muci.aGe.--This is made by rubbing the arrow-root powder with a little cold water in a basin, by means of the back of a spoon, until it is completely mixed with the water; then pouring boiling water over it, at the same time stirring it assiduously until a soft, gelatinous, tenacious mucilage is formed, and lastly boiling it for five A tablespoonful of the arrow-root powder is It may be Ininutes. sufficient to make a pint of the mucilage. moderately sweetened and rendered palatable by the addition of a little lemon juice. Mcci.ace or Saco.—To make sago into a proper muci- lawe for the sick, an ounce or a tablespoonful of it should be steeped in a pint of water, in a pan placed on the hob for two hours, and then boiled for fifteen minutes, stirring assiduously during the boiling. The mucilage may be sweetened with sugar, and flavored with lemon-juice, or milk may be added to it, according to circumstances. Oatmeat Gavet.—Take two ounces of oatmeal, free from mastiness, and a pint and a half of soft water. Rub the meal in a basin with the back of a spoon, in a moderate quantity of the water, pouring off the fluid after the grosser particles have subsided, but while the milkiness continues, and let this operation be repeated until no more milkiness is communicated to the water. Next, put the washings into a pan, after having stirred them well, boil until a soft, thick mucilage is formed. Gruel is apt to ferment when kept longer than twerty-four hours. Mvci.aGe or Riczs —Take one ounce of good Carolina rice, and having washed it steep it for three hours ina quart of tepid soft water in a pan placed npon the hob, then boil the whole slowly for another hour, and strain through a sieve SimpLe Breap Panapa.—Put a quantity of grated stale bread pulp ; cover it up and let it soak for an hour, then beat it up with two tablespoonfuls of milk, and a small portion of refined sugar, and boil the whole for ten minutes, stir- This may be eaten by the sick, laboring into enough water to form a moderately thick ring all the time. auder any disease in which abstinence is not strictly en- joined. Toast Water.—Toast thoroughly, but not to a cinder, half a slice of a stale quartern loaf, put it into a jug, and pour over it a quart of water which has been boiled and cooled; and after two hours decant the water from the bread. A small piece of orange or lemon peel put into the jug at the same time as the bread, is a great improvement to toast-water. App_Le Tea, on WaTreR.—Slice two large, not over-ripe, apples, and pour over the slices a pint of boiling water. After an hour pour off the fluid, and, if necessary, sweeten with a moderate quantity of refined loaf sugar. LEMON-PEEL Tea, o8 Water.—Pare the rind of one lemon which has been previously rubbed with half an ounce of refined loaf sugar, put the peelings and the sugar into a jar, and pour over them a quart of boiling water. When cold, pour off the fluid and add one tablespoonful of lemon-juice. Lemoxape.—Take the juice of two lemons, add to ita quart of boiling water, having the rind of one of the lemons in it, in a covered jar, and sweeten moderately with refined sugar. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. SimpLe BARLEY Water.—Take two ounces and a half of pearl barley, and four pints and a half of soft water. Wash first the barley with cold water to remove from it every foreign matter, and then pour upon it half a pint of the water and boil for fifteen minutes. Throw this water away, and having heated the four remaining pints of the fluid, pour them upon the barley and boil down to two pints and strain. Boi.ep Breap Puppixne.—Grate half a pound of stale bread, pour over it a pint of hot milk, and leave the mix- ture to soak furan hour in a covered basin, then beat it up with the yelks of two eggs. Put the whole into a covered basin just large enough to hold it, which must be tied in a cloth and placed in boiling water for half an hour. Beer Tea.—The most tender and juicy parts of the animal should be chosen, not such as are coarse and tough ; there is no part equal to the meat which runs lengthwise along the bones of the loins. The process of preparing should be completed quickly, not carried on by slow sim- A good moderate broth is made in the proportion When very rich mering. of a quart of water to a pound of meat. tea is required for invalids in a state of great weakness, who perhaps can receive but a spoonful or two at a time, the weight of meat should equal that of water, a pound to The weight allowed should be of lean meat, Chop the meat as a pint. perfectly free from skin, bone, and fat. fine as sausage meat. Pour over it the quantity required of boiling water, and set it on the fire; when it boils up throw in a little salt and a piece of bread, slowly toasted, not burnt ; let it boil briskly from twenty minutes to half an hour, which should not be exceeded ; do not take off the scum, but stir it down as it rises. When done, strain through a sieve. This is not given as the most economical method of preparing broth for common family purposes, but as the best when it is wanted as a restorative in illness, or for the food of young children. TO COOK POULTRY. To Roast Dvcks.—Ducks should be well plucked with- out tearing the skin, all the plugs being removed. Some cooks go so far as to skin the duck, holding it a minute by the feet in scalding water, that the skin may peel easier ; clean the insides thoroughly with a little warm water, and stuff them with the same stuffing as for goose, using per- haps a little more bread for the sake of mildness; roast them before a brisk fire, but not too close; baste very fre- quently ; they will take from half an hour to an hour, much depends on the age and size; when the breast plumps they will be just done; serve them with a rich HOW brown gravy. To Bor Deexs.—Clean and pluck them ; let the skin be preserved from rents while plucking; salt them for about thirty hours previous to cooking. flour a clean white cloth and boil them in it ; a moderate sized duck will take about an hour's boiling; make a rich onion sauce with milk, and send it to table with the duck. When the duck is boiled fresh it may be stuffed as for roasting, and served with the same description of gravy. To Stew Ducks.—There is a difference between a stewed duck and stewed duck, and it is not the a alone; in the one case the duck is stewed whole, and in the other in pieces. To stew a duck or ducks, they should be stuffed and roasted for twenty minutes, and then placed in a stew- pan with an onion eut in slices, a little sage and mint, and sweet herbs chopped fine, and about a pint of good beef gravy, seasoned with pepper and salt; let it stew gently

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RECEIPTS. 77 for about twenty minutes; take out the duck carefully and keep it warm ; strain the gravy; pour it into a clean stew- pan, and add to it, when well heated, the duck and a quart of green peas; let it simmer for half an hour. If not suffi- ciently thick, add a little four and butter, a glass of good old port wine, and send to table, with the peas in the same dish as the duck. Stewep Dvck.—The ducks should be cut into joints and laid in a stewpan with a pint of good gravy ; let it come to a boil; as the scum rises, remove it; season with salt and cayenne; let them stew gently three quarters of an hour; mix smoothly two teaspoonfuls of fine ground rice, with a glass of port, stir it into the gravy; let it have seven or eight minutes to amalgamate with the gravy; dish and send to table very hot. To Hasu Ducxs.—The same receipt may be followed as for hashing fowl and game, with the exception that it will not require as much time to stew. Witp Ducks, or TeaAL.—You must be particular in not roasting these birds too much ; a duck about fifteen minutes with a good fire, baste them very frequently ; teal will of course take less time, but your fire and motion of the spit must be attended to; and when you dish it, unless pre- ferrred to be done by the gentleman at the table, draw your knife four times down the breast; have ready a lit- tle hot butter, and juice of a lemon, cayenne pepper, a lit- tle dust of sugar, a glass of port wine; pour it all hot, the last minute, over your ducks. The remainder left of those birds the next day makes excellent salmi or hash, taking care of all the gravy that may remain. Witp Dvucxs.—These birds require clean plucking and clean washing, which may be done by pouring warm water through the body after it has been drawn; half an hour before a brisk fire will suffice to roast them ; stuffing is not required. When it is sent to table, the breast should be sliced, and a lemon squeezed over it. The slices of the breast and the wings are the only parts really worth eat- ing to a sensitive palate, the strong flavor of the bird ren- dering it a dish only for those with peculiar tastes, Roast Fow.s.—If nicely trussed, make a stuffing of but- ter and some pepper; dry up the butter with a few bread crumbs; baste it well; add flour and salt before you take it from the fire. If approved of, stuff the fowl with some good sausage-meat, truffles, or chestnuts. Roast Fow..—Clean the fowl thoroughly; roast it twenty minutes, unless a very fine one, and then it will take three quarters of an hour; serve with bread sauce, or parsley and butter; egg sauce is sometimes sent to table with it. Ifa small lump of salt butter, well covered with black pepper, is placed within the fowl previous to roast- ing, it will be found to improve the fowl by removing the dryness which is met with in the back and side bones. BorLep Fowts.—Flour a white cloth, and put the fowls in cold water; let them simmer for three quarters of an hour; serve with parsley and butter, or oyster or celery sauce. The fowls may be covered with a white sauce, if sent cold to table, garnished with colored calf’s foot jelly of the hue of beetroot. Cotp Fowis.—When, for the purpose of convenience, fowls are sent to table cold, it is much better to carve them in the kitchen; let it be done with a short knife, and with precision ; the slices from the breast should be well cut, and the whole arranged tastefully in the centre of the dish ; a layer of ham and tongue in alternate pieces may be laid round the dish, and slices of both in small dishes should accompany it to table; handsome sprigs of parsley may garnish each dish. 7* BILLS OF FARE. Bit. or Fare ror A Drxyer FoR Eigut Persons in JANUARY OR FEBRUARY :— FIRST COURSE. Ocra soup. Remove.—Boiled fish, with oyster sauce. Tongue. (Epergne.) Rabbit. Fried oysters. Remove.—Haunch of mutton. Vegetables.—Mashed potatoes, tomatoes, celery, turnips, corn, sweet potatoes, rice, beans, oyster-plant, &c. SECOND COURSE. Plum, or Eve's pudding. Blancmange. Mince-pies. (Epergne.) Nuts. Jelly. Fruits. PRACTICAL HINTS ON THE DOMESTIC MANAGE- MENT OF THE SICK-ROOM, BY A PRACTISING PHYSICIAN. Very recently I was called in to attend a young woman suffering from fever. I recommended the chloride of lime to be used as above, but I found at every visit that no sort of care was taken to follow my directions. I warned them, but in vain, of the consequences. Every member of the household waf attacked with the fever. I could give many more instances, but one must suffice: A case of fever, of a very slow, lingering kind, occurred in the family of one of my patients. I begged them to use the chloride of lime, and gave them a large supply of it. With the usual apathetic indifference to any danger not immediate, that distinguishes the laboring classes, they would not use it, and I had every member of a very large family ill with the fever, sometimes two or three ata time. It was nearly six months from the commencement of the first attack until the last person was pronounced recovered. Being at present engaged in some investigations into the laws of epidemics, my attention has been particularly di- rected to those circumstances which render such diseases as measles, scarlatina, or fever more dangerous to life in one locality than in another. The conviction has been forced upon me that, whether it arise from the dense popu- lation of a great town, the crowding of several families into a house, the badness of the drainage or sewerage, or the existence of offensive matters near the dwelling, the noxious influence of any or all of these combined may be counteracted by the proper use of the chlorides of lime or zinc. It may be as well again to mention, as a caution, that both these substances are poisons, and that deaths have occurred from drinking the solution of chloride of zinc, which is a colorless fluid like water. The unnecessary and silly terror felt by many at the mere possibility of infection, and the odium incurred by having a case of contagious disease in a house, will some- times induce persons to conceal the fact as long as possible. A few weeks ago I was attending a servant who had scarlatina. The lady of the house begged me not to mention in the village, in which I was residing, what the disease was, as otherwise it would get to the laundress’s ears, and she would refuse to take the clothes. Sucha request as this was exceedingly wrong. The danger of

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78 GOPEY’S LADY’S communicating searlatina by means of clothes worn by a patient, is very great. There is also a possibility that elean clothes may be infected by lying near the soiled enes, and there is also the certainty that when it is known, as it most probably will be in the end, the poor laundress will her customers immediately. It happened in this case that the lady’s laundress was mine also, and I lose immediately gave directions to send no more things to her. I have said nothing in this paper about cases of small- pox, as I presume that all have had their children vacci- nated within the first three months after birth. But for the unhappy prejudices of the uneducated classes, which can only be conquered by a much more stringent law than the present, smallpox would have been banished from the country. Before I conclude, it is necessary to mention the dread- ful fatality of cases of scarlatina occurring in females soon after confinement. Such cases are, happily, rare; inas- much as it most frequently happens that persons take the disease in early life, and are thereby almost exempt from after attacks. But it may happen that a woman who has never had scarlet fever may be confined at the time an epidemic of the disease is raging in the neighborhood ; too much care cannot be taken to protect her from conta- This caution is particularly needful to those ladies who, actu- gion, as such cases are almost invariably fatal ated by the most benevolent motives, are in the habit of They case of scarilatina and a visiting and relieving their poorer neighbors. ought on no account to visit a lying-in woman in the same clothes, or on the same day. As during the time when danger is most to be apprehended the lying-in female cannot go out, one source of contagion is avoided; and her friends ought to take the most scru- pulous care that no one is admitted to see her who has come from a house or neighborhood where scarlatina rages. It isa terrible malady, even to children; and its conse juences are far more dangerous than most persons think. A very eminent old physician once said toa lady whose children had searlatina, ‘You have the plague in your house, ma’‘am—you've the plague in your house!” I know a medical man, three of whose children died in one week last year from this disease; and similar instances are not at all uncommon, MISCELLANEOUS. Furnitcre Pouss.— "Tis highly essential and useful to know How furniture polish is made ; And for that very reason I purpose to show The way ‘tis mixed up by the trade. To a pint of the varnish, termed mastic, unite A pint of pale, boiled linseed oil ; And, if it is good, as it will be, mixed right, "Twill remove every symptom of soil As soon as applied to a table or chair, With a piece of soft linen or flannel, And is noted for varnishing all kinds of ware, From a stool to a beautiful panel. To Takes INK ovt oF Mcstin.—Dip the part stained with ink into cold water; then fill a small basin with boiling water, and on the top place a pewter plate; lay the mus- lin upon the plate; strew salts of lemon or tartaric acid upon the ink spot, rubbing it in with the bowl of a spoon ; the spot will then immediately disappear. Barsapors JumBies.—Beat very light the yolks of four eggs, and the whites of eight, with a spoonful of rose water ; BOOK AND MAGAZINE, then dust in a pound of the best refined sugar, afterwards add three-quarters of a pound of the best fine flour, stirring it in lightly. Grease your tins and drop the mixture on thera in the shape of a macaroon, and bake them nicely. To Perrcme APARTMENTS.—Put into a spirit-lamp, or rarrow-necked bottle, any essence, or scent, not containing water; provide the lamp, or bottle, with a thick lamp cotton, and place slightly above the cotton a small ball of spongy platinum; then put a light to the wick, and after the platinum is red hot (which it will be in a few seconds), blow it out. The platinum ball will continue in a state of ignition as long as there remains any spirit in the bottle, evaporating the perfume as it rises by means of the wick. To Reyovate Brack CLota Ciorues.—Clean the gar- ments well; then boil four ounces of logwood in a boiler or copper containing two or three gallons of water for half an hour; dip the clothes in warm water, and squeeze dry ; then put them into the copper and boil for half an hour. Take them out and add three drachms of sulphate of iron ; boil for half an hour; then take them out, and hang them ap for an hour or two; take them down, rinse in three cold waters, dry well, and rub with a soft brush, which has had a few drops of olive oil rubbed ou its surface. If the clothes are threadbare about the elbows, cuffs, &c., raise the nap with a teasel or half-worn hatter’s card, filled with flocks, and when sufficiently raised, lay the nap the right way with a hard brush. ParisiaN Freckte Water is made by dissolving an ounce of alum in an ounce of lemon juice and a pint of rose- water. To Remove Conys.—Get four ounces of white diachylon plaster, four ounces of shoemaker’s wax, and sixty drops of muriatic acid or spirits of salt. Boil them for a few minutes in an earthen pipkin, and when cold, roll the mass between the hands and apply a little on a piece of white leather. To Keer Sroves anp Rayces Bricnut.—Make a weak alum water, and mix your British lustre with it; put two spoonfuls to a gill of alum water ; le® the stove be cold, and brush it with the mixture; then take a dry brush and lustre, and rub the stove till it isdry. Should any parts before polishing become so dry as to look gray, moisten it with a wet brush, and proceed as before. By two applica- tions a year, it can be kept as bright as a coach body. To Prevent O11, Lamps From Smokine.—Take any quan- tity of onions, bruise them, put all into a retort, and distil ; pour a little of this liquor into the bottom of the lamp, and it will give no smoke. This is an excellent remedy for that most annoying nuisance, and when once tried must be approved of. CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS. To Preserve WatermMeLon Rinp.—If the lady who wishes to know how to prevent melon rinds from tasting of alum will soak them for three days in salt water (changirg it every day) three in alum water, and three in fresh water, then preserve, she will find them to be bean- tiful—clear, brittle, and having nothing of the alum taste about them. I tried it last summer, and was very suc- cessful. To Preserve Crrroxs.—Prepare your citrons by paring off the outer rind, and taking out theaniddle; cut in slices, and lay in salt and water for four or five hours; then soak in spring or pump water, changing frequently until the last water tastes perfectly fresh ; boil a small lump of alum (a lump the size of a hickory-nut is sufficient for six

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RECEIPTS. pounds of citrons), and scald them in the alum water; simmer two hours with layers of green vine leaves ; after you take the citrons from thealum water, give them a boil in weak ginger-tea, made of the roots of green ginger, if you can obtain it; if not, of race ginger, as powdered gin- ger will not do at all. This will take out any remaining taste of salt or alum. Makea syrup, allowing a pint of water toa pound of best white sugar ; boil and skim well. When it is quite clear, put in the citrons, and boil slowly, till so soft that a straw can pierce without breaking them ; put in a large dish, and set in the sun to harden; pare some lemons very thin, and place the rind in scalding water to extract the bitterness; cut the lemons in quar- ters; take half a pint of water to each lemon; boil toa mash ; strain the boiled lemon through a sieve, and allow a pound of best white sugar to each pint of liquid; melt the sugar in the liquid, and stir in gradually some beaten white of egg; one white to four pounds of sugar; set over the fire; add the peel, and boil till it is suft; put the cit- rons cold into a glass jar, and pour the hot syrup over them ; let the lemon remain, as it improves the flavor of the citrons. Potato Puppine.—Six large mealy potatoes, peeled, boiled, and mashed ; one teacup of sifted white sugar, one of fresh butter, one of flour, six eggs, one cup of sour milk, and one-half teaspoonful of soda rolled fine; beat the eggs light and separately; mix the butter with the potatoes while hot; then, when cool, add the flour; mix the yolks of the eggs with the sugar; add them and the whites to the potato and flour, then the sour milk and soda; beat it well before you add the soda; butter a pudding-pan or cake mould; pour in the mixture, and bake in a moderate even. Serve hot, with rich wine sauce. Grvew Batrer-Cakes—a Southern Receipt.—One quart of thick gruel, one large tablespoonful of butter, nine eggs, a little salt, two spoonfuls of flour, and ‘corn-meal, to form a batter; cook the butter in the gruel; remove from the fire; pour into a wooden bowl, and stir until almost cool ; then add the eggs and meal, and lastly one small teaspoon- ful of soda, rolled free from lumps, and dissolve in warm water. The corn-meal should be white and fresh. The above receipt was used in our family by a colored cook for years, and was always liked. It is a genuine Southern receipt, and I know will not fail, if rightly made, tv produce the best batter-cakes I have ever seen. Pounp-Cakr.—One pound of fresh butter, free from salt, oue of powdered loaf-sugar, one of sifted flour, twelve eggs, beaten separately, two-th.rds of a teaspoonful of baking- powder; cream the butter and sugar together; beat the eggs, the whites very stiff, the yelks to a rich, smooth bat- ter, and mix the baking-powder with the flour; take a large bowl, or something convenient, and gradually mix the materials together ; flavor with essence of lemon, and beat for half an hour, using the hand, or a wooden paddle, as preferred ; paper your cake-pan ; pour in, and bake in a moderate oven; do not cut until next day. If rightly made, this cake will be a beautiful color, and very light. TENNESSEE ConN-Breap.—One quart of thick sour cream, one spoonful of fresh butter, one teaspoonful of soda dis- solved in hot water, one tablespoonful of sifted flour, white corn-meal to form a soft dongh; work well with your hands, and bake in a buttered pan. Serve very hot. SovrneRn Biscuit.+-Two quarts of sifted flour, two large spoonfuls of lard, a little salt, two teaspoonfuls of soda, mashed fine, and mixed with the flour; sift both together ; mix up to a soft dough with scour cream; do not handle tvo mach, but work well, and bake in a quick oven. Cheuustry for the Poung. LESSON VIII. (Continued. ) 121. Take about one teaspoonful of oil of vitriol (but do not use a spoon or any common metallic substance for measuring), pour it into an earthenware jug, and add about seven equal measures of water. Ayitate the mix- ture, and remark how great an amount of heat is evolved It was on account of this heat, the evolution of which was contemplated, that the mixture of oil of vitriol and water has been ordered to be made in an earthenware jug; not that there would have been much chance of its breaking @ flask of the kind which you have prepared with a tube, + but in all cases it is well to guard against mishaps. 122. Prepare a very dilute solution of nitrate of silver by adding just one drop of the concentrated solution to a wineglassful of water. Divide this dilute solution into three wineglasses. 123. Prepare a very dilute solution of nitrate of copper in a similar manner, and pour it into three wineglasses. Let us call the solutions, silver 1, 2, and 3, copper 1, 2, and 3 12% and have it near for preseat use 125. Pour the dilute oil of vitriol upon the sulphuret of iron in the glass flask, cork the flask and await the result. Half fill a six ounce phial with cold distilled water Probably the mixture may at once give off bubbles of gas, and the tube may evolve an unmistakable smell. If on the contrary, apply for an instant the heat of a spirit-lawp, when the result will take place 126. As soon as the gas begins to come over, plunge the end of the bent tube to the very bottom of the distilled water, so that all the gas which gues over may be made to pass through. Also, whilst the gas is passing through, manage to agitate the water as much as possible, by which means the water can be made to absorb a large amount of have sufficient evidence in the For the gas, of which you will altered taste and smell which the water acquires. present purpose there is no necessity of carrying the ab- sorption to its furthest limits; therefore, whilst the gas is still briskly coming over, remove the tube and cork the bottle. 127. Plunge the tube into silver No. 1, and observe the result: A black sulphide of silver, because it is a compound of sulphur and precipitate falls, called sulphuret, or of silver. Continue to pass the gas through until no further blackness is occasioned, a period which may be determined by transmitting a little of the solution through a filter, so as to get a clear solution, and passing gas through the result. Ifno more blackness is produced, the operation is concluded, if, on the contrary, the gasing must be continued, 128. Repeat the previous experiment with the copper solution No. 1. 129. Add respectively to silver No. 2, and copper No. 2, a little watery solution of the gases, and remark how similar is the result to that produced by employing the gas itself. 130. Hence we have seen hydro-sulpharic acid to bea test of the presence of copper and of silver, with both of which it strikes a black color, and throws down a black precipitate. In like manner it throws down most other metals, and generally in the form of a black powder; from which, by proper treatment, the metal may be ex- tracted, thus completing the chain of evidence.

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Evitors’ Gable. Time flows from instants ; and, of these, each one Should be esteemed, as if it were alone. The shortest space, which we so highly prize When it is coming, and before our eyes, Let it but slide into the eternal main, No realms, no worlds can purchase it again. Remembrance only makes the footsteps last, When winged time, which fixed the prints, is past. Sin Jonny BEaumMoNT. It is to this ‘‘remembrance” of what the Lady’s Book has been to our friends for such a long, long time, that we trust our hopes of a warm welcome when beginning a new volume, The new year, with its thousand new hopes, plans, promises, is with us. May it be a happy year to you, my dear reader, and greatly increase your means of conferring happiness ! It is not doing great things that makes human character great, or life illustrious. The test of true worth is to do well those things which are before us in our every-day relations and duties. Wonderful events seldom happen to any individual man or woman, except in romance. Even the achievements that are, in their results, considered great, were brought out by small events, and usually by insignificant means. Those who have done most worthily are often least aware of their own worth. So never consider fame necessary to happiness. The only indispensable quality is goodness. If we begin this new year with the determination to do all the good we can, and to avoid doing all that is wrong, or that will encourage wrong and evil in others, then we may be sure of a happy twelve months. Such is the criterion we intend for our Lady’s Book. It shall do good. It shall discourage evil. Confiding in the favor of our friends, and in the blessing of Heaven, that has followed us in all our exertions, we anticipate a happy year; and we hope to contribute to the happiness of those who join hands and hearts around our “ Editor’s Table” in the promotion of human happiness. ** Happy are those That, knowing in their births they are subject to Uncertain change, are still prepared and armed For either fortune.” FASHION—ITS INFLUENCE AND RESULTS. Fashion so direvie, and moderns raise, On fashion’s mouldering base, their transient praise. CHURCHILL, “It is unworthy, lady dear, Your dignity of mind To take such trouble with your gear.” So sang one of our sweetest and most natural of Ameri- can poetesses, the late Mrs. Osgood. We think of her as our own, for her genius of song was first cultivated in the periodical under our care. Mrs. Osgood, then Miss Locke, and writing under the nomme de plume of Florence, was as easy and graceful in her own costume as she was in her poetic compositions. Always prettily and neatly arrayed, but never ornamented with an unnecessary bow, button, 50 or tassel, she seemed to know, as by instinct, the becoming, and so always looked charmingly in the cheapest garb. Her taste was free; and even despotic Fashion could not enslave her soul. It is strange that, through all the revolutions, the changes of Old World dynasties, the heaving up and jostling down of thrones and empires, on the surface of our “dark terrestrial ball,” this one tyrant, ‘‘ Fashion,” everywhere rules the nations of mankind. Seated on her throne of human vanity, this despotic queen of dress and decoration has withstood the shock of ages and the scythe oftime. She has been constantly promulgating new laws, which, however capricious, unreasonable, or oppressive, are, with very few exceptions, eagerly followed, or, at least, seldom disputed. It is fashion that ruthiessly bores the brown nose of the ignorant savage, and pierces the alabaster ear of the civil- ized belle. In one region, her subject has his face pricked into the pattern of an ill-fancied china jar; while, in an- other, an unhappy girl sinks under the enjoined load of multiplied yards of flannel, muslin, and silk she must carry. She feels that health and life are at stake ;. but, loyal to the last, she will yield up these, rather than diso- bey fashion. In China, the women, in obedience to fashion, cultivate their feet, till they resemble little hoofs. In America, the men now cultivate their hair, till their faces resemble bears. These are but slight illustrations of that potent influence which sways all classes and conditions of society, and moulds the standard of appearance for both sexes, and for all ages of our race. To overcome and destroy fashion would be, we are aware, an impossible task; nor is it one we would wish to see accomplished. We would only attempt to abate her oppressive supremacy, and confine her sway to well-or- dered laws, which shall accord with the public good. Thus limited, we would be among the first to acknowledge her government, and yield to her sway. When counselled by taste and comfort, and supported by arts and industry, the influence of fashion is as beneficial as it is extensive. Much has been said, and some things written, of late, about the present financial disturbance being caused by the extravagance of woman’s apparel. The Honorable Caleb Cushing has well and wittily an- swered these very superficial reasoners on the causes of the terrible times. Mr. Cushing asks, in substance, whether a few extra yards of silk ruined the “Ohio Life and Trust Company,” or whether ladies’ flounces filled the brains of the railroad contractors till they lost sight of all common sense, or whether delicate laces broke down the integrity of bank presidents. That many women have been educated into a fondness for furbelows and finery, made real McFlimseys, in short, is a sad truth that we do not wish to deny or apologize for; and also that absurd extravagance has grown to an un- justifiable and evil excess, we are willing to admit; but, that all the frivolity, all the love of show, and all the ruin- vus expenditure of this fast age has been the fault of the fair sex, we do not admit Would not the cost of wines and cigars, that a gentleman,

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EDITORS TABLE. 8l at his club or his exelusive male parties, indulges in, dur- ing one year, pay for his wife’s silks through five, if not ten years? Then, these silks are of some use; their pretti- ness is something; but, besides this, they are garments, unnecessarily expensive, perhaps, but still supplying a use. The gentleman's superfluous luxuries have neither use nor beauty. They are the mere gratification of an hvur, of an appetite, and leave nothing behind them, ex- cept smoke and headache. There are, as we firmly believe, but very few women, young or old, who would not retrench, even give up a fashiouable display, were they candidly dealt with by their husbands and fathers. If you would only show these silk- buying ladies that self-denial would be an advantage to those they love, and that love, real tenderness, would be the reward of any necessary economy those wives and daughters were required to practise, we feel sure that the greater portion would go bravely to their duties. But then they must feel assured that men will also retrench— that what is saved to the family by the wise economy of the wife and sister is not to be dissipated by the greater indulgence of the brother and husband in wines, cigars, fast horses, and the other expensive follies of men. As one step to social and fashionable improvement, we would call the attention of our lady readers to the fact that finery is not necessarily becoming or desirable ; while sim- plicity is a grace that is unfailing. It is the niceness of fit and the taste with which your dress is chosen and ar- ranged that render it becoming—not its colors nor its texture. We have often seen a little fairy figure, intended, by nature, to be bewitching in light muslins, looking like a heavy bundle in her stiff silks, that would have befitted a Juno, and half smothered, if not quite killed, like Tar- peia, by the golden ornaments scattered over her person, and her poor little head robbed of its symmetry and equi- librium by the load of flowers and feathers that deformed its outside, and gave the observer cause to fear that the inner shrine was foolishness. Every ornament, to be ornamental, should be in propor- tion to the form it decorates. Every color worn should be in harmony with the age and complexion. When we see a woman with remarkably large hcops and a wondrously small bennet, with unmercifully tight boots and tight cloves, it is unnecessary to hear her speak. She carries about with her the calibre of her taste ard her mind. Such a woman is the puppet of milliners and shopkeepers. fhe has no judgment of her own; and she adopts the ideas of those whom self-interest, not her interest, guides. How unfortunate is the woman who has given all her time, her abilities, her money to the fitting up her out- side, when she has not gone on the right track! Unless she can rely on her own sound judgment and taste, she is putting into a fearful lottery. She may only draw the remark ‘Tolerable,’ when she has expended thousands; and she may go still lower, ‘‘ Ridiculous!” “ Frightful !” ‘*Tawdry !’’ and, worst of all, ‘‘ Old-fashioned !" In any mental improvement, the cultivation of accom- plishments, reading, etc., success may not crown our efforts ; but there is always something gained. We may not sing or play well; but our taste and judgment on the subject of music are increased ; and we derive more plea- sure from the performances of others. We may not draw well; but we learn to know a good drawing. The books we read may not be superior, and our memory may be inferior; but it will be sure to have some thought, image, or fact which will make its appear- ance when demanded. In short, we shall have gained something by our mental! efforts always Not so with the toilette manqu/. It is a waste of money, a waste of time, a waste of materials. It makes us ugly, and all this might have been The suitable and becom- awkward, and ridiculous; avoided by sensible simplicity. ing add more interest to a woman’s appearance Than all the fopperies of art That strike the eye, and not the heart.” These last only betray a frivolous love for baubles, and an inconsiderate rage for expenditure ; while judgment and taste are qualities valuable throughout a woman's domain of duties and enjoyments, extend it as widely as you may, from the narrowest office of the needle to hers whose ‘children rise up and call her blessed ; her husband also, ani Le praiseth her.’’ “POEMS BY ROSA.” Svcn is the title of a very beautiful octavo volume, re cently published in Boston by Tickuor & Fields, containing over 300 pages, filled with poetical effusions from the pen of Mrs. Rosa Vertucr Johnson, and dedicated, under the impulse of a beautiful sentiment of gratitude, ‘‘To my Dear Adopted Parents (Mr. and Mrs. Vertuer of Lexington, Kentucky), as a Slight Tribute of Love by their Affectionate Daughter Rosa.” At the present day, when the wonderful achievements of science and the useful arts seem to have monopolized all the attention of the human mind, to the exclusion of what belongs to the readers of fancy and feeling, it re- quires no little boldness in an author to come before the public with a book of original poems. There is occasionally granted, to the few favored indi- viduals, a power beyond that of mere appreciation, namely, of giving utterance to their conceptions and feelings, so as to place them, whether by pencil or pen, within the reach of others. These are the most highly gifted ones of creation, whose duty it is to elevate the tastes, develop the finer sentiments, and rescue the soul from the dominion of vicious tastes and mischievous and grovelling propensities, Conspicuous in this elevated class we place the authoress of ‘*‘ Poems by Rosa.” To say nothing of various other pieces which abound in beauties, the poem entitled ‘“‘ The Frozen Ship,” the longest in the collection, is a production which could only come from poetical genius of the highest order. It is rare that perfections of intellect and physical beauty are combined in the same individual, as we find the case in an eminent degree in the fair authoress who has favored us with her poetical effusions, The likeness of her in the pretty volume got out by Ticknor & Co. of Boston, though classical and poetically expressive, falls far short of giving the slightest idea of the real beauty of the original. It is gratifying to hear that the volume has been so well re- ceived, that eight hundred copies were disposed of within the first fortnight, and this in the face of times so entirely unpropitious to poetical success. We have room for only a few short extracts, that give but a faint idea of the poetical merits of this volume, that we cordially commend to our readers. What beautiful glimpses has the authoress given of English rural scenery and cottage life in these starzas from “The Frozen Ship :”— “In years gone by, through many a distant clime, It was the pleasure of my life to roam ; And once, fair reader, in the sweet spring: time, I found, on Albion’s Isle, a transient home,

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. And, for awhile, most sweet and calm content Within a rustic cottage there I knew, Where clusteriag woodbines o’er the portal bent, And violets in hidden beauty grew, Or hawthorn blossoms bathed their blushes in the dew.”’ And of court and fashionable life:— “I’ve dwelt in courts, amid the glittering throng, And on the stream of pleasure seen them glide With careless mirth and idle jest along, Like shining bubbles on a summer tide; And, as such fairy circles in the sun Beam for a moment, and then melt in air, I've watched those thoughtless beings, one by one. Wealth, genius, beauty, power, all were there, Wrecked in the headlong course when life seemed blest and fair.’ A mother’s love and sorrow for bereavements are beau- tifully expressed in lines addressed to her little name- sake :-— ** Rosa, as I bend above thee, testing in thy cradle-bed, Can it be because I love thee, That a golden glow seems shed All around where thou art sleeping (As round pictured saints we see) ? Or are angel-watches keeping Holy vigils over thee? “Ts it fancy’s halo, beaming Through a cloud of earthly love ? Or art thou, my sweet child, dreaming Of our blessed ones above? Do the same bright pinions flutter Through thy visions as through mine? Do thy angel sisters utter To thee lullabies divine ?”’ The religious awe with which Niagara impressed her is exhibited in the stanza :— **T strove to tell the thoughts which, thick and fast, When first I saw thee, through my bosom swept. I longed to speak, but could not, and, at last, Bowed low my head in silent awe, and wept. Down, down, for countless centuries, as now, That emerald torrent o’er the rock has poured ; And countless rainbows on thy misty brow Have written, ‘ Holiness unto the Lord.’” In ** Nina,’’ she unconsciously mirrors herself :— ** No language can tell of a beauty that beamed On the gazer, as something of which he has dreamed— As fresh and as fair as the lilies that grow Where the crystalline rivers of Paradise flow.” (Last Night of Pompeii.) THE INDUSTRIAL WOMEN’S AID ASSOCIATION. A GOOD WORK. WHO WILL AID? Ovr friends of the great West, and the friends of hu- manity everywhere, are invited to take part in the bene- volent efforts of the people of Philadelphia to find profita- ble employments for the hundreds of young women who, in our city, are now in need of homes and work. We will not pause to describe the crushing calamity of failures and financial ruin that has deprived so large a por- tion. of the industrial population of our cities of their re- sources and usual employments. The pressure is known throughout the land, but, happily, felt lightly in the great agricultural States, where there is still bread and work for all. To you we apply, citizens of the West, and ask your cooperation in the following plan of relief, put forth by the founders and friends of the ‘*‘ Industrial Women’s Aid As- sociation ;"’— ** You are, sir, a resident of the country, or of the West, and have it in your power greatly toaid the humane object of our society. You are aware of the want of female help in the country, and will sympathize with us in our efforts to relieve the suffering class of industrious women, who will gladly embrace the opportunity to make themselves useful in your families, and who have been thrown out o¢ employment by the dreadful revulsions which have visited the business of the country. In their behalf, and for the cause of suffering humanity, we implore your aid and co- operation. Hunger, cold, suffering, and death will soon be in our midst ; and we ask your assistance to aid us to alleviate and avert these direful calamities from those who deserve our kindest sympathy. We ask you, therefore, either to organize a society for this purpose, or to furnish us, in any way you may think best, the number of per- sons you will find employment for, in the capacity of house servants, sewing-girls, nurses, or any other capacity, and the price of wages per week, with board included. We need scarcely inform you of the great difficulty of obtaining funds in the embarrassed condition of the coun- try, even for humane objects. And, while those who seek our aid will do all in their power to help themselves, we would beg leave to suggest that, if those who desire their labor would either send us five dollars, to help defray their expenses, or advance that amount, on their arrival, on their wages, it would greatly facilitate our enterprise. Have the goodness to act as promptly in the matter as you can, and to address the secretary of our society. Office, No. 116 South Seventh Street, Philadelphia. Mrs. Saran J. Haue, President. J. M. Cavren, Corresponding Secretary. FREDERICK Stoever, Treasurer. We commend the objects of the ‘Industrial Women’s Aid Association’ to the humane and philanthropic. The Presbyterian, The Episcopal Recorder, Pennsyl- vania Inquirer (Philadelphia), Philadelphia Daily Sun, Philadelphia Evening Journal, Philadelphia North Ameri- can, Philadelphia Daily News, Godey’s Lady's Book, American Law Register, Ladies’ Christian Annual, Philadelphia Daily Pennsylvanian, The Press, Evening National Argus, Right Rey. Alonzo Potter, Rev. Henry A. Boardman, D. D.; Revs. J. P. Durbin, Charles Wads- worth, John Chambers, Wm. Suddards, E. W. Hutter.” We hope for more than this. We hope the ladies of the West will take an active interest in facilitating this good work. Our subscribers can aid. In each town and vil- lage, let several ladies associate, and ascertain what num- ber of these young women could find employment under the care of the Association. Then write to the editors of the Lady’s Book, and specify the various sorts of help needed in your town or neighborhood, and pledge to re- ceive and employ the number of young women, if sent. We feel sure that our Philadelphia Association would meet these requirements, and that great benefits, mutual and lasting, would be the result to all parties concerned. We hope to hear from our friends in every part of the country where woman’s work is wanted and will be rewarded.—Eps. Lapy's Boox. Piaces or Epvcatioy ror Womex.—We have before us the Report of the Baltimore Ladies’ College, which we have never before noticed. This institution is incorpo-

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EDITORS’ TABLE. rated, has the right of conferring degree, and seems to be in a very flourishing condition. The president, N. C. Brovks, A. M., is also professor of Moral Philosophy and Ancient Languages ; and Rev. William F. Paxton is pro- fessor of Practical Mathematics and Natural Science. Then there are ten other professors and teachers, men and wo- men, of high repute in their departments. We see, there- fore, that this college is well prepared to give instruction. The scholars number, in all, one hundred and seventy-one ; and, so far as we can judge from the Report, the studies are judiciously arranged, and liberal in the opportunities offered for improvement. There is also a society among the young ladies of the college, styled ‘‘ The Parthenian,” that has charge of a magazine issued by the pupils of the institution. We are glad to see all these encouragements to feminine intellect, and trust that the best good of hu- manity will be promoted through the noble efforts now making in our country to fit woman for her true vocation, that of educator for the young, and exemplar of the virtues that exalt a nation. —— THE HERNDON MEMORIAL. Ix our December number we had a list of about twenty names, all of Philadelphia, contributing over fifty dollars to the fund. We hope, next month, to have a longer list, as our friends throughout the nation become interested in One Dollar is the subscription; but larger subscriptions will We insert the Appeal :— this noble effort to do honor to the memory of a hero. be welcome. CAPTAIN HERNDON, who “‘saved the women and chil- dren’’ committed to his care, has left his own wife and child unprovided for. He bad only his profession for their support; he never accumulated wealth; he has died in the prime of life. His desolate widow and delicate daughter now need the loving kindness of ail who honor his noble conduct, and sympathize in their sad bereavement. Will not the women of America remember the widow and child of the man whose first order, when danger threat- ened, was, ‘‘Save the women and children!” Mrs. Magruder, wife of the Mayor of Washington, has put forth a touching ‘‘ Appeal to the Women of America,”’ on behalf of the widow and daughter of Captain Herndon. The Editors of the Lady’s Book, desiring to aid in this good work, offer their friends the opportunity of contri- buting to this Fund of Gratitude and Honor to Captain Herndon by sending contributions to Mr. Godey. He will register the names and gifts in the Lady’s Book, and transmit the amount to Mrs. Herndon, with the record of contributors. Will not brave men who honor brave deeds, and desire to have the women and children of their families saved when in peril, contribute to this fund for Mrs. Herndon? Movst Vernon Lapres’ Assocration.—This patriotic plan is still progressing. Hon. Edward Everett is a host of friends in himself; and his exertions are crowned with success. He has, probably, already obtained one-fourth of the money required ; and his grand Oration on Wash- ington is still growing in favor and popularity. We hope to have, during this year, many names of ladies to record. Every person remitting us one dollar becomes a member of the Association, and will have his or her name recorded in oar Book. Mrs. P. M. Whaley, Smithville, De Kalb Co., Tenn., $1 “Nornixna to Wear.”’—This pithy poem is exciting quite an interest in the London world of fashion and lite- rary criticism. 83 “A Woman's Toovueut apovr Womay.”—Miss Mulock, authoress of “‘ Olivia,” ‘‘John Halifax,” etc., will soon As Mies Mulock ranks among give us a work on woman. the best of British living lady writers, we expect a work of much interest from her pen. ‘Our BrorHer Sieeps.’’—In the last November nuin- ber, our readers will remember a tender monody on the death of “‘ our poet-brother, William R. Lawrence,” by D Hardy, Junior. That poem was sent us a month or two before it was published, and then the writer had gone to join his poet-brother in the world of eternal life. A letter to the editors of the Lady’s Book, from the writer of the *“« Lament,”’ has the following particulars: ‘‘ You, I know, will sympathize with his friends in this affliction. Mr. D Hardy, Junior, died October 3d, after an illness of two weeks. There is one consolation he left, however; and that is that he died the triumphant death of a Christian, and has ‘gone home.’ How comforting is such a thought to sorrowiny friends!” A LAMENT. (On the Death of our Poet-brother, D, Harpy, JR.) BY LILLIAN. Goxe! thou art gone, my brother! We shall see thee nevermore On this sorrow-laden shore! Gone with more than summer fleetness From this world of ours, Where life floods time with dewy sweetness From its feast of flowers! Oh, like a blossom of the blushing June Fading in a day, In perfectness, long ere life’s summer noon, Thou hast passed away ! Gone! thou art gone, my brother! For thee our eyes will gather tears, Weaving mists for coming years. Long, oh how long our souls shall mourn thee In their loneliness !— Long mourn the darkness that has borne thee From our fond caress ! When burn we incense at the hour of prayer On the soul’s pure shrine, How sad to think no more wilt thou be there Bowing unto thine! Gone! thou art gone, my brother! How sadly, and how very long Shall we miss thy voice of song! Its breathings, through our spirits stealing Like a living joy, No more shall wake the blissful feeling Of a heaven's employ. Rather sad melodies, like dripping rain Of the autumn time, Shall echo to our hearts their low refrain, Mournfully sublime Gone! thou art gone, my brother! Closed are thine eyes, and sealed thy lips Thou hast suffered life's ec! pee Oh, having finished life’s full story Wept away its sin, Awaking at the gates of glory, Thou hast entered in! God took thee; and we will not now repine Seeing thee no more, But pray to join the angel song of thine When our lile is o'er

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84 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. To ovr CorresponpENts.—The following articles are accepted: ‘To ****”—** Darkened Days’’—*‘* Longings”’— “To her I Love’’—** My Mother’’—‘‘ Wake those Notes no more’’—** Keats—a Monody”—and “‘ Hettie’s Visit.” The following articles are declined. We are often com- pelled, for want of room, toomit many marked for publica- tion: “The Rain’”—**Song’—‘*My Lady’s Window”— **Hopes’’—‘‘The False Ladie”’—** Evergreens”—* Night and the Stars’’—* Idleness”—‘“‘ Indications of Winter’— *Love’—* Passing Scenes,”’ &.—*‘ Action”—‘*Do you Remember?’ (the author must not be discouraged. Per- severance and study will work wonders)—‘‘A Dream’’— *Tda’’—** Sonnet’ —and ‘‘To Refuse were Vain.” We have many MSS. on hand that will be examined when we have leisure. Witerarp dlotices. Books BY Matt.—Now that the postage on printed mat- ter is so low, we offer our services to procure for our subscribers or others any of the books that we notice. In- formation 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 T. B. Perersoy, Philadelphia :— MRS. HALE’S RECEIPTS FOR THE MILLION. It may be most truly said that among the varied and nume- rous contributions which Mrs. Sarah Josepha Hal@ has made to the American press, not one has ever appeared that was not distinguished for sound morality, practical good sense, and highly useful and meritorious aims. The work now under consideration is preeminently a guide and a director in every particular that relates to the affairs and government of a well-regulated household. It embraces everything that should be known and reduced to practice by those whose commands should be implicitly obeyed and executed; as well as rules for the government of subordinates, to whom are intrusted the faithful discharge of important duties. But we feel satisfied that we cannot better elucidate the merits and importance in every branch of domestic governance, presented by the minutia of “Mrs. Hale’s Receipts for the Million,” than by referring to its ample and explicit title. Mark it, good reader, and judge for yourself. The volume contains “‘ four thousand five hundred and forty-five Receipts, Facts, Directions, etc., in the Useful, Ornamental, and Domestic Arts, and in the Conduct of Life.” It is a ‘*Complete Family Directory” in matters “relating to Accomplishments, Amusements, Beauty, Birds, Building, Children, Cookery, Courtship, Dress, etc., Economy, Etching, Etiquette, Flowers, Gar- dening, Grecian Painting, Health, Home, Housekeeping, Ladies’ Work, Feather Work, Manners, Marriage, Medi- cines, Needle-Work, Nursing, Out-Door Work, Painting, Phrenology, Potichomanie, Poultry, Riding, Swimming, Surgery (Domestic), Temperance, Trees, etc., Women's Duties, Words of Washington, etc.”’ Of course, dear ladies, you have duly perused this cata- logue of the interesting contents of a single but closely printed volume of over seven hundred pages, and of course you have come to the conclusion that those contents will be of vastly more importance to you in the orderly, peace- ful, comfortable, practical, and agreeable regulation of your dear families, than all the brilliant parties, and fashionable places of amusement you may have an in- clination to attend during the present winter. You will therefore no doubt prefer home before all things else, and provide yourselves with the means that will render it blessed in your government and ever watchfal presence. Price #1 25. SKETCHES BY BOZ. By Charles Dickens. With twenty Steel Illustrations, from Original Designs by Cattermole and Browne, engraved in the finest style. Complete in two large duodecimo volumes, neatly bound in cloth, for $1 25 a volume. We have as regularly noticed the volumes, as they have regularly appeared, of Mr. Peterson's elegant and uniform edition of the works of the celebrated author Charles Dickens. In the per- formance of this agreeable duty, we have not failed to do Mr. Peterson justice, in commending his enterprise, and the spirit of book-publishing adventure, which induced him to undertake to furnish the American public with a cheap, uniform, elegantly printed and beautifully illustra- ted edition of tales and sketches, a familiar knowledge of which is absolutely necessary before obtaining a passport among those who profess to be fully posted in regard to the merits and the progress of modern popular literature. In the volumes before us, we have enly renewed evidences of the enterprise and business spirit of Mr. Peterson, and we earnestly hope that he will continue to receive his re- ward from an extensive and rapid sale of the volumes as they appear. The fact is their appearance is now indis- pensable in all libraries which claim to be presided over by taste and judgment. From Repp & Car.etoy, New York, through T. B. Pererson, Philadelphia :— ROUMANIA: The Border Land of the Christian and the Turk. Comprising Adventures of Travel in Eastern Europe and Western Asia. By James O. Noyes, M. D., surgeon in the Ottoman Army. The object of the author of this volume, as he declares, has been to give a truthful picture of the every-day life of the people among whom he travelled, especially the poetical nations of the Lower Da- nube, whose names are scarcely known to the American reader. In pursuing this object, he has evinced great industry and talent, and has succeeded in presenting the public with a work that cannot but prove interesting, and at the same time instructive. Nothing has so strong a tendency to enable a people to judge intelligently, and to place a proper estimate upon their own institutions, as a correct knowledge of the condition of mankind under otber If for this end only, these travels Price $1 25. systems of government. are worthy of general perusal by Americans. From Garrett, Dick, & Firzeeratp, N. Y., through T. B. Pererson, Philadelphia:— THE ARTIST’S BRIDE; or, the Pawnbroker’s Heir. By Emerson Bennett, author of ‘Prairie Flowers,” ‘Forged Will,”’ and numerous other tales, the titles cf which are familiar to the reading public, and by whom the style and peculiarities of Mr. Bennett's writings have been too long appreciated to require acritical notice of this volume. We may say, however, that ‘“‘The Artist's Bride”’ has a deep interest for those who take a melancholy pleasure in sympathizing with the unfortunate, under the certainty of witnessing their triumphs over injustice and oppression. The character of the Broker is perhaps too strongly drawn ; and yet the baseness which attaches to it might probably have been applied with as much justice to brokers of other religious denominations, as to a profes- sor of Judaism. We do not, we confess, approve of the practice adhered to by many of our popular writers, of choosing their characters from sects of religion or sections 1, after making tLem as odi of country, and, aft 18 as possible,

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LITERARY leaving them to be viewed as fair representatives of classes Price $1 25. or bodies of men From J THE ADOPTED Alice Carey B. mira & Co , Philadelphia:— DAUGHTER, Other Tales. By Exclusive of the leading story, which is and highly moral and interesting, there are upwards of fifty sketches and poems in this volume, rendering it a safe, instructive, and desirable work for family reading. Price $1 25. From Har & McMILLAN, Ph TRAVELS AND DISCOVERIES IN NORTH AND CEN- TRAL AFRICA: taken under the & Botner, New York, through Parry ladelphia :— Being a Journal of an Expedition under- f H. B the years 1849—1855. Vol. ll. Havin the first volume of travels in Africa, said everything in commendati Auspices M.’s Government in gy, in our notice of this highly intere style and contents that could be embraced allotted to us, it will perhaps be only necessary for uS simply to announce to the reader second. We amination of the appearance of the were sa 7 ' not be disappointed in what before us will prove that we were not mistaken in our estimate of the author’s energy, perseverance, powers of observation, and abili had undertaken ; ty to perform the important task he and we have no doubt that those readers who accompanied him through his progress and investiga- referred to, will be tions, as narrated in the volume anxious to accompany him through his adventures as recorded in that just published. Those who shall do se will not be disappointed. New subjects are continually presented for the contemplation of the friends of Cliristian civilization, for the philanthropist, the politician, and for those interested in commerce LIFE-STUDIES; or, biographies of B and Mrs **Memoirs of Price $2 50 per volume How to Live Terstee Illustrated the Perthes, nyan, gan, Montgomery, Winslow. By the Rey. John Bailie, author of Hewitson,”’ This volume comprises many of the most interesting facts, incidents, and religious sentiments to be found in the memoirs of the persons named in the title. Price $2 5v. From D. Aprietron & Co., New York:— GERTRUDE OF WYOMING ; By Thomas or the Pennsylvania Cot- tage. This edition of the most g popular of Campbell's irks is embellished with thirty- one engravings, fror riginal designs of Birket, Foster, Price, cl rilt, $1 75; morocco, $3 00 Bloomfield. This and others. THE FARMER'S BOY. delightful rural poem is By Robert illustrated with numerous en- gravings in the style of Gray's Elegy. Price, cloth gilt, 82 00; morocco antique, $3 50 WORLD-NOTED WOMEN; or, Womanly Attributes of all Lands Type of Particular ind Ages. By Mary oncordance of “The Cowden Clarke, author of ‘“‘Complete ( ‘Girlhood of Shakspeare’s Heroines,” Shakspeare,” Iron Cousin,” ete. I illustrations designed by Charles Staal ter of Mrs. © spirited execution of the excellent the title-page of this w century before the ( t , present time, she has ar istrated with seventeen steel plate The high charac- arke as an author insures the able and design announced in Commencing as early as the and coming down to the ilyzed the character of the most celebrated women of history, making each of her heroines the type of a whole class. Am VOL. LVI.—Sd NOTICES. names of Cleopatra, Valentina, Joan of Arc, Margaret of Anjou, Lady Jane Grey, Isabella of Castile (the protector of Columbus), Maria Theresa, Catherine I1., Pocahontas, and Florence Nightingale. The engravings are splendidly executed, and the size and general style of the work are the same as those of the ** POEMS. with Republican Court.” Price $12 00 By William Cullen Bryant. This isa holiday edition, seventy-one engravit from designs by Foster, Weir, Harvey, Tenniel, Pickengill, and other dis- tinguished artists. It is a splendid edition of ‘* America’s greatest poet.”? Price, in antique morocco, BY 00. From W. P. Ferripee, PERTHWAITE & Co., Phi THE PLANTER'S DAUGHTER: A Tale of Louisiana By Miss A. E. Dupuy, author of ‘ Otelia Clayton,” “ Hu- guenot “Exiles,” **C New York, throu idelphia :— gh H. Cow- yuntry Neighbors,” ete. The author of this volume #s an accomplished, pleasing, and popular writer. She is popular, however, in the true sense of popularity. Her previous works have received their re ward from the best jud j n; We mean from those who have been ab its truthful application to the encouragement of virtue the purification of the popular sentiment he work now before ‘ Pianter’s Daughter” truly a southern tale, in charac ters, incidents, anc , a8 well as in location; | happily for the reader, the ¢ : a i re not to introduce any of t) meral popularity which ve rr red s y works, north and ridiculous, and, we may add, destructi o those fraternal feelings which should knit Price $1 00. common country. From Mcrray, Youne, & Co., Lancaster, Pennsylva- nia:— GUIDE TO THE ORACLES; or, the Bible Nevin, D. D Student's ** Spirit- This at care by a Vade-Mecum. By , author of ual Progression, of the Valley,”’ ete. work appears to have be epared with gre learned and able teacher, ar ill doubtless be early sought for by students of theolog nerally, as we are assured by he author that ‘it has ig sectarian in it.” From Ticknor & Fie.ps, B TuERs, Philadelphia :— CITY POEMS fe Drama, and otler | ston, through Hazarp Bro- By Alexander Smith, author of “A yung and pron gratified, we dot We d fully redeemed the promises of arlier pr before us. auctions The same exube same absence of connection In il ndered that, not withstanding its u peruse are still present, tl degree Price 62 ceats. WHITE LIES Reade. Part III This brilliant tale increas pidly fascinating interest as it approaches i " ior shall anxiously ¢ await the fourth and |: urt, when we may give a mor ended notice of , » 25 cents. PROPRIA QI ‘ Jeu D Esprit: THE BOX TUNNEL, A y Charles Re first and long atteution of Ame of them who favo: cents.

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86 From Evert D. Lone, New York :— THE COUSINS; By James A. Maitland, Esq., author of ‘‘The Watchman,” “‘The Wan- This is a story of land and sea, in the develop- or, the Captain’s Ward. derer,”’ etc. ment of which, the reader will be introduced to interesting representatives of various countries, savage and civilized, all of whom will be found more or less deeply involved in the deep mystery which the author throws over the pages of his work. It is a work that will very strongly interest by the diversity of its incidents and its intricate plot, the development of which is very happily managed. It is worthy the author of “‘ The Watchman,”’ and that we con- sider great praise. Price $1 00. From Govip & Lrxcoiy, Boston, through Ssirn, Exo- Lish & Co. Philadelphia :— THE POOR BOY AND MERCHANT; or, Elements of Success, Drawn from the Life and Character of the late Amos Lawrence. A Book for Youth. By William M. Thayer, author of ‘“‘The Morning Star,’’ ete. This Such of our young ete. is an excellent and timely work. readers as desire to become not only honorable and suc- cessful business men, but also to render themselves re- spectable and happy in whatever station of life they may be placed, should study its lessons closely and take them to their hearts; and we doubt not, many older persons antile pursuits might profit by a already engaged in mer resort to them at the present time, in conformity with the never too late to learn.” venerable adage, that ‘‘it is Price 75 cents. Goens A rm-O hair. UY Gonry for January, 1858, the twenty-eighth year of pub- tication—a hearty greeting and a happy New-Year to all! We come before you with renewed energy, and a deter- mined spirit to eclipse all competition. In the last three numbers of the Book, we endeavored to show you what could be done in the way of magazine publication; and the present number is a glorious companion to those that have preceded it. In Godey, you are sure to have the first of everything that is new; and, after we have made the thing common, you will see a dim reflection of it in some We ask you not to be deceived by the flaming advertisements of other magazines, some of which ther magazine. re An instance occurs ingeniously euncocted to deceive. to us of this kind of deception. Some years since, we ad- vertised a series of Another publication advertised that they would give six religious plates in religious plates. every number. When they appeared, they were the most common kind of wood engravings, second hand at that. Tt is needless for us to say that that magazine soon ceased to exist; and such will it ever be when deception is practised. Weg steel plates again in this number, un- equalled anywhere. Look at ‘“‘Family Devotion” and We have now given four exquisite steel ive two our title-page. subject engravings in two numbers. and “* Fashions in Difficulties,” These **Pasnrons in Comfort,” something ont of the usual style of fashion-plates. ’ I are two distinct pictures, co! red. Tows, Coryty, axyp Statrs.—Do not forget to pnt all these in every letter you write You do not know how much trouble it would save us GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Tue American Cusnton.—Here is an embellishment that is really gorgeous, printed in various colors, forming a whole that never has been equalled by any other maga- zine. In fact, no other publication ever attempts anything of this kind, as it is too expensive for them. Ovr Lirerary Matrer.—Read Marion Harland’s story also “‘ Margaret’s Home,” by Mrs. Haven, which opens well, and will be a feature in the numbers for 1858; our good friend Patience Perkins’, late Price's, amusing story ; T. S. Arthur’s truthful home story. The author of ‘Th« Tallow Family in America” contributes another of her charming sketches. Exce.sior.—This is our motto; and it will be seen that we act up toit. Weare determined that our list this year shall be 150,000 copies. It shall be so. upon it. The Book has increased each year of its public A few years since, we considered our list so great, } Weare determined tion. when we had 35,000, that we deemed it necessary, on one occasion, to publish affidavits of the fact. Persons who may want a copy of our January number to show their friends, or for the purpose of getting up a We can always furnish numbers from the commencement of the club, will please advise us, and it will be sent. year, as the work is stereotyped. WE published the following notice fast month: ‘‘ The ‘Franklin County Agricultural Society,’ of Ohio, have offered the Lady’s Book for fifteen different premiums We consider this as a very high compliment, and return our thanks to the managers.”” To which, the Keithsburg Observer replies: ‘“‘The ‘Mercer County Agricultural So- ciety,’ of Illinois, have offered the Lady’s Book for twenty- Jive different premiums, to be awarded at the coming fair. What do you think of that, Mr. Godey ?” It will therefore be seen that two agricultural societies in the glorious West have made the Lady’s Book a prize— Ohio fifteen prizes, Illinois twenty-five. We expect to add one or two more in a few days. This is indeed campli- mentary. Ovr Writers.—We have those that no one else can pro- eure. Marion Harland, author of “ Alone”’ and “‘ Hidden Path,” and for whom Derby & Jackson, of New York, have just published ‘* Moss Side ;’’ Mrs. Metta Victoria Victor ; Mrs. A. B. Haven (late Neal) ; Miss V. F. Townsend, Miss V De Forrest, Edith Woodley, Pauline Forsyth, and our own Mrs. Hale are a galaxy that no other magazine can boast of. The writings of these ladies can be depended upon They may be read aloud in the family cirele. For 1858, Wwe announce a continuous novel by Mrs. Alice B. Haven, to run through the tweive numbers of the Book—‘ Marga- ret’s Home; or, the Story of a Household’’—a story of most thrilling interest. Weare in negotiation with other authors whose writings are well known to the public, and which will appear as the Book progresses through the year The Waterford Sentinel says: ‘‘The Lady’s Book is sustained by a more talented and popular corps of con- tributors than any other publication of the kind in America.” “THe RESTORATION OF THE Resoicte.’’—This beautiful picture has been on exhibition at Earle’s Gallery, Chestnut Street, above Eighth, where subscriptions to the prints will be received. Earle has also copies of the celebrated Turner pictures, those he bequeathed to the British Government

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR,

New Year Paresents.—We cannot think of a more appropriate present for the New Year than a copy of Go- dey.—Louisiana It is emphatically a Lady's and we should think that it would be a most ac- Yomet. Book ; ceptable and appropriate present for the holidays.— Wis- consin Crescent. If you design a present to some fair friend, don’t fool away your money upon a toy or gimcrack, which, after an hour, will be forgotten, but subscribe for the Lady's Book ; and you will confer a lasting favor upon the recipient.—Nerwalk Gazette. A year’s subscription to the Book would be as nice a present as any of our young gallants could find.—Ohio Republican. A year’s subscrip- tion to this magazine would be a most acceptable New Year's offering from a gentleman to a lady.— Wooster Democrat. CHRISTMAS AND New-Year’s Presests.—We have re- ceived a new supply of $3 card-cases, still more beautiful than any we have ever offered. No. 1. Plain or beautifully inlaid different colored shells . . < i . $3 00 No. 2. Plain but beautifully varied engraving suit- able for a bride . ° ° ° 400 No. 3. Engraved and border of various colored shells ° ° 4 50 No. 4. Second mourning card-cases 2 00 We assure our readers that the above is a very superior assortment, and one that cannot be found elsewhere. They are manufactured to order for Godey’s Lady’s Book.

A youna lady of experience wishes an engagement as teacher in a school or family. In the first, she would pre- fer to teach Latin and Mathematics, or any of the English Branches ; in a family, she would add Music and French to young pupils. References on application to L. A, Godey, Esq. We can vouch for the qualifications of the lady in ques- tion, and especially commend the above to the notice of school principals, or parents who prefer to have their chil- dren united in a class at home, where the boys will have an unusual advantage of good grounding in the elements of a classical education. How to Remit.—Procure a draft, if possible; if not, send notes; but let it be a matter known only to yourself; the fewer you let into the secret, the more certainty there is of your money coming to hand. Do not register your letters, as this at once informs everybody that money is in your letter. If you send gold dollars, secure them care- fully in the letter; otherwise, they are apt to work out of the envelop. Stamps over three cents are only taken for the fractional parts of a dollar. postage on your letter, and direct it to L. A. Godey, Be careful and pay the Philadelphia. COMPARISONS ARE NOT ALWAYS opIovs.—We ask one that will be agreeable at least tous. Will any one take the trouble to compare our plates with those published in any other magazine? Look at the difference of finish ; the beauty of the subjects; also compare the fashion-plates with those of any other work. We respectfully ask this in justice to the Lady’s Sook.

In the assortment of magic paper that we sell, ope sheet is blue, and this is indelible. You can mark your name on linen by placing the paper over the article and writing your name on it with a lead-pencil, bearing on pretty hard ; the impression remains, and will not wash out. Gopry’s Lapy’s Book ror 1858.—See advertisement on We have been somewhat cautious of giving

pages 95, 96. any idea of what we intend to do for fear of counterfeiters ; but depend upon one thing—15.58 will be the year of Godey. We cannot promise to do better than we intend to do next year. We have an infinite number of new things on hand never before presented to the American public, some of which certainly will astonish, and all, we are sure, will please. MAKE UP your CLUBs.—It is now time to commence: and remember that the Lady’s Book is the best work for ladies published in this country. We have more than one thousand private letters testifying to this fact, and the press throughout the country is unanimous in saying that the Lady’s Book is the best magazine of its kind in this or any other country. The difference in the club price of the Lady’s Book and that of other magazines is only a few cents, and for these few cents you get nearly one-third more reading and engravings, besides other more expen- sive embellishments that a low-priced magazine cannot afford to give. Clubs must be for the Lady’s Book alone, with one exception, and that is “‘ Arthur’s Home Maga- zine.’? One or more of that work can be introduced ina club in place of the Lady’s Book, if desired. Any person with a very little trouble can get up a club for the Book; we have frequently been so informed by ladies—the work is so popular. It is but to call and geta Clubs are always in time, as we are able to yet we subscription. supply numbers from the beginning of the year; like them sent in soon to know how many we shall print, Remember, that a work with 100,000 subscribers can give five times as much as a work with only balf that number, and the embellishments can also be made of a very supe rior character. Our terms are made plain and explicit, so that they may be easily understood. We are often asked to throw in an In no instance can this be done, as our terms A shop extra copy. are so low to clubs that it cannot be afforded. keeper would look amazed if a purchaser should ask him to throw in an extra yard because she had purchased And yet we are asked to add an extra copy be- It cannot be done. twelve. cause twelve have been ordered. Here is a very pretty epitaph from a tombstone in a church in Ireland :— A little spirit slumbers here, Who to one heart was very dear. Oh! he was more than life or light, Its thought by day—its dream by night! The chill winds came—the young flower faded And died—the grave its sweetness shaded Fair boy, thou shouldst have wept for me, Not I have had to mourn o’er thee ; Yet not long shall this sorrowing be— Those roses I have planted round, To deck thy dear and sacred ground, When spring gales next those roses wave, They'll blush upon thy mother’s grave. And here is one in a very different strain from an English church-yard :— Here lies Father and Mother, and Sister and I, Wee all died within the short space of one short year. They be all Buried at Wimble except I, And I be buried here.

Tue Madison Democrat says: ‘ Arthur's is the best of 41 the two dollar magazines.

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88 Patrerns ror Inrants’ Dresses, on Iyrants’ WARD- ROBEs.—Our fashion editor has supplied a great many wardrobes for infants lately, and in every case has given She has facilities for furnishing these The vast influence that her connection with the Lady’s Book great satisfaction. articles better and cheaper than any other person. gives her induces importers and others to submit to her their earliest fashiona. To those who cannot afford the articles, made-up paper patterns can be sent, which will be fac-similes of the originals. We cannot publish the prices, as the postage varies according to the size of the in advance. articles ordered, and that we have to pay For particulars, address Fashion Editor (uot Mrs. Hale), eare of L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. All other patterns fur- uished as usual. Grectan PAINTING AND ANTIQUE PAINTING ON GLASS.— Mr. J. E. Tilton, of Salem, Massachusetts, will furnish all the will please materials and directions. Our numerous inquirers nake application to him. the He is largely en- gaged artists’ materials and fine arts, and we are in satisfied, from our dealing with him, that he will do as he agrees We annex his circular:— “The subscriber will furnish for $3 a package of twelve mezzotint engravings (suitable for practice), and full printed iustructi for Grecian Painting and Antique Painting on ns Glass, a new style, originating with himself, and equal to the finest copper painting, with a bottle of preparation, &e. The directions are so explicit as to enable a one to learn fully without a teacher. He also includes at above price, directions for Oriental style, aud the beautiful art called Potichimanie. “Por $2 more, or 85, he will send with the above all & r oil painting. paints, brushes, oils, varnishes, &c , needed for these arts (Grecian and Antique), and othe “Pull directions only in the above arts, Grecian, An- tique Painting, Oriental, Potichimanie, &c., sent, free by mail, on receipt of $1. They are so full and plain that any ene with no previous knowledge of drawing can be sure to acquire “Te } Antique published a new picture for Grecian and Painting, ‘Les Orphelines.’ The paper, printing, and engraving are thoroughly fitted for it, and the effect and finish, when painted, are fine, and superior to colors, how to mix, &e., $1, canvas painting Price, with rules for painting it, sent free, by mail. Address J. E. Tivrox, Salem, Mass.” Ovr Comic ALPHABET.—These letters work beautifully; we have handkerchiefs marked with them. They will also do for young beginners in drawing to copy. Lrperat Prizes Orrerep.—The proprietors of the Lowis- ville Courier—by the way, one of the most industrious, enterprising, and valuable papers in the country—offer prizes of $150, $75, and $50 for the three best original stories sent them by the 15th of January next. No restric- tions as to subject or length of stories. Such a liberal offer will no doubt induce spirited competition among our lite- rary writers. New-Year’s Famriy Toasts.—May we never forget our relationship to those who are overtaken by misfortune! Life’s trials are lightened when borne on many shoulders. Let our charities strengthen with the waning year. Let us be friends to virtue, but strangers to vice. We never lose by doing a good turn Hope and strive is the b st way to thrive. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ScRAPS FROM OVR JUNIOR :— WE rode, a few days since, in aa omnibus. Beside us were seated two young ladies, one neatly but plainly dressed, the other dressed in the extreme of the fashion. They discussed their neighbors in the omnibus very freely ; and, being next we heard every word. Opposite to them woman with an infant in her arms. us, were seated a young gentleman and a mulatto The dressy damsel, called Flora by her companion, was enthusiastic in her praises of the young gentleman. ‘See, Mary,” she said, **how handsome he is, and how beautifully he is dressed and I know he is a gentleman ; it is plainly shown in his whole air and expression.” The omnibus stopped for the mulatto woman to get out. The gentleman left his seat, and, stepping out, took the descending infant, assisted the mother in the steps, re- stored the child, and, with a polite bow, sprang into his place again. Ina few moments, he too left us. “ Weil,” but I’ve changed my mind. said Flora, ‘‘I did think that was a gentleman; Did you notice how polite he was to that colored woman, helping her out as if she was alady? Ifit had been you or me, he could not have been more polite.”’ “You are mistaken in your estimation of a gentleman,’ said her friend, in a voice that went straight through our vest on the left side. ‘‘The very action you complain of stamps him fora perfect gentleman. He did not care for her poor dress or her color; it was her sex he reverenced A snob have feared to I person. This gentleman felt that. The and he paid the attention due from a g assisting a too would lose caste colore se- his position cure for mulatto was a woman, he a gentle- tleman to man a woman, without respect to her nation or color. He did not see that she was a mulatto; he only saw that she was a woman.” “On, Johnny !" said one little boy to another, “let us play fighting! and you stand on the table; that’s the fort; and I'll be the enemy, and undermine the fort, and blow it up—take the table by the legs, you know, and tip you over. Won't it be fun ?’’ Johnny was doubtful, and suggested that Charley stand upon the table, or else he must decline playing. Cay aman driving a wagon full of clocks be said to be in advance of time? Purew !—At this late day one of our contemporaries has taken up with an almost abandoned style of embellishment of ours. Hark OrNAMENTS.— Ladies wishing hair made into bracelets, pins (which are very beautiful), necklaces or ear-rings, can be accommodated by our Fashion Editor. A number of orders have recently been filled, and very larg the articles have given great satisfaction We give the prices at which we will send these beauti- ful articles :— Sreastpins, 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. The Charms of Faith, Hope, and Charity, 84 50. TAKE your own county paper by all means first, and then the Lady’s Book. You can save money by taking the two, as we club with all the country press.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. Tue following notices may be read or not. They are not given in a spirit of vanity; but everybody praises his own goods; and every magazine publishes notices of its own work. We do it because others do it; and, if we did not, it would be supposed that no one spoke favorably of and it is difficult to make a selection from so many, which to publish. A Voice From Rome.—The Commercial Advertiser says: us, when, in truth, all do; “*Tt is first in the position it occupies as a magazine for the ladies. No more appropriate or acceptable present could be made to a female friend than a year’s subscription to this beautiful repository of valuable hints and useful in- formation connected with woman’s sphere of life.” “One number of Godey is worth one dollar and twenty- So the Richmond Demoerat. ‘The five cents.” music is worth twenty-five cents; the receipts are worth says twenty-five cents more; the slipper pattern fifty cents; and the steel plate is worth twenty-five cents more; be- sides fashion-plates, &c.; and the reading matter cannot be excelled by any magazine published.” We have no hesitation in saying that we believe it to be the best magazine published for the ladies.—Missouri Signal. It is a book to be read at all times, and in all places, and by all classes of the refined and educated.—Philadelphia City Item. It is “‘like gilding refined gold” to praise this publica- tion; but we must say that we consider it what it pur- ports to be, ‘“‘an Excelsior magazine.’ —Louisiana Eagle. Godey is, beyond a doubt, the favorite of the ladies, and is among magazines as the rose is among flowers.—Eutaw Whig. It is the best and cheapest magazine published America.— Moulton Democrat. Godey is always ahead on style; and to his incompara- in ble Lady’s Book the ladies all look for information con- cerning ‘fickle fancy’s changes ;” and there they find it ** for sure.”""—Michigan Advocate. No magazine is superior to Godey’s in its peculiar line.— Charleston (South Carolina) Mercury. Godey’s Lady’s Book is far ahead of any periodical pub- lished in the Union; and among ladies it is indispensa- ble.—Elba Democrat. We know of no periodical that we can more cheerfully recommend to every one than this. Every article contains a good moral lesson; while it carefully avoids everything of a base or grovelling nature.—Corunna Times. “This emporium of fashion, with its fine pictorial embel- lishment, is the beau-idéal of our fashionable world. Friend Godey has the bump of the beautiful fully deve- loped, vid. pleasing the ladies. We should like to know what epitaph they will inscribe on his tombstone when dead.” We copy the above from the Three Rivers Herald. We only wish them to say to us, when dead, that he lived to serve the ladies. The contributions are pithy, terse, classical, and judi- ciously well contrived to “‘ point a moral.’’—Michigan Herald. It is useless for us to puffit. All the ladies know that it is the best Lady’s Book in the United States ; and they all ought to take it.— Vernon Herald. Ladies, if you want a No. 1 magazine—a magazine that is superior to all others—try Godey.— Milton Chronicle. The Lady’s Book has long since reached the acme of per- fection. —Bennet’s Gazette. As a ladies’ magazine it certainly has no rival in the Union, and should grace every lady's table in the land.— Watkins Republican. §* ~ =) Ocr Neepies.—There may, perhaps, be a very few families in the Union not yet supplied with these celebrated needles ; if so, we advise them to apply soon. Twenty- five cents for one hundred, done up in a neat case. “Mrs. Hare’s Recerprs For tae Mitirion.’’—This cele- brated work is now ready ; and we can furnish it for one dollar and twenty-five cents; ‘‘ Mrs. Hale’s Cook-Book,”’ one dollar. With these two works, and of the Lady’s Book, every family will have the works it most course needs. WHATEVER you see in other magazines purporting to be fashions, it is as well for owr subscribers to place no de- We never publish a fashion when it is not Depend upon it that it will not be worn until after it has appeared pendence upon. in season, although we may have it at the time. in the Lady’s Book. Let it be distinctly understeod that we have no agents for whose acts we are responsible, and we are only account- able to those who remit directly to us. We have no agents that solicit subscribers. Money must be sent to the pub- lisher, L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. For Grecian Parntine.—‘ Hiawatha’s Wooing” is a beautiful new engraving recently published. The size of plate is 14 by 18. The Indian costume, and rich and va- ried scenery, as well as the interest created by the poem, with the paper prepared for the purpose, make it the most desirable of all pictures used for this art, and, well painted by directions furnished by the publisher, can hardly be It will be sent, post-paid, on a roller, on receipt of price, one dol- distinguished from the finest canvas oil painting. lar and fifty cents, with full directions for painting it, colors used, and how to mix. Liberal discount to teachers and dealers. Address J. E. Trzrox, publisher and dealer in artists’ goods, Salem, Massachusetts. flowers of earth's exist- itest Krxp words are the bri ence ; they make a paradise of the humblest home that the world can show. Use them, and especially round the fire- side circle. They are jewels beyond price, and more pre- cious to heal the wounded heart, and make the weighed- down spirit glad, than all other blessings the earth can give. ScpscriBers 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. REMEMBER that the Lady’s Book is not a mere luxury; it is a necessity. There is no lady who takes the Book that does not save twice the price of itin a year in the Its receipts, its patterns, matter of domestic economy. its needle-work, its instructions in housekeeping are invalua- ble to the housekeeper. Inrants’ Warpropes.—The fashion editor desires us to say that those who want infants’ apparel must send their orders in time, as she has to have every article made up. She is Nothing is purchased. overflowing with orders for infants’ wardrobes. PHILADELPHIA AGENCY. No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it. All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-

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90 office stamp; and for all articles that are to be sent by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made ow of post-marks. “Mrs. J. A. MeD."’—Sent box by Adams’s express 16th. “A.D. Jr.’’—Sent hair ring 17th. ** Miss M. C."’"—Sent pearl card-case, &c. 17th. **Miss H. B. J."—Sent fringe, 17th. “Mrs. H. C.”""—Sent infant’s wardrobe oy Adams’s ex- press 17th **Mrs. E. Bf’—Sent hair ring, cotton, &c. 19th. “Pp, P.”” lowa.—From $3 to 86 “Mrs. E. J. P “Mrs. H. B. J ** Miss E. L.’ ‘Mrs. E. W."’—Sent silks 20th. ** Miss A. McD.”"—Sent pearl card-case 20th “Mrs. G. G. R.” express 20th. Mrs. 8. E. B “Mrs. H. R ‘Miss E. R **Miss 8. E “Henry “ Mrs "—Sent beads 20th "—Sent patterns 20th. —Sent patterns 20th. —Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams's "—Sent cambrie flouncing 20th. —Sent bands aud yokes 20th L.""—Sent patterns 20th. O.”"—Sent patterns 20th. "—Send your name and a stamp. B. R. V.""—Sent infant's wardrobe by Kinsley’s express 22d ‘D. T. W."’"—Sent hair breastpin 22d. ** Miss A. C."—Sent bair ring 22d “EE. M. A."’—Sent pearl card-case 22d. “Mrs. A. V. Du B.’"—Sent your goods by Harnden’s express 22d. “Mrs. J. C. F.”—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams's express 22d ’ “Miss D. V “M. Sent pearl card-cases to ‘‘ Miss E. G. A.,’ “Mie @. .” “Me FP. U. 8,” “DD. BB,” McA.,"’ “‘ H. H.,” and “ W. H. B.”’ “Miss B. C. Z.’"—Sent hair breastpin and ear-rings 24th “Mrs R. B. W."—Sent patterns 2th. “Mrs. H. W. “Mrs. D, A.”.—Sent infant’s dress by Adams's express "—Sent patterns 24th 24th. “Miss J. M. W.’’—Sent hair mng 26th “D. A. B.”’—She is single, and about twenty-four years of age ‘4 Devoted Friend of the Book.”—We heartily thank you “* Miss S.C. D.’’"—Sent hair ring 27th Miss 8. F. G."’—Sent patterns 27th. ‘* Miss E. P.”"—Sent patterns 27th. “Miss J. R.”—Of course, take it, when offered. “¢. ¥. &™ “Mrs. L. W. B."’—Sent package 28th. “Mrs. M. A. W.”"—Sent trimming 28th. “Rath.”—In answer to your first question: Send the —Sent pattern 28th. noney tous. To the second: It is improper. ‘*Masic in the South.”—You will find an alteration in that department. «Miss C. D. K."—Sent headdresses by Adams's express 80th «Miss M. C. M.""—-Sent box of sundries by Adams's ex- press 30th. “B. R."—Yes. Take your own county paper by all : even though it should deprive us of your sub- It is your duty. S. B. H.”—Sent bonnet and mantilla by Harn- den’s express 30th. “Mrs. §. F. P.”"—Sent bonnets by Adams's express 30th GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Mrs. 8. L. G.”"—Sent patterns 2d. “Mrs. A. V. Du B.”—Sent goods by mail 3d “A. K.”"—Address T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia. letter will reach him. ‘Mrs. T. A. C.""—Sent patterns 4th. “Mrs. R. E. W."’—Sent bundle by steamboat Lady Wilmer 4th. “Mrs. F. A. G.”’—Sent patterns 4th. “Mrs. F. C. F.”—Sent patterns 4th. ** Miss A. C.""—Sent cloak by Kinsley’s express Sth. ** Miss C. C. K.”"—Sent oiled silk and collars 5th. “Mrs. W. H express Sth. The G.”"—Sent colored worsteds by Adams's “Mrs. A. C. 8.""—Sent hair ring and pin 6th. “G. W. K.""—Sent hair ear-rings 6th. ‘“'T. MeF."’—Sent hair ring 6th. “PD. P.”’—Sent patterns 6th. “Mrs. E. P.”"—Sent cap 6th. “Mrs. V. R. A.’’—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams's express 7th. “§. E. M. Q. “Mrs. S. W."—Sent patterns 7th. “ Mrs. 8. T. C.” “Mrs. M. C "—Sent patterns 7th. —Sent patterns 7th. J.’’—Sent patterns 7th. “J. P. C.""—Sent cloak by Adams's express 9th. “Mrs. A. V. Du B."’—Sent colored cotton 10th. “Mrs. L. R. O.""—Sent pattern and zephyrs 10th. ** Miss M. C.""—Sent bridal card-case 10th. “Mrs. J. A. P.”’—Sent patterns 11th. ** Miss M. L."’—Sent cloak trimming 11th. “Mrs. H. L. H.”"—Sent patterns 1ith. “Mrs. R. A. B.” ** Miss J. C.’"—Sent patterns 12th. “ Mrs. K. R.’’—Sent white embroidery silk 12th. * Miss E. A. N.” “Mrs, E. F. O. “Mrs. 8. L ** Miss J. H “E. A. B."’"—Sent hair heart locket 13th. “Miss J. B wreath for embroidery 13th. “Miss M. A. B.""—Sent patterns 14th. ‘Miss G. R. G “M. Wood.’’—Your letter has no date ; —Sent patterns 12th. ‘—Sent hair cross 13th. *—Sent patterns 13th. "—Sent patterns 13th. McL.”’—Sent patterns 13th. "—Sent materials for tissue flowers and "—Sent pearl card-case 14th. nor do you men- tion your town, county, or state; and the post mark we can’t make out: consequently do not know where to direct. Per- Why is it that most ladies neglect these particulars? haps this was the difficulty in the first instance. Centre-Gable Gossip. THE GARDEN.—No. I. We cannot better preface our new series of gardening chat—which will be combined from the latest and best authorities—than by giving place to the admirable exor- dium from one of our own dailies, to all who can possibly command a few feet of earth and a handful of seeds. Our practical hints will commence with the earliest working month—March. ‘Every man, rich or poor, in town or country, should cultivate some piece of ground, no matter how small, and have something either useful or beautiful growing in it, if it be within the scope of possibility. No man, woman, or child should esteem it a sufficient plea that they do not Let them get one of Landreth’s Almanacs, or They know how. Dreer’s list of garden plants, and try experiments.

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. will soon learn. in such matters, or that they have not time. Let none say they cannot take an interest And interest will speedily arise with a little experience, and then the time will be found; and it will re-invigurate many a worn frame, and many a worldly and care-corroded heart, with the freshness of a second youth, and the vigor of an early spring. In a city like this, there is many a man whose head is turning prematurely gray with care and business, and who feels, alas, that his heart is becoming gray and blasé even faster than his head, who would feel all his powers bloom again, and his sensibilities refreshed, by a little gardening as by nothing else. “The wealthy of course all cultivate their gardens in one sense; that is, they have their gardeners, who do it for them ; Sabbath afternoon, perhaps, and criticize and admire, and and they walk around with their friends on a order a fresh lot of flowers from Landreth at the request of their wives, only grumbling a little, possibly, as they foot the bill, Perhaps nine gentlemen out of ten who do this have no the items of which have no interest for them real sense of the delight which many a poor family take in some of the simplest flowers, merely becanse they have themselvy tched and cultivated them. find the personal cultivation of the earth a source of daily es Ww Every one will and increasing interest, whether on a larger or smaller scale, for ornament or for use, according to his means, his technical knowledge, and his other opportunities “The rich and the poor will find this one of the most table, and pleasant of all recreations, what- } If it be but a seed, or a few violets grown in a box of eart improving, profi little cress ever their da employment. h, outside a garret window, it will shed a fragrance that will humanize and refine all who lodge within. “One of the chief advantages of the garden is that it will offer recreations of such an infinite variety that no matter what be a man’s humor, or how tired he things, he can still find something useful to do for it that may be of other will be pleasant at the time, and yield its frnit after many days All the family, too, can unite in the labor and en- garden, as in no other recreation, from the It wil poor joyment of the little child to the grandparent. man to his home, and save his more wealthy neighbor ten attach the times more than it costs every year as a substitute for ex- pensive journeys to costly watering-places, where nothing is to be found but the dissipations and fatigues of the city, transported, at vast expense, into the country. How much more advantageous to transport the beauties and benefits ’ of the country into one’s own premises!’ HOW DOMESTIC DISCORD IS MADE. Wuewn the new wife first comes home, to what is she in- troduced? To carpets and chairs, to tables, sofas, window- blinds, and general furniture? These may do very well in their place, but will never do alone. A young wife, with her sensibilities awake and with emotions full to overflowing, turns with the first look for some heart open to receive her, and to make the new place what it should be in reality—a Home. And who so capable of making the place a happy one to her brother, his wife, and herself, as the brother’s sister? If her heart be open to her sister- in-law, and beating to receive her, leaping forward to meet her at the threshold, pressing to embrace her with a tender glance, a happy smile, and a gentle word, such as only such a sister can give—a word not to be mietaken— does not the place in one short moment, before the new- comer has even passed through the entrance-door, become, by the mighty power of love, a home, a happy, blessed home to the newly-wedded wife? 91 shows to ild ym that Mistrust, In such a course of conduct, the sister-in-'aw the bride, in more convincing terms than words co speak, that her brother's choice is hers; and fr moment they are sisters, and sisters wil! remain ifany, has spread its wings and flown ; sus] n, if any, has departed to return no more; and jealousy, that sly and busy, whispering, peeping, hovering } d imp, may knock and knock, but can find no admission, where hearts are sealed and guarded with love Should a sister-in-law, possessed of an artfal manner; a jealous, overbearing, tyrannical temper; a malicious tongue, and restless, ambitious spirit, be w n high, formal, tyrannic style to receive a brother’s wife to her new home, the only effect that could be produced would The back towards feelings of the youthfal wit be a repulsive one would be driven their source, and frozen within their channels. Such a sister-in-law regards no choice in a wife or a husband, or in any other matter, but her own choice; and pays no attention to any selection, unless it happen to be her own However bright the home before she enters, she leaves it a different place; the domestic winds are raised, and the household sky is overcast. One wave of her wand pro- duces a magical transformation, cantation followed by ani She has drawn a circle round her brot! and holds him ll-t mind, and often away from his family, and scene spe ound as with a chain. He is of easy thinks there must be something wrong because his sister says so. She works her poison into his very soul, disturbs } makes an effect upon his home as may be seen at any time with is domestic peace, and his wife miserabl She produces such dissolving views. The view is a summer scene; beauty, and brightness, and happiness prevail: but see in a mo- ment what a change comes over the scene; the trees are naked, the rivers are frozen, houses, and fielk is, and people with snow, and look as winter are covered d . thy with the winter scene. as they can The spectators feel the change, and shiver in sympa For a home to be but once exposed to such an influence is bad enough, but to be constantly exposed to it is a terrt- ble evil to confer present and lasting To prevent such scenes from occurring would be blessings on domestic life, and on society throughout. Prevention is always better than cure, and the shortest way is the best What, then, is the present duty of every sister to a mar ried brother, and especially as a sister-in-law to a brother's wife? Let the sister-in-law put herself, for however short a time, in a wife’s place, and she will not fail to dise If she has a husband, and if he ver what her obligations are has a sister, what would her feelings be if her sister-in-law endeavored, by any means and by every means, to dig a ditch of separation, and fix a yawning gulf of disaffection 1} And yet and dissatisfaction between her heart and his? musand preindiced sister- this is the work which the je n- law is engaged in promoting. In sowing the seeds of dis- harvest will be Where cord between a husband and his wife, a reaped sooner or later to the party's cost lragon’s spring up. She whosows the that teeth are sown, armed men W rlwind; and shall to wind wh whatsoever a sister-in-law the may expect t reap soweth she also reap. HOMELY HOUSEKEEPING. WE give a response to tl the end to buy things at who e inquiry, “‘Is it cheapest in lesale ?"’ here, rather than in mur “‘ Notices to Correspondents,” because it requires rather more space than that department allows

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co bo GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Far from being above advice in ‘‘ such every-day homely matters,’’ we are very glad to be able to do so. We think, to come to the question at once, that there is economy in providing winter stores when it is possible, not only for the cellar, but for the store-room besides. There is a com- fortable, satisfactory feeling in knowing that there is a bin af apples and potatoes, barrels of turnips, and carrots, of corned beef, and pork to turn to in providing your dinner ; and much worry and time are saved in not having to send to the store for every peck or pound, as it is wanted. Be- sides, there is always a reduction on things bought in quantities; and, again, you purchase in the fall, when things are low, and do not have to run up to winter prices. So, in the store-room, you may apply the same rules to rice, coffee, tea, sugar, and all other daily necessaries. You will have no object in wasting them because there is a good supply; and your domestic cannot, if you do a house- keeper's duty, and keep the keys. Many a one can re- member the worry growing out of no supplies, discovered just as they are needed. “What's for dinner, ma’am ?” asks the cook, with the utmost indifference to the employment of the moment. You stop rocking the baby, who just begins to doze for his morning nap. ** Well, I don’t know, Susan. those fish; be sure tofry them in pork; and you can make Let me see! There are a haricot of the cold mutton.” “There isn’t any pork in the house. I used the lasta Friday.’ “Well, you must get sotne, then. Run down to the store. Mr. Smith can’t abide fish done in lard.” **It "ll take half an hour, ma’am, to get dressed, and go down there; and there ’s such a large wash! and the irons Oh, there ain’t any carrots for the haricot! He says 'twon’t do to keep are just hot. and Mr. Jones hasn't got any. many vegetables on hand ; they rot so. Baby, cross at having his nap deferred, begins to worry, then screams. “Oh, dear, it’s always so! Susan, can’t you tell me when things are out? [There, lie still!] HowamIto know? You'll have to use the lard, then, and warm up the mutton with a little gravy ; but it won't be half so nice. Hush, my dear! lie still, and—” “Oh, ma’am! what's for dessert ?”’ “Dessert? Oh dear, Susan, think of something your- self! I'm sure it’s your place. Make some apple dumplings.” **T used all them apples for the pies, Saturday.” ** Well, tapioca-pudding! Therey, therey! do go off, Sasan! He'll lose his nap, and be cross the whole morning.” **Yes, ma’am; but the hens ain’t layin’ no eggs; and there ain't no rice in the honse; and the spice is out.” “Shut the door! I’ll come when I can. Susan, shut the door after you. Oh, dear, any mistress of a family needs the patience of Job!” ” Why, for goodness’ sake, MARRIED AND SINGLE. We cannot better preface the very seasonable and wuch- ing little poem below, than by Irving’s well-known ex- tract—‘‘ Married and Single.” ‘I have observed that a married man falling into mis- fortune is more apt to retrieve his situation in the world than a single one; partly because he is more stimulated to exertion by the necessities of the helpless and beloved beings who depend upon him for subsistence; but chiefly because his spirits are soothed and relieved by domestic endearments, and his self-respect kept alive by finding that, although all ebroad is darkness and humiliation, yet there is still a little world of love at home, of which he is the monarch. Whereas a single man is apt to run to waste and self-neglect, to fancy himself lonely and abandoned, and his heart to fall to rain, Jike some deserted mansion, for want of inhabitants.” THE WIFE TO HER RUINED HUSBAND. Wary should I shrink from poverty, If it be shared, dear love, with thee? The world’s neglect, the proud one’s scorn How easily can they be borne Whilst thou remainest unforsworn And true to me! [ little reck that with our name The crowd may pity join, or blame ; That fickle ones, whom once we ranged Amongst our friends, are now estranged— For thou, art thou not all unchanged, And still the same? Forced from our statelier home to go 1 weep not, start not at the blow ; Though pearl and ruby never now Shall glitter on this breast and brow, I can be happy yet, and thou Shalt see me so. And though no more thine eye surveys The gems on which we loved to gaze, The sculptor’s breathing marble dream, The painter’s magic tints, that seem To bear our spirits up Time's stream To other days, I'll deck these humbler walls of ours With simple prints, and casts, and flowers; And these our household deities Shall he far dearer to thine eyes Than all the pomp that monarchs prize In royal towers Though to our board no liveried train Shall bear the gorgeous feast again ; With willing hands will I prepare The frugal meal thou art to share, And joy to find my housewife care Is not in vain And loving voices shall be here With social mirth thy breast to cheer , And sounds of household minstrelsy, The hymn, the song, the well-known glee, How often shall they win from thee No bitter tear ! Thus, though our brightest hours be past, And life’s fair noon is overcast, Yet peaceful may our evening prove ; As, journeying on with those we love, We look to reach our home above, In Heaven at last. TO CORRESPONDENTS. “M. W. M.”—We understand the difficulty. Glass chimneys are liable, when they come in contact with the flame of a lamp, or vice versa, to be, as it were, eaten into ; and the consequence is that minute grayish or brownish- yellow globules generally make their appearance on the interior, as also on the exterior surface of the chimney

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FASHIONS. When that ist he case, and you find, apparently, that no- | smove them without the glass being put thing will r in danger, the best and easiest way is to procure some very | fine sand-; or, and continue to rub these ugly spots until the y do disay pear. Another way is to use wood-ashes in scouring them. A third, which gives the glass an excellent polish, is to use a@ mixture of camphene and whiting, in a paste, to be rubbed dry by a clean bit of flannel or chamois leather. **Mas. 8. B.,”’ of Eau Claire.—*‘ Children outgrow things s scarcely economy to make up a whole set 80 fast, that it i at once, as you recommend.” True, if for an only child; but, where there are several, one set of frocks, dr three wearings, and save time and trouble, as well as awwers, or petticoats will go through expense. “Miss E.,” of Brewster.—Such coughs have been very prevalent in this section of the country. Earlier in the season, they are called “Influenza,” from the epidemic We cap give no specific form which they have assumed. remedy Various things have answered as palliatives. The advice of the famv'y physician had best be relied ou. Charles Lamb niust bave nad the influenza when he wrote: “Do you know what it is to succumb under an insur- mountable day-mare ?—an indisposition to do anything, or be anything—a total deadness and distaste—a suspension of vitality—an indifference to locality—a numb, soporfical good-for-nothingness—an ossification all over—an oyster- like indifference to passing events—a mind stupor—brawny defiance to the needles of a thrusting-in conscience—with a total irresolution to submit to water-gruel processes.” “A Bripe” has our hearty congratulations; and we add to them a bridal gift in the way of help to retain the hap- piness she now enjoys, an extract from a wiser pen than ours, choicer than any gem among the brilliant display which her friends have showered on her at the marriage. “A living limits to its power? who shall enumerate its conquests? Christian Conscientiousness! who shall set Evil habits, dear and besetting sins, the strongest passions inclinations of that very ry ‘to the law written in our hearts,’ our pature and nature—nay, itself, if contr yield beneath the grace freely vouchsafed to all who ear- must nestly desire to know what is right, and practise it, ‘ such as remember the Lord’s Commandments to do them.” **My dear young friends, see here the true defender of your household peace. In the humility, the truth, the teachableness, the moderation, the purity, the perseverance that ever follow in her train, behold the domestic ywarrison which can alone repel the attacks of your great enemy. With to wretched.”’ Houirpay Girts these, you are safe and happy from your wedding lost and your dying day; without them, you are (selected for Adelaide S. Beechcroft).— The Right Use of Te mporal Spiritual Gifts. Blessings. Prize them inestimably, Court them earnestly, Seek for them diligently, ly, Wish for them cautious Ask for them submissively, Want them contentedly, Obtain them honestly, Accept them humbly, Manage them prudently, Ponder them frequent Wait for them patiently, Expect them hopefully, Receive them joyfully, Enjoy them thankfully, Employ them lawfully, Impart them liberally, Improve them caref! Esteem them moderately, Retain them watchfully, Plead for them manfully, Hold them dependently, Increase them virtuously, Use them subserviently, Forego them easily, Grasp them eternally. Resign th W sly. Sashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Havina had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the iereafter execute Editress of the Fashion Department w commissions for any who may desire i >» charge of t, with t a small percentage for the time and res 1 required Spring and autumn bonnets, materials for dresses, jewelry, envelops, hair-work, worsteds, children’s wardrobes, man- tillas, and mantelets, will be chosen with a view to econo- my, as well as taste; and boxes or packages forwarded For the last, by express to any part of the country. distinct directions must be given. J Sor the proposed expen- A. Godey, Esq. Orders, accompanied by checks diture, to be addressed to the care of L No order will be attended to unless the money is first received, Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account able Sor losses that may oceur in remitt Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and g the person, on which much dep nds in ¢ goods from Levy’s or Evans & Co.'s; cloaks, talmas, from Brodie’s, 51 Canal Street, N« nets from T. White & Co.’s; jewelry from Caldwell’s, Philadelph When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here govern the pur e; therefore, no articles w be taken n must be back. When the go considered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR JANUARY. Ir can only be the interesting topic of holiday gifts which so absorbs our fuir friends on the right, that they are en- tirely forgetful of the threatened ruin of new dresses and millinery. Doubtless they have been in quest of some e in the nursery surprise for ‘‘ papa,” or the little pe The young matren, who has learned a little for ught from her husband's daily inquiry “1 wonder whether it will storm to-day ?’’ as he brushes his hat, and arranges his hair in the little mirror of the h tand, ‘has armed herself with a light umbrella; but tries vainly to shield her tall rm with a young friend, who encounters calmness worthy of a heroine. The first lady, in her blue robe @ volant, gray burnous els, fawn-colored linming cloak, with blue velvet tr lume, is very properly attired for a prome- hat and blue 7 nade in pleasant weather So also is her young friend ; the flounces of her black silk robe being figured with velvet spots and bars, whil¢ her comfortable street basquine of pique (quilting) is of the same fashionable hue This is brightened by a well se-colored chosen bonnet of white uneut velvet, with r ribbons, and flowers in the cap. Sma!l mnff of ermine. REVERSING THE PICTURE, We have a comfortable home-scene, made cheerful by a two sisters, in dinner-dress, con- lished bright sea-coal fire, while gratulate themselves that they have accom all ne cessary out-of-door engagements before the storm came on purple silk of the deepest shade, It has The elder wears a dress of } ' ry uy ist suitable for a person just laying aside mourning two skirts; the lower, quite plain; the upper one open on each side of the front breadth, and trimmed all 1 have one pull, witha a dee he fringe. The sleeves Pp psye

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94 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. deep flounce ; the corsage is round, and trimmed by bars of the fringe, forming a deep pointed berthé to the waist. Hair dressed plainly, with a single natural rose from the bouquet held by her sister. This lady has a fawn-colored silk, chinéed in black, with a shamrock in the same color, at intervals. It has a deep basque, trimmed by bands of blue silk, which are con- tinued over the shoulder en brefelle. Sleeves in two puffs, and two flounces, also trimmed by bands of Marie Louise blue. THE AMERICAN CUSHION, (See splendid embellishment in front of Book.) Tas cushion is formed of pieces of blue, scarlet, and white satin, or velvet, or, what is less expeusive and very pretty, cloth cashmere or merino. The designs are worked in with gold, scarlet, and blue beads, and embroidery silk. The whole is finished with a very rich fringe. CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADEL- PHIA FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. Tuere has been a great deal of shopping done, the past two or three months, despite the hard times, or rather in consequence of them. Merchants in our large cities being forced, as the only hope of business, to mark down their goods to wholesale prices for cash purchasers, those who delight in bargains have raised every dollar that could be spared, or in any way realized, on the plea of economy, “for when,” they ask, ‘“‘ will there ever be such another chance?” Never, we hope, for we are opposed to sacri- fices of all descriptions ; and, at the risk of seeming hard- hearted to our fortunate lady readers, we do not desire to have goods thus forced upon the market. We doubt if, after all, they are much better off themselves. We ques- tion whether they have not made some foolish bargains in the end, whether they have not purchased things they do not need, and loaded their shelves and drawers with goods that will go out of fashion before they are worn. There has been a great deal of dress-making in consequence, and, in one thing, a retrenchment in expenditure at the very time work was most needed by those who depend upon it for a livelihood. Not that we quarrel with people for making their own dresses, cloaks, and bonnets, too, when they cannot afford to give them out; but, in times of hard- ship and scarcity, like the present season, we think it would be better to purchase one the less dress, and give the cost of that dispensed with to those who ask not cha- rity, but employment at their hands. Not only suffering, but sin may thus be saved ; and, though charity begins at home, it may thus be made outgoing and effective by fore- thought and prudence, not only in expenditure, but its direction. One of the prettiest silk dresses of the season is of Marie Louise blue, striped transversely with the same color a shade or two darker. The skirt has side trimmings, two bands of plaided silk, between which is a row of drop but- tons in blue velvet. The basque, of moderate depth, has bands of the same plaid. The sleeves are in the pyramid form, wide and loose, open on the inside, and trimmed quite up to the shoulder-seam, the band growing narrower as it reaches the top. One of the most remarkable novelties in dress trimming is especially suited to plain cashmeres, merinos, poplins, and silks of every hue, For instance, take a dress of dark green poplin; skirt single and full, with side trimmings of narrow black Velvet disposed in this way. Four rows of the ribbomare set on longitudinally, and four transversely, crowsi#igy each other in exact squares, in the style of trellis- work. The whole forms. a block four inches square. These blocks ate disposed up the side of the fropt breadth, four inches apart. The corsage is a jacket of mederate width, trimmed in the same style, the squares and plain places alternating around the edge, and on the bottom of the wide, owing dleeve. Nothing can be more simple or more effective ; and it is destined to become as fashionable, the preseat winter, as the style called “darts” was in its day. Those who like block velvet, but are tired of paral- lel rows, will seize on it. The Venetian sleeve is a great favorite. It has a very small puff set in at the shoulder, and one deep frill slightly pointed. Many of the favorite robes d wolant, or woven with flounces, are in solid colors, with bands of rich con- trasting plaids. Robes @ quille, of the same style, are still more in vogue. Some very elegant moires and brocades have been imported—a plain ground, with bouquets of flowers in natural colors. Quillings of silk are sometimes used as a dress trimming; and there are galloons, fringes, ribbons, and various velvets, without number, also em- ployed. Side trimmings are decidedly the favorite styles ; and basques still prevail, though there are more round corsages than we have of late been accustomed to see. Still another style for making up poplins is this: A dou- ble skirt, the upper one opened at the sides, edged with a five-inch fringe, and fastened together by four bows of sarsenet ribbon, the same color as the dress, the lower one with floating ends falling over the under skirt. Corsage round, with a heart-shaped berthé, trimmed with fringe, as on the sleeves. There are a few large parties; and some pretty, simple dresses have been made for them. One suitable for a young girl is a robe of white tarleton, with two skirts. The lower one is finished simply by a broad hem ; and the upper one is edged with seven puffs of graduated width, and having within them runnings of pink ribbon. At each side, a bow of ribbon is fixed on every puff; and the bows graduate in size from the lower one upwards. The corsage is half high, and very much pointed in front of the waist. Over it is a Jerthé of the form called the fichu Marie Antoinette. It is crossed over the bosom; and the ends are linked together at the back of the waist. This fichu is formed of two falls of lace, surmounted by a puff, with running of pink ribbon ; and it is finished by a bow of pink ribbon in front. The sleeves, which are entirely concealed under the fichu, are short and plain, and orna- mented with bows of pink ribbon. At each side of the head, bouquets of roses, with pendent sprays of foliage. Another is composed of mallow-color silk, covered with two skirts of thulle of the same hue. At the edge of each of the thulle skirts, there is a deep row of blonde, sur- mounted by a ruche of thulle disposed in a waved pattern. Between each of the waves, or spaces formed by the ruche, is fixed a bow of narrow gauze ribbon. A fichu, trimmed with blonde, ribbon, and ruches of thulle, is worn over the low corsage. The sleeves, which are short, and in puffs, are trimmed with a frill of blonde, with bows and ends of mallow-color ribbon. A bouquet of mallow-color Glycine ornaments the centre of the fichu; and sprays of the same flowers, intermingled with its delicate pale green foliage, are worn in the hair. Another ball dress is composed of maize-color silk, covered with three skirts of thulle of the same color, each edged with a dowillonné of thulle. In the bowillonné, small flowers of various colors are intermingled. The up- permost skirt is looped up, at intervals, by bows of maize- color ribbon. The corsage, which is low and full, is trimmed with blonde and flowers. The sleeves are in puffs, and ornamented with flowers. FAasnion.

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Page 86

Page 87

FOR SILK EMBROIDERY. LADY'S JACKET. (See Diagram, page 100.) mi H } “Wh Tuts very comfortable jacket is made of cloth, trimmed with velvet of the same color, or black, which is equally appropriate for the garniture of any color. The jacket, like very many dresses of the present time, is made with a small cape, trimmed with narrow rows of velvet rib- bon of the same color as the rest of the velvet. This cape is trimmed with fringe. Of the double sleeve, the upper one is cut up the centre, nearly to the shoulder, and finished with buttons and tassels. The under sleeve has a puffing, confined by bands of velvet, and a deep frill, trimmed with velvet, scalloped to correspond with that of the jacket. Two hints we will venture to give to such of our friends as work from our models. Always make a jacket of this sort large enough to go over any dress body. It will be far more useful ; and cloth is a substance which does not look untidy if it does not fit quite closely to the figure. Also, if you wad or pad any part, quilt the wadding on dimet before laying it in the cloth—the dimet, not the wadding, guing next tothe cloth. Unless this is dono, the fluff will work its way through the finest and coarsest cloth, or even through velvet, and will give both materials a dusty look, that is by no means ornamental. 97 VOL. Lv1.—9

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Page 90

DIAGRAM OF LADY’S JACKET. (See page 97.) SLEEVE

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Pa SD DATARS Ze WS Deseée: 2 Hit if EEHLERD 7, * SUBRRSSTETRSReaaaas it} st i Piatitty th i th ica wit Hy, lly, wath + wk HANGING PORTFOLIO. (See description.)

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Page 93

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EMBROIDERY FOR A GENTLEMAN'S SHIRT.

-<7-o —_ BRAIDED TURKISH SMOKING-CAP.

Materials.—Violet velvet, silver braid (15 yards), and silver tassel to correspond. Tue materials we have selected for this cap are particularly rich and chaste; but gold may he used, if preferred, and will be found more durable than the other metal. The design is also so arranged, that one piece of French soutache will be suflicient for it. Although we give the pattern of the full dimensions, we do not advise our friends to attempt to mark it on the velvet for themselves. This is always better done by the professional stamper ; and not only time, but trouble and expensive materials are saved by the process. Seven-eighths of velvet are required for a full-sized cap; but this quantity makes two in the width. The tassel should be of rich bullion, if the braid be gold or silver ; of passementerie, if 2, soutache be employed. With the latter, plain cloth may be used instead of velvet. Good linen bed-ticking is the best ma- terial for lining caps; it has sufficient stiffness, without being too hard. cover it ; and the edge may be finished with a silk or metal cord. Black silk lining should

Page 96

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Ne yest Sz ak Ais OR PORTION OF TURKISH SMOKING-CAP. (See preceding page.)

Page 98

INSERTING FOR SLEEVES. DOYLEY IN FLANDERS GUIPURE. Tue ground of this D’Oyley is in square netting, with which our readers are already familiar. This is done in coarse cotton ; and the pattern, by darning, with the finer kind. The stitches can readily be copied from the engraving ; and a netted lace border should finish it. All the darning should be done without leaving any ends of thread ; and the best way to do this is to join on the new needleful by a weaver’s knot to the end of the last. The lace should be netted round the D’Oyley, not sewed on it. All the set may be made of different designs, if desired; but the one we give looks extremely pretty, when worked. 106

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FOR A CHILD’S FLANNEL SACK. A DOLL’S COLLAR. For the juveniles to work.

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