Godey's Lady's Book 1858-03: Vol 56 Iss 3

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GODEY’S LADS’ S BOOK. PHILADELPHIA, MARCH, 1 5 Dm . @ OUR TWO GIFTS. BY VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND. “Whoever lives true life will love true love.” Ir was a very, very old house where I was born, of a pallid brown color; and the kitchen roof was so low that my brother Lucius mounted it before he was thirteen. The building was erected in the time of my great- grandfather; and the small window-panes and projecting roof gave it a very antiquated physiognomy. We were orphans, Lucius and I, left to the eare of our half sister Rachel, between whom and my brother there was a gap of twenty years. I do not remember my mother, for she died before I had reached my second sum- mer; but Rachel has so often described to me those clear and delicate features, with the soft, hazel eyes, and the nut-colored hair, and the small, graceful figure, that, if she had just gone out of the door yonder, I do not believe I should see my mother more plainly than, sitting here, I see her this minute. She was much younger than my father, who was a farmer, and a deacon inthe church. He was a tall, thin man, with thick gray hair, and a smile that was like a woman’s. That is all I remember of him, for my mother had not slept through two years when they laid him down by her side. We were poor people. The old house, with a few acres of ground behind it, was all that my father left to his children. This certainly was not valuable property, in an inland vil- lage that did not number more than three thousand inhabitants. Rachel, my step-sister, had neither brilliant gifts nor a finished education; but she had what is sure to accomplish something in the world—energy, industry, and good common sense. Two little children, the elder scarcely VoL. LvI.—18 seven, were thrown upon her for support; and she had no resources: but she met the emergency with her brave heart and strong will. She took up dress-making at once; and, though she had never learned the art, her natural tact and taste supplied this de- ficiency. She had constant employment; and, by constant labor, she managed to support us all very humbly, but still comfortably, inde- pendently. Lucius and I were as happy in that ram- bling old house as though it were a palace, and we heirs to a duchy. There was a large apple-tree back of the house, where we passed most of the time from May to October, when we were out of the dis- trict school. Lucius’s great delight was to draw pictures on his slate by the hour, pic- tures of all conceivable shapes and characters, of men, and birds, and flowers, and animals, which always enlisted my profound admira- tion. Meanwhile, I would fashion little bas- kets out of burdock burs, piling them with currants and raspberries, and singing psalm tunes and scraps of old songs to myself, that were always chiming through and through my brain; and Lucius and I never dreamed those pictures on the slate and these snatches of song were a grand prophecy. About half a mile from our house was a large, imposing, straw-colored edifice, the re- sidence of Squire Hunter, the richest and most prominent man in our village. His wife was a city lady, with very elegant manners and very exclusive tastes. They had a son and daughter about Lucius’s age and mine, very pretty children, whom we used sometimes to envy as they dashed by our house in their father’s handsome carriage. 205

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I 206 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, One afternoon, just as I had gained my tenth year, this carriage stopped before our front door; and the Squire’s wife, with two other ladies, alighted. I had just returned from school, and stood in the small front yard, gathering some of the blossoms from a holly- hock-bush that grew there, when the trio of ladies swept up the little narrow walk. I re- member the youngest of the three looked down and smiled on me, a smile that won my heart at once. She was very fair and girlish- looking, with thin, regular features, a mouth like a brier rose, and eyes of a deep clear gray. Altogether, I thought her the most lovely vision I had ever looked on. They went into the house, and remained for some time. I waited by the hollyhock-bush until they came out, hoping the young lady would smile on me again. But she did not. She was talking very earnestly with the Squire’s lady, and did not observe me. During the next week, they came to our house very frequently ; and I gleaned from Rachel’s conversations with her patrons and neighbors that the young lady was the Squire’s niece, that she was an orphan, and betrothed to the son of her guardian. The old gentleman was in very feeble health from a disease of the heart, which might any moment terminate his existence. His phy- sicians had recommended a journey to Europe; and he was desirous that the marriage should be consummated before his departure. All these matters had been suddenly determined on, as the young lady was at this time on a visit to her relatives in our village, where the wedding was to take place; and Rachel was hurriedly preparing her wardrobe for this event. I remember how my esthetic taste revelled among the rich silks and laces which strewed the chairs, and tables, and old-fash- ioned chintz lounge of our back sitting-room during this time, and how Lucius drew a pic- ture of the bride elect, with an immense veil, and a wedding-dress in stripes of green, and gold, and purple. One afternoon, the lady and a young gentle- man called together, whom we guessed at once was to be her husband. It was a sultry day in August; and the light wind rumpled lazily the leaves of the apple-boughs under which Lucius and I sat after school; while, beyond and below, the meadows lay still and hot in the sunshine ; and the first gold of the sunset was beginning to boil over the great mountain in the west. Rachel had not quite finished the lady’s travelling-dress ; and she concluded to wait until it was completed ; soshe and the gentleman sauntered out to the back door, and stood there, conversing in a low tone under the hop-vine. I see them now almost as plainly as I do the paper on which I write ; she with that bright, half-timid smile flutter- ing about her sweet mouth, and he looking down on her very tenderly in the pause of their conversation. He was rather tall and slender, with strong, but by no means hand- some features, with dark, searching eyes, and a something in the carriage of his head and the curving of his mouth that forcibly re- minded me of a plaster-cast of Washington which stood in the old Town Hall, and which said plainly that true manhood always says power! Occasionally, fragments of the lovers’ con- versation would float out to me. I do not recall this now. But I do remember that the lady looked up suddenly from the top of her carved ivory parasol, whose device she had been intently studying between her smiles and her blushes, and descried us staring with childish curiosity and admiration at her, as we sat under the apple-tree. ‘‘ Look! look! Herman! aren’t they pretty children?’’ she said, touching his arm. His eyes followed hers. ‘*Remarkably, Ellen.’ ** Little children’’—she raised her voice— ‘*won’t you come here and speak to us ?’”’ So Lucius laid down his drawing, and I a half-finished wreath of brier, maple-leaves, and brier-berries, and came up to the lady, who stood in the doorway, feeling very awk- ward and bashful. ‘* What are your names ?’’ asked the soft voice. And the lady knelt down, and stroked away the curls from my cheeks. ** Lucius—Madeline,’’ we answered, simul- taneously. **T had a little sister Madeline, once; and she had blue eyes and golden hair just like yours,’’ said the lady, drawing me towards her; ‘‘ but one day the angels came, and took her from us; and she had not seen as many summers as you have.’’ ‘*T guess the angels like Madelines, then,’’ I answered, feeling very sorry for the lady, ‘*because Rachel says they came for mamma too; and her name was Madeline.”’ ‘*You dear little girl!’’ She leaned down and kissed me. ‘‘ What a strange thought for a child, Herman !’’ He bowed his head, and looked at me with those dark, searching eyes a moment. ‘*‘ What a aah al toe

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OUR TWO GIFTS. 207 is it you are most fond of doing, Madeline ?”’ he asked. It was a puzzling question, for I had never analyzed my own wants and needs. I twisted my fingers a while meditatively, and then re- turned that ‘‘I couldn’t do much of any- thing.’’ ‘*Those eyes contradict that assertion very plainly,’? laughed the gentleman. ‘‘Come, now! I know there ’s something behind them. Which do you like best, to play with dolls, or read pretty books ?”’ ‘*I broke my doll’s head last Christmas ; and I hav’n’t any pretty books, except the new one full of hymns my teacher gave me. I don’t read them; I only sing ’em.”’ ‘Ah, you sing them! Now, that’s quite a discovery. Suppose you let us hear you.”’ I shrank from the idea of singing before such a tall gentleman; and it required con- siderable coaxing from the lady, and expostu- lations from Lucius, to induce me to make a trial. How my voice shook over the first notes ! How it wavered, and sank, and at last swelled out clear and full in the closing stanza of that sweet old song, ‘‘There’s no place like Home !’’ ‘“*Bravo! bravo!’ And the gentleman clapped his hands as I concluded. ‘‘I never heard a voice like that from a little child be- fore, Ellen. She’s certainly a genius, a genius that ought to be cultivated.” I did not know what this meant; but the praise stimulated me, and I sang several other songs at the strangers’ request, on each of which they bestowed so much warm appreba- tion that I was highly elated. ‘*And now, my little fellow, what can you do?’? And the young man turned abruptly to Lucius, who had been greatly enjoying the encomiums bestowed on his sister; and, blushing up to his thick curls, Lucius an- swered, as I had done, that he ‘‘couldn’t do much of anything.”’ ‘*Yes, he can, too,’’ I bravely interposed, very anxious that Lucius should receive a due amount of attention. ‘‘ He can make the most beautiful pictures in the world. Mr. Seers, our school-teacher, says it’s truly re- markable the talent he displays. I heard him tell the committee so.”’ “Did you?’’? Both the lady and gentleman laughed heartily at my earnestness; while Lucius looked anything but flattered at this eulogium. ‘* Well, now, suppose you let us us see some of these remarkable pictures.”’ I was up in the front chamber, at the old “chest of drawers,’’? which had been my grandmother’s, in less than half a minute. Here Lucius had deposited some dozen of his ‘best pictures,’? which Rachel took much pride in displaying to the neighbors. I car- ried these down stairs, panting with haste, and placed them triumphantly before the strangers. They examined each one with much interest ; the gentleman, at least, with the eye of a connoisseur; and, at the close, he clapped Lucius on the shoulder. ‘“‘ My boy,’’ he said, ‘“‘ nature intended you for an artist. It’s written here plainly on every line and curve of your pencil.”’ At that moment, Rachel called the young lady to try on her dress, for it was finished ; and she went into the sitting-room ; while the gentleman remained and talked with us un- der the hop-vine, with the soft wind shaking the leaves overhead. I cannot remember half the questions he asked us; but I know the replies furnished him with a kind of abridged history of our lives, and that, while he talked, his hand kept up a soft, caressing movement over my hair. At last, his betrothed returned. ‘We must hurry away, Herman,’’ she said, “ for it is getting late; and the company will ar- rive before we do, though I can understand how much you dislike to leave these charm- ing little people.”’ ‘*They shall hear from us again. Remem- ber what I say, little children,’’ said the young man; and the two leaned down and kissed us both very kindly, when we accom- panied them to the front door. Three days afterwards, the Squire’s groom called with a letter for Rachel. It inclosed certificates which entitled Lucius and me to three years’ attendance at the high school on the hill, about a mile from our house; and there were a few words to us traced in a clear, strong hand. “Dear Lirtie CurtpreEN: We hope you will accept our gift, and improve the talents that God has given you. Your friends, Herman and ELLEN Graves.”’ And that day I went to the old Johnson’s Dictionary, which stood in the walnut book- case in the kitchen, and learned first what ‘‘genius’’ meant; and from that moment a new thought, and aim, and purpose took pos- session of me; a new life stirred up within my soul; and, though I still made burr bas-

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—_— 208 GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. kets, in the summer afternoons, under the old apple-tree, while Lucius drew his pictures of mountain, and tree, and meadow by my side, we were not the same children that sat there before. Ten years had elapsed. It was spring-time again; and the boughs of the apple-tree, white with blossoms in May as they had been white with snows in December, swept against the window. The inmates of the old brown cot- tage had changed more than this had. Lucius was with us no longer. The year before, he had gone to Europe with an artist of considera- ble celebrity, who had passed the summer in Mapleton, and discovered the indications of genius which the young man’s paintings dis- played. We heard from him occasionally. He was at Rome, dwelling among those glori- ous inspirations of painting and sculpture which were stimulating and nourishing his soul, that soul signed and sealed with God’s handwriting, Gsenivs. For me, the years too had brought their lessons and their changes. I had learned much less of the world, perhaps, than from books, for, when my twentieth birthday came to me, I had never been so many miles from the home where I was born. I had attended school, and afterwards taught in the academy, taking lessons for a long time in music, both on the organ and the piano; and, with me, music was joy and love, /ife itself. I remember that afternoon. It stands as real before me as this one on which I write of it. It was soft, and balmy, and sunshiny, with the stirring and the anticipation, with the waking up of pulses in the earth, and the bounding of sap in the trees. Rachel sat sew- ing by the open window; and I, at the table opposite, was copying some music. Poor Rachel! These ten years had left their signs on her too. I believe people thought her homely; and certainly her face possessed neither color nor regularity of fea- ture; but its expression of sincerity and good- ness seemed to atone for this. But her dark hair was now thickly streaked with gray; and her cheeks had grown pale and thin; while, for the last three years, her eyesight had been gradually failing her, though she still continued at her old employment of sew- ing as much as she could. ‘* Why, Rachel! what in the world is the matter ?”’ I looked up suddenly, and saw her work had fallen into her lap; and the tears were pouring down her cheeks. ‘‘I cannot see where to place my needle, Madeline,’’ she sobbed, all the self-control which had always characterized her giving way here. ‘The time I have feared for years has come at last. God help me! and God help you, my poor little sister, for I must give up my sewing !”’ And, completely overcome by this thought, she wept like a little child. I forgot every- thing but her suffering, for she had been both mother and sister to me during the long years of my orphanhood ; and I went and sat down by her side, and comforted her as I best knew how. ** Don’t grieve over this, dear Rachel. We shall get along; I am sure we shall; God has taken care of us so many years. Then, vou see, I am to play the organ every Sunday in church when the singing-school master leaves ; and the salary is a hundred dollars a year; besides, I'll get old Mrs. Martin’s piano— she ’ll rent it low—and find some music scholars; and maybe they’ll increase my salary at the academy; or I can open a private school. So you see we sha’n’t be so badly off, after all; and then you need this rest, and to ‘play lady’ awhile, after so many years of hard work. It’s high timeI should take your place.’’ ‘Little sister! little sister!’’—and the never idie fingers wandered through my hair just as they had done in the earliest days of my remembrance—‘‘ you are an angel of com- fort to me. But I cannot see my song-bird toiling away her beautiful life as I have done. It didn’t matter much for me, anyhow. I was meant for one of the workers; but you, Madeline—”’ And the fond, proud, tear-filled gaze told the rest. And, while we sat there that May after- noon, Squire Hunter and the village doctor rode slowly by our house. ‘That old place of the Starrs would be a fine site for a handsome building,’’ said the physician, ‘‘and raise the property to twice its present value. What a pity, Squire, the land doesn’t belong to you or me!’’ ‘““Whew!’’ Andthecorpulent Squire touched the spirited animal with the end of his riding- whip. ‘‘ You may change your regrets into a congratulation, my dear doctor, for it hap- pens that every acre of the land is at this moment in the possession of your humble servant.’’ The doctor turned round, and surveyed his neighbor in mute surprise a moment. ‘You don’t say so, Squire !’’

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ly d OUR TWO GIFTS. 209 ‘Fact! You see the old maid’s had to mortgage the land off piece by piece; and she just stays there now by my good will and pleasure. As you say, though, doctor, it would just double the value of the property to put up a good house onit; and I think I shall rout the old maid, and have the shanty pulled down without delay.”’ The physician was at heart a kind, well- meaning man; though he stood considerably in awe of the Squire’s wealth and position. **It ll come very hard on her, Squire, to leave the old homestead,’’ he modestly sug- gested. ‘* You know she’s a very worthy person, and really deserves a great deal of commendation for the energy and industry she ’s evinced so many years. We must take these things into consideration always.’’ ‘* Well, one must sacrifice private feeling to public good, sometimes, doctor; and this is a ease in point. That old building may affect the sale of property in its vicinity. Besides, it’s everybody’s duty to look out for number one.’’ And, with the delivery of this most philanthropic and Christian maxim, the Squire changed the subject. There are some passages of life over which one’s memory always pauses with a shudder; and even now my hand trembles and my heart sinks as it reverts to that terrible day when Rachel and I first learned the Squire’s intention of ejecting us from our home. Our home! Its old mossy roof and brown gables were fairer to us than the proudest palace in the land, endeared by the memory of the dead and the love of the living, every corner crowded with sweet associations, every shin- gle sacred in oureyes. But the tears blind me. I cannot write; but it may be, reader, you can partially comprehend the agony of that dark time. The Squire tried to be as ur- bane as possible about the matter, expressing a good deal of sympathy for our ‘“ feelings,’’ and regret for the circumstances which made it necessary to hasten our removal. Perhaps he felt some compunctions of conscience; or it is more probable his pride took a slight alarm, for he knew Rachel’s reputation in the village was a most enviable one, and that this proceeding must lower him in the estimation of many individuals. But he was a heartless, selfish man, whom Rachel felt at once no mo- tives of right would deter from seeking his own good ; and we were at his mercy. At this time, his son, Wallace Hunter, re- turned from travelling abroad. 18* handsome, but rather dissolute-looking young man, with a graceful, haughty bearing, and a dashing style of dress and manner, which pro- claimed him thoroughly a man of the world ; and his advent created no little social sensa- tion in our quiet village. The Squire was quite indisposed soon after his son’s return; and so the latter undertook to discharge a portion of his father’s business at this time. One day in the early summer, the young man called at our house with a paper, which he wished Rachel to sign, pledging herself to leave the house, and remove her goods there- from before the first of September. The suf- ferings which she had undergone during the last neonth had seriously affected her health ; and she was ill fitted to endure an interview of this kind. Wallace Hunter was less politic, and had a more irascibie temperament than his father ; and, when Rachel refused to sign the paper, and upbraided the young man and his parent with their mercenary conduct, he became angry, almost insolent. I was up stairs, and did not know of his visit until, on coming suddenly into the hall, his loud, imperative tone reached me: ‘‘ Well, Miss Starr, if you persist in your refusal to sign this document, and will not promise to leave the house quietly, we shall take prompt measures to eject you at an early time.”’ I bounded into the room, hardly conscious of what I was doing, for the words had stung me past forbearance. ‘‘ Will you be kind enough, sir,”’ I asked, in a low, steady voice, though my heart throbbed, and my pulses bounded madly, ‘‘ to direct your conversation entirely to myself, and permit Miss Starr’s ill health to shield her from threats of this kind ?”’ The gentleman stepped back, and looked at me quite confounded. A change came over his face, as well as his manner. ‘‘ Pardon me, Miss,’’ he said, with a half deferential bow, and in greatly modified tones, ‘‘if we have grown rather excited on this very un- pleasant business. You know I am my father’s executive agent just now. I hope we shall be able to reach some mutually satis- factory conclusion.”’ His courteous manner and the smile that concluded these words quite disarmed me. I do not, however, recollect what reply I made to this remark; but I know that I gave the Squire’s son a rapid but faithful description He was a | of our circumstances at the time. I told him

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oh * 210 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. of our absent brother, of Rachel’s infirm health, of our attachment to the home which had come down to us through so many gene- rations. ‘‘Have patience with us,” I con- cluded; ‘‘only have patience, and the debt shall be cancelled; but don’t take from us our home’’—and here my voice shook through its gathering tears—‘‘every spot of which is so precious to us, for it was our father’s.’’ ‘IT pledge you my word, my dear young lady, you shall have all the influence I pos- sess with my father on your side in this mat- ter,'’ was the very encouraging reply. And, after receiving my heartfelt thanks, and apolo- gizing again for his abruptness, the Squire’s son rose to go. He lingered in the hall a moment to talk about the beauty of the wea- ther, and the fine view from our front door, and gave me his hand, at parting, with a grace and cordiality that both surprised and embar- rassed me. ‘Oh, Rachel! aren’t you glad? Wasn’t he kind?’ I cried, going back to her, with tears of joy swimming in my eyes. ** Yes, Madeline.’’ But her tone was not just what I wanted it. **T thought you would be very happy, and grateful too’’ (a little piqued, a little disap- pointed). **So I ought to be, little sister; but I did not quite like that sudden change in the young man’s manner, or the way he looked at you, either. Perhaps I ought not to blame him, though, for you never did look quite so pretty as when you came suddenly into the room, light as a snow-flake, with the bright- ness in your eyes, and the quick flush coming and going upon your cheeks. Oh, Madeline, little sister, with your fair face, your graceful ways, and your sweet voice, I am very proud of you! And yet there is nobody to look out for you but God, the Father of the orphans.”’ I should have felt very proud of Rachel’s admiration; but the mournfulness that ran through her tones made my heart sad. I was much surprised, the next Sabbath, to find the Squire’s son at our afternoon service, for his family did not attend ourchurch. But my surprise was greatly heightened when he met me in the vestibule, and accompanied me home. He was very polite and entertaining ; and I certainly was pleased with him, as many an elegant and socially accomplished woman would have been. He complimented my sing- ing and playing in a manner that was certainly very flattering, and yet with a grace and dis- crimination that made his praise more accept- able. ‘Do not give yourself any further uneasiness about leaving your home,’’ he said. ‘‘I have consulted with my father, and think the matter can be satisfactorily arranged.’’ Of course, I felt very grateful to him for all this. Before we reached our front gate, he asked permission to call, during the next week, and hear me play and sing. I gave it willingly. But, when I related all this to Rachel, who was too ill to attend church, she did not seem pleased. I was half provoked with her for not appreciating Wallace Hunter’s kindness more highly, and thought her a little ‘old maidish,’’ at allevents. Years had taught her the wisdom I had yet to learn; and then my vanity was doubtless flattered by the marked attentions of the ‘‘ Squire’s handsome son.” During the next two months he called on me very frequently ; and I was always glad to see him. My affections were not enlisted, but my fancy was touched. I was impressed, fascinated with the most agreeable man I had ever met in my life; and you must bear in mind, reader, how young I was, and how little I knew of the world. Wallace Hunter was certainly very fond of music, and he had a fine voice, and we sang songs by the hour together. Then he brought me books, and flowers, and once a beautiful yellow canary in a gilded cage. I was very happy at this time, for my spirits were naturally elastic, and the dark cloud which had settled over our household seemed to have disappeared. Lucius, my idol, wrote me letters full of the hope, and ardor, and aspirations of youth. I had secured several music scholars, and my salary at the academy was increased ; our household expenses were small, and, though Rachel’s health and her weak eyes still inter- dicted her sewing, we were getting on very comfortably. And just at this time came the awakening so sudden, and harsh, and cruel. No wonder I bent under the storm for a while. It was an afternoon in the late summer, there was no school that day, and my duties, by no means light, at home and abroad, were sus- pended. Not far from our house was a small piece of woodland which had belonged to our father. It was a favorite resort of mine in the summer, for the white-oaks and birches made a cool shade here in the warmest days. A wild grape-vine, too, had run up and wrapped it-

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pt- er he er, ily all ed nd ho OUR TWO GIFTS. 211 self over the branches, forming a kind of arbor in the centre of the woods. I had taken a story Wallace Hunter had brought me, and gone up to the woodland this afternoon, where, seated under the grape-vine, I soon became perfectly absorbed in my book. It must have been nearly sunset, when a light step rustled on the grass, and, starting up, I confronted the Squire’s son. ‘* Ah, Miss Madeline, don’t look so fright- ened,”’ he laughed, taking my hands. ‘I’ve had a long search for you, as Miss Rachel didn’t give me a very definite address.”’ ‘* She knew very well, Mr. Hunter, that this spot was my hidden nest, and didn’t like any- body should frighten me in it.” ‘* Well, it’s a charming nest, but the bird inside is a great deal more so,”’ said the young man, seating me and himself on the wooden bench Lucius had made for me five summers before. He drew the book from my fingers, looked at it, and we chatted a while pleasantly on in- different matters. I was neither startled nor alarmed, and the thought never struck me that we were quite alone, half a mile probably from any house. But when the golden light began to strike into the woods and tangle among the birches and oaks, I knew it was drawing toward sunset, and, taking up my bonnet from the grass where I had tossed it, I said: **It won’t do for Rachel to take tea alone this evening, and it will be quite twi- light now before I get home.’’ Mr. Hunter made a motion to detain me. ‘Don’t go quite yet, Miss Madeline; I have something to tell you,’’ he said, and then he took my hands in his, and looked in my face with his dark, fiery eyes, until my heart bounded, and the blood beat up to my cheeks ‘*Madeline,’’ and his voice was low and ten- der, “do you know that I love you better than anything on earth? love you for your beauty, your sweetness, your innocence? that you seem to me just like a snowdrop, a snow- drop blooming away down in some quiet, shady nook, where only the sunshine, and very soft winds come, and I want to pluck you, and wear you myself, sweet, pure little wildflower ?”’ ‘‘Mr. Hunter!’’ I ejaculated, my voice strug- gling through a world of conflicting emotions, for I was completely overwhelmed by this declaration. ‘‘Don’t answer me yet,’’ he interrupted, and then leaning down his head till his breath swept my cheeks, he went on. I can- not remember the words he said; I only know their fearful significance burned itself into my heart and brain; that he spoke of a flight to distant lands, and drew a glowing picture of a beautiful home where life should be all love, where wealth should surround me with every beauty and luxury, and constant watch- ful tenderness make up for all I should leave behind. Then I understood him; I rose up, in one moment, still and calm, only my face was white asthe dress I wore. ‘* Wallace Hunter,’’ I said, speaking slowly and distinctly, ‘I despise, I loathe you from this hour; you have disgraced your manhood, for you have insulted a woman, a woman who would rather be torn limb from limb than listen one moment to your base proposals,’’ and with a low shud- dering shriek I turned and fled from him. I heard him calling my name, I heard his footsteps pursuing me over the dead leaves and branches, but terror seemed to lend me the speed of aspirit. I rushed through the woods out into the open road. It was at least half a mile to our house, but, looking back, it does not seem as if I was two minutes in reaching it. I burst into the sitting-room, palpitating, breathless. Rachel was setting the little tea urn on the table. ‘‘Save me, Rachel, save me!’’ I cried out sharply, and then fell at her feet in convulsions. It was not until very late that night that I was calm again, and then, with Rachel’s arms about me, I told her the story of that afternoon. ‘*T was blind not to see it,’’ she said. ‘I feared from the beginning all his fine speeches and generous conduct, for there was that in the man’s eyes I didn’t fancy. Oh, Madeline, my little sister, thank God, thank God, you are saved !’’ (Conclusioa next month. Tue less you leave your children when you die, the more they will have twenty years afterwards. Wealth inherited should be the incentive to exertion. Instead of that, ‘it is the title-deed to sloth.’’ The only money that does a man good is what he earns him- self. A ready-made fortune, like ready-made clothes, seldom fits the man who comes in possession. Ambition, stimulated by hope and a half-filled pocket-book, has a power that will triumph over all difficulties, beginning with the rich man’s contumely, and leaving off with the envious man’s malice.

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ELDER’S BIOGRAPHY OF THE LATE DOCTOR KANE. BY REVEREND D. K. WHITAKER, Tue lives of distinguished men belong to their country. They are public property. We are justly proud of them, because they reflect honor on the national character, whilo they serve as examples to prove of what hu- man nature, in its best estate, is capable. Many men live only in an ideal world—that of their own thoughts and speculations; but those who have impressed their names on an age, and elevated nations, have not only been acute and sturdy thinkers, but busy and suc- cessful actors on the great theatre of life. He who canvasses principles, without illustrating their power by practical applications, is but half a man, being destitute of the moral force which is necessary to bring into being, and give substance, form, and proportion to what the mind clearly understands. An enthusiasm which is baffled by no obstacles, which re- gards the possible as attainable, and looks on nothing as impossible, is an essential element in all true greatness of character. Few men, in any age or country, have attained to such eminence; but, when they have done so, the whole world has been able to point them out as luminaries of the first magnitude, and has rejoiced in the light which they have shed on some one or other of the numerous depart- ments of human inquiry or discovery. We should never be forgiven, then, did we not admit, at the outset—which we do most cordially—that the subject of the present sketch, whose genius and achievements have attracted, in a remarkable degree, the admira- tion of his countrymen and of mankind, was one of those rare individuals who, regarding nothing impossible, did himself render the possible actual in spheres never before ex- plored by human footsteps ; who, toa thorough knowledge of the laws of nature and science, united a force and energy of character which enabled him to carry out the most difficult and useful purposes to successful conclusions. It was proper, therefore, that the biography of Dr. Kane should be written ; and it is for- tunate that the work was undertaken by an intimate friend, to whom his whole life was a familiar and well-conned record, himself a man of genius and acute observation, capable 19 of appreciating the idiosyncrasies of a man of genius, and of presenting to the world a true and faithful copy of the original he has at- tempted to portray in the work before us, which we shall not merely say is creditable to the author, but which is so thoroughly and ingeniously written-as not only to sustain, but increase his well-earned reputation as a fine scholar and an elegant writer. We say that such a work is necessary at this time, that the demand for it is exacting and paramount, and not to be disregarded. We have already had, in the ‘‘ Arctic Explo- rations’’ of Dr. Kane, published in 1856, a record of his adventures, labors, and disco- veries, furnished by his own hand, modest and unpretending, as the productions of all men of true genius always are, and, at the same time, thorough, minute, and deeply interesting. No voluminous work ever had so extensive and rapid a circulation in this country. It made the fortune of the publish- ers; it made the fortune of its distinguished author. It has been one of the few literary enterprises of our day and country that have been eminently profitable to its projectors, one of the few that have added essentially to the triumphs of American literature, and which may be cited, with pride, as an evidence of what our countrymen can do, and have done, in the department of authorship. It was not, however, undertaken to accumulate money, nor to acquire fame—a pregnant conclusion, to which we arrive with certainty, from an examination of the work itself and its con- tents, and which are such as to convince the most cynical and skeptical that all considera- tions of self were lost sight of in the great interests of science and humanity. It is this feature which, running through the whole of the ‘‘Arctic Explorations,’’ has made the work so exceedingly popular, and has caused it to be sought after and read with avidity by all classes in the community, the high and the low, the rich and the poor, the learned and the illiterate, and has made it an indis- pensable adjunct, as well as ornament, to every library in the land. A tree, it is said, is known by its fruit; and

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214 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. it is generally supposed that an author’s powers and peculiar turn of mind are deve- loped satisfactorily by his writings—that the head and the hand, the thought and the exe- cution, are fully manifested in the published work that has proceeded directly from him; and this is doubtless true of all hearty and sincere writers, who are above disguise, and who do not write for mere popular effect ; and it is eminently true of the ‘ Arctic Explora- tions’’ by Dr. Kane—a work which fascinates the reader, not because it is ingenious and speculative, but because it is essentially dra- matic—because it is a history of heroic ac- tions, so composed that we see the actors, as on a public stage, moving before us, not re- peating from a note-book a certain lesson, but executing prescribed tasks of great difficuity, in a manner te excite our admiration and elicit our applause, the author himself being the hero of the piece, the greatest actor of them all. It is from the perusal of such works that we are enabled to find corroborations of the trite but startling adage that “truth is stranger than fiction,’’ that there is nothing in the imaginative more wonderful than is sometimes to be found in the actual world, and that reality may sometimes successfully compete with romance in challenging our surprise. We are able, then, to comprehend much of Dr. Kane, not merely his ability to compose a thrilling and interesting narrative of events, but his capabilities as a man of science, and an explorer of the hidden things of the world of nature, from his published works, and that, too, not from what he says and advocates, but from what we see that he actually accom- plishes by his own ardor and energy. It is from results attained, and not merely viewed in the distance, with the eye of prophecy, that we are able, at length, to determine what this self-sacrificing adventurer in the cause of science and humanity has achieved for his age and country; and on these subjects his books are complete revelations. But there is more behind the scenes which the public is deeply interested to understand, and which it thinks itself entitled to know, and of which it may be properly informed without invading the sanctities of domestic life in seeking the information. The philosopher, the hero, the successful explorer have already been pre- sented to our admiration in vivid colors; but this is not enough to satisfy the very natural, proper, and universal curiosity which is felt, to become acquainted, through the aid of an impartial biographer, with the man himself. Every one is intensely eager—now that the hand of death has removed one so distin- guished from the scene of his useful, arduous, and brilliant labors—to know as much as can be properly disclosed of the history of his private life, and of the gradual development of a mind characterized by great power and@ indomitable energy. This desideratum is amply and ably supplied, we are happy to say, by the charming work before us. We have always been admirers of lineage and ancestry. There is much in nobility of descent, a descent ennobled not by rank and station, but by character. We have no objec- tion to what Cicero calls novi homines, men who, not dependent on any adventitious cir- cumstances, work out a great destiny by the force of their own minds. They are often the called men of their age, and the founders and fathers of a new race of men, whom the world delights tohonor. But, in a republican coun- try, dazzled, as we sometimes have been, by the coruscations of a genius whose ancestry furnished no premonitions of its brilliancy, we have perhaps been too indifferent to birth and lineage, as furnishing, in advance, a reli- able exponent of character, or at least as sup- plying a ground on which just expectations might be raised. In Rome, Mars and mili- tary achievements were the grand ideal by which character was estimated and deter- mined ; but, in England and the United States, in these latter, and, as we believe, more favored ages, it is moral and intellectual force to which our minds are more especially turned as constituting the special elements of true greatness. When, then, looking backward through a lapse of ages, we find these ele- ments concentrated in and illustrated by par- ticular families, we cherish those families with a certain pride and veneration, and look upon them, and justly, too, as the seminaries of worth. We are happy, then, to discover that the subject of these memoirs was not a man of low origin, but of good, nay, illustrious stock. Through the Leipers of Scotland, he was dis- tantly related to the celebrated John Grahame, of Claverhouse, whom he is said, in personal appearance and in his unconquerable spirit, greatly to have resembled. His father, pre- sent Judge of the United States District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania, is of Irish, his mother, a Leiper, of Scotch descent; his paternal grandmother, a Van Rensselaer, of Dutch; and his maternal great-

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216 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. grandfather, a Gray, of English descent. ‘‘A hundred years ago, his male ancestors of those names were respectively Episcopalians, Dutch Reformed, Quakers, and Presbyteri- ans ;’’ so that he may be said to have had the blood of four nations, and four religious de- nominations, in his veins, forming, altogether, a very strong cast of character, and unique as strong. But, further, his middle name, Kent, was derived from his great-grandmother on the father’s side, the daughter of the Rev. Elisha Kent, of Massachusetts, a Puritan; while the maternal relation, in the same de- gree, Martha Ibbetson (Mrs. Gray), was a Moravian, educated under the auspices of an apothecary surgeon in London, and instructed in the healing art, a knowledge which she turned to profitable account during the war of the Revolution, ministering, at her own ex- pense, to the wants and sufferings of the sick and wounded American prisoners confined, in large numbers, in the old Walnut Street prison; and when, with a change of affairs, British prisoners, under similar circumstances, required medical aid and kind nursing, con- tributing to their comfort and recovery with equal assiduity and impartiality. Thomas Leiper, who married her daughter, Elizabeth, the grandfather of Doctor Kane, was a Quaker, but one in whom the dictates of nature and patriotism were stronger than the impulses of his peculiar faith. He practised non-resist- ance by putting on armor, and participating with alacrity in the war of the Revolution ; and he vindicated Quakerism, not by his fears, but by causing the enemy to tremble. Throughout the entire c«ntest, he was an ac- tive and confidential officer, and always to be found at the post of danger, duty, and honor. A man, descended from such ancestors, should be a hero of sete kind, if not in the field of war, at least in thst of science; and here we find him, leaving, in the pathway over which he travelled, the vestiges of a rare and peculiar genius. His childhood was re- markable, distinguished by a spirit of adven- ture and hardihood uncommon in boys. He objected to the ordinary routine of education, which applies the same rules and prescribes the same studies to all classes of intellects, and preferred to pursue learning by a way of his own, less hackneyed, and better adapted to the peculiar bent of his genius. His biogra- pher tells us some characteristic anecdotes in this connection, of which we shall not fore- stall the interest of the reader by repeating He was restive under any provocation them. offered either to himself or his associates, and always stood, in such cases, in Carolina phrase, on his ‘‘reserved rights ;’’ but he was a submissive son; and to his mother, whom he loved with enthusiastic devotion, he yielded up his own judgment when any difference of opinion for a moment separated them. We see everywhere in his youth the promises redeemed by his manhood—a bold, daring, adventurous, but, at the same time, calculating spirit, rising superior to prescrip- tive rules and dogmatic authority, but, at the same time, respecting truth as a great mo- narch, and falling down before it and acknow- ledging it with childlike reverence and delight. ‘““At ten years of age, he studied the weather, watched the moon, and carefully scanned the opportunities afforded by the nights for scaling fences, clambering over out- houses, and getting into the tree-tops, all round the square that was overlooked by his dormitory. Wherever a cat could go, he would; and escapes from the skylight, by way of the kitchen roof, and through the trap-door to the yard, and thence abroad to enjoy an unwatched and unmolested rambling, clambering, and tumbling, afforded him a seri- ously high-toned delight.’’—P. 22. In his childhood, he was not what might be called a bright boy, so far as scholastics are concerned; and his father, it is said, was rendered uneasy in consequence of his indif- ference to his studies. But, as his mind ex- panded, it took, of its own accord, the direction which nature pointed out, and which con- ducted him to future eminence. At the age of sixteen years, he became, in every sense, a student; and his pursuits were not syntax and metaphysics, but the laws by which the Creator governs the universe. His mind was of an exact turn. He pursued only the fixed and certain with a generous enthusiasm. Hence science, which gives to the mind tone and stability, and subdues its eccentricities, was the broad, pure, and healthy element in which he lived and breathed. Yet, while he studied mathematics, chemistry, and civil engineering with ardor, he never lost that spirit of hero-worship which he had acquired in his earlier years from the perusal of such works as “‘ Robinson Crusoe’’ and * Pilgrim’s Progress.’’ In the framework of his mind, the moral force, which makes heroes, and the intellectual, which makes philosophers and explorers, were blended in due and admirable proportions. He pursued his collegiate career at that noble institution, the Virginia Univer-

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THE MOTHER’S BLESSING. 217 sity, where young gentlemen, selecting their own course of college studies, can zraduate in any department which their predilections lead them to pursue. The physical sciences were of course the choice of young Kane; but, when he had run his curricalum, and completed his course of studies, his health failed him; and he perceived the first indica- tions of that disease of the heart which made his whole life a prophecy of an instantaneous departure out of it; so that he, at this early stage, acquired—a difficult but most whole- some branch of education—the art of school- ing his heroic mind to look on death without dread as an event that might happen at any moment, reminding us, by his fearlessness, of the Roman spouse, who, drawing the dag- ger from her breast, and handing it to her husband that he might imitate her example, exclaimed: ‘‘ Pete, non dolet!’’ Though he pursued his studies with assiduity at the university, and acquired rapidly a large mass of information in the most difficult branches, yet he never, it seems, graduated in any de- THE MOTILTER’S partment. On this subject, his biographer pointedly and laconically remarks :— ‘*He was strongly given to speculative in- quiry ; but not at all disposed to convert the impulse into a mere intellectual observatory. He could not lobby ; he must labor produc- tively through life. Conventional college stu- dies fell with him into the same category with the esthetics of literature ana philosophy ; they were judged and settled by their service- ableness to his actual uses. So, he was not a Bachelor nor a Master of Arts, nor a Doctor in Law or Philosophy ; but he was none the less a monk of intellectual industry, but all the more so. Where could we find a school for his training, and a diploma for his attain- | ments? There is no Faculty of Discovery to prescribe its studies and authenticate its qualifications, except the shut world of the unknown, which borders and embosoms the realm of established science, and the open world of opinion. They have given him his diploma—a Master in Scientific Enterprise.’’— P. 34. (Conclusion next month.) BLESSING. BY VIRGINIA DE FORREST. (See plate.) My mother! my first, best friend! As I sit here, looking far back into the past, I can trace in every act that did me credit the influ- ence of her love, her tender care; and on every unworthy deed I seem still to see the sad, grieved face, the brimming eye, and quiv- ering lip she bent over me, trying, by sweet, winning love, to bend my stubborn will, and make me regret the act that caused her so much Surely, the best gift in our heavenly Father’s sending is mother’s love. Iam an old man now; yet though the hand that caressed me, the lips that were so often pressed to mine, and the voice that made such music to my ears are still and silent, even now the influence remains ; and I question to myself: ‘‘Have I done this as mother would have had me ?”’ There lived, years ago, in the house which in the village of Cliffdale, a widow and her only child. Her husband had been a drunkard; and the villagers told how patiently and meekly she had borne the most cruel treatment, her only care being to try to VOL. LVI.—19 sorrow. joined mine shield her little son from injury and the evil of the example his father set before him. Even this was sometimes denied her. The boy was precocious and very talented; and, in defiance of the mother’s prayers and tears, he was often carried to the village tavern to make sport, by his smart sayings and actions, for the noisy brawlers there assembled. The father “ied when the child was but five years old; and yet the seed of future misery was already sown in the young heart. The first time I ever saw Margaret Leslie, I was called in to see her little boy, whom I found very ill. The room into which I was shown was neatly, though simply furnished ; and the sewing by which the widow supported herself and her child was lying on the table beside her. Edgar’s toys and clothes were on the floor where he had left them the pre- vious night. Margaret was seated beside my little patient, watching and listening to his labored breathing. He had always been a delicate child; and his little pale face was scarcely less white than the pillow upon

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218 which it rested. At first, though he was very ill, I found no dangerous sy1iptoms in his case; but my medicines were powerless to stay the disease; and, in a few days, I thought that the widow would be left childless. She was a quiet, undemonstrative person; but her agony as this gleamed upon her was fear- draw her for an ‘*God spare ful. No inducement could instant from her son’s bedside. me my boy !’’ was her prayer from morn till night. She had been sorely tried; and this was her only comfort; could she part with it? To my surprise, the disease took a favor- able turn; and the boy recovered. His mother’s gratitude was fervent, though more silent than her grief had been; and, child though he was, I think he appreciated the He was a wayward boy, with strong -passions, deep, pure affection of his only parent. and governed much by impulse. Generous, confiding, and brave, he was also high-tem- pered and daring. It was no easy task to govern and control such a character as Edgar’s; and no influence but the constant, tender affection of a mother could have kept him in the right way through his childhood. Many schoolboy troubles into which his high spirits tempted him were re- pented of, and confessed to that gentle mother when he had defied the greatest harshness and severest punishments of his master. As he grew to manhood, his father’s temptation became his also. “As the handsomest and most talented young man in the village, his society was eagerly courted by the best peo- ple; and, among those who invited him to their parties, and courted and caressed him, there was no hand to hold him back from temptation, no voice to warn him of the pre- cipice upon which he was standing. When he reached his twenty-first year, he left the village where he was born to seek his fortune in the wide world. Letters came fre- quently to cheer the widow in her loneliness, letters full of interest, written with the glow- ing pen of talented youth. He went to California; and then the letters came less frequently. He was practising law; and the papers he sent home often mentioned his talents and the high rank he was destined to take in his profession. Other mothers thought how proud Margaret must be of her son; but the widow’s face was very sad. I was her confidential friend ; I knew her sorrow. Bril- liant and full of interest as his letters were, excelling in descriptions of his active life and the varied scenes through which he passed, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. she would have given them all for one line from his heart. These were the children of his brain, these witty, glowing letters; and Margaret longed with bitter longing for the low voice which had poured into her ear all the hopes and yearnings of his young heart, for all offences, and craved pardon for them. I, though I tried to comfort her, argued ill from this suddenly withdrawn confidence. Was his life such that his heart was not pure enough to be open to his mother? She wrote constantly and earnestly, never reproaching him for his with- drawn confidence, but with strong affection striving to gain love for love. There was an- other in the little village who mourned for Edgar’s absence. Amy Graham, the belle and heiress of Cliffdale, had given her heart to the young lawyer, unsought. He had paid her and spoken sorrow the courtesies and attentions due from a gen- tleman to a lady friend, but nothing more. She had concealed her secret love from all save his mother and me. As her physician, I had tended her when his first departure made her so sad and languid that her mother’s fears were aroused; and she sent forme. It did not take long for me to gain the gentle maid- en’s confidence; and a long trip through the neighboring points of attraction brought back the color to her cheeks, and the light in her eyes, though I knew the little heart still longed for Edgar’s return. Margaret had always loved this sweet girl; and it was now a never-failing delight for the two to sit and chat over the absent one. The letters which were so far from satisfying Margaret’s anxious love seemed to Amy the perfection of writing. She never wearied of perusing them, and commenting upon their beauties. After a five years’ absence, Edgar came home to Cliffdale previous to settling in New York. The first time I saw him, I was star- tled with the change in his appearance. The bright, healthy color, the dark, flashing eye, and the erect, noble carriage were exchanged for thin, sallow cheeks, sunken eyes, and a slow, stooping motion. He looked ten years older than he was. He only stayed a few weeks; but, when he left Cliffdale, he was betrothed to Amy Graham, our fairy lily. I think the mother, in her unselfish love for him, resigned him willingly to Amy, hoping that what her influence was powerless to effect his wife’s might accomplish. A few months after, Edgar went to New York. I also removed there foratime. It was not long before I understood Edgar’s

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THE MOTHER’S BLESSING. altered appearance. There were no revels | where he did not lead his clique to the maddest Gambling and drinking occupied his nights; and his practice was gradually falling away from him. He had had the good sense in California to keep his head clear for each of his causes; and his practice there was large. Owing to the high name he had brought home, and the letters of introduction he had brought to influential persons in New York, his opening there had been unusually good; but he had fallen in with a number of rich young men, who were gay to excess; and the good resolutions he had made while in Cliffdale melted before excesses. with his mother temptation. Oue evening, I was at a large party given by the lady of one of our merchant princes ; and Edgar was among the guests. One of the ladies, a tall, splendid-looking brunette, stood near me chatting with a female friend. Iwas concealed by the pillar against which I leaned, and overheard their conversation. ‘“* Now, Julia, confess,’? was the first sen- tence that fell upon my ear, ‘‘ are you not in love ?”’ You are always fancying, Grace, that some of your ‘‘ Nonsense !’’ said the brunette. friends are in love.’’ ‘* Ah, but I have proof positive! a certain gentleman who is never denied at There is your door, with whom you dance more fre- quently than with any other cavalier, who has your miniature. Ah! you see I know—” ‘* Well, Gracie, you shall be my confessor. I do love Edgar Leslie; and, as I am his affianced bride since last evening, I need no lenger blush to confess it.’’ ‘*Strange! rich, courted as you are, to love a poor lawyer!’’ ‘* His talents will elevate him to the highest place,’’ said Julia, proudly. ‘* But—but—Julia, they say he is very dis- sipated.”’ ‘*Oh, all young men are somewhat wild! I hate a pattern man. Besides, I mean to reform him when we are married.”’ I thought of the anxious mother and lovely girl whose influence had failed, and, looking on the bright, laughing beauty beside me, doubted her power. I went into the supper- room. There, heated by wine, laughing bois- terously, was the mother’s darling. I laid my hand upon his arm, and, with some coax- ing, persuaded him to accompany me home. The cold air and long walk sobered him; and he threw himself down on a sofa by me, sigh- 219 ing: ‘* Doctor, you have saved me from dis- gracing myself before to-morrow again.’’ Finding he was in this mood, I talked to and, after some little hesitation, he His life in California him ; opened his heart to me. had been a sad mixture of excess and repent- ance. He told me that each letter from his mother had roused what was good in him, and kept him in the right way until temptation again assailed him, and he plunged into wild excesses to be again shamed and saddened on reading his mother’s letters. His life in New York was a repetition of that led in California. ** Doctor,’’ he said, sadly, as he finished, **T am like a child, weak and erring. I want my mother.’’ I questioned him about Julia. He told me that she had construed a laughing offer, made in jest, into a serious one; and he cared no- thing for her. His love was Amy’s. At my suggestion, he wrote a plain but polite explanation to Miss Julia, and then be- gan his preparations for another visit home. Business called me abroad; and, for five years more, I heard only at intervals from Edgar. had dead nearly eighteen months when I came home. My first I found him a Margaret been visit was to Edgar Leslie. healthy, happy man, married to Amy, and the father of one noble boy. One evening, I was speaking to him of his mother. for my mother, I should be a miserable drunk- No love but hers could have reclaimed Now, her memory and **Doctor,’’ he said, solemnly, ‘ but ard. me from what I was. Amy’s love are my safeguard. Jetween temptation and me, her memory hovers to ward the evil off; and my watchword now is my dying Mother’s Blessing.”’ — +weer CuitpreN should be inured as early as pos- sible to acts of charity and mercy. Constan- tine, as soon as his son could write, employed his hand in signing pardons, and delighted in conveying through his mouth all the favors he granted—a noble introduction to sovereignty, which is instituted for the happiness of man- kind. Inramy is the livery of bad deserts, and must be worn by the base. Men in whom the imagination predominates are apt to convert facts into fictions, and live in a world of their own creation. Ir the hinges of friendship be moistened with the oil of simplicity, they may defy the rust of time.

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FRANK WARD’S CONFESSION. BY HELEN HAMILTON. Earty in the winter of 185—, I determined upon accepting the oft-repeated invitations of one of my aunts who was a resident of Phila- delphia. Her daughters were gay, fashionable girls, and under their auspices I soon found myself introduced into society, and being a good dancer and withal not ill-looking, I re- ceived invitations to most of the balls and parties of an unusually gay winter. It was at one of the most brilliant and crowded of these assemblages that I first met Miss Louise Ross. She was a Southerner, who had come North on a visit to her relatives, and had be- come at once and decidedly a reigning belle. Singularly graceful, with eyes and hair of raven darkness contrasting with a complexion pale and pure as a lily-leaf, the peculiar nature of her charms but served to enhance their effect. There hovered too about her a singular atmosphere of fascination, and few could resist the magnetic glance of those dark soft eyes, or the winning tones of that sweetest voice. She was accomplished, too, in a rare and surprising degree; she danced with the floating grace of an almée ; she drew, and forms of wondrous grace and beauty sprang from her pencil; she touched the piano, and at her bidding it gave up its hidden melodies as be- neath the magic fingers of Gottschalk. Such was Louise Ross, such was the being with whom I soon found myself madly and hopelessly in love. Hopelessly, indeed, for what chance had I, without wealth or position, of winning one so universally admired, and so surrounded by adorers, any one of whom was far better qualified to aspire to her hand than myself? Yet the very despairing nature of my passion but rendered it more intense ; and, to crown my misery, I became insanely jealous, jealous of every musical amateur that hung over her piano, jealous of every dancer that approached her in the ball-room, jealous in fact of every one that dared to claim her atten- tion for a moment. Matters were in this state when I received an invitation to a large party at the house of one of Miss Ross’s most intimate friends. I had been troubled for some time past with a 220 sharp though transient pain in the region of the heart, for which some simple medicine had been prescribed, to be taken at the moment of the attack. The night of the ball arrived, and I was in the act of drawing on my gloves when the pain seized me. Hastily snatching the bottle and spoon from the closet where they were deposited, I swallowed the pre- scribed dose and started out somewhat re- lieved. It was one of the coldest nights of an un- usually severe winter. The atmosphere felt like aerified ice, and as the chilling blast swept past me I inwardly congratulated myself on the fact that the house where I was going was not far distant. As I reached the door, Miss Ross was just alighting from her carriage. The lamplight from the hall streamed full upon her as she entered, and with head and throat enveloped in a cloud-like fleecy nubia, she looked like one of those dreamy, half- ethereal forms, rendered familiar to us by the graceful pencils of modern French art. When I descended from the dressing-room, I sought in vain for her among the dancers. At last, in a small room adjoining the con- servatory and as yet untenanted by the gay throng, I discovered her in apparently earnest conversation with one of the most assiduous of her admirers, a Mr. Hastings, of Virginia. The demon of jealousy seized on my heart at once, and, seating myself on a small sofa that stood in one of the recesses, I determined to interrupt, by my presence at least, the further continuance of their seemingly interesting conversation. Never had I seen her look more beautiful. She stood within the recess of a large bay window, her slender form in its snowy vesture relieved against the glowing scarlet of the satin curtains, and her delicate and ethereal beauty contrasted with the dark and manly form of the handsome Virginian. Her dress was of some white, vaporous material, that floated around her like a cloud. One single white lily drooped its snowy cup against the glossy blue-black folds of her shining hair, and formed the only ornament of her most

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FRANK WARD’S CONFESSION. simple and becoming costume. As I gazed, I thought I discerned a faint blush tinting her transparent cheek at a whispered remark from her companion, and yielding to the impulse of my jealous feelings, I rose and came forward. ‘‘You promised me this polka, Miss Ross,’’ I said, offering her my arm. If she was annoyed at having her téte-@-téte thus interrupted, she manifested no vexation, and in a moment we found ourselves in the ball-room. She danced with even more than her usual grace and vivacity, but the jealous frenzy that possessed me rendered me utterly incapable of entering into the spirit of the dance. Gradually my irritated feelings re- solved themselves into a mad resolution to learn my fate at once, and the music ceasing, I drew my partner into the little reception room we had so recently quitted, and which was still untenanted. The door of the con- servatory stood invitingly open, and I ad- vanced towards it. ‘*Ts there not too much of a draught there ?’’ said Miss Ross, shrinking back. ‘I have reason to fear every breath of air.’’ **Why so?’’ I asked. ‘The physicians have pronounced my lungs to be extremely delicate, and a sudden rush of cold air inhaled whilst I was heated with dancing might prove fatal. But look! what a lovely camellia !”’ We entered the conservatory, and I closed the door behind us. We were alone; the faintly audible sounds of the orchestra in the alone troubled the stillness that surrounded us. Yet I could not speak; I walked in silence at her side as she surveyed the rare plants that surrounded us, or bent to inhale the perfume of some fragrant blossom. At last she turned to me, and said: ‘‘ Let us return to the ball-room, Mr. Ward; I am en- gaged for the next dance to Mr. Hastings.”’ These words maddened me. I seized the handle of the door, and in a tone of passionate vehemence exclaimed: ‘‘ You shall not leave this till you have heard me, Miss Ross! I have long sought an opportunity of telling you how wildly, how devotedly I love you.” She surveyed me calmly and coldly. ‘‘ You are too violent, Mr. Ward,’’ she said, at last. ‘* Let me pass, sir.’’ “You will not hear me? Then you love another !’’ I cried, despairingly. ‘* Open that door, and let me pass,’’ was her only answer. ‘*Do you love Mr. Hastings ?’’ was my re- joinder. ball-room 19* | 221 **You have no right to ask me such a ques- ’ tion, and I refuse to answer,’’ was her reply, as she turned away with flushed cheek and flashing eye. I must have indeed been mad to act as I did then. I caught her by the waist, and drawing her to the side of the conservatory, at one blow I shivered to atoms several of its The Arctic breath of that fearful winter night poured in upon her shrinking panes. form in its gossamer vesture ; the bouquet of held, blackened and influence as though she its white camellias shrivelled under blasted by fire; and, strong man though I was, even I gasped for breath as the icy northern blast swept past us. ‘‘ You have said that the winter wind was fatal to you,’’ I shrieked savagely. ‘* Will you not answer now ?”’ She did not struggle to release herself from my frenzied grasp, but, drawing herself up to her full height, she turned on me her superb eyes, blazing with indignation and disdain. For one instant she stood thus; the next, s short, sharp spasm shook her frame, and she fell, a stream of blood pouring from her lips, and deluging her white dress with its fearful crimson. Wild with terror and remorse, I caught herinmyarms. ‘Louise!’ I shrieked, ** Louise !”’ But there was no Slowly and wearily her white eyelids drooped over her large dark eyes, and she lay in my arms ap- parently lifeless. I raised her gently, and bore her back into the still deserted reception From the distant ball-room came the answer. room. wailing sounds of Von Weber’s last waltz, and the mournful melody sounded to my ex- cited fancy like the moan of a departing spirit. Laying my fair burden on the sofa, I bent anxiously over her. No respiration parted her pale blood-stained lips, and the hand I held fell cold and nerveless from my grasp. I laid my hand on her heart. All was still. ‘‘I have murdered her!’’ I cried, springing up. ‘‘ Help! help!’ ‘* Will the gentleman please to let me put out the lights ?’’ said a voice at my ear. I started up and found myself on the sofa in the little reception room. Miss Ross had disappeared, the cold gray dawn was strug- gling through the curtains, and before me stood a colored man grinning from ear to ear. ‘¢ Where is Miss Ross ?’’ I asked. ‘*Gone long ago, sir. asleep.’’ Thank Heaven, it was all a dream! When I reached home, I went to the closet *Spect you’ve been

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222 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. where I kept the medicine I was in the habit of taking. The bottle was undisturbed, and beside the spoon stood another phial, the one from which I had in mistake poured the dose the night before. I took it up and read on the label, Sotvtion or Morpuia ! SOCIAL Wuenre a party of persons, well acquainted with one another, meet together for an eve- ning’s amusement, and there are not enough to make dancing agreeable, conversation often flags, and even the finest amateur music grows wearisome ; there creeps gradually an air of weariness, an ennui over all; and the lady of the house becomes despairing, for her sociable meeting seems in danger of being pronounced a failure. It is at such a moment that social games are invaluable, useful to the hostess, amusing to her guests. Card-playing, though often resorted to, is much disapproved of by many ; and besides, the young folks are apt to vote it stupid or ‘‘a bore.’’ Now, being of a philanthropic disposition, I take upon myself to relieve all future anxiety on the great question, ‘‘How to make an evening pass pleasantly ?’’ I propose to initiate my reader into the mysteries of some of the more un- known games, ‘several, if not more,’’ as an old black friend of mine used to say. I have looked deep into my subject, and will now lay the fruits of my labor, collected from various sources, before my readers. ‘‘I call your at- tention,’’ as the showman says, first, to a lively little French game, called Jack’s Alive. A small piece of stick is lighted at one end, and the blaze blown out, leaving the sparks. It is then passed from one of the company to the next on his right hand, and so on round the circle, each one saying, as he hands it to his neighbor, ‘‘ Jack’s Alive.’’ The player who holds the stick when the last spark dies out must consent to have a dulicate moustache painted on his face with the charred end of the stick, which is then relighted and the game goes on. Should the wearer of the moustache have Jack die a second time on his hands, an imperial, whiskers, or exaggerated eyebrows may be added to his charms. While Jack is in a lively condition, with his sparks in fine brilliant order, he is passed carelessly from one player to another; but when he shows symptoms of dying, it is amusing to see how rapidly he changes hands, for each player GAMES. is bound to receive him as soon as his neigh- bor pronounces ‘‘ Jack ’s Alive.”’ In case the moustache decorations are ob- jected to, a forfeit may be paid, instead, by those who hold Jack dead. Another interesting game, and one which requires more play of the intellect, is Thread Paper Poetry. A piece of paper and a lead-pencil are all the preparation necessary. The first player takes the paper and writes upon it a line of poetry, a quotation; the name of the author may be added, though it is not necessary. When the line is written, he folds the paper so as to hide what is written, and passes it to the second player, telling him the last word of the line. The second must then write a line to rhyme with the first; and also add a line of his own, and pass the paper on. For instance, No. 1 writes— This nymph, to the destruction of mankind.— Pope. doubles the paper, and passes it to No. 2, who adds— Had three small mice, and all were blind; The least ran after the butcher’s wife.—Nursery Rhymes. No. 3, a sentimental maiden, writes— And then she cried, “I’m weary of my life, My dream of love is over—he is gone!"—Original. No. 4, also a maiden, who has lately studied Byron— The spell is broke, the charm is flown! Thus it is with life’s fitfui fever.—Byron. No. 5, a grave, sedate man, writes— I look upon thee, now, as lost forever; To me, at least, it is as if thou wert dead! Authority forgotten. No. 6, thinking dead a solemn word, gives— I care not, so my spirit last long after life has fled. L. E. L. And so on. This specimen is enough to show how the game goes. Sometimes the cross readings are very amusing. The paper is to be read aloud after it is filled up, and some very curious combinations are often found. There are many of these games in which the

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SOCIAL GAMES. 223 reader of poetry finds his memory agreeably taxed. I will give two or three. One is called Last Letters. One person gives a line or a verse of poetry ; the next one must give another, beginning with the last letter of the first line, and the third takes the last letter of the second line to commence his. For instance: No 1 gives— “ Dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood.” No. 2 takes D, the last letter of the first line, to begin his verse— ** Dear creature! you'd swear, When her delicate feet in the dance twinkle round, That her steps are of light, that her home is the air, Aud she only, par complaisance, touches the groand.” Another D for No. 3, who gives— ** Devoted, anxious, generous, void of guile, And with her whole heart’s welcome in her smile.” No. 4, with E for his letter, hesitates ; this costs him a forfeit, for the least hesitation in this game must pay that penalty. So, as No. 4 is outlawed by hesitating over a difficult letter, No. 5 gives— “Edward will always bear himself a king.” Still another game of this kind is for the last word, instead of letter, of the first line to be taken to begin the second, as, No. 1 (poor fellow, he has the heartache), gives— ‘« Ah, shouldst thou live but once love’s sweets to prove, Thou wilt not love to live, unless thou live to love.” No. 2—at whom No. 1 has been casting unut- terably tender glances—says, rather sharply, ** Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing ; A plant that with most cutting grows.” And the others carry on the game. The last game of this kind that I now re- call is for one player to quote a line or verse of poetry, and for the next instantly to name the author of it; any hesitation or wrong answer being punished by a forfeit. This is rather a wearisome game, unless all the play- ers are great readers of the poets, or fond of forfeits; for there are but few who can give promptly the author of any line of poetry. I have known it to be played where one of the company, whenever she was puzzled, gave Shakspeare. This did very well for a time; finally, some one gave— “Poor Tabby ’s dead, that good old cat, We ne'er shall see her more; She used to eat both lean and fat, And lie upon the floor.”’ I leave the ‘*Shakspeare!’’ cried the lady. reader to imagine the sensation among the company. Among the games of memory, there is one called the Horned Ambassador, Which often creates much merriment. It is played in this way :— A number of papers, twisted like a lamp- lighter or a curl paper, are all the materials necessary. The first player turns to the per- son on his left, and, with a bow, says: ‘‘Good morning, Royal Ambassador, always royal; I, the Royal Ambassador, always royal, come from his Royal Majesty (pointing to his neigh- bor on his right, who must bow), always royal, to tell you he has an eagle with a golden beak.”’ The second player must repeat this to his left-hand neighbor exactly word for word as he hears it, adding brazen claws. If he leaves out a word, or makes any mistake, he must have one of the papers twisted into his hair. Then he becomes a one-horned ambassador, and must call himself so, instead of royal. For instance, No. 1 says— **Good morning, Royal Ambassador, always royal; I, the Royal Ambassador, always royal, come from his Royal Majesty, always royal, to tell you that he has an eagle with a golden beak.”’ No. 2: ‘*Good morning, Royal Ambassa- dor, always royal; I, the Royal Ambassador, come from—’’ Having left out always royal after his own name, No. 2 is horned, and says: ‘‘ Good, &e. I, aone-horned Ambassador, always one- horned, come from his Royal, &e. When his neighbor goes on he must add diamond eyes to the eagle—each player must add something to the eagle—and he must say he comes from his one-horned Majesty instead of his Royal Majesty. Sometimes the ambas- sadors become seven or eight horned before the game is over. It creates great amusement when it is well played. Another very laughable game is Cross Pu rposes. One player goes round among the circle and whispers in each one’s ear an answer he is to make to the next player, who comes after him asking questions. For instance, Charles goes round to Nos. 1, 2, 3, and 4. To No. 1, he whispers: ‘‘ Hot, sweet, and strong.’’ To No. 2: ‘‘ With pepper and vinegar.”’

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224 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. To No. 3: ‘‘ With my best love.”’ To No. 4: ‘‘ No, indeed!”’ And to the whole circle an answer of some kind. Jane comes after Charles to ask any ques- tions her own wit may suggest. She asks No. 1: ‘‘ What kind of a week have you passed ?”’ No. 1: ‘* Hot, sweet, and strong.”’ To No. 2: ‘* Shall you ever marry ?”’ No. 2: ‘* With pepper and vinegar.’’ To No. 3: ‘*How will he keep house on these ?’’ No. 3: ‘‘ With my best love.” To No. 4: ‘‘Do you think that is enough ?”’ No. 4: ‘*No, indeed !”’ Much amusement is sometimes made by the total variance of the questions and answers, and sometimes a very hard blow is adminis- tered to some of the company ; but, of course, no ofleuce can be taken. ——_—___++ 2 eee —— AUNT TABITHA’S FIRESIDE. No. XVI.—THE ROBBERY ON THE TURNPIKE. BY EDITH WOODLEY. ‘‘Lizziz, do run to the winder, and see if you can tell who that is goin’ down the lane that leads to Deacon Palmer’s.”’ **T believe,’’ replied Lizzie, ‘‘ that it is Mr. Brown.”’ ‘*Which Mr. Brown? for you know there are five Browns live in the north parish, and two in the east.”’ ‘*It is Mr. James Brown, who lives close by the old red school-house.”’ ‘*T wonder if he remembers the quiltin’ all the young folks went to at Mr. Mayland’s, when Lucy Mayland was gettin’ ready to be married to Ben Palmer? Ben didn’t much think, then, that he should ever be a deacon, I guess; and Lucy had as little thought of ever bein’ a deacon’s wife. Jeemes Brown meant to have Lucy; and her father encou- raged him all he could, for he had a first-rate farm, free and clear from all incumbrance ; while Ben Palmer had nothin’ on the face of the airth to depend on but his head and hands. For all that, he’s worth twice as much now as Jeemes Brown is. ‘* Well, as I was sayin’, Lucy Mayland was gettin’ ready to be married ; and one pleasant day in January she invited all the young folks, far and near, to a quiltin’. I guess you never went to a right-down, old-fashioned quiltin’; did you, Lizzie ?’’ **T suspect I never did.” ** You don’t know what it is, then, to have a real good time, and enjoy yourself. I’d give more to go to one quiltin’, sich as I used to go to in my young days, than to forty par- ties, sich as they have now. All the gals made a p’int of havin’ dinner airly, when there was goin’ to be one, so as to be on the spot, and ready to go to work, by one o’clock, sartain, if not afore. The young men, in a gin’ral way, didn’t come till arter dark; and by that time the quilt, unless there was an uncommon deal of work in it, was rolled up into a purty small compass. ‘The quilt Lucy was goin’ to have quilted, the time I’m speakin’ of, was a dreadful handsome one. ’*Twas made of patchwork called the risin’ sun, and had jest come into fashion. There wasn’t room for one-half of us to sit round the quilt at a time; but the more the merrier, you know; and, while one set were at work, the other had nothin’ to do but enjoy themselves. Sometimes we laughed and chatted, and, when we got tired of that, sung some new tune we’d been larnin’ at singin’-school. ‘It had got to be near seven o’clock; and most of the beaux (we used to call ’em sparks in them days) had arrived. Jeemes Brown and four or five others were all that were missin’. At last, there was a great jingle of bells—for ’twas dreadful good sleighin’—and Jeemes dashed up to the door in his new tub- bottomed sleigh, with a red and green kiverlid spread over the seat and back, for there was no sich thing then in the country, whatever there was in the city, as buffalo robes. There was a boy stood ready to onharness his horse ; but he said he was goin’ furder, and couldn’t stop more’n five minutes. ‘I'll jest step into the house, and say a word or two to the gals,’ says he; ‘and then I must be off.’

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AUNT TABITHA’S FIRESIDE. 225

“So he came into the room, where we all were, puffin’ away at a long nine, for he con- sidered it mighty genteel to smoke cigars. “**You’d better stop till arter supper,’ says Lucy. ‘** When will it be ready?’ says he. **¢ At seven.’ ‘** And it is now jest six,’ says he, lookin’ at his watch, that had seals and trinkets enough danglin’ at the end of the pinchbeck chain to fill a half-pint dipper. ‘* «Let me see,’ says he; ‘I shouldn’t wonder if I could drive over to Capting Hilliard’s, trade with him for his saddle-horse, and be back by seven.’ ***T don’t b’l’eve the Capting will sell his saddle-horse,’ says Ben Palmer. *** Yes, he will,’ says Jeemes. ‘He loves money, and the price is no object to a man like me. Besides, I happen to be purty well off for cash jest now ;’ and by way of provin’ what he said, he pulled out his pocket-book, which was stuffed full of bank bills. ‘**Here’s five hundred dollars,’ says he, ‘in good current money; so I guess I’ve got enough to buy the Capting’s horse, and have a little left.’ ***If I were goin’ to travel that lonely turn- pike road that leads to Capting Hilliard’s,’ says Ben Palmer, ‘I shouldn’t like to have everybody know that I had five hundred dollars in my pocket.’ ** You see that Ben knew Jeemes was awful timorsome, and said it to tease him. ‘** Well,’ says Jeemes, straightenin’ up, and lookin’ as grand as if he thought himself equal to a gin’ral, ‘thereaisn’t an individual critter on the face of the airth that I’m afeared to meet single-handed, neither robber nor wild Indian, let it be in a place ever so lonesome. Thank fortin,’ I’m no coward, nor never was.’ ‘¢¢] want to ask you one or two questions, Jeemes,’ puttin’ on a long, serious face. ‘**You may ask me a dozen, if you’re a mind to; only I want you to be quick about it,’ says Jeemes. ‘“*¢Well, then, did you call at Pringle’s tavern, as you came along?’ says Ben. ** “Yes, I jest run in a minute, to get a few cigars.’ ‘¢ And did you, while you was there, say that you were goin’ over to Capting Hilliard’s to buy a horse ?’ ‘*¢T shouldn’t wonder if I mentioned it,’ says Jeemes.

‘** Well, if there were no strangers there, *twas all well enough.’ ‘**But there were a number; and I re- member now that, when I took out pocket-book, and told Pringle I hadn’t a cent of change, and should be obleeged to get him to take his pay for the cigars out of a ten dollar bill, one of ’em eyed me purty sharp.’ **Ben shook his head, but didn’t say anything. ***P’r’aps,’ says Jeemes, ‘I ‘d better not go over to the Capting’s, this evenin’. What’s your advice, Ben?’ ‘¢¢Tf Sam Peters was in your place, and had asked me the same question,’ says Ben, lookin’ towards a young man six foot high, that everybody knew had the courage of a lion, ‘I don’t know as I should try to dis- > On the whole, I What my courage him from goin’. should advise him to, by all means. do you say, Lucy ?’ ‘¢*The same as you do,’ was Lucy’s answer. ‘**T guess,’ says Jeemes, ‘I’ve got as much courage and fortitude as Sam Peters has, any day ; so the advice that will do for him will do for me.’ ‘*Upon that, he lit another cigar, buttoned up his greatcoat, and tellin’ Lucy that he should be back by the time supper was ready, he sot off for Capting Hilliard’s. *““*You were too bad, Ben,’ says Lucy, arter Jeemes was gone; ‘you know he’s al’ays skeered as his own shadder, and won’t take a mite of comfort till he gets back again.’ ‘**He no need to be al’ays and etarnally boastin’ of his courage, then,’ says Ben. ‘He on’y makes himself an object of radicule by doin’ it, and whoever can fix on some plan to cure him, will, in my opinion, do him a rightdown good turn.’ ‘In a minute or two, a parcel more of the young men arrived, so we got to talkin’ about other things, and thought no more about Jeemes, when all at once Sam Peters speaks up, and says he, ‘If 1’m not mistaken, Jeemes Brown is comin’ back.’ “‘<It isn’t time for him to be back yet,’ says Ben; ‘he hasn’t been gone more’n ten or fifteen minutes.’ ‘¢* Well,’ says Sam, ‘I can hear bells, and I can tell the ring of his, from any other in the place.’ ‘‘°?Twas scarce a minute afterwards, afore he came drivin’ upto the door, Jehu-like. The next breath, he rushed into the house,

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226 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. with eyes wide as they were long, and with lips as white as a cloth. ‘**¢ What’s the matter, Jeemes ?’ spoke up half a dozen voices all at once. ‘**Matter enough,’ says he; ‘I’ve barely *scaped with my life, and that’s all.’ ‘**Did your horse run away with you?’ says Lucy. ‘“**Worse than’ that! worse than that!’ says he. ‘The fact is, my friends and feller- citizens’—[Jeemes, you see, was a flamin’ politicianer, and that’s the way he al’ays begun when he made a speech]—‘ my friends and feller-citizens,’ says he, ‘I’ve been through a solemn and tryin’.scene, one of the most solemnest, and the most tryin’est, ’twas ever my fortin to pass through.’ “*Let us hear what it was,’ says Sam Peters. ***Sumthin’ that ’ill larn me not to slight good advice, for the futer.’ ***Come, out with it; what has happened ?’ says Ben Palmer. ***T’ve been robbed; my five hundred dollars are gone,’ says Jeemes. *** You don’t say so,’ says Sam. **¢°Tis the solemn truth, my friends and feller-citizens. But I don’t vally the loss of the money, more than if the bank-bills had been so many bits of brown paper, as long as my life is spared.’ ‘** Have you any idee who the robber was ?’ says Sam Peters. ***T guess I have; I knew him the minute I sot my eyes on him.’ ‘“**Who was it? Do tell us!’ says Lucy Mayland. *** Why who should it be but the identical, ferocious-lookin’ villain that eyed me so sharp when I was at Pringle’s ?’ ‘* «Pid he threaten your life?’ says Ben. “*You’d ’ave thought he threatened it if you'd seen his gun p’inted at my head.’ ‘¢* Whereabouts did you come acrost him ?’ says Lucy. *“**On the turnpike; the most lonesomest, and the most desolatest part of it. I’d got right off ag’in him, afore I diskivered him, when, happenin’ to turn my head a little, I seed him standin’ stiff as a stake, a little t’other side of the fence, p’intin’ his gun right at my head.’ ‘** Where the robber stood wasn’t a great way from the powder magazine, was it?’ says Lucy Mayland. *** No, on’y a rod or two.’ ***T thought so,’ says she, turnin’ away her head, so he needn’t see her laugh. ‘¢*The robber didn’t fire, I hope,’ says Ben. **No; I wasn’t fool enough to wait for that ; I knew what he was arter, and so I cries out: Don’t shoot me !—don’t shoot me !—here’s my pocket-book !—take it!—take it! And with that, I give it a fling, and it went over the fence, and fell at the robber’s feet.’ **¢ And what did he do next ?’ says Lucy. ***¢He neither spoke nor moved a single inch, but kept his gun levelled at my head, as if he was bent on havin’ my life. But you see I disapp’inted him; and I’m here safe and sound. *Twas a narrer escape, though, I tell you.’ ‘*¢You’re sartain the pocket-book, when you threw it, went over t’other side of the fence ?’ says Ben Palmer. **Yes. I made sure of that, ’cause he was standin’ t’other side; and I’d no idea of obleegin’ him to come any nearer to me than he was.’ ‘*¢We may as well wait, and not go till arter supper, then,’ says Ben, whisperin’ to Sam Peters. ‘** Yes,’ says Sam; ‘for there’s but little passin’ that way; and it will be as safe where it is as if it was in his pocket.’ ‘*¢T euess you don’t b’lieve he seed a rob- ber,’ says I, who was standin’ so near, I could hear every word they said. ‘“‘They smiled, but didn’t make me any answer. *“*¢Come, Ben, let’s be goin’,’ says Sam, as soon as supper was Over. ‘** Stop a minute,’ says Ben; and, goin’ up to Jeemes, ‘ What ’ll you give Sam and me,’ says he, ‘if we ’ll go and overtake the robber, and get your pocket-book, with the five hun- dred dollars untouched ?’ ‘¢¢ Friends and feller-citizens,’ says Jeemes, ‘it’s too solemn a thing to risk your life for the sake of money. I sha’n’t give my consent to any sich proceedin’.’ ‘**We’ll go, then, without your consent,’ says Ben. ‘Come, Sam; are you ready ?’ *** Yes,’ answered Sam; ‘and we’d better go afoot, I s’pose, for ’tisn’t more ’n a quarter of a mile.’ ***Tf you ’re detarmined on goin’, my horse and sleigh is at your sarvice,’ says Jeemes. ‘*¢Thank you,’ says Ben; ‘ but your horse will be better off in the stable, with a blanket on, arter bein’ driv so furiously ; and it’s my eandid opinion that we shall find no diffi- eo 4A ks: * et fe th ar th th th ye co

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THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER. 227 culty in comin’ up with the robber, if we go afoot.’ ‘You don’t mean to go without bein’ well armed,’ says Lucy, with a mischievous smile, for she understood the psalm, as the sayin’ is. ‘** Nater has pervided me with two good arms,’ says Ben; ‘and that’s all I ask.’ ***Or I either,’ says Sam. ‘¢ While they were gone, we all, jest for the fun of the thing, put on awful long faces ; while Jeemes walked the floor the whole of the time, and kept sayin’: ‘Friends and fel- ler-citizens, if they’re killed, you ’ll bear witness that they went without my consent.’ ‘¢¢Sartainly! sartainly !’ we all kept sayin’ ; but it didn’t seem to compose his feelin’s a single bit. ‘“**¢You’ve no idee what a great, savage- lookin’ critter he was,’ says Jeemes. ‘*¢ Pid he wear a slouched hat, sich as the robbers I’ve read about in story-books wear ?’ says Lucy. ‘“**7T don’t know what kind of a hat he wore,’ says Jeemes; ‘but I’m sartain I could see his eyes shine under the brim, jest like balls of fire.’ ‘It wasn’t long afore Ben and Sam got back. **¢There’s your pocket-book, and all its contents, I expect,’ says Ben, throwin’ it on to the table. *** How did you get it ?’ says Jeemes, with a look of astonishment. ‘**Oh, the robber was no match for Sam and me |’ says Ben. *** But he might ’ve shot you right through the heart. Arter all, I don’t see how you got it.’ ‘** Why, I jest stooped down, and picked it up,’ says Ben. ‘**¢The robber must ’ve dropped it, sure as I’m alive,’ says Jeemes. ‘ Whereabouts did you find it ?’ ‘**Jest where we expected to—right afore the old pump that stands a little way in from the road.’ **¢ And the handle was p’intin’ right at him the whole of the time,’ says Sam Peters; ‘ but it didn’t daunt him a mite.’ another word; but, the table, and ‘“*Jeemes never said takin’ his pocket-book from puttin’ it into his pocket, he sot down in a corner of the room, lookin’ as a From that day to this, he was never as meek lamb. heern to boast of his courage.”’ THE ART OF MAKING Tuk art of making feather flowers is scarcely known or practised in this country ; but they can be made to equal foreign productions, from the plumage of the common goose, and will, at trifling expense, produce bouquets of all the garden favorites. Procure good white geese or swan’s fea- thers, and free them from down, except a little on the shaft of the feather. Having procured two good specimens of the flower you wish to imitate, pull off the petals of one, and, with tissue paper, cut out the shape of each size, leaving the shaft of the feather half an inch longer than the petal of the flower; bend the feather with the thumb and finger to the proper shape. To Make the Stem and Heart of a Flower.— Take a piece of wire six inches long; across the top lay a small piece of cotton wool, turn the wire over it, and wind it round until it is the size of the heart, or centre of the flower you are going toimitate. If a single flower, cover it with paste or velvet of the proper FEATHER FLOWERS. color, and round it must be arranged the stamens; these are made of fine Indian silk, or feathers may be used for this purpose. After the petals have been attached, the silk or feather is dipped into gum, and then into the farina. time, and wind them round with Moravian cotton, No. 4; arrange them as nearly like the flower you have for a copy as possible. Cut the stems of the feathers even, and then make the calyx of feathers, cut like the pattern For small flowers the calyx Cover the stems with Place the petals round, one at a or natural flower. is made with -paste. paper or silk the same as the flowers; the paper must be cut in narrow strips, about a quarter of an inch wide. To make the Pastes of the Calyx, Hearts, and Buds of Flowers.—Take common white starch and mix it with gum water until it is the sub- stance of thick treacle; color it with the dyes used for the feathers, and keep it from the air. To make the ground mixed into a stiff paste with any dye; Farina.—Use common rice,

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8 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. dry it before the fire, and when quite hard, pound it to a fine powder. The buds, berries, and hearts of some double flowers are made with cotton wool, wound around wire, moulded to the shape with thumb and finger. Smooth it over with gum water, and when dry, cover the buds, berries, or calyx with the proper colored pastes; they will require one or two toats, and may be shaded with a little paint, and then gummed and left to dry. Flowers of two or more shades or colors are variegated with water-colors, mixed with lemon-juice, ultramarine and chrome for blue, and gold may also be used in powder, mixed with lemon-juice and gum water. The materials required are some good white goose or swan’s feathers; a little fine wire, different sizes; a few skeins of fine floss silk, some good cotton wool or wadding, a reel of No. 4 Moravian cotton, a skein of Indian silk, the starch and gum for pastes, a pair of small sharp scissors, a few sheets of colored silk paper, and some water with the following dyes :— To Dye Feathers Blue.—Into a few cents’ worth of oil of vitriol, mix the same quantity of the best indigo in powder: let it stand a day or two: when wanted, shake it well, and into a quart of boiling water put one tablespoonful of the liquid. Stir it well, put the feathers in, and let them simmer a few minutes. To Dye Feathers Yellow.—Put a tablespoon- ful of the best turmeric into a quart of boiling water; when well mixed, put in the feathers. More or less of the turmeric will give them different shades, and a very small quantity of soda will give them an orange hue. To Dye Feathers Green.—Mix the indigo liquid with turmeric, and pour boiling water over it; let the feathers simmer in the dye until they have acquired the shade you want colors, them. Pink Dye.—Three good pink saucers in a quart of boiling water, with a small quantity of cream oftartar. Ifa deep color is required, use four saucers. Let the feathers remain in the dye several hours. To Dye Feathers Lilac.—About two teaspoon- fuls of cudbear, into about a quart of boiling water; let it simmer a few minutes before you put in the feathers. A small quantity of cream of tartar turns the color from lilac to amethyst. To Dye Feathers Red.—Into a quart of boiling water dissolve a teaspoonful of cream of tartar, put in one tablespoonful of prepared cochineal, and then a few drops of muriate of tin. N. B.—This dye is expensive, and scarlet flowers are best made with the plumage of the red Ibis, which can generally be had ofa bird-fancier. Before the Feathers are dyed, they must be put into hot water, and let them drain before they are put into the dyes. After they are taken out of the dye, rinse them two or three times in clear cold water (except the red), which must only be done once. Then lay them on a tray, over which a cloth has been spread, before a good fire; when they begin to dry and unfold, draw each feather gently between your thumb and finger, until it re- gains its proper shape. The leaves of the flowers are made of green feathers, cut like those of the natural flower, and serrated at the edge with a very small pair of scissors. For the calyx of a moss-rose the down is left on the feather, and is a very good representation of the moss on the natural flower. Wesster on Ortotn.—-It is only shallow- minded pretenders who make distinguished origin a matter of personal merit, or obscure origin a matter of personal reproach. A man who is not ashamed of himself need not be ashamed of his early condition. It did hap- pen to me to be born in a log cabin, raised among the snow-drifts of New Hampshire, at a period so early that, when the smoke first rose from its rude chimney and curled over the frozen hills, there was no similar evidence of a white man’s habitation between it and the settlements on the rivers of Canada. Its remains still exist. I make it an annual visit. I carry my children to it to teach them the hardships endured by the generation before them. I love to dwell on the tender recollec- tions, the kindred ties, the early affections, and the narration and incidents which mingle with all I know of this primitive family abode. I weep to think that none of those who in- habited it are now among the living; and if ever I fail in affectionate veneration for him who raised it, and defended it against savage violence and destruction, cherished all do- mestic comforts beneath its roof, and, through the fire and blood of seven years’ revolutionary war, shrunk from no toil, no sacrifice to serve his country, and to raise his children to a condition better than his own, may my name and the name of my posterity be blotted from the memory of mankind!

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MARGARET’S A HOUSEHOLD BY ALICE B. IOME. TALE. HAVEN. (Continued from page 121.) CHAPTER V. Contrary to her usual custom, and much to Susie’s joy, Mrs. Grant made her appear- ance the next morning before Margaret had finished her solitary breakfast; and the im- portant request was made at once. It was received much as Margaret had expected. Mrs. Grant expressed her opinion that ‘* Sun- lay-schools were all nonsense ;’’ and, if she spared Susan to go to church once a day, it was as much as anybody ought to expect of her. The only day in the week, too, when she had five minutes to herself! As to going to the store, ‘‘it was just as ridiculous. What in the world was that child going to do all by herself above the Ex- change, when she was so dumb she could scarcely find Second Street Market? But, if Margaret chose to get her into a scrape, she That was all. She Their father never would interfere, but let some people could get her out of it. had nothing to say about it. ride over everybody’s heads.”’ So Margaret left her sister half sorrowful, half comforted, and carried with her her own troubles unshared and unrelieved. She was wronging herself; but she did not then un- derstand the secret of laying down yester- day’s burden, and setting out in the strength of a morning thanksgiving for the blessings she could number for the day. Old Ruth, watering her geraniums, and peering carefully for withered leaves or promising young buds, humming away to herself as she did so, could have taught her this, or rather recalled one of her mother’s earliest lessons. But we are all thus inclined to suffer cares and crosses to accumulate before we act upon the practical wisdom of the proverb, ‘ Suf- ficient unto the day is the evil thereof.’’ ‘Why, therefore, should we do ourselves this wrong, Or others, that we are not always strong, That we are ever overborne with care, That we shouid ever weak or hurtlexs be, Anxious or troubled when with us in prayer, And joy, and strength, and courage are with thee?” VOL. LVI.—20 Of course, Susie thought that the clock had stopped, that three o’clock never would come, that the children had never been so trouble- some before. It was a wonderful experience to the child who had been in the fashionable quarter of the city. Margaret had never given her some pennies to pay her omnibus fare as far as the Exchange, and special direc- tions what streets to go through after she left it ; not at looks, Street, where she was to take the omnibus. so she started forth very courageously, all damped by Mrs. Grant’s ungracious and speedily found her way into Second But one after another passed; and she still stood on the corner, unable to summon suf- ficient courage to stop one. Her faint signals were disregarded ; and the great, noisy vehicles rolled the afternoons were getting still shorter. Presently, to her dismay, she saw a great on, while short rough boy, who had been watching her as he came along, swinging an empty basket on his arm, halt directly in front of her, with a look that made her very uncomfortable. The next omnibus had just made its appearance in the distance; and she had gone out to the very edge of the curbstone, resolved not to be left this time. “T thought as much,”’ said the boy, coming closer still. ‘‘ Shall I stop her for you ?’’ Susie eyed him doubtfully from under her hood; but he looked very good-natured ; and she nodded yes, though putting the lamp-post between them to make assurance doubly sure. ‘*How nice it must be not to feel of any- thing!’’ she thought, as the boy sang out: *‘Hulloo! stop them gay horses of yourn, and take in this little girl, old Six-on-a-side !”’ How could she ever climb up that creat step? But an old gentleman inside lifted her up, and deposited her on a seat by him, as if she had been no heavier than a baby. The omnibus was full, as Second Street om- nibuses always are; and, if it had not been for this new protector, she might have stood Three stout huckster-women, 229 up all the way.

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with baskets as portly as themselves, were going as far as the market, having just come from a Red Bank ferry-boat with supplies for the early opening of Wednesday morning. They nodded to each other over their double chins, and talked about the early “cold snap,’’ and the effect it would have on the Then there was a pale man buttoned up to his chin, price of butter and eggs at Christmas. in a threadbare overcoat, and seeming in a great hurry to get to his journey’s end. Every time a passenger showed a disposition to get out or in, he pulled the check-string, and asked the driver if he ‘‘ couldn’t hurry up,”’ which of course delayed him by just so many seconds. Susie noted all these things with wide-open, curious eyes, as young travellers are inclined She did not at all fancy the young girl in a showy to scan all they chance to meet with. plaid dress, without gloves, and having a great many rings on her hands, and an enor- mous brooch, with purple stones in it, fasten- at the throat. neighbor, who looked scarcely older—though ing her shawl Her nearest she held a dear little baby all wrapped up in a flannel blanket bound with pink ribbon— drew herself away as far as possible from the plaid dress, and curls, and bold black eyes, and talked a great deal to a young man, her husband, who seemed very proud of her and the baby too. Susie liked them better than any of the rest, excepting always her pro- tector, towards whom she nestled occasionally this close contact with The old gentleman to reassure herself in so many strange faces. watched them too, for it was a pleasant thing to see the young mother pull down a corner of the blanket every now and then, and look admiringly on the placid little face in its thulle-bordered cap, then up at her husband with a sly, happy smile; while he, pretending to think her a foolish child, contrived to get a peep at the little one himself on every opportunity. So the omnibus rattled on—past the market where the stout women got out, and lifted their baskets after them, to the terror of the young mother and the danger of Susie’s hood, which was knocked over her eyes unceremoni- ously—past furniture warehouses and ready- and finally made clothing establishments, swung round into the noisy, clattering Square of the Exchange. The old gentleman did not forget Susie, but paid her fare with his own, just as she began to feel quite miserable at the impossibility of GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, reaching the driver’s hand, even though she mounted a seat, and stood on tiptoe. She tendered the three pennies he had advanced very gratefully; but he bade her keep such small change for herself, and posted away up Walnut Street as briskly as many a far younger man could do. Susie wished he had taken the same way she must pass, through the rabble of news- boys she was destined to encounter, shouting, ‘* Evening Bulletin ! in their shrill, locust-like voices. Arrival of the steamer !’’ A great many gentlemen were hurrying along the nar- row pavement, scarcely looking to the right or left; and she was almost breathless when she turned the corner, and came suddenly into Chestnut Street, with its gay shops and beautiful women sauntering slowly along in strange contrast to the bustle and fever their husbands and fathers lived in from morning till night. No wonder that the child was fascinated, and listened, and forgot her errand, as the bright panorama of shop-windows seemed to stretch away endlessly ; while the stream of passers-by mingled and swept past in endless variety of light and shade, confusing, daz- zling, and bewildering her, whichever way she looked. It was growing dusky and very cold in the street before Susie could ‘‘ turn away her eyes from beholding vanities,’? and hurry on to- wards the more quiet vicinity of Churchill & Choate’s. She had no idea that she should find one of those great establishments that had so fascinated her, and. stood looking up and down the street for some humbler place of trade at the very threshold which Mar- garet had just left, after an anxious watch for her. There drawn up to the pavement; and, while she were several handsome carriages stood watching the long, brilliantly lighted vista within, and thinking dismally that she must have lost her way, and what was to be- come of her, a still more showy equipage stopped close beside her. **Churchill’s, ma’am,’’ the driver said, as he opened the door, and touched his hat respectfully. Churchill’s! Why, so it was! make out the great white letters above the Oh, how handsome it was! Su- She could door now. sie’s heart gave a great bound of delight, partly that she had reached her journey’s end in safety, but quite as much of pleasure and satisfaction that Margaret had such a nice

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MARGARET’S HOME. 231 place to stay in all day. Yet Margaret wasn’t in the least proud. All this was suddenly clouded by a recollec- tion that she had still to make her way among all those people, and with such a bright light to Margaret’s counter, should she ever right in her face, wherever that was. How find her? There seemed, as she looked in again still more wistfully, to be two or three stores branching off in all directions from the great high desk in the middle, where the odd little scratching man stood, counting out change, and away in the great book before him. The lady swept past her with a great rustle of flounces; and with her came a little girl about Susie’s age, though dressed almost as elaborately as her mother. Though astonished at her from a glimpse at the face of this miniature fashion- plate, that it was a little girl; and it gave her courage to follow them in, and part way up the centre of the store, where they suddenly disappeared down one of the branching de- partments, leaving her in great doubt and magnificence, Susie decided, perplexity. There were several boys running about with slips of paper and bank-bills in their hands. She ventured to to of them, ashamed to be seen standing still, as if she ** Do you know where speak one had no business there. my sister is?’’ And, faint as the voice was, the sound of it frightened her still more. The youngster looked at her curiously for a minute, and then brushed roughly by, say- ing: ‘* How do I know who your sister is ?”’ He was much better dressed; but Susie preferred her friend of the market-basket. The little scene had, however, attracted the attention of a tall young man, who walked up to her, making a most profound bow. Susie instantly thought it must be Mr. Churchill himself; he had such shining black hair, such superb whiskers ; and his hand, ornamented with a large seal ring, looked as white as Margaret’s. ‘‘ May I ask who the young lady is inquiring for?’’ he said, with another flou- rish, and a signal to some one behind the counter. ‘*Margaret,’’ the child answered, taught by that possibly the whole world ” experience might not know whe “sister it seemed strange that the great fact of her “Will you was; though life should be unfamiliar here. tell me where she is, sir?’’ ‘Margaret? Lovely the young man, in a tone that made Susie feel read name ! said | | more uncomfortable still. ‘*There happen to be several young ladies in Philadelphia so fortunate as to be called by it, four or five of Suppose you couldn’t give any 7em here. further particulars ?”’ He stood directly in front of her, and made such elaborate flourishes that she knew very well, apart from the little laugh from behind the counter, that he was only pretending to help her; so she stood for a moment at bay, uncertain whether to dart past him, and run off into the cold and darkness, or cry where she stood. She began to feel her fatigue now ; and the bright lights and confusion of the store were bewildering. ‘*What’s all this ?’’ some one said, coming up behind her tormentor, who started at the voice. His very attitude grew respectful as he an- swered: ‘‘Only some poor child, sir, asking for one of the girls.’’ ‘*And you were too busy to attend to her, it appears ?’’ said the gentleman, who did not look half so severe as his tone made her ex- pect that he would when she ventured to look up; and that was softened as he spoke to her. ‘*Whom shall I find for you? We will not trouble this gentleman any longer.’’ ‘*T wanted to see-my sister Margaret, sir— Margaret Grant; she sells dresses; she told me to come for her,’’ said Susie, apologeti- eally. “Miss Grant ?”’ look, and thought he did not seem very much offended at her intrusion.) If you had come in the Arch Street door, you But mind; here she is—looking for you, I dare (Susie ventured another “This way. would have been close by her. never say.”’ Margaret’s thoughts, just at that moment, were certainly more with her little sister, wandering up and down the dark streets, than the rich brocade she was mechanically show- ing off to the best advantage. The quick ex- clamation, ‘‘Oh, my darling !’’ as she caught sight of the child, expressed at her anxiety and her thankfulness, both of which were so great that she did not notice who had once been Susie’s guide through the intricacies of shelves and counters; and, when the child had squeezed her hand in speechless delight at being under her sister’s protection once more, the gentleman had gone away without waiting to be thanked. ‘‘One moment, Susie; curl yourself up in ll Margaret had time the corner, dear,’’ was all to say.

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bo ow bo GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Two and a quarter?’’ inquired the lady to whom she was showing the silk, impatient of the little interruption. “Two and a quarter, that Margaret. “Don’t you think it’s rather high ?”’ ‘One of our newest importations, ma’am. Mr. Churchill selected it himself, while away ; is it,’ said all our evening dresses.’’ “Do you think it would be becoming to me?’? The lady was one of those who ask everybody’s opinion on their dress, from their husband to the chambermaid, but always end their own. She was neither Margaret could not help in following young nor pretty. fancying the figure she would be, in a pale rose-colored brocade, intended for a young girl of nineteen; but her honesty had daily and hourly such trials. ‘* As becoming as anything else would be,”’’ she thought, but said: ‘I suppose it is for Mrs. Flag’s ball ; we have sold several dresses for it to-day. I believe her rooms are always well lighted; this silk needs a good light.”’ *“*Yes,’? said the lady, forgetting, in her curiosity as to who had purchased dresses for the great ball, and what they were going to wear, that Margaret had evaded her ques- tion. ‘‘Mrs. John Sampson is one of your customers, isn’t she ?’’ Not condescending to question openly, Mrs. Flag’s invited guest did not hesitate to put leading questions. Adelaide Long, standing idly by, and correctly ridiculing the dress, manners, and language of the lady to Ellen Boyne, would have launched forth instantly on a flood of welcome gossip. Next to home servants, the clerks in a store like this know most of society and its affairs, particularly if they are women, who have an instinctive talent for putting this and that together. At Lowry’s, for instance, those plainly- dressed, take your measure at a glance, as you walk in at the door. They know whether you are a stranger in town, or only to its fashionable quarter. You might purchase the most costly article in their charge, and it would not alter their quiet-looking women opinion of your standing one whit. If you are a Philadelphian, and do not visit Mrs. Flag, or show any ignorance of such old family names as are to them daily food, they will wait on you attentively, it is true, but with that distant, though perfect civility which marks the attentions of a superior. They would not themselves change places with you in the social scale, for they are in daily and familiar intercourse with the people you scarcely know by sight. You cannot help feeling the bow with which they hand you your change, and resume immediately the conversation or employment which your ap- pearance interrupted. They hold Mrs. Tom Baker, quoted as she is in some circles, as a parvenu, and could detail every step of her rise in society, from the time she moved into Spruce Street, and took a pew in St. Thomas’ Church, up to the final coup d’état by which she accomplished the entrée to Mrs. Flag’s receptions, and thus settled the doubtful point of her position triumphantly. It is by no means a “ pursuit of knowledge under difficulties’? with Mrs. Flag talks to the young gentleman friends always hanging about her in shopping hours, and specifies by name those whose pretensions she intends to wither, and others that shall be graciously permitted to flourish in the light of her countenance. Mrs. Tom Baker follows, and complains to her claqueur, little Miss Smith, of the neglect and slights of her late Newport intimates ; breaks off, in the selection of her gloves, toexclaim: ‘‘ Oh, and about that horrid affair of Augustus Middleton, ”’ to Mrs. Middleton’s intimate friend, who is fresh from along recital of the whole affair, them. and gives place and says to der companion: “‘Isn’t it dis- tressing? Poor Mrs. Middleton looked as if she had not slept a wink all night,’”’ (which do you prefer, my dear, plum-color or tan’) ‘and there must be a divorce, I think.”’ But it is quite time that we return to the humbler aspirations of Mrs. George Anthony Bond, well known to them also by her costly purchases, and her endeavors to make them understand that she is perfectly au fuit to the movements of all these great people, by con- tinually quoting their dress, or doings. She is not successful, however, for they are as we? aware as she is herself that she once gave music lessons to Mrs. Tom Baker’s younger sisters, and taught the Miss Burneys drawing. Margaret, least of any perhaps in the throng of attendants at Churchill & Choate’s, busied herself with these absorbing topics, and therefore it was not simply a stroke of policy with her to suppose that the elegantly dressed lady she served was a visitor of Mrs. Flag’s. Next to receiving an invitation, it was su- premely delightful to be supposed entitled to one, and Mrs. Bond immediately decided to have the brocade ; though, from another point of weakness in her character, a fancy for paying a little less than the price demanded

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MARGARET'S HOME. 233 for any article, she did not manifest her in- tentions at once. Susie, watching these proceedings from be- hind the counter, was more particularly inte- rested in the dress and conduct of Miss Ida Frances, who accompanied her mamma. She had never before seen a little girl of her own age so handsomely dressed, except at a dis- tance, in church perhaps; and Margaret had always taught her that there it was not right to notice or comment on such things. Miss Ida, tired of settling her Pompadour pink bonnet, and ermine tippet, in the great mirror let into the wall behind Margaret, began to think it was high time her wants received some attention. ‘‘Mamma, mamma!”’ she began, twitching her mother’s sleeve, ‘‘ come ; 1 want to know what I’m going to have!’’ ‘** Look for yourself, Ida; can’t you? Don’t bother me !”’ The tone was quite as pettish and familiar asthe chiid’s. Susie, expecting to hear a sharp reprimand at least, opened her eyes wide, and looked at Margaret to see if she was not equally astonished; but Margaret had seen such *‘ honoring of father and mother’’ before. ‘*‘Show me something pretty,’’ the child said imperiously, to Ellen Boyne, while Addy Long suggested in an undertone that she needed ‘* whipping and putting to bed.’’ “Oh, how lovely!’ thought Susie,tas a crimson mousseline, with a tiny black figure, was opened temptingly upon the counter. ‘“‘I’m sure she’ll take that! Only think that she can choose for herself. She can’t find anything prettier than that, I guess.’’ **Not a mousseline!’? And the despised fabric was tossed contemptuously aside. “I’ve got plenty of school dresses. I want a party dress, too.’’ So she went to parties. What kind of par- ties could they be where that crimson mous- seline was not good enough to wear? But, while Susie thus commented wonder- ingly to herself, Mrs. Bond had discovered that Margaret really meant what she said, that two dollars and a quarter a yard was the very least the silk could be had for, directed it to be cut, and turned her attention to Miss Ida, who had chosen a plaid glacé, in which the gayest colors were mingied. ‘Oh, you extravagant little thing! You ’ll ruin your father!’’ And Mrs. Bond upraised her well-gloved hands in a pretty affectation of dismay. ‘“‘That’s what he says about somebody 20* else, every day,’’ retorted the child, pertly. “It isn’t but just half as much as yours.”’ ‘Well, only don’t tell him what it cost, or How do you know what I gave? 1 must mine either. Ann will have to make it for you. save, some how.”’ ‘*No, Ann sha’n’t. She spoiled my tarleton with the tucks. Ann doesn’t know anything. All the girls at our school go to Miss Singer, and I shali, too.’’ ‘What are children coming to?’’ Mrs. Bond said to Margaret, in smiling approval, evidently delighted with her daughter’s fash- ionable predilections, though pretending to disclaim all part or lot in this | precious development. ‘* What, indeed ?’’ thought Margaret, glanc- ing from the bold, over-dressed little puppet to her shy, patient sister in the corner, and wondering what effect the example might have. Susie watched the miniature woman of fashion to the very door, and then turned to Margaret with an odd little sigh; but Marga- ret’s time and attention were again engaged. She was most grateful to the good-natured Marianne, who came and sat down by her, and to Ellen Boyne, who hunted up some pretty embossed and gilt papers, giving her, besides, an empty glove-box, with a gay picture on the lid, to put them in. They were real treasures to Susie; and she turned them over, and admired them, trying not to feel tired; but she could not help wishing, every time she thought of the long walk before her, that she should be glad when they were safe home, even with the prospect of Margaret for a companion. The store was closed at last; and Margaret’s ” roused the cheerful ‘‘Come, now, Susie, child from the first bewildering drowsiness of approaching sleep. Tired little feet! Margaret’s brisk step, quickened by the fresh lagging wearily behind air after a long day’s imprisonment ; shiver- ing little figure! wrapping the thin shawl closer and closer as the cold wind swept around the corner, and down the cross streets, in their very faces ; weary little head! begin- ning to wonder already over the great social problem of rich and poor. Struggle on a little longer with the strange numbing apathy creeping on! Very still and straight those failing limbs may lie, ere long. The gleaming light of the apothecary’s win- dow on the corner streamed out with strange, ghastly tints over the icy pavement—that

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234 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, well-known landmark never so joyfully hailed as now. ‘I do hope the boys will be in bed, sister ; don’t you?’’’ And the great shivering sigh that could not be kept back any longer told more plainly than any complaining why she hoped so. ** Are you so very tired? poor little Susie! Why didn’t you tell me so, dear, at the Ex- change? and we could have taken an om- nibus.’’ ‘*T heard you tell the good-natured girl that you didn’t have any money when she asked you to lend her some; and I didn’t like to, sister.’’ Margaret’s heart smote her with thought- lessness, selfishness it seemed ; she had been so glad of the exercise, and was so warmly wrapped up in the heavy blanket shawl. Susie’s side, too! ‘Does your side ache badly?’? And she put her arm around the frail little figure, and almost carried her along. Susie leaned heavily upon the welcome support. ‘A little bit; but we are almost home now, ain’t we? Won’t the fire feel good ?’’ The hope of finding quiet and rest, as well as warmth, was vain. The boys were not in bed, and evidently had been celebrating that juvenile carnival known as ‘turning the house upside down,’’ Mrs. Grant having been too busy to care what happened in the un- usual exertion of ironing, and amusing her baby at the same time. The chairs were in the middle of the floor, harnessed for an om- nibus by innumerable twists and knottings of the clothes-line, with a rocking-chair for a leader. This spirited team had been for some time deserted ; and Al was walking about in his father’s apparel, the boots up to bis knees, and the tails of the coat sweeping the floor, the only drawback on his enjoyment being that the hat would fall over his eyes at every step. Washington, following after, and teaz- ing him to play “‘ Indian,’’ a favorite pastime with him, since he could make more noise ‘*whooping’’ than in any other way, pounced , upon Susie the instant she appeared. *Sha’n’t Susie play Injun with me? Say, ma!’’ shouted the young tyrant, as she shook him off with a faint ‘‘Oh, don’t, Al! Do let me be!’’ Margaret had hurried up stairs, seeing the lowering lock which greeted their entrance, that she might be ready to give Susie the help and comfort she stood in need of. Susie coveted only to sit quietly down be- hind the warm stove, and looked around in dismay. She wondered what made her feel so dizzy as the red heat of the ironing fire flashed into her face. The spoi'ed child’s appeal was made at an unfortunate moment. Mrs. Grant, tired and angry, fretted by the noise and the worry of the baby, was even less placable than usual. She was going for a hot iron as the boy tugged at the skirt of her dress, and shouted again: **Say, ma! sha’n’t Susie play Injun with me ?”’ The tired child saw the angry look, the up- raised hand with which Mrs. Grant came towards her; but she had not strength to get out of her way, scarcely to shrink from her. ‘* Good-for-nothing, lazy little piece !’’ And then came a blow on the ear that made the whole room reel, and took her breath away. That strange, blind, suffocating feeling ! Susie thought it must be dying, and almost hoped it was. The light, the stove, the chil- dren swam before her eyes as she fell to the floor, her head striking against the table; and then all was darkness—no pain, no outcry as she lay at the angry woman’s feet. Presently, she was conscious of lying in Margaret’s lap, and thought she heard her sister saying, as if she had been far off, ‘‘ You have killed her at last !’’ and the boys crying with fright, but all so far away. She could not open her eyes, or move, or speak; and she thought perhaps this was being dead, as her father and Margaret lifted her, and carried her up stairs to the bed. She felt drops of water falling on her forehead—or was it Mar- garet’s tears ’—felt them slowly trickle down her cheek; and then she seemed to sleep, and forget everything again. (To be continued.) oor Ir is not merely by speaking to children about spiritual things that you win them over: if that be all you do, it will accomplish nothing, less than nothing. It is the senti- ments which they hear at home, it is the max- ims which rule your daily conduct, the likings and dislikings which you express; the whole regulation of the household in dress, and food, and furniture; the recreations you indulge, the company you keep, the style of your read- ing, the whole complexion of daily life—this creates the element in which your children are either growing in grace, and preparing for an eternity of glory, or they are learning to live without God, and to die without hope. dnl cine Ms lineata

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ham. THE SCIENCE OF DRESS.—NO. III. SHAWLS—HOW TO WEAR THEM. In dressing the hair, the shape of the head and form of the features must be studied. The present fashion (@ l’Jmpératrice) is very becoming to those who have rather small, well-shaped heads, with low brows, and fea- tures inclining to the classical ; but for those who have very round faces, wide heads, and a nez retroussé, nothing can be more unbecom- ing than the plait over the top. To the for- mer, it is graceful—to the latter, decidedly ugly. Although not exactly admirers of the Eugenie hair, it is certainly very charming to some countenances. Curls are becoming to most, especially if natural. Shoes and boots for walking should be black, and fit easily. Noone can move grace- fully in tight or high-heeled boots or shoes. Of course, they must be sufliciently thick to keep the feet dry and warm, on account of the health; but high heels are calculated to throw forward the whole weight of the body on the toes, and to give the walk a tottering motion, which is exceedingly ungraceful. Never wear the shoes tight, or narrow in the tread. A small foot is one which, while it is graceful as to size, is useful, and equal to the weight and motion of the figure it supports. Generally, those garments which add grace to the figure are to be worn; and this grace is to be gained by folds, and color, and shape. Shawls are not generally graceful, and are especially difficult to manage. Englishwomen seldom wear them well. There is another subject with regard to ap- pearance, which scarcely comes under the We allude to painting and To indulge in head of dress. cosmetics—to artificial beauty. either of these shows both weakness and de- ception. Cosmetics are also generally to be avoided on account of the harm they do to the skin. A fair and beautiful complexion cannot be obtained by art. Nature can alone supply that. The rules previously given as to the choice of colors will be sufficient to teach ladies how to regulate their dress, so as to give the greatest effect to their complexions. Whatever the chemist, the hairdresser, or the advertising quack may recommend, every- thing unnatural can at once be perceived, and is sure to be detected. Some one has called false color ou a lady’s cheek the apology for ar ~~ Jv

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236 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the modesty she has lost. Without going so far, we should advise our readers to leave to actors and actresses “The art to spread the carmine o'er the face.” With regard to false hair, the same stric- tures do not apply. If a lady’s hair, having previously been beautiful, should fall off, occa- sioned by illness or fever, a false band may for a short time supply the want; and the hair may, by being stimulated properly, re- cover its previous beauty. With regard to hair dyes, the same license is not to be al- lowed. They are to be included in the cate- gory of deceptions, which are blamable. La- dies are now, we are happy to say, wearing their hair of its natural color when it begins to grow gray; and this, far from subtracting, really adds to the gentility and elegance of their appearance. False teeth are not to be blamed. necessaries Which improve the health by add- ing to the power of mastication, and the They are beauty, by filling up the outline of the face. Care should be taken that the dentist em- ployed should be skilful and capable, and also well acquainted with the mechanism of his art. In concluding our treatise, we nave little further to add. Our aim in the foregoing remarks has been to induce a study of natural philosophy; and there can be little doubt that, the true principles of harmony of color and the beauty of arrangement being known, vanity and frivolity will be discountenanced and corrected ; and lastly, to quote an author- ity on the subject, let our readers remember that, ‘‘when dress is selected with due re- gard to the harmony of the complexion, and the harmony of contrast, it is worn with greater pleasure, the eye is satisfied with the arrangement, and the lady appears well dressed because her dress is becoming to herself, and because one part of it harmonizes with the other.”’ MAY BY MRS. THERE are some seasons when the graveyard seems peculiarly beautiful. When hushed twilight wings her noiseless way from heaven to wrap the temples of the dead in her soft, transparent drapery, or the pleasant moon lights up the mossed graves, making lumi- nous the white sculptured marble, it is sweet to wander up the shaded aisles of the slum- brous city, and muse upon the holy memories of the departed. The stars burned with a lustre peculiar to summer skies. A clear, mild atmosphere gave a refreshing elasticity to my spirits. I wandered along I scarcely knew where, and found myself, after a leisure walk, near the old-fashioned burial-ground at Dallston Falls. I was a happy man, for, having that day re- ceived a diploma, I was really and profession- ally an M.D. What directed my steps to the rural bury- ing-ground, I cannot now tell; but I believed, at the time (I was romantic and an enthusiast then), that some mysterious agency shaped As I drew fear, the rustic gate The walks glittered in the strong my course. was open. vellow light; the shadows leaned down from the trees, and frescoed the smooth gravel with yuaint tracery ; the buds and flowers, grouped | | KENDALL. Cc. W. DENNISON. in dark masses upon the gently curved mounds (I knew they were buds and flowers, for their fragrance betrayed them), seemed whispering in their silent language to the beautiful dead below. In my youth, I was fond of symbolizing. had its type in some ideal or oriental fancy. This evening, I felt particularly poetical. My imagination was as fertile—yes, I thought as fertile as Milton’s, if my thoughts were not as grand, or my images sublime. I sauntered carelessly along the side where a hawthorn-hedge twined its firm tendrils together, dragging my cane after me, and musing in careless reverie. Suddenly, I paused. Judge L——’s beautiful lot was directly before me, its tiny silver fountain bubbling up, and breaking into white globules that glittered like hoar-frost. Here I leaned by a huge, hoary elm, and closed my eyes, as the magic breathing of a flute, skilfully touched, floated through my dreaming brain. As I look back, it seems to me that that was the most blessed hour of my existence, for, mingling with that plaintive melody, came a Every inanimate thing gentle face, with sparkling eyes, serene brow, and cheeks just crimsoned enongh to resemble | two pale rose leaves flushing the purest snow.

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MAY KENDALL. 237 Oh, how I loved that sweet May Kendall! Love! Forgetting my God, I idolized her, and, egotist that I was, fancied that my unspoken passion was returned. But I will not linger. In those few moments, I was pouring my very soul’s depth and fervor into the heart that I fondly imagined—as youth will, sometimes— was, in a sort of spiritual presence, ever be- side me. My reverie was broken by the approach of a stranger; and a light, silvery laugh shut out the music of the flute, for it was so like my love, May’s—so ringing! so joyous! Presently, as a fine, manly form drew nearer, I recognized the features of one who had been I would have His name was my college-mate two years ago. sprang forward to meet him. trembling on my lips, when a sight arrested my attention that chilled my blood, and made my teeth chatter with a sudden freezing fear. The two had come almost beside me, and there stopped, charmed with the sylvan spot. The lady held her hat by the strings; one arm was passed confidingly through that of her companion; and, when she turned her beam- ing face around towards me (I was concealed by the shadow), I recognized, in the full flood of the moonlight—May Kendall! I do not like, even at this late day, to re- view the feelings that shook my frame when I heard them murmur such words of tender- ness to each other in subdued and happy tones. A deathly faintness came over me as I gathered from their own lips the knowledge that they were betrothed; and, when that passed away, a fierce revenge sent the blood boiling through my veins. I could have leaped upon him, and demanded my May, my love, without whom life would seem a curse, and the world a dread, dead blank. But then by what right could I call her mine? True, she had been most kind to me, but never more than maidenly modesty might warrant towards the most intimate friend. Now I knew—God forgive me for the rage that tugged at my heart-strings as I thought of it !—why she had talked of Frederick. Oh, fool that I was not to comprehend before! She had smiled on me because I was his college-mate— because I had ever some sweet recollection to tell, some comely virtue of his to praise; and, blinded by my own fondness, I fancied she loved me. How I stood there, weak, passionate, and panting with the violence of my emotions, even till I learned the day when the wedding would take place, I know not, for every nerve in my body seemed ehanged to an instrument of keen torture. Fortunately, they did not pass me, but retraced their steps; and I, bending low with an almost breaking heart, slowly left the pleasant graveyard, now only a valley of dry bones to me, and walked to- wards my boarding-house, too wretched to think deliberately, or feel all the crushing weight of my disappointment. The next day, before sunrise, I was on my way to a neighboring city. Iwas in a strange tumult, that I knew not but might prove fatal tome. I was ready for almost any desperate deed, and had, more than once—I shudder as I think of it—contemplated self-destruction. But I called philosophy, nay, something high- er, holier, to my aid—religion; and in time I became soothed, if not comforted; that is, after I knew May was irrevocably wedded. Two months passed. I deemed myself suf- ficiently fortified with good resolutions to re- turn once more to my chosen place of residence. It was high noon when I drove up the prin- cipal street. A carriage dashed by me, a light vehicle. In another moment, it had turned ; and Frederick, May’s husband, was abreast. I involuntarily drew in my horse. My friend’s face denoted anguish, intense and concen- trated. early friend, do not stop till you reach Mrs. Kendall’s! My May lies there he gasped. How ashy pale he was! My ‘*For God’s sake, Doctor Lane, my ” sick—dying, face blanched. I felt a singular tremor. He dashed ahead, neither speaking ; and in fifteen minutes I stood by the couch of the young At its close, I pressed her white eyelids over her dull, Ah, Heaven! thought I, kneel- ing with an aching heart, can such beauty be And still, for all, there was triumph bride. That was an awful hour. glazed eyes. dead ? in the feeling awful grief of the bereaved husband—saw the triumph until I beheld the big drops bead like blood his pale, broad fore- head—almost forced him from the inanimate body to which he hung with the grasp of despair, clasping her to his bosom—kissing the white lips, the whiter cheeks, even the gold locks that lay damp and uncurled over her shoulders. And, when I left that house of mourning, was it not strange—the calmness I felt settling over my spirits? Could this thought, even in faintest tracery, pass through my mind at such a time ’—‘‘ Well, she is not mine; and neither is she his. I am glad that, as she could not be mine only, none but death can claim her now.’’ I fear, had conscience rightly ap-

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238 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. plied her torch, she might have read those scathing words written on the crimson portals of my heart. The next day, I went over to be present at the funeral services ; and still I felt that sor- Poor Frederick was at times raving, then stupid with his great grief. rowful happiness. The mourners assembled ; the beautiful dead lay robed in satin in her coffin; already the large parlor was filled with weeping friends. I took my station by the head of the corpse. With unutterable tenderness, yet without a tear, I gazed upon that heavenly countenance. It looked not like stern death, but soft and smiling slumber. There were all her young companions present, village maidens, robed in white, whose silvery voices joined in a sim- ple funeral song. But oh, how those voices wavered, trembled, until tears and sobs choked out their music! and one mournful, heart- rending wail sounded through the room. At last, the hoary-headed man of God arose Never heard I a petition so mourn- How gently he spoke of her youth and goodness ! which God was to pray. fully tender, so simple, so powerful. the circumstances under pleased to call her, just, as it were, standing on the threshuld of her happy life, and look- ing towards the rose-colored future. I still kept my place at the head of the cof- fin. My eyes, full of tears now, never once moved from that holy face. Was it fancy? I thought the dear features grew dim. My sight was failing, or—I bent closer to the corpse; I drew back, wiped my eves, looked again. God of merey! God of compassion! what sent a wild shock through my frame, and struck my brain as with a hand of fire? I reeled. I fell almost upon the coffin. There was moisture on the glass— moisture that, when I applied my sleeve, would not come off—moisture upon the inside of As was customary, every face was bowed towards the earth in prayer. What There were fearful risks to run. the glass. must I do? My knees trembled and knocked together; my heart beat against my side till my body rocked like a pendulum. The voice of the pastor whistled in my ear. Each moment was an hour; and yet—the conflict—that hor- warring with my better nature, came again. It was awful !—awful! If I kept my silence, she was still the bride of death, and as much mine as another’s; if 1 spoke, she rible temptation, was again the wife of my rival. I dare not recall some of my emotions now. I could not have been myself when that fiend- | ish temptation beset me, and whispered me to let the dark grave claim her, if I might not. The perspiration welled up from every pore ; but the agony was passed. I could have throttled the old pastor, that he did not cease ; yet I feared for the life of the poor husband, should he know the truth too suddenly. There was a tingling from my head to my fingers’ ends. I shook like an aspen leaf. *“Amen!’’ Oh, how I thanked God for that sound! I clung to the coffin, for one moment weak and helpless as an infant. The chief mourners were called first, that they might be spared the shock of beholding the dear one borne out before their eyes. The poor husband tottered out, supported on What were my feelings as he Next went the sobbing mother. Now was my time. ‘Quick! friends! neigh- bors !’’ I gasped; ‘‘call the sexton in! Now, man, off with the coffin-lid! For God’s sake, delay not! She is not dead!” I rather shrieked than said the last words. The change that came over that assembly ! Many swooned away—a crowd rushed to the coffin—I pressed them back—the hand of the undertaker trembled—screw after screw fell rattling to the floor—my heart beat dull and heavy with the excitement of hope and fear. The coffin top was thrown aside. In my arms | bore the fair creature toacouch. As I returned for a moment, I saw her only sister, a girl of sixteen, standing as if riveted to the floor, her cheeks hollow and ghastly, her eyes fixed and frightfully glaring. I seized her by the arm, but she stirred not; I shook her rudely, saying: ‘‘ Unless you help me, Marie, she will really die; quick! come cut off her grave-clothes! she must not see them—must never know of this.’’ The girl sighed, shivered, then with a wild, unnatural burst of laughter, roused herself from her stupor. Then as suddenly, a flood of tears came to her relief. All was right now. She followed me into the next room, untied the white satin ribbon that confined the deli- cate wrists, unloosed the linen bands on her breast, so that by the time the young bride opened her eyes, she was lying as if she had sought her bed for pleasant slumber. And now, the most terrible excitement over, I breathed freely. And yet another important task remained to be accomplished. By my orders the poor husband had been briefly in- formed that the ceremony would be detained each side. passed me! He was so distracted with his They for a moment. grief that all news was alike to him.

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CORAL REEFS, led him where they liked. He sat in a little room just across the entry ; so deadened were all his senses, he had not heard the confusion. I went in, closed the door, and stood beside him. He glanced up but once, then buried his face in his hands with an unearthly moan that went to my very soul. Oh, such joy, such pure, exquisite joy as flooded my whole being as I felt what a heaven I should soon awake to! Only angels can tell how sweet it is to bring blessings to the wayworn, him and hope to the desponding. ‘** Frederick,’’ said I, placing my arm around his neck, ‘‘ my dear fellow.’’ ‘Don’t try to comfort me, doctor,’ broken voice responded; ‘‘my heart is torn > his up by the roots.”’ What should I say next? curred to “Do Christ said about the little maid ? dead, but sleepeth.’’ My peculiar accent, my intonation, struck A thought oc- me. you remember what She is not him instantly. He shook suddenly and raised his trembling hands, while a strange expres- sion shot over his face. There were tears in my eyes, but I smiled broadly through them at the same time ; I tried to command my voice, as Istammered: ‘* Did you—did you ever hear of people falling into trances ? and—”’ He sprang to his feet, clenched my hands, His he cried, compre- breathed hard through his shut teeth. eyes glittered. ‘* What!’’ hending the hopeful faces looking in upon us, CORAL Trusting that many of our lady readers who wear like know something of their formation, we pub- coral ornaments would to lish the following :— Coral reefs are produced by innumerable small zoophytes, properly catled coral insects. The coral insect consists of a little oblong bag of jelly closed at one end, but having the ether extremity open, and surrounded by tentacles or feelers, usually six or eight in Multi- tudes of these minute animals unite to forma number, set like the rays of a star. common stony skeleton called Coral, or Madre- pore, in the minute openings of which they live, protruding their mouths and tentacles when under water; but suddenly drawing them into their holes when danger approaches. These animals cannot exist at a greater depth in the sea than about ten fathoms; and as the | | 239 **dead ’—in a trance !—laid out ’—buried ?— alive—alive !—Great God! Do you tell me she lives!—my May?—who gasped in Oh, have my arms ’—lay cold on this bosom? mercy !—don’t mock me !”’ He staggered against me, almost helpless. ** Frederick,’’ I cried, tears raining down my cheeks, ‘‘she lives; your precious May is saved.”’ and I was in his arms, he **God “Oh, Another second, dancing deliriously round with me. bless you! God bless you!’’ he cried. it is too beautiful, too good! My dear God! how I thank thee!’’ And he lifted his stream- ing eyes heavenward. ‘Let me see her,’’ he **T will be And, doctor,’’ he exclaimed, continued, locking my arm in his. calm—very calm. ‘if at any time my life will buy youa precious boon, it is yours.”’ He did not dream, poor fellow, that he had been my rival. The mother hung over her child—the hus band bent over his bride, full—-full of thanks- giving. She, with her large blue eyes moving languidly but fondly from one to the other, I shail ? whispered: ‘‘I am better, stronger. soon be wellagain. I have been sick so long. Frederick kissed her white brow in reply, and smothered his sobs in the pillow. And then I left them, a happier being, a better man. May and her husband still live, a fond, beautiful pair, even now. l am an old bachelor. REEFS. coral islands often rise with great steepness from a sea more than three hundred fathoms deep, it would seem that a great alteration must have taken place in the depth of the ocean since the time when these little archi tects the whole range of the Polynesian and Austra- commenced their labors. Throughout lasian islands, there is scarcely a league of sea unoccupied by a coral reef, or a coral island; the former springing up to the sur- face of the water, perpendicularly from the athomless bottom, ‘‘ deeper than did ever plummet sound and the latter, in various stages, from the low and naked rock, with the water rippling over it, to an uninterrupted forest of tall trees. ‘‘ I have seen,’ says Dal rymple, in his ‘* Inquiry into the Formation of Islands,’’ *‘ the coral banks in all their stages ; some in deep water; others with a few rocks

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240 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, appearing above the surface ; some just formed into islands, without the least appearance of vegetation; others with a few weeds on the highest part; and lastly, such as are covered with large timber, with a bottomless sea, at pistol-shot distance.’’ In fact, as soon as the edge of the reef is high enough to lay hold of the floating sea-wreck, or for a bird to perch upon, the island may be said to commence. The dung of birds, feathers, wreck of all kinds, cocoanuts floating with the young plant out of the shell, are the first rudiments of the new island. With islands thus formed and others in the several stages of their progres- sive creation, Torres’ Strait is nearly choked up; and Captain Flinders mentions one island in it covered with the Casuarina, and a variety of other trees and shrubs, which give food to paroquets, pigeons, and other birds, to whose ancestors, it is probable, the island was origi- nally indebted for this vegetation. The time will come—it may be ten thousand, or ten millions of years, but come it must—when New Holland, and all the little groups of islets and reefs to the north and northwest of them, will either be united New Guinea, and in one great continent, or be separated only with deep channels, in which the strength and velocity of the tide may obstruct the silent and unobserved agency of these insignificant, but efficacious laborers.’’ A barrier reef of coral runs along the whole of the eastern coast of New Holland; ‘‘ among which,” says Captain Flinders, ‘‘we sought fourteen days, and sailed more than five hun- dred miles, before a passage could be found through them out to sea.’’ Captain Flinders paid some attention to the structure of these reefs, on one of which he suffered shipwreck. Having landed on one of these new creations, he rooms, stags’ horns, mush- and a water, says: ‘‘We had wheat-sheaves, cabbage-leaves, variety of other forms, growing under with vivid tints of every shade betwixt green, purple, brown, and white. It seems to me that when the animalcules, which form the coral at the bottom of the ocean, cease to live, their structures adhere to each other, by vir- tue either of the glutinous remains within, or of some property in salt water ; and the inter- stices being gradually filled up with sand and broken pieces of coral washed by the sea, which also adhere, a mass of rock is at lencth formed. Future races of these animalcules erect their habitations npon the rising bank, and die in their turn, to increase, but princi- pally to elevate, this monument of their won- derful labors.”? He says that they not only work perpendicularly, but that this barrier wall is the highest part, and generally ex- posed to the open sea, and that the infant colonies find shelter within it. A bank is thus gradually formed, which is not long in being visited by sea-birds; salt plants take root upon it, and a soil begins to be formed; a cocoanut, or the drupe of a pandanus, is thrown on shore; land-birds visit it, and de- posit the seeds of shrubs and trees; every high tide and gale of wind adds something to the bank; the form of an island is gradually assumed ; and last of all, comes man to take possession.’’ ‘* Every one,’’? says Mr. Darwin, ‘‘must be struck with astonishment when he first be- holds one of these vast rings of coral rock, in diameter, here and often leagues there surmounted by a low verdant island many with dazzling white shores, bathed on the out- side by the foaming breakers of the ocean, and on the inside surrounding a calm expanse of water, which, from reflection, is of a bright but pale green color. The naturalist will feel this astonishment more deeply after having examined the soft and almost gelatinous bodies of these apparently insignificant creatures ; and when knows that the solid reef in- creases only on the outer edge, which, day and night, is lashed by the breakers of an he ocean never at rest.”’ Coral being beautiful in form and color, is sought after for purposes of ornament; and its fishery or gathering gives employment to many persons in the Red Sea, the Persian Gulf, the Mediterranean, and other places. In the Straits of Messina, the rocks which yield coral are from about three hundred and fifty to six hundred and fifty feet below the surface of the water. The coral here grows to about the height or length of twelve inches, and requires eight or ten years to come to In the general mode of fishing for perfection. f of two coral, the instrument heavy beams of wood, secured together at used consists right angles, and loaded with stones to sink them. Hemp and netting are attached to the under side of the beams, to the middle of which is secured one end of a strong rope, by which the apparatus is let down from a boat and guided to the spots where the coral is most abundant. The branching form of the coral causes it to become entangled in the hemp and network, by which means it is broken off from the rock, and drawn up with the apparatus to the surface of the water.

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IS IT TRU E? BY KATE BERRY. Ir is an old and oft-repeated charge against woman that she is fickle. Poets have so sung, and novelists have thus described her. The former have told us that to write your name upon the sands of the sea-shore, be- lieving that the next wave would not efface it, would be as rational as to put faith in woman’s vows. There is some truth in the accusation ; alas that I should have to say so! And perhaps you will convict me of treason to my sex for acknowledging somuch. But facts are stubborn things. It may be said that a ‘bad promise is bet- ter broken than kept.’”’ True; but why not consider well before making any promise at all? One prime cause of mischief is that women, and especially young women, will enter into matrimonial engagements without thought. A feeling of gratified vanity, a mo- mentary pique, a lack of self-knowledge, a wish for admiration are frequent and mis- guiding motives to a course that ends in grief and broken faith. There are not a few of the gentle sex, in many relations womanly and conscientious, who, with a strange inconsis- tency of character, lay aside the truth and honesty of purpose that direct their conduct in other matters, and act towards every man who approaches them in the attitude of a suitor as a person to be trifled with, befooled, and deceived. Then, when the victim has been led a long chase after a ‘‘ will-o’-the- wisp,’’ he suddenly finds himself floundering in mire and darkness. The crisis comes by the discovery of a ‘‘want of congeniality ;’’ or a new hero appears in the field; or the lady arrives at the sage but tardy conclusion that ‘‘ she did not know her own mind ;”’ and the discarded one is treated to a new chapter in the history of that enigmatical creature, woman. There are certain countries where a false religion teaches the men that women have no souls. In our own free and enlightened land, there are women to be found who at least imply by their acts the possession of a belief that men have none. Many a woman who would scorn to with- hold the just dues of a servant, who abhors VOL. LVI.—21 undutifulness to parents, who shrinks in hor- ror from the thought of taking religious vows which she does not intend to make at least the effort of observing, forms the deliberate purpose of deceiving a lover, will allure with false promises the man who seeks her hand, or capriciously dissolves an engagement from causes the most impalpable. We will not here philosophize or moralize— which you please—at length upon a subject beset with so many difficulties. But it must be owned that there is an error somewhere. We are unwilling to concede that the fault is of spontaneous growth in woman’s nature. Is not the seed cast there from some rank weed grown in the soil that nourishes the vices and follies of society? A false education may have much to do with it; and we per- haps are not far wrong in putting some of the blame upon the men themselves. There are two sides to every question; 80 to this. Certainly the ‘‘lords of creation”’ are not guiltless; but the subject in hand is not of them. I have a story to tell—rather, a shadow of astory. Call it, if you please, an unpolished stone, and these not very profound remarks a thread whereon to hang the same. It is not given as affording any help towards elucidat- ing the reasons of female inconstancy, but only as a proof of the existence of that un- happy failing. It unfolds just one of those every-day events whose very frequency makes us scarcely think of them except to wonder for a moment, but which, nevertheless, serve as a lesson to be conned over by the student of human nature. No moral is claimed for it ; but, if you can find one, tack it on. About a year ago, perhaps a little more, I went to spend a week with cousin Helen in the quiet but by no means dull country village of her residence. When the first joyful greet- ings had been exchanged, and I had laid off the many wrappings that a long drive on a bleak winter’s day made necessary, with knit- ting-work in hand I descended to the parlor in readiness for a nice chat with my friends, and a cozy seat at the glowing coal fire. On entering the apartment, one of the love- 2Al

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242 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. liest little creatures that I had ever beheld rose from the sofa; and cousin Helen intro- duced her as Miss Ray. And a ray indeed she was, for her presence lighted up the place in such a way as seemed like nothing so much as a gleam of sunshine glowing athwart the room. A fairy in size, she formed a striking but very pleasing contrast with Helen, who is tall, dark-haired, and stately. And the two girls might not unaptly have been styled Night and Morning. My little maid of the morning was very slight, but of most fair proportions, with a great quantity of light brown hair adorning her graceful head in bands and knots like a glory. She needed no other ornament; nor did she sport the velvet bows and streamers that were so much the rage just then among young ladies. Her complexion was of the purest white, with a rich tinge of red mantling each cheek ; and her eyes—I can never forget them—were of the deepest, tenderest blue ; while an air of gentle dignity and serious sweetness sat upon every feature, and shone in all ner movements. On my part, it was love at first sight ; and under favoring circum- stances our acquaintance made speedy pro- gress. We were soon chatting in a quiet, friendly, delightful sort of fashion that would have been charming for a believer in magnetic affinities to contemplate. Her conversation was lively and sensible, equally devoid of pretension and frivolity. After an hour spent in this pleasant manner, Miss Ray, politely excusing herself, left the room to put on, so she said, a travelling-dress, and make some final preparations for a de- parture. She had on such a becoming morn- ing robe of drab merino, faced with blue silk, that I thought it a pity to doff anything so bewitching. ‘What a lovely girl!’’ was my first ex- clamation on finding myself alone with Helen. “Yes; she is perfectly sweet,’’ said my cousin, in genuine school-girl phrase. ‘‘Who is she, and whence came she?’’ I asked. ‘‘ Did she drop down from the clouds, like other angelic beings ?’’ Helen laughed. “Oh no! She has a ‘local habitation,’ as wellasaname. Why, you must have heard me speak of Fanny Ray, I am sure!—my room-mate at Miss *s seminary.”’ ** Certainly I had, very often ; and this was the young lady whose amiable temper and good conduct made her su’. a favorite with teachers and pupils—her father a resident of —— village, about twenty miles from Helen’s home ?”’ ‘Yes, the very same; and I can tell you something more, too. She is engaged to be married, is almost twenty-one, and has never before been engaged, though she has had a great many offers,’’ said Helen, with amusing naiveté.’’ ‘Indeed |’? was my reply; ‘‘and that cir cumstance makes her still more interesting.*’ “To be sure,’’ responded Helen; ‘ and, furthermore, the particulars of her engage- ment are quite romantic.’’ ‘Do tell me about it, then,’’ I exclaimed, ‘if itis not a secret ; and pray be quick, for I fear the subject of our conversation will soon interrupt us herself.’’ ‘‘It is no secret, not from you, at lJeast,’’ said Helen; ‘‘and I will make it as interest- ing as possible, for I know how fond you are of romances in real life.’’ Helen drew a large rocking-chair towards the stove, folded the borders of her striped India silk wrapper over a pair of slippered feet, held up the latest number of the Home Journal to keep the glow of the fire from a face already lighted with the warmth of kindly feeling, and began :— **You know I spent a month with Fanny, last summer. It did not take me long to dis- cover that something weighed on her mind, for she was very low-spirited. I suspected a little of the truth, and took the liberty of an old friend to question her, when she very frankly told me her troubles. Marcus Hill, the son of a neighbor living on the same street, was at home on a visit to his parents, and was, as I had fancied, at the bottom of it all. He is in business at Boston—a very du- tiful son, too, for he goes home several times in the course of a year, though, to be sure, Fanny gets a good deal of the credit of his visits. They have known each other from childhood; and Fanny confessed to me that she had always preferred him to all the young men of her acquaintance. For some reason or other, he had recently become more shy at each successive visit; and she was very un- happy at the thought that he might have mis- construed some act of hers, or heard something to her disadvantage. And she had no means of explaining, or courting his society, without overstepping the bounds of ladylike propriety. ***Tf I had had no good reason to think that he loved me, though he has never said so in plain terms, I would banish his image from my mind,’ Fanny told me.

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IS IT TRUE? 243 “The long and short of it was that she loved Marcus Hill. She begged me to guard her secret; and of course I promised to do so; but I told Fanny it would all come out right yet, for I did not doubt that Marcus was only waiting to get his courage up in order to ‘pop the question.’ I did not say so idly, either, for I knew something of Marcus my- self. He and brother George were fellow- clerks, you remember, at one time. At any rate, I believed there was good ground for an inward determination I made to bring Marcus and Fanny to an understanding, if I could. And it was not long before I had a grand oppor- tunity. We were sitting on the piazza, one evening, Fanny and I, enjoying the moonlight, looking down the avenue, and hoping some of the young people of the neighborhood would come to enliven the scene, when a tall, solemn black figure appeared at the gate. ***Oh, dear! what shall I do?’ said Fanny. ‘That ’s Mr. Harrington, our clergyman. I know very well what his errand is. Now, Helen, don’t leave me.’ ‘*But I did not pay the least attention to her woful entreaty. Just as he came up, I ran out at the back door, for I knew he would bore her till he had a fair opportunity to pro- pose ; and the sooner it was done, the better. I sauntered about the grounds till I reached the front gate, and leaned over it, wishing Mr. Harrington would finish his business, and leave. I looked down the street, and lo and behold! Marcus Hill was coming up with a heavy, listless step. He stopped on seeing me, and said something about the beauty of the evening. I told him I was enjoying it alone, because Fanny had a visitor. ‘¢*]T know she has,’ he said, and he looked so white and agitated as he stood there in the moonlight that I felt sorry for him. But I knew that I had.the means of giving the poor lover hope, so I took the liberty of an old acquaintance, and proposed a short walk. He opened the gate for me, and we started off, arm-in-arm, in the friendliest manner imagin- able. I did not know exactly how to begin, but as Marcus did not seem inclined to talk, at length I launched out boldly, and said— ‘¢* Fanny will refuse Mr. Harrington. He is not personally agreeable to her; she is very much perplexed by his attentions, because he is a clergyman and a favorite of her father’s, and she is afraid of appearing disrespectful. If she has any attachment, it is placed in another quarter.’ ‘*These words opened poor Hill’s heart, and he told me the story of his love and his woes. He had, it appears, such a strange kind of worshipping adoration, such a perfect reverence for her, that he never dared pro- pose. He loved Fanny from his boyhood, he said, and to obtain her would be willing to make any sacrifice. But now, just when his business was prosperous, and he had it in his power to offer Fanny a home worthy of her, the distance between them seemed to widen in a way for which he could scarcely account. ‘She was so superior, so pure, and excellent that it might look like presumption,’ he said, ‘for him to aspire to her hand. And then,’ he added, with a gloomy smile, ‘Fanny has so many admirers among the clergy, men of talent and high standing, that I fear it would be madness to compete with them.’ ‘* And it was quite true that Mr. Harrington was not her only clerical suitor. Her father’s house is head-quarters for all the clergymen of the county, and just as sure as an un- married man is their pastor, just so sure he is to fall in love with Fanny. And, if you ’ll believe me, last spring, when their church was consecrated, three of the clergymen who were present were smitten by Fanny’s loveliness, and offered themselves within a month. I honor their taste and judgment, I am sure, for we all think that Fanny would make an admirable minister’s wife. But she refused them all, of course; her heart was elsewhere. Yet she is no coquette, and she never keeps a man dangling after her for want of a decided answer. However, Marcus knew nothing, only that she was admired and sought after, and to him unapproachable, and he, poor youth, not being bold or self-sufficient, had hitherto offered his incense at a distance, and now began almost to despair. ‘** But God is my witness,’ said he on that memorable night, ‘how entire and earnest my devotion to Fanny is, and how much I would strive to be worthy of her and to make her happy! Miss Helen, I believe you can give me hope. Do tell me if I have occupied the smallest share of her thoughts or regard. You are her friend and confidante. Pray, be frank.’ “‘T thought it would not be wise to tell all that Fanny had acknowledged to me. He might better hear the confession from her own lips. But I said enough to give him vast encouragement. Just then Mr, Harring- ton passed us very rapidly, and said ‘good evening’ with anything but the air of an ac- cepted suitor.

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244 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “*Now’s your time,’ I whispered to Mar- eus; ‘go to Fanny this very night, and be valiant too, for faint heart never won fair lady.’ ‘**Miss Helen,’ he said, when we reached the house, ‘I shall never cease to thank you, if I am successful.’ *** Have no ifs, if you please, sir,’ I answered, laughing; and seeing Fanny at the parlor window, I said ‘good night’ to both, and ran up stairs to bed. ‘About midnight I was waked by Fanny putting her arms softly round my neck and whispering: ‘Oh, Helen, lamso happy! All our misunderstandings and coldness are at an end; and I am engaged to Marcus Hill.’ ‘*That’s my story,’’ said Helen, on con- cluding. ‘* What do you think of it?’’ My reply was that I was very much inte- rested in it, and that, having seen the heroine, I should, of all things, like to meet the hero also of this bit of romance. ** You will see him here at dinner to-day,’’ said Helen, ‘‘for he came over yesterday to take Fanny home, with the neatest little turnout that has appeared in our streets this winter. He is going to carry off my heroine this afternoon, and I have invited him to dine with us first. He took up his abode last night with an old chum at the hotel.’’ Helen added, in a hurried whisper, that ‘*Marcus and Fanny would be married in a year,” just as a light foot-fall was heard in the hall, and our fairy queen entered, looking so bright and lovely in a warm hued winter dress and dainty collar, with no jewelry but a simple cameo brooch, that my admiration was tenfold increased. My cousin’s hero appeared at the dinner hour, and a manly, fine-looking hero he was. His age exceeded Fanny’s by some seven or eight years, and he was consequently in the prime and vigor of life. His figure was tall, erect, and powerfully built ; the expression of his face betokened great energy; and a certain resolute, go-a-head air that distinguished him, was tempered by perfect good breeding, and the manners that fit a gentleman. Mr. Hill was not by any means what ladies usually call a handsome man; but an honest soul looked out of his clear gray eyes; and the contour of his head was not such as we are apt to associate with the idea of a weak or foolish person. I looked at him with much interest, and, had it not been for the know- ledge imparted by Helen’s story, should not have set him down as a suitor who would stop at any obstacles in the race of love. The thought occurred to me that it was the very depth and earnestness of his passion, kindled at the inner shrine of a strong, true heart, which had made him falter. They are your shallow, self-conceited, foolish men, whose short-lived love flames out in gusty, bom- bastic words, who never so much as imagine a repulse, be the object of their fancy ever so far above themselves. And further; had not that same story of cousin Helen’s revealed the tenderness of his nature, and how long and steadily he had loved, I might have passed him by as a good, every-day business man who would be sure to make his way in the world, and have thought of him no more. But he loved, and loved, moreover, the gentle Fanny Ray; and, while looking upon that man, he was, in my eyes, in a certain sense glorified. Yet it must be confessed that with all his agreeable bearing, his frank and polished manners and evident goodness, the fact ap- peared strange that Fanny should not only have fancied Marcus Hill, but conceived for him a strong affection. It would have been more like her, so I thought, to bestow her regards on a learned, eloquent professional man, or a pale, intellectual scholar. How unlike they were! And yet, after all, I came to the conclusion mentally that there was be- tween the two no lack of fitness. They re- sembled the sturdy oak and frail vine, the latter clinging in beautiful weakness and clasping each graceful tendril around the great branches, and both mingling strength and loveliness in a most harmonious union, In the natural world, such an object conveys the idea of perfect fitness, and is so full of suggestiveness as to have furnished, time out of mind, in its various aspects, an image of the mutual relationship of man and woman. Any how, it cannot be denied that I grew sentimental over this brace of lovers whom I had known but half a day. Dinner being dispatched, the visitors pre- pared to depart, and when young Hill brought his ‘‘turnout’”’ to the door, I watched the movements with unabated interest. How carefully he arranged the robes, so as to make everything as comfortable as possible for his little charmer! On parting, J kissed Fanny Ray as though she had been a friend of years, and presuming upon my greater age and ex- perience of woman’s trials, breathed in her ear a very fervent ‘‘God bless you!” She colored, smiled, pressed my hand, and flut-

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Is IT TRUE? 245 tered out like a bird, and the last glimpse of Fanny Ray revealed her as more beautiful, interesting, and bewitching than at any pre- vious moment of our brief acquaintance. How prettily the wee bonnet of maroon velvet with its graceful plumes sat upon her head, and how softly the delicate face-trimmings of lace, intermingled with drooping harebells, relieved the peach bloom on her cheek ! My good opinion of the fortunate suitor was only augmented when I observed with how much care he ‘‘tucked up’’ the robes about his lady-love, with what evident solicitude for her comfort all the arrangements for their drive were completed. As he seated himself at Fanny’s side, clad in a ponderous overcoat, with the voluminous folds of a ‘‘ gentleman’s shawl’’ enveloping his shoulders like a boa- constrictor, and gracefully touched the ‘ front- ispiece’’ of a formidable fur cap to the ladies who stood at the window seeing them off, I thoroughly made up my mind that be would be a model husband, and that Fanny, in a figurative as well as literal sense, might ‘‘ look up to him.’’ And the maid herself, peering out from the tasteful envelopments of her sweet face at the protecting expression of his, and nestling down at her companion’s side— a precious little heap as she was of furs, vel- vets, and merino—appeared the very em- bodiment of trustful affection. Hill flourished his whip; the handsome bay steed set off ata lively trot ; the lovers and their surroundings, a gray wolf robe that wrapped them in front, the glossy black bear skin, with its scarlet lining floating over the back of the diminutive, jaunty, cream-colored cutter, all glided away like a vision along the crisp, crunching snow. It will be perceived that I have lingered over the departure of this affianced couple. I could not help it, for, take them all in all, they formed a picture which, set in a gilded frame of young hopes, plighted faith, woman’s trust, and man’s worship, and varnished with perhaps a little of my own imagination, was hung in one of the “chambers of my imagery,’’ and contemplated very satisfac- torily, at frequent intervals, during one whole blessed year thereafter. Now, it chanced that, while summer had come and gone, and another long, fierce winter had ended its career, when the time of singing birds had arrived, and all nature was putting on a new livery of green—it so fell out, I say, that in that entire period no tidings reached me of Fanny Ray. Cousin Helen had departed on a protracted sojourn with relatives at the 21* West; and our correspondence was irregular and interrupted. But, when weeping, chilly May was ready to place her muddy hand in that of rose-bearing June, and breathe a cool **good-by,’’ Helen wended homeward, and soon sped on the wings of faithful affection and a railroad train to greet her friends at my own domicile. When the events of the past year in our several families had been discussed, when we had wept together over the going away of those who have no more need to weep for themselves, and had told our hopes of others who could yet cause us anxious or glad ex- pectations, and when Helen, with a blush, yet frankly as is her nature, had confirmed a re- port, which had travelled faster than herself, perhaps on the telegraph wires, of her own matrimonial arrangements, our talk turned to other friends. My first inquiry then was for Fanny Ray. Do tell me, cousin Helen, about Fanny’s marriage, and where she lives, and all that. I suppose she and young Hill are nicely set- tled, and as happy as can be, for these many months past.”’ It may be that the reader is prepared for the answer. Most assuredly, was not I. ‘*Dear me! no!’’ said Helen, with a shrug of her handsome shoulders. ‘‘She broke off her engagement with Marcus Hili, last winter, just about the time when he had expected to marry her, and WAS MARRIED TO ANOTHER in two months afterwards. She wrote me to come and be her bridesmaid. But it ‘wasn’t convenient.’ The fact is, I was grieved about the disappointment to Marcus, and vexed with Fanny, and hadn’t the heart to attend her wedding. I could have hurried my return, and been present, had I felt so inclined.”’ Reader, did you ever, when a child, build a fairy palace of snow, adorn it with icicles, fur- nish it with snow-moulded men and women decked with diamonds of frost-work, watch it when the sun shone on it in the morning, and when the moon lighted it up at night, and rejoice in its splendor? And then, when a ‘‘ January thaw’’ came, have you, on rising upon a ‘‘misty, moisty’’ morning, found that it had rained in the night, and, looking out where your white palace used to glitter in the early sun, seen nothing, nothing but a mass of dingy snow mingled with sticks, straws, and dead leaves, and all oozing away in a dark stream towards the gutter? If you have, then can you fancy what were my feelings on hear- ing this intelligence.

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246 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ** Can it be possible ?’’ I found words to say, after a moment’s silence. ‘‘ What terrible thing happened to break their engagement ? Did Hill prove unworthy ?’’ ‘Oh, no, not at all!’’ Helen answered. ‘*Fanny never gave any satisfactory reason to him, to myself, or her other friends. She de- layed the marriage, on some pretext or other, for several weeks, and then returned her engagement ring to Mareus when she had accepted the new lover. She wearied of the old engagement, very probably, and finally changed her mind.”’ ‘*Then she eased her conscience, did she not, by marrying one of her clerical ad- mirers ?’’ I asked, in bitterness of spirit. ‘*By no means. The gentleman is a Phila- delphia lawyer.’’ And that was all! Yes, here was the end of the romance of Marcus Hill and Fanny Ray. Not quite, either, for how fares it with the discarded lover? My heart refused to be interested in Fanny’s prospects now, nor did my tongue frame a question in her behalf. ‘*What becomes of Hill, poor fellow! all this while ?’’ was my next inquiry. ‘He feels very badly, I am told,’’ was Helen’s answer—‘‘ disappointed and crushed, but acts like a man of sense, as he is. Judg- ing from what I know of his character, 1 be- lieve it will be a long time before he will think of matrimony again. He will be more then ever attentive to business; and, if he shoud shun ladies’ society generally, he will not be apt to become a woman-hater. He has teo much heart, and his doméstic inclinations are too strong for that.’’ ‘And do you believe he will ever forget this hard lesson, and ask another woman to be his wife?” ‘It is my conviction that he will,’’ said Helen, very thoughtfully. ‘After a few years, when he grows wealthy, and gets to be quite an old bachelor, it will be natural for him to begin to pine for a home of his own; and I prophesy that then he will marry some plain, sensible woman, and live happily with her; but he’ll never forget Fanny.’’ Which prediction, being in accordance with the knowledge gained both from history and ob- servation, is very likely to come true. THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER.—NO. X. IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS. P. We will not learn the names of any new figures for the present ; but I will supply you with a series of drawings for practice. Some will be easy, and some difficult. PARALLELOGRAM, TRAPEZIUMS, OBLIQUE AND PARALLEL LINES. amo?

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THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER, THE SQUARE, THE PARALLELOGRAM, RECTANGLES, ETC ETC. ——TIM TRAPEZIUMS, RECTANGLES, PARALLELOGRAMS, ETC. EET) eae | }

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LUCY IN THE CITY. BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘‘THE TALLOW FAMILY.’’ (Concluded from page 152.) I reut like crying when I had finished read- ing the paper; and I told Uncie Eben it was too bad to get a joke upon other people at my expense. He said ‘‘ they had got it on them- selves; and perhaps it would learn them a lesson ; that I need not feel bad about it. I had been myself, and must continue to be so; and, if they did not like me as well when they found out that I was really a country girl, and not the accomplished heiress they had taken me to be, why, we could not help it. People need not jump at conclusions. Because he had said that a favorite niece was coming to see him, they must needs go to thinking that nothing but wealth and fashion could make her a favorite. The young men, doubtless, supposed I had made a will in your favor; and they would have said just as many fine things as they did, if you had been as homely asamud fence. Never you mind, little one. The women may turn up their noses in secret at your dress and manners; but they will not dare to do it openly; and let me just hint to the marriageable young men that I think of adopting you, and my house will be besieged, and would be if you were cross-eyed and pug- nosed. I guess though there is one at least of the number, who can appreciate modesty, beauty, and true refinement, even where there is no ‘foreign aid of ornament’ to set it off.’’ Don’t think me vain, mother, in repeating what he said. He just said it, I suppose, to cheer me up. I concluded to make the best of it; so I put on the corded skirt, and my prettiest dress, next to the white, and made my hair look as well as possible, and reappeared Lefore my uncle to take my part with him in receiving visitors. I was glad they came in crowds, for I did not have to say much; and it made it less embarrassing. But my eyes were opened now; and I could see the looks of surprise, disappointment, and mirth which were slyly interchanged. My self-respect coming to the rescue, I was able to bear it very well. As for uncle, I could perceive that he was in the 248 highest spirits; and I shouldn’t wonder if some of the rest were sharp enough to see it, too. Just at dark, my new dress came home. Uncle told me to go put it on, and he would take me to the opera. You’ve seen it, mother. How pretty it is made, with short sleeves and low in the neck! J thought it was too low; but uncle said ‘‘ Pshaw! that was nothing!’’ Iwas going to don my leg- horn bonnet: but be told me that we were to ride, and that I might just throw my veil over my head. ‘ Here,’’ he said; ‘first put these flowers in your hair.”’ I was dazzled, at first, by the lights and the display ; but, after-we had sat in our box a few moments, I began to take note of what was about me. The ladies and gentlemen were dressed as if for a party. Icould not help blushing, mother, absolutely blushing, to see how some of the former were attired. I asked uncle if those were respectable women. “‘The very condensed extract of respecta- bility,’’ was his reply. ‘‘ Don’t be alarmed, Lucy, at anything you may see. It takes so much to make the skirts of the dresses, now- a-days, that there is nothing left for the waists and sleeves.”’ ‘* What are those queer little things they are all holding ?”’ ‘* Telescopes, to discover the stars, my dear. I expect that you will be one of almost the first magnitude, to-night.’’ I felt very uncomfortable to see so many of the things pointed at me like so many pistols ; and d wished uncle had taken seats in a less conspicuous place; but, when the overture, as they call it, began to play, I was so en- chanted I forgot everything. It was the sweetest music I ever heard; and I almost imagined I was in heaven, I was so rapt in it. The glittering lights, the performers, the gay throng, all took on a magical effect, and seemed to be lifted up and floating away in an ethereal atmosphere. Then a woman, ele- gantly dressed, glided on the stage, and com- menced a kind of half speaking, half singing, looking at us appealingly, as if she were in

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LUCY IN THE CITY. 249 some trouble, and all of a sudden, as I was looking earnestly at her, her bosom began to heave; and she burst forth in a succession of trembling shrieks that made me jump to my feet in alarm. ‘‘Mercy! what is the matter with her?’’ I asked. But uncle pulled me down in my seat, and told me, a little sharply, not to make a goose of myself. I guess he was provoked at my stupidity, for he is very fond of the opera. I must say, mother, I had rather hear Jessie Clyde sing one of her bal- lads ; but uncle tells me I will think differ- ently one of these days, when my taste is more cultivated, and I learn to detect and feel all that the music expresses. During recess, several people left their boxes, and came over to ours. Among them was Mr. Fitz Foom, the young gentleman who played Beau Brummel, at the party. He was excessively polite to me—didn’t seem at all put out by the discovery that I was a country girl, and didn’t wear crinoline. I wish I could describe him to you, mother. He was small, and he was pale, and he was nice, oh, so nice! He had hands about the size of mine, covered with kid gloves white as snow. He had a little bit of silky, light-colored moustache, pale blue eyes, and a face as ex- pressive as a piece of paper with nothing on it. He looked as if he had just been taken out of a French bandbox, and smelt like a dying musk-rese. If you had seen him, so dreadfully dainty, holding his opera-glass— that’s the telescope, as uncle calls it—and perfumed handkerchief, as if he was afraid to touch even them, you ’d have felt like taking him across your lap, and spanking him, mother. He was such a contrast to Mr. Ha- milton—he ’s the one who was my Highland chief—that he appeared more insignificant still. Mr. Hamilton was tall, and plainly dressed, and had no gewgaws about him. There was something deep and manly in his tone that made Mr. Fitz Foom’s lisping little voice sound rather ridiculous. ‘*Wasn’t you quite overcome by Mr. Fitz Foom’s attractions ?’’ asked uncle, as we rode home. ‘‘I assure you, they conferred a great deal of honor upon you.”’ ‘To tell the truth, dear uncle, I was think- ing, the most of the time, what a splendid figure he would cut riding around the yard upon Sukey’s horns. Oh, dear! wouldn’t I like to invite him out in the country, and frighten him out of his five exquisite senses with a few little harmless tricks !”’ “Good !’? he laughed. ‘* Perhaps we can bring it about, for—let me tell you a secret— the young gentleman is in love with you.” ‘*With me! What do you mean?” **Oh, I’ve not had my eyes in use for forty years for nothing! He’s in love—not with your eyes, or hair, or fresh young face, or modest, affectionate heart—but with your prospects ; for I have slyly insinuated to him that your father is worth fifty thousand, and that you were, of all my nieces, my favor- ite. You must forgive me, daisy; but I wanted to see the result.’’ ‘* Well, uncle, I must say you take great liberties with my good nature.”’ ‘It’s nothing serious, my dear, just to be bothered with his attentions a week. It won’t hurt you nor him.”’ I thought uncle was mistaken in his sur- mises ; but the very next morning there came a beautiful bouquet, with the compliments of Mr. Fitz Foom. ‘*Poor Fitz Foom! I wonder if he got trusted for it?’? remarked Uncle Eben. “I expect he needs a wife very much to pay his tailor’s and perfumer’s bills for him. The price of kid gloves is rising, too; and that’s more fatal to his interests than a rise in the sugar market.’’ We had a great many calls that day, also. I got heartily tired of them. I wanted to sit in the library, and read some of the many at- tractive books Ifound there. If I did not love you, and father, and my old home so much, I should like to be Uncle Eben’s housekeeper. That library is such a pleasant place! We breakfast in it; and then there are the morning papers and all the new books ; and it has such a snug, comfortable look. There are pictures, and a case of minerals, and shells, and fossils, and a bust of Shakspeare, and so many inte- resting things. In the evening, we went to see the Ravels; and there I was amused! It was worth a trip to New York. You’ve read about them, mother? They don’t speak aword. All their playing’s done in pantomime. You and father must take a trip down to the city, some- time, and see Uncle Eben, and the town, and the Ravels. What? You guess you’ll have to be making visits there before long, if you want to see your daughter? Pshaw, ma! you ’d better wait until uncle asks me to live with him. You wasn’t thinking of uncle’s asking? Well, wait till you hear about Mr. Fitz Foom, then. For the next few days, we kept pretty quiet, for I wanted all my mornings to pass

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250 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. in the library. We took some delightful walks in the afternoons. Uncle Eben would take so much pains to explain things to me! Icouldn’t help noticing the little girls and boys that we met—miniature men and women. Their faces were as pale as flowers grown ina cellar; and they had the composed stare and preternatural self-possession of their elders, as well as the fine and expensive dress. I declare it made my heart ache to see them ; and I longed to ask some of the pretty little girls to go home with me, and learn to slide down the straw-stack, climb the chestnut- tree, feed the chickens, and ride the pony. I don’t believe they ever saw a ten-acre lot in their lives, or plucked a violet out of the grass, or ate mush and milk with the cream stirred in. I’m so glad I was not born a city child, for then I should have no such delight- ful recollections of playing in the farm. I spoke about the childrer to Uncle. “Children !’’ said he, contemptuously ; ‘*there are none now-a-days. I used to love little girls above all things—little artless, wil- ful, romping, modest, rosy little girls, in pan- talettes and pinafores. I could have sacrificed anything to them—my afternoon nap, or my smoking-cap to make a doll-baby of. They might have pulled my whiskers out, and spilled my ink on the carpet, and I wouldn’t have winced. But now—humph! A few nights ago, I was at an assembly; and it was nearly midnight when I first observed what I took to be acunning puppet in imitation of the lady of the house—a little doll-like thing, in a dress with five flounces, with a bouquet, fan and lace handkerchief, a miniature of every mature grace, and the centre of an admiring circle. But what I took to be a thing of art was really not a puppet, but the daughter of the lady of the house, six years of age. She was bandying compliments with the ease of a woman of the world. Her mother introduced me. With that want of tact which makes me so absurd, I addressed her as if she had been an ordinary little girl—‘‘ My dear, are you not sleepy? ‘Early te bed,’ you know, &c.’’ Ah, I had lost all chance of ever being friendly with her, kindly as my intentions were! Her cheek flushed with disdain. ‘I remain until after supper,’’ she replied, in the freezing tone so well calculated to check any further ad- vances upon my part. I don’t always quite understand Uncle Eben. Once, when we passed a poimpous- looking man, who bowed to him, I asked who he was. ‘Oh, that,’’ said he, ‘‘is a fine, portly old gentleman whom everybody esteems! He was lately the president of a company for the manufacture of gold coins out-of gas. The shares rose so high that speculators had to go up in balloons to take them; but, unfor- tunately, the gas proved explosive, burst, and ruined the company. The coins fell into the laps of the directors ; and the rest got nothing but the gas. The president, overcome by his misfortunes, immediately retired into a brown stone mansion on Fifth Avenue, and has ab- stained from any bat the most exclusive society ever since. He has been much com- miserated by his friends; and I think it helped him to marry off his daughter, the young creature we saw playing Beauty to the Beast, the other night. We all sympathize with adversity, you know.’’ ** You are trying to puzzle, aren’t you?’’ I asked. ‘*Maybe. But don’t bother your innocent brains about it. Comein here, and I will buy you some bonhons.’’ We went into an elegant saloon. ‘*T used to think dissipation confined to my own sex,’’ he continued; ‘‘ but, if you had frequented this establishment as long as I, you would become convinced that we are not guilty of all that may be classed under that head. When I have seen fashionable mothers here at midnight, lavishing their smiles upon gentlemen not their husbands, and sipping luxurious refreshments, and have thought of their poor infants at home—abandoned to the tender mercy of Bridgets, as fond of a little stealthy enjoyment as themselves in a less refined way, and giving the helpless little ones anodynes to secure themselves leisure for an hour in the basement dining-room—I have shuddered at the picture conjured up. Do you wonder I do not marry? But mercy! whom am I talking to? My little Lucy must forget what I have said. Let heralways keep her own affectionate heart and unsullied con- science, and believe that every one else is as pure as herself.’’ We met Mr. Fitz Foom in the saloon; and he asked permission to call in the evening, if we were not engaged out. My uncle told him we were not, and should be happy to see him— very happy. He looked delighted. Still, I saw him enjoy, with an indescribable, de- spairing glance, my morocco shoes and pink silk gloves. ‘‘ He feels like a lamb about to be butchered, and is endeavoring to prepare himself for the sacrifice,’? I thought. ‘ He

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LUCY IN THE CITY. 251 will tell me how to dress in better taste when he acquires the right to instruct.” Mr. Fitz Foom was faithful to his engage- ment, coming in all milk-and-water smiles, perfumes, and politeness. I was so provoked, I didn’t know what to do, when uncle got up and begged to be excused for half an hour to write an important letter. He had not been out of the room over five minutes when Mr. Fitz Foom was on one knee before me, asking me to marry him. How it came about, I cannot tell to this day. He took me all of a sudden, before I had time to put on any precautionary reserve. He did it very prettily, with two fingers of his snowy hand pressed against the padding on the left side of his vest. I was dreadfully embarrassed at first, and could hardly summon self-possession enough to draw away the hand which he attempted to take. But, as I looked down at the dainty creature, thrown into a studied attitude, and not one shade of doubt upon his expectant face, a little feeling of anger drew away timid- ity. But he was too insignificant for anger ; and, when he murmured, rhapsodically, ‘‘ Miss Wilmot, the happiness of a virgin heart, that has never hitherto breathed its affections upon earthly shrine, is hanging upon your lips,’’ a vision of his ‘‘ virgin heart,’’ stuffed full of unpaid bills, arose before me, and I laughed. “If your happiness is hanging upon my lips, I am afraid it will get a fall,’ Isaid. ‘I do not think there is any congeniality between us. I could not think of marrying you, Mr. Fitz Foom.”’ ‘Oh, I’m sure there is, Miss Wilmot! I have thought of nothing else since the first moment I met you.”’ ‘But Iam a plain country girl’’ (he raised his hands in deprecation) ; ‘‘and you are an elegant man of the world’’ (here he smiled, and tried to look modest), ‘‘a kind of butter- fly, ‘roving from flower to flower.’ Your hands are very white and soft, much more so than mine; and, if you married me, you would soon grow tired of country life. Be- sides, your wrists are not strong enough for milking; and I am resolved that the man I marry must milk all the cows.”’ His eyes opened wider than they ever had done before. ‘But why need we live in the country at all? .Of course, I should be afraid of the cows. They are horrid creatures. It was not my intention that we should reside—”’ ‘But you see we cannot do as we please. I understand that you do not possess much available property yourself; and my fortune depends at present upon the will of my father. He wishes me to marry some one to take the charge of the farm off his hands. He is get- ting a little infirm with years, and would wel- come a smart, capable son-in-law, who could guide the plow, take care of the stock, haul the grain to market, and oversee things gene- rally. If you will promise to do this, I don’t know—though it ’s rather sudden—but—per- haps—”’ ‘*Oh, I cannot accept you upon such terms !”’ he exclaimed, with an expression of horror, as he arose from his knee, and retreated a step or two. ‘*You would have to eat pork and boiled victuals in the kitchen along with the men, or else they would say you felt above them, and would refuse to work for you. One thing, though, would be nice—coming to town to sell our butter and eggs, and dropping in to Uncle Eben’s to dinner.’’ **T should perish—of—disgust!’’ he mur- mured, in despair. ‘‘ That certainly wouldn’t pay. I couldn’t think of it. I must bid you avery good eve—’’ Here the thought of a dun which was dogging him came over him, perhaps, and urged him back to another trial. ‘*Re-ally, now, Miss Wilmot, why wouldn’t your uncle give us a home here, and be done with it? It would be soagreeable all round.’’ “Well, I don’t know. Perhaps, if you should ask him, he would suspect you of mercenary motives.”’ ‘*He would do me the greatest injustice, then, my angelic Lucy. I swear to you—’’ ‘* But it’s wicked to swear.”’ ‘That, for your dear sake, I would go through—”’ ‘The barnyard to drive up the cows for me to milk ?”’ ‘That without you I shall be a broken—”’ ‘* Down adventurer.’’ ‘‘T believe you mean to insult me, Miss Wilmot,’’ he said, at this, retreating towards the door, just as it was thrown open for Mr. Hamilton to enter. I blushed; and Mr. Fitz Foom made a hasty exit. Mr. Hamilton was constrained in his man- ners ; and I was very glad to see Uncle Eben coming to the rescue. ‘‘ Ha, puss! you were rather saucy,’’ he cried, as hecamein. ‘ But served him right! served him right! Bless my soul! but didn’t the picture you drew frighten him ?’’ ‘“*Why, uncle! have you been—’’

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252 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ‘Listening? Yes, the whole time. Little daisy, here, has been trying to strike up a bargain with Fitz Foom, to tend her dairy for her, Mr. Hamilton.’’ **Oh, Uncle !’’ I cried. And then I ran out of the room, and left them to themselves. You are getting tired ; aren’t you, mother? Well, would you believe that, two or three days before I came away, Mr. Fitz Foom came back again, and was so good-natured and so insensible that I had to forgive him? He is determined not to give up tbe ship. I expect he ’s in very straitened circumstances. I felt like offering him the loan of my purse, with all my ten dollars of spending money. But I recollected that you needed a merino dress for winter ; and, as Uncle Eben was so good as to buy me everything I wanted, I bought the dress for you; and uncle added the muff and tippet. Aren’tthey nice? He’s such a dear, queer man; isn’t he? Uncle Eben, I mean. Iam so glad he invited me to visit him, for, despite of all my blunders, I enjoyed myself s0 much, and saw so many new things; and Mr. Fitz Foom told me he was coming out to visit us before long—and—and—what makes me so red in the face? Why, I don’t know that I am—but—Uncle Eben is coming out, next month; and he’s going to bring Mr. Hamilton with him. He wants you to make his acquaintance, he thinks so highly of him— and—dear me, how warm it is here! Don’t you think so, mother? CORREGIO. BY KRUNA. PILLoweD on crimson clonds, the golden sun Was sinking to his rest; his last warm rays Bending to kiss the lime-leaves, and throw out A farewell smile to nodding woodbine flowers, Which clung about the humble cottage panes, And shook beneath the soft Italian breeze Till haif their brightness scattered through, and fell Upon the sanded floor. Sweet sunlight—to the leaf and to the flower, And to the mother and her babes within— But quite unheeded by the artist's eye, Which, bent upon his almost finished task, Flashed with pure joy, in spite of weary brain, As from the canvas sprang to meet his gaze The life he had created. One touch more! There—ah, ‘tis done at last! Rejoice with me! Corregio turned, and Maddalena's eye Rested upon him with a prouder gleam Than sunbeams throw upon their favorite flowers, While, bending low, she pressed upon his brow The fervent kiss which all her rapture spoke. “ How beautiful! those faces such, methinks, As we might look for in a brighter world— They show no model here—thy genius all. Yet care sits brooding on thy troubled brow ; And I can see thy cheek grows far too pale, As if the roses there were plucked for these." (Laying her fiuger lightly on the frame.) She turned ; for at the door a step was Beard, And her quick eye Nicolo’s glance had caught. He gazed upon the picture, and the look Which his sg@rn face was wont to wear gave way. , He looked like one who came to chide, but stopped And smiled instead, from sudden cause for change— Some like a cloud, that chances on a glimpse Of a bright sun across the heavens, and throws With haste a rainbow all across its face. ‘*My daughter and her child, as true to life As stands that life embodied to my view! Tis well, my daughter; I no more will chide Or blame thee for thy choice—poor though thou art. Pietro may have gold; but glory ’s here.” **He cannot yet forgive my preference ;” And Maddalena smiled. “I scorn his gold! Hadst thou its double, my Corregio, I should not love thee more !” The artist's pale cheek glowed, and in his eye Sparkled a brighter lustre, as he gazed Upon his noble wife, whose strength of love Made poverty’s hard track a rose-strewn path. A few days passed, and Nicolo once more Entered the cottage. On his cheek there burned The fire of jealousy which, once again, Pietro’s envy had enkindled there. Corregio plied his pencil, and beside His easel Maddalena sat—her boy Leaning against her, while upon her knee, And smiling in her eyes, her infant lay ; Its golden ringlets shook about in glee When clapped upon each cheek by little palms Scarce, without tiptoe, reaching quite so high. It was a happy picture; but, alas! Too soon the shading dark, and darker grew Till all was night. **Come home with me,” The father said. ‘I’m lonely now, and he, Corregio, has his pictures ; he cares not For aught beside, and I am lonely now. Already has his traitorous pencil sketched, With its most witching skill, my Maddalen And her sweet Giovanni: calling it, forsooth, Madonna and ber child!” Corregio’s pencil dropped—his dark eye met Nicolo'’s—but no word unsealed his lips. “Father!” and Maddalena’s gaze met his. ‘‘Surely you cannot mean—you do not know What words you utter. Pietro again Has crossed your way. How I despise the man! Whatever falsehood, calumny, proceeds From his vile lips, I pray thee take no heed." ‘Forgive me!” said Nicolo. ‘I am old And childish grown.” Corregio took the hand Stretched out for pardon, and with faltering voice, “ Forgive me, then!” he said, “‘that I have brought For Maddalena naught but poverty.

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POETRY. 258 Oh, it is withering, crushing to be poor! But throw the garb of poverty around The form you worship, and.’tis madness proved. **T loved her better than my life, alas! But I am weak, I cannot bear it now. Yes, I will scorn my pencil, throw aside My cherished plans, and foil for daily bread. Thy father shall not say again, ‘Come home!’ Sweet Maddalena, were it not for thee, And thine own noble boys, I fain would go—” “Hush, hush, Corregio! thou art weary, sick. Why talk of poverty? My heart is light; My boys are rosy-cheeked, and full of glee; My home, our home, oh, it is Eden-fair! Thy love, thy smile, is more than wealth enough.” A stranger entered. ‘‘ Do I see,” he asked, ** Antonio Corregio! I have come To bring you hence to Rome. Thy genius there Shall richly be rewarded. Come with me; My master, Michael Angelo, would see One of whose fame he has with pleasure heard. ” So spoke Romaneo, while a deathly hue Crept slowly o’er Corregio’s wasted cheek. It was too much—the biting grief, the joy, Shocking in turn the unnerved yielding frame As when the storm some passion-flower has beat Low to the ground, out comes the glowing sun Smiling upon the ruin it completes. *‘T cannot thank thee, now—another day— My brain grows wild—yes—I am very weak.” Days passed. And with a faint and weary step Corregio on his way to Parma bears The finished picture. With the dear-bought price He homeward turns. ‘‘ What joy this gold shall bring! What blessing to our home! But I, alas! I must have weaker grown; the way is long— My limbs are weary. I will sit me down Beside yon cooling fount, and rest awhile. Rest! Oh, how sweet it steals upon me now! Sweet as the breath which these blue violets Give up, to soothe and lull me Rest! And their perfumed breathings whisper me Of that fair land where blessed perfect rest Is not a stranger; where the sweetest flowers Bloom not in scattered nooks and lonely dells Alone, but everywhere and fadeless !" Then on his weary eyelids gentle sleep Threw her soft mantle, and her magic wand Called up before him, in their sweetest guise, His noble wife and bright-eyed, laughing boy. Her cheek was pressed to his; her clustering locks Shut out the ray, too bright, from his dim eye ; And her low voice was whispering words of love. ** Ah, can it be,” he murmured low, at length, “My Maddalen! [ thought I dreamed of thee. ’ Tis thee—thank Heaven—farewell, a long farewell!” Was it the mantle sleep had lightly thrown Upon the weary man? Its folds were dark, And heavier they grew, and pressed those lids, Alas, more tightly than sweet sleep is wont. A mortal paleness gathered round the lips— An ashen hue o’erspread the moveless cheeks— And when, in agony of hope and fear, His Maddalena strove to waken him, She found it was not sleep that chained him there! VOL. LVI.—22 THE CHILD’S FAREWELL TO EARTH. (AIn.— The Watcher.) BY DELPEINE P. BAKER. FAREWELL, vain earthly pleasures, I bid you all adieu! The heart I gave to heaven Can ne’er abide with you. E’en now an angel whisper Doth softly seem to say: Oh come, sweet sister spirit, From earth, oh come away ! Ay, now my soul is longing To soar in realms on high, Where I shall meet the angels, Above the bright blue sky. A palm of glory beaming Radiant in each hand; Oh soon my spirit, upward, Will greet that joyous band! Oh, tell me, all ye lov’d ones, With whom I soon may part, Will joys of purer glory Find welcome in your heart? Oh, will the lowly Jesus With smiles of love, his own, E’er bid you hearty welcome To his triumphal throne? Farewell, my young companions Oh may your lives be spent In seeking your dear Saviour, Who gives the heart content! He'll bring you choicest blessings Wherever you may go, And if you love him truly, Protect you from all woe. Farewell, all earthly friendships! Ye friends, who nevermore Can soothe my dying pillow, I ’ll meet on Canaan’s shore. And you, bright earth, forever I bid a last farewell! I go; but ah, with Jesus My spirit soon shall dwell! SONNET.—SPIRIT OF LIFE. BY WM. ALEXANDER. Sweet spirit of life! in sun, in sea, in air, Displayest thou thy renovating power, Exerting potent influence everywhere, In moving spheres, in atom of an hour. In summer zephyr, now, thou may’st be seen, Or, now, in tempest’s energy sublime, Or, now, in nature’s universal green, Or, now, in earth’s trance of the winter-time, Then re-asserting thy eternal reign, Thou wakest nature by the voice of spring, Making her bosom throb with life again. Thy spirit, too, shall breathe upon our dust, In faith, we deathless, then, shall live among the just.

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254 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. THE SLEIGH RIDE. BY R. K. SHAW. THE moonbeams are resting brightly Upon the crystal waves of snow, The winter winds drive them lightly In eddying circles, to and fro : The icedrop sparkles nightly Upon pendent limb and bough ; No tropic landscape is more sightly, No purer jewels light a monarch’s brow. Others may praise the summer dells, Where violets perennial grow ; But give me a horse, the ringing bells, And the fields of drifting snow. The lily-white magnolia Is no purer than the fleecy field ; The Venetian’s gondola No better bark than 1 can wield ; While darker eyes than Italine Will light a maiden’s brow more fair Than ever blest a Florentine— Of one my bark to share. Others may praise the tropic climes, Where lily cups perennial grow ; But give me a horse, the merry chime, Upon fields of drifting snow. Others may seek the orange bowers, The wild clematis shade, They have no happier hours Than we upon the mountain glade; While laughing eyes and ruby cheeks Shall mark the Northern belle, As truthful as ever speaks Of the sea—its home—the shell. Others may praise the tropic dell, Where vielets perennial grow ; But give me a horse, the Northern belle, And the fields of drifting snow. THERE IS NO BIRD SO FREE AS I. BY HATTIE BOOMER. Tere is no bird so free as I, No bird on airy, crested wings, Who, fearless, through the vaulted sky, So dainty soars, so clearly sings. I warble through each happy hour As careless as when once a child ; I have nor wealth nor earthly power ; I’m but a blossom of the wild, A simple blossom of to-day, Within the summer's sunlight blest ; To-morrow’s storms whose pride may lay Forever in its lowly rest. In halls of fashion or of fame, Where beauty flows, and pride expands, I have nor voice, nor form, nor name; Yet I am blest by unseen hands. I have a joy forever new In my deep soul's existence free. I have a love forever true ; And, gentle nature, ‘tis in thee There is a power, there is a spell To me in every passing breeze, A something that I cannot tell, But which my spirit only sees. It speaks to me with holy voice, When falls the shining, happy rain; It bids a grateful heart rejoice In One who blesses all the same. It murmurs sweetly from the rose That lifts its blushing head on high, As if to modestly disclose Its earth-born beauty to the sky. It flashes forth, when mounts the sun, Like a strong heart of love possessed ; And, when his high career is ran, He sinks, still smiling, to his rest. It speaks to me from yon deep star, Pure on its midnight throne above ; It tells me of bright worlds afar, And whispers of a home of love. There is no bird so free as I, No bird on airy, crested wings, Who, fearless, through the vaulted sky, So dainty soars, so dearly sings. I joy to live; but oh, to sleep Without a dream, without a sigh, And waken to a life more deep, More vast, imperishable, high ! It fills my soul with longings wild ; Yet speech is lame, and thought is dumb ; But oh, the universe’s child This desert blossom shall become! THE GRAVE OF MARGARET DAVIDSON. (Greenrivce Cemetery, Saratoga, N. Y.) BY JULIA A. BARBER. Ir was a summer day. Weary and sad, I stood beside the grave of one whose soul Of melody and song had pass’d from earth To claim its heritage of bliss above. Ere time had dimm’d the beauty of her brow Or quenched the light of gladness in her eye, She turned from earth’s allurements, and with joy Gave her young heart to Him who claims our love. Think ye there was a bitterness in death To one so gifted and beloved? Mourn ye Her harp-strings broken—that no cunning hand May waken those sweet echoes here again? Go, learn of Him the blessedness of death In whom she trusted from her early years. Yea, at His footstool low, a blessing find In sweet submission to the will of Heaven. And ye who lean upon a bruiséd reed, And find in gayety and mirth your joy, Come to this burial-place, and learn how vain Ambition’s dreams, or earthly honors here Weighed in the balance with a Saviour’s love. Weary of earth with all its buried joys, I sought that cemetery’s quiet shade, And ‘mid its solitude my spirit learned To bear each heavy cross with cheerful heart, And patient wait for God’s appointed time.

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POETRY. 255 A solemn lesson, ere I turned away, Was treasured in that hour. The pride of earth, Its honors, toils, and gains—earth’s treasures all— As nothing seemed to Heaven’s approving smile. With soul attuned to gratitude and praise, I turned from that lone cemetery, and went forth With chastened spirit, and a grateful heart, To mingle with the busy world again. HOME TREASURES. BY FINLEY JOHNSON. You bid me leave the land I love, The land that gave me birth, To search for hidden treasures, which Lie buried in the earth. You bid me leave the friends of youth, In other climes to roam, But to veturn and find at last Those treasures safe at home. You say that in that favored land Are mines of wealth untold; That they who wander gather fast A store of precious gold. But what are riches, I would ask, When broken down in health? Useless and vain in sorrow’s hour Is all earth’s boasted wealth. Then ask me not to leave the land, The land which gave me birth, To search for treasures which lie hid Within the caves of earth. No, no, these treasures I can find, And have not far to roam ; I'll find them midst the happiness Of my beloved home. LINES TO MARY. BY M. W. Wrrnarn her heart’s conservatory Are rarest flowers, I ween, And biushing ‘neath the shady leaves, Fair clustering buds are seen. The twilight vail of modesty Doth many a charm conceal ; But oft the genial dews of love Their soft and blended sweets reveal. The light wing’d winds on which I send My spirit’s deep farewell Bring back a gently wooing breath From softly opening bell. And may this incense, fresh and pure, To gentle zephyrs given, Revive the drooping hearts of all Who linger ‘round this Eden. And when the fragrant flowers are culled To cheer some lonelier spots, I claim but these, my gentle one— These dew-gemmed forget-me-nots. Enigmas, ANSWERS TO CHARADES AND ENIGMAS IN FEBRUARY NUMBER. 3. Pun-gent. 4. Light. ANSWER TO PUZZLE IN FEBRUARY NUMBER. Louis A. Godey. CHARADES. 5. Wiraovt my frst, our language could not be; Without my second, commerce could not thrive; And all who trade must yield to bankruptcy, *Gainst which their efforts were in vain to strive. Without my whole, we could no repetition Have of a year, a season, day, or night ; Or what has pleased, or pained, or the glad recognition Of those dear friends in whom our hearts delight. 6. My frst is @ prop or a stop, My second of all is a part ; And my whole the fairest girl wears Near, very near to her heart. ENIGMAS. - ‘. Nor every portion of this earth, Though men and women there may be, Can boast of me, and yet am I A creature of humanity. Most men regard me with respect, And many court my company ; While nearly all the fairer sex Love me—or the like of me. Though some men are—some are not me, All would be if they could ; And though no wealth can make me, yet Few are me who want food. 8. THose who are me, you're sure to find In dress, in body, and in mind; Who, when I spring not from disease, Strive ever by my tact to please. But they of dress will mostly fail, For rarely does their taste prevail ; And those of mind, but seldom too Are seen in any pleasant view ; For the known reason that ‘tis oft They want the delicate and soft. A PUZZLE. I am composed of four syllables. My Ist is insane. My 2d is a vowel. My 34 is an elastic fluid. My 4th is a carriage. My whole is an island in the Indian Ocean.

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‘NOVELTIES FOR te LL. tae Yr” THE REO Ir is a generally understood thing, and in- deed almost a matter of necessity to ladies with large visiting lists, that calls, unless from the most intimate friends, are confined to reception days. That is, at the commence- ment of the season, a lady leaves her card with ill her friends, in the corner of which is printed 256

MARCH, WANT | i iN 1 .< Pte \W N “2 Nal ii} y } nt TINE

EPTION. Thursday, we will say. Mrs. Smith’s general acquaintances, then, understand that they will find her at home, and at leisure to see them on Thursday until three, or five, as her dinner hour may be. Usually the lady of the house is in an ordinary visiting dress; but among gay people these reception mornings have of

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NOVELTIES FOR MARCH. 257 late been made reunions or matinées, and the cinnamon-colored silk, with a diamond pat- hostess is in full dinner dress, while the visit- tern in black satin. The quilles are of black ors appear in a light carriage costume. velvet, in the castellated style. The corsage The hostess in our design is robed ina rich | is pointed, showing that it is also suitable for an evening-dress, and cut square on the bust, 2 /a Raphael, a favorite style to which we have before alluded. Sleeves in two puffs, and a flounce ; full undersleeves of lace. The visitor has a robe of moire, Mazarine blue and white, in broad stripes ; the flounces are edged with a band woven in black. Burnous carriage-wrap, long and pointed. Hat of lavender silk, with blonde, and a plume of three feathers. Fig. 1. THE JUVENILES. Fig. 1. La Belle Petite.—Dress of plaid poplin, in large bars, blue and white. A jacket corsage, trimmed with three rows of Tom Ponce fringe, blue and white. Street basque of light ladies’ cloth, with grelots; the sleeves are open to the bend of the arm. Undersleeves and collar of muslin. Leghorn hat, with blue rib- bons. Fig. 2.—Piqué walking-dress, for a child from three to five years of age. it consists of a skirt and jacket. The skirt is trimmed with double loops of round linen braid, fastened by oval buttons of white linen or Marseilles, and edged by a row of cambric em- broidery, as are the sleeves. The opening of the jacket and sleeves is filled with puffs of plain French cam- bric. Fig. 3.—Dress of white, blue, or Nankeen colored lawn, for a child from two to four years of age. It has two skirts, trimmed with rows of nar- row tucks, and a very narrow edging ; the front breadth of the upper one is left en tablier, and the tucks follow the outline. Sleeves and infant’s waist to correspond. Over the waist is placed, at pleasure, a fichu of the same, in the Marie Antoinette style— that is, fastening behind. Fig. 4.—Favorite style of infants’ caps, in lace or muslin, intended for the street. Fig. 5.—Bonnet or hood for a young infant, of white silk or cashmere, with loops of ribbon for ornament.

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258 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. EMBROIDERY. o 0° °9 oo 0°n °°0 Parra, ° g 90 0°? 0°%o, § 2 .0°% rs. 23 2 > ~ «€ F > ° ° fe) c o °o ral ° °o ° g ° ° 9° eo see ° %. % So c on ° “sr. © °° °o 3. 0,” ° 8200208 495 °° 20° oe Ss £m ° 940000 oq gS occ? ¢c - 2 s. . © S29 .° © o.|Uf ° ver ye. ° V4 Co0F00 5 oe. >} @ Ofo00 © co ° ° P0285 ° ° oOo ©000.900 ra °° o.|[U° S« = © 2. ° > = © , € o ° 290 “Te oe oe ee 9009990, “Pa 64° Ooo ° ? —. 2 90° °°o 5 % eo 0? Ps ° ° % *) ° oo ° ° S% on? 9 o" 3 ° 4 2¢900° oc Oo 38 Oo c o 8 & ° 20 920 - F ° ° © 5 oe («© fo} ° ° o oO 9 ° c 90° @ . % Pd %? B 3 ©o6 ° o° 3 S 06° O00 © So° 6 3 ©9000 20° TAKE very coarse cotton and back stitch, following the pattern ; at every dot make a stitch. Or it may be used for a pincushion: the pattern formed by sticking in a pin every place where there is a dot. INSERTION FOR CHILD’S DRESS.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. MODEL COTTAGES FOR LABORERS, MECHANICS, ETC. Bed Bed Bed Bed Room inom Room Roowe N Z Bed Bed = Reom Room Clout Closet Ix country districts, for which the accompa- nying design is adapted, homes for the labor- ing classes should be either single or in pairs ; and the latter is desirable in case of illness and with respect to social feelings, as well as for reasons of economy and external effect. If two connected cottages are planned so that a north and south line passes through the an- gles, the principal front facing the southeast, the sun will shine on all sides during the day. The least accommodation should comprise a living-room, kitchen, and not less than three bed-rooms, if the devent proprieties of life are to be fostered in the family of a man with sons and daughters. LADY’S SHOE BAG. To be made of furniture chintz double. The outside to be fuller than the inside, and stitched down where the lines are, leaving sufficient space to _put in a pair of boots or shoes when doubled together. It is a very nice way of preserving them from dust. To be nailed on the inside of a closet door.

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GODEY’s LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. CORNERS FOR POCKET HANDKERCHIEFS. . j hk " BOY’S JACKET. (See Diagram, page 267.) \\\ \\Y\ \SY x \\ . «8 \ \ \ \\

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' : ' 4 WORK DEPARTMENT. 261 DAHLIA PEN WIPER, IN RAISED BERLIN WORK. 41 fy 7 / 4; canvas, not too fine; fourshades of scarlet Berlin wool; four skeins of bright rose color; three skeins of military scarlet; one skein two shades Materials.—One nail darker; one skein of claret. Sufficient fine black cloth to cut two outsides of pen wiper the size of engraving ; four circles of silk, alpaca, or any other material for the inside ; a small ornament or steel button for the centre, and a little strongly-made gum-water. Cur out in card-board the pattern of leaf, as Place it under the canvas so as : Tttith t S RAAAGADIt PE t+ Seraincreteeate HH +444 smidimani man Tht aa Hetty RARAGARAMAMAARAAbnl : +4 Het tt Ht Pte sett ttat tet + ; SHH Et tt PETE ES bt ttt ed of" $44 4 mOvd;--DloeweOtsiereNCEONCTON H444447 rai Tha onset PEARL OLE LELEAELe shad aeaeaz yr Ae + T 4 in engraving. 40-4 FEE eee ets + SESE tt eee H isnin--"Bimsnenieanininieinininimamanaaia* at shih: =: Rimi RinininihidioieoeLocieee: rote SE St Ft tt tt tt tt toe Stet ttt te te t+ 94 et oe tt tf tt¢4 treet tty eeeU. — et snnossimieiciainie--"—2) + 944-944 4994 + 44-444 TESTES FETS sh pe 4444 - : 590 tie ti tttt tt +e eeettt te to have the open part of the canvas come down the centre part or black line of pattern. Dyaw with pen and ink a black line down the open part of canvas; there should be twenty-four 44, Mie, YT a “fy 44 f/f Mi tipyj \\) S\\\\\\ yi WAI Wiel AL HL wits Nye a \ Wy “wy Y stitches of canvas down this line. Thendraw the form of leaf so as to have the outline come on the seventh line of canvas from the centre. Draw five more leaves in this manner, but not close together ; be- tween each to cut the canvas into squares. With a wool needle commence with darkest (All the wool leave a sufficient space shade, and double the wool. must be used double. ) The flower is made entirely in herring-bone stitch. Commence at the pointed or stem part of leaf. Make a herring-bone stitch, covering four threads of the canvas in length, but take up with the needle only two. The stitch must be straight, not slanting. Work loosely six stitches of the canvas, which comprises twelve stitches of wool of each shade, up this line. 2d row.—Take the second darkest shade, work over this row in same stitch, but only as far as the darkest shade extends, and be- ginning on the black outline of leaf. Then take military scarlet and work over the second shade, and up to the end of military scarlet ; finish with the rose color. Make the stitches

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262 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. as thick and close as possible, and be careful not to draw them tight. 3d.—Commence with military scarlet, and work to three parts the length of leaf, begin- ning on the black outline; then finish with rose color. 4th.—All rose color. 5th.—The same. It will not be necessary to work more rows, even should the outline extend beyond. It will now have the appearance of a large red chrysalis. Cut the canvas close to the edge, and blacken with ink the edge of canvas, and with a camel’s- hair brush slightly gum the edge and back of leaf. When dry, with sharp and pointed scissors cut through the centre of the whole of stitches. The wool will instantly spring back, forming a beautiful velvet leaf, which can be trimmed into the requisite shape, and combed, if necessary. Cut a circle of cloth the size of a quarter dollar; sew the leaves round this, and sew on the ornament. Ther sew it on to the top circle of cloth; then through to the remaining circles; gum the points of each leaf on to the circle of cloth. By this process of working velvet leaves, any flowers may be formed, and very readily attached to silk or cloth. BLACK BEAD BRACELET. Materials.—Three bunches black beads, well cut, but not too small; seven curtain rings, small size; 1 ring, a size larger; two yards of round elastic; two yards black silk twist ; one skein fine black silk ; No. 4 hook ; one yard of very narrow black sarsnet ribbon. Bryp the large ring with the riband; fasten it securely ; cut the elastic into eight lengths or strands; sew these lengths on to one side of the ring, each length separated from the other by about the space of two beads; tie a knot in the silk ; fasten it into the first strand of elastic, so that the needle shall come at the edge; thread three beads; pass the needle again through this first strand (these three beads form the edge); * thread two beads ; pass through next strand ; continue to thread two beads between every strand ; then after the last strand thread two beads; turn on re- verse side ; pass the needle through first strand close to the first row of beads; repeat from * till six rows of beads are inserted between the strands ; slip the needle through the elastic to the length of half an inch ; then insert another

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 263 six rows of beads ; continue working the same till there are seven of these groups of beads, or as many or few as may be required for the wrist. Now sew the ends of elastic on to the ring, precisely as the first ends were sewed; thread the beads on the twist; tie the end of twist on to a small ring; pass up two beads ; make a tight de stitch; then pass up another two beads, and repeat till the ring is wholly and entirely covered, so that on the right side no glittering of the ring be seen; then fasten off in a tight, secure knot. When these seven rings are covered, sew them round the edge of the large one, as in engraving. This is really a very pretty bracelet, strong, useful, and quite worthy of being presented as a gift. JUVENILE DEPARTMENT. SAMPLERS FOR OUR YOUNG FRIENDS.

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GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

INFANT’S APRON.

> a zn B Sr La ptt #23 | = ota Fae a+ o- —, =- Zw l= dz = im & 5 ia x 13 Zz ~ as a Oo / + o m j q Nene te ee ‘o S © za 7 ~ o x m eounncniell

Cur the yoke to fit the neck. Take twice the length of the yoke for the fulness of the body. Cut the body the length of the waist from the yoke; gather it into the yoke at the top and into the belt at the bottom. Put the ? ruffle on the belt any depth. For white mus- lin or cambric the embroidered bands look best. For plainer material the ruffle should be of the same. Either short or long sleeves, cut loose, or gathered into a wristband.

EMBROIDERY FOR AN INFANT’S SHIRT.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. FULL INSTRUCTIONS IN NEEDLE-WORK OF ALL KINDS. IMPLEMENTS. For Crochet.—A needle of ivory, bone, or with a hook at the end. Whatever the material, the hook should be rounded at the end, and quite free from sharpness. Needles (or pins, as they are steel, For Knitting. sometimes called), of bone, ivory, or steel. They should be evenly thick throughout, ex- cept the ends, tapered to a point, without any sharpness. Some have knobs of ivory to prevent the work from slipping off at one end. Unless when, from the size of the work, long needles are indispensable, short ones will be found by far the most convenient. For Tatting.—Either a shuttle of tortoise- shell or ivory, or a netting-needle, with a purling pin, attached by a small chain to a ring, which slips over the thumb. For Netting.—A netting-needle, of ivory, wood, or steel, with a round or flat mesh. The former are measured in a gauge, the lat- ter by the width. A Lucette is a small ivory instrument, some- thing in the form of an Irish harp, used for making little chains. As they can now, how- ever, be had at a lower price than the silk required for making one costs, the lucette is very little used. For Beadwork.—Pound beads can be put on with fine ordinary needles ; but the beading- needles, or jeweller’s needles, are used for seed-beads. These latter are pieces of silver wire twisted from the middle, which leaves a loop forming the eye. Elliptic Needles, used for have oval eyes. Rug Needles, or tapestry needles, have long embroidering, eyes and blunt points. Chenille Needles have the same description of eyes, and sharp points. Gauge.—This is an instrument for measuring the size of knitting-needles, netting-meshes, and crochet-hooks. The two former articles are gauged by being slipped down into the holes, when they are, respectively, of the The crochet-hooks are measured by slipping the widest part of the hook itself into the narrow The bell gauge is numbers which the holes are marked. channel before the hole. the least expensive of all good gauges. TRIMMINGS. For Sefa Cushions.—Four tassels, and a length of cord two and one-half or three yards, form what is called aset. We show the lead- ing kinds :— Dresden. Greeian. with Purse Silk.— These are the most expensive. They are ex- tremely beautiful in every combination of Gertrude, like Grecian, colors. For Banner Screens.—One and one-half vard of gimp, three-quarters of a yard of fringe, two pairs of tassels, connected by a cord five- eighths long, and two yards of cord, all to match. Gimps are made in all varieties of pattern and color. They trim screens and baskets very prettily. Vou. LVvI.—23 Eugen. Chenille. Screen Handles.—Gilt, ivory, or passemen- terie, of which last we give an engraving :— The last named are very splendid, and should combine all the colors used in the screen. They are only obtainable in Paris. Fringes.—Silk or bullion. The latter are

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266 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, twisted; the former have the threads of silk loose. The price depends on the closeness aud the depth—three inches, so much; three and one-half, so much more ; and so on. terial. Cords are made in such infinite varieties, it is impossible to enumerate them. They are of every thickness, and almost of every ma- ——-—__~w0oere- — EMBROIDERY. HANDKERCHIEF BORDER. FOR A CHILD’S SKIRT. FOR MUSLIN. 4 Se YA {) n4 38 oy O° tye y O00 OR CRO ge

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 267

DIAGRAM OF BOY’S JACKET. (See page 260.)

\3 HALF OF SIDE BODY HALF OF BACK e is HALF OF FRONT 32 INCHES FROM ARN HOLE TO FRONT \Gt

“ a ¥ 8 a FRONT OF SLELVE om ~ ( i8 BACK. OF SLEEVE s iS} —

~-<eoo + FOR SILK EMBROIDERY.

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268 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, BRODERIE ANGLAITSE.

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RECEIPTS. 269 Receipts, &e. AUNT DEBORAH'S RECEIPTS TO HER NIECE, In the department of soup-making—as, indeed, in every- thing connected with cooking—strict regard must be had to cleanliness. The vessels in which soups are prepared must be perfectly free from grease, or sand, or the stale flavor of any previous cooking. Whether you use a camp kettle (an excellent utensil), an iron pot, a stone jar, ora common stewpan, take care that it has a close-fitting lid to prevent the escape of steam and flavor. Plenty of time, in some cases three or four hours or more, must beallowed for the cooking, that the meats, herbs, vegetables, and va- rious seasonings may give out their full favor; and the vessel containing them should be uncovered as seldom as possible. Gentle, regular heat, sufficient to cause slight simmering, will be far better than fast boiling. The liquor in which meat has been boiled, provided it be not too salt, will be better for soup than plain water; and the remains of cooked meat and bones may be used with advantage, the meat being cut into small pieces, and the bones well chopped. What are termed inferior pieces of meat, such as the shin or neck of beef, the scrags and knuckles of mutton or veal, and especially ox-cheek and ox-tails, will produce richer soups than the more expensive joints. You knew Mr. 8 , of the Hotel, M and you recollect how highly his soups were esteemed. He assured me, in confidence, that the basis of his soups, aud that to which they owed their chief excellence, was ox-cheek, cow-heel, and the bones and other remains of the meat and poultry, such large quantities of which were used at his dinners. Much of the flavor of soup depends on the judicious use of the herbs, vegetables, and various seasonings put into it. These must be used in due proportion, so that the taste of no one predominates. It is impossible to give exact directions in writing. Your own taste and experi- ence must guide you. You recollect how my soups used to be praised ; and I dare say, when you come to prepare yours, you will be able to bring them up to the same ac- ceptable standard. I do not approve of the introduction into soups of ketchup, soy, anchovy, or any other sauces of that class. Onions, savory herbs, the bones of ham or bacon, or, in ’ some soups, a squeeze of lemon, a pickled walnut, or a tablespoonful of vinegar, will be far better. When the soup is weak, a small portion of some sauce may be added ; but I prefer its entire absence. The flavor and richness of soups may be increased, and their greasiness neutralized, by taking a teacupful from the top, forming it into a smooth paste with a due quantity of flour, frying it for a short time with the vegetables, and, as soon as it is of a nice brown, returning it to the boiler, and mixing it inti- mately with the whole mass. Or some onions may be sliced, and fried in butter, slightly sprinkled with flour, till they are of a nice brown, and then intermixed with the mass. Meat intended for soup should be put into the stewpan with but a small quantity of water, just enough to keep the meat from burning, until the juices are extracted. Fresh water, or water in which meat has been boiled, may then be added in sufficient quantity ; and, after it has had one boil up, and all the scum has been carefully taken off, the vegetables, herbs, and seasoning may be put in, the lid shut close down, and the whole placed so as to sim- It may 23* mer gently till it is supposed to be well done. then be served up in a tursen, leaving out only the bones; or it may be run through a colander, to be served up with plain or toasted bread. Those who use only the clear soup should remember that there are plenty of their poorer neighbors who will be very glad of the refuse. The American cooks sometimes use the refuse thus: After taking out the bones, they chop the meat small, season the mass with salt and pepper, tie it up tight in clean linen, and place it between two flat boards, with a large stone or heavy weight upon the topmost one. After being thus pressed for some hours, it can be cut into slices, and used as sandwiches for breakfast, luncheon, or supper. Or, they make it into balls, with the addition of a little flour and egg, fry them in lard, and serve them up hot. Having made these general remarks, I proceed to furnish a few extracts from ‘the dear green book.” Ox-tail Soup.—Soak a couple of ox-tails in cold water for an hour; dry, and divide them at the joints; place a small piece of butter at the bottom of the stewpan, and put in the ox-tails with two or three onions, a carrot a small head of celery, and a turnip (all cut small), some crusts of bread, a few sprigs of parsley and sweet herbs, a clove or two, and some pepper-corns, and about a pint of water; stir, occasionally, until the bottom of the stewpan is covered with a thickish brown glaze; then thicken well with flour, and fill up the stewpan with three quarts of water ; add a tablespoonful of salt, and stir until boiling; cover close, and let the whole simmer until the meat be- comes very tender; take the pieces out, and place them in the tureen; then pass the soup through a colander over them, and serve up. If preferred, the thickening with flour may be omitted. Mock-Turtle Soup.—Get half a calf's head, with the skin on, neatly scalded, and a pound of dairy-fed pickled pork, rather fat; let the head be well soaked and cleaned, and the salt washed from the pork ; put both into the stewpan, with one good-sized onion, a small head of celery (both cut in pieces), a few sweet herbs, and a little mace and pepper ; cover the whole with about four quarts of water, and let it boil gently till the meat is tender; then take out the head and the pork ; separate the meat from the bones, return the bones into the soup, let them boil for two or three hours, and then pour into a pan to cool; cut the meat into small square pieces, and prepare a few egg balls and forcemeat balls; take the fat off the soup, and then return it to the stewpan, and, when quite hot, strain it throngh a sieve; then put in as many pieces of the calf's head as you think proper, and about half the pieces of pork, which will form a substitute for the fat of the turtle, at the same time that it will improve the flavor of the soup; put in also the forcemeat and egg balls, adding a small portion of cayenne pepper and the juice of half a lemon ; let the whole boil for a short time, and it will be fit for use. If you wish to brown the above, pnt a little of the fat into the frying-pan; dredge it with flour; fry i brown, stirring it to avoid burning ; then return it to the soup, and stir it well in. Mulligatawny Soup.—This Indian dish is admired by The meat may be either veal, rabbit, or fowls. I If I happen to have any cold fowl in Get a knuckle of veal ; many. generally use veal. the house, I use that in addition. have the bone cracked in two or three places; put it into a stewpan, cover it with water, and, when it is rather more than half done, cut off »s much meat as you wish for the soup, and boil the bones and the remainder of the meat well down to make stock soup; let this stand until cold, and then remove the fat; cut the meat into small pieces, and fry them in butter, with four onions sliced and

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270 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, floured, two dessert-spoonfuls of curry-powder, a little Cayenne pepper, and salt; put these into the stewpan; add the stock gravy, with three or four cloves, and a good tablespoonful of lemon-juice ; let the whole simmer for an hour, aud serve up with some plain boiled rice in a sepa- rate dish. Shin-of-Beef Soup.—I am indebted for the following excellent receipt to a lady who has acquired considerable fame for her skill in gastronomics: Choose a shin bone, weighing four or five pounds; the finer the meat, the bet- ter the soup; have it sawn in pieces about two inches long, that the soup may be properly enriched by the mar- row ; Wash the meat in cold water; mix together a table- spoonful of salt and nearly the samc quantity of pepper ; rub this well into the pieces of meat, and put them into a stewpan with as many quarts of water as there are pounds of meat; set it over a moderate fire till it is near boiling; then take off every particle of scum; cover the pan up close, and let it boil gently for two hours; then add one carrot, one turnip, a small head of celery, and two good onions (all sliced), some parsley chopped, three or four mealy potatoes cut small, and a teacupful of pearl barley well washed; cover close, and let the whole boil gently for another hour; then add another tablespoonful of salt, and a little thickening, made of a tablespoonful of flour and a gill of water mixed intimately ; cover up, and sim- mer for fifteen minutes more, and serve in a tureen. If the meat and vegetables be not desired, the soup may be passed through a gruel-strainer, and served up with some long narrow strips of toasted bread. The meat, &c., will make an excellent dish as part of the next day’s dinner. Pea Soup.—Wash a quart of split peas, and boil them in two quarts of water, with half a teaspoonful of carbonate of soda, till they are reduced to a pulp. If you have broth, or beef liquor not too salt, add two quarts to the peas, or as much as you have, making up four quarts of liquor altogether; then put in half a pound of streaky pork or mild bacon, some good beef or pork bones, or one pound of beef cut into pieces, a little parsley and thyme, some onions, carrot, celery, and two or three potatoes (all cut small), a tablespoonful of Salt, a tablespoonful of coarse sugar, and pepper to taste; let the whole boil gently for two or three hours; then serve in a tureen, with slips of toasted bread. If the soup be desired free from the meat and vegetables, strain as directed in the foregoing receipt. In either case, have some dried mint finely powdered, to be added at the pleasure of the company. Remember, that most soups are apt to ferment, and should be used up on the day they are made, or, at fur- thest, on the next day. Place them in well-glazed earthen tureens or pans, and keep them in a cool, dry place. Your thoughtful aunt, DEBORAH. SICK-ROOM AND NURSERY. BATH. The warm, or hot bath is, or ought to be, a remedial agent only, not one for general use. Its temperature ranges from 95° to 102° Fahr.—96° is the most general standard. The warm bath is used to promote reaction, to allay pain, spasmodic or inflammatory, to soothe con- vulsive action, or, carried to its fullest extent, to cause faintness. The time for remaining in the warm bath is generally from twenty to five-and-twenty minutes, but this must be regulated, somewhat, by the effect required. The hot bath of a temperature of 100° is a powerful stimulant agent, to be used cautiously, and rarely without medical advice; in disease characterized by extreme de- In the employment pression, coldness, &c., it is useful. of these baths generally, persons who are the subjects of any organic disease, or have a tendency to acute attacks of functional disorder, such as determination of blood to the head, &c., must be very cautious, and ought if possible to have medical advice. The regulation of the temperature of baths ought never to be left to the sensations; the ther- mometer is the only trustworthy guide, and, indeed, is an article which no house ought to be without; the price of the instrument is now extremely low, and whether for the bath, the temperature of the room, or the instruction of a child, it is equally useful. Baths are made either to contain the whole person—the slipper bath, the bip bath, or the foot and leg bath. In choosing a bath, it is well to have one which will answer the desired purpose with as small a quantity of water as possible. Every house, where it can be afforded, should have the means of pro- viding a bath, and every village ought to have its mov- able bath, for the use of the poor. Mode of Application of Bath.—The Shower Bath, whether of fresh or salt water, whether quite cold or tepid, is a valuable agent in the treatment of many nervous affections ; it will suit some whom the general bath will not. It is well for persons of weak habit, or who suffer from the head, to have a thin layer of warm water put in the bottom of the shower bath before getting in. Useful hand shower baths are now manufactured for children. The Douche Bath consists of a compact stream of water, either warm or cold, allowed to impinge forcibly upon any portion of the body. In some bathing establishments, on the continent especially, the douche stream is of great force and bulk. Domestically, the most familiar douche instrument is the pump, and a most efficient one it is to strengthen a limb which remains weak after an accident, such as a fracture or sprain; it must be used till aching is produced. The most convenient domestic douche is a watering cap without a rose, but a jug will do; in short, whatever will send a stream of water upon the part re- quired. Additional force is obtained by the person ad- ministering the douche standing upon a chair. Sponging the skin with water is used in lieu of a bath, for purposes of cleanliness and comfort. It may produce depression if employed before breakfast. Partial sponging, sponging with tepid water, changing the hour, or having a cup of coffee on rising, may obviate the effect. Rough friction is to be employed after. The wet sheet bath is sometimes, by misnomer, called the cold wet sheet. It is, in fact, a warm bath, or rather a large warm poultice, kept warm by the animal heat. It is formed by enveloping the person in a sheet, wrung out of cold or tepid water, and covering or packing him up with layers of blankets; very free perspiration is the result. It is a most useful remedy, and might with ad- vantage be more generally used. Sponging with cold water after the use of this bath is occasionally practised. The vapor bath produces free perspiration, and may be used whenever that is required, as in incipient cold. It is very relaxing. Many different forms of vapor bath have been invented. A small kettle to place on the fire, with tubing to convey the steam underneath the blanket or vil- case in which the person is enveloped, forms a good vapur bath. A simple extempore vapor bath may be made Ly placing a vessel of boiling water underneath the coverings of the patient, and keeping up the steam by means of hot stones or metal. The hot air bath is used for the same purposes as the vapor bath, but is more stimulating. Apparatus of various kinds for this bath may be had at the manufacturers. Medicated baths are used, but only ander medical di- rection

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RECEIPTS. Lo] ~I — Hip baths and Foot baths are used where a full bath is unnecessary. The former, either cold, tepid, or warm, is extremely useful in affections of the loins, hips, &c. The foot bath, generally used as a derivative, ought to be as high a temperature as can be borne, and ought to redden the skin after the immersion. If a stronger effect is re- quisite, an ounce of mustard, and a couple of handfuls of salt may be put in the water. To reap the full benefit of the foot bath, the extremities should either be clothed in woollen stockings, or wrappod in flannel immediately on coming out of the water. The fact must always be kept in mind, in using the foot bath in cases of insensibility, that while it may be so hot as to scald, it cannot be com- plained of. The best mode is to use the thermometer, and nut to raise the heat above 100°, BILLS OF FARE. BIL. or Fare ror A DINNER FOR Eigut Persons Ix MARCH :— FIRST COURSE. Onion soup. Remove.— Boiled calf's head. Lamb. Veal cutlets. Boiled chicken. Remove.—Sweetbreads, Maccaroni. Vegetables. —Potatoes, cabbage, on side-table. SECOND COURSE. Potato pudding. Blanemange. Lemon cream. BIL. oF FARE FOR TWELVE Persons IN MARCH :— FIRST COURSE. Carrot soup. Remove.—Boiled fish. Mutton chops breaded. Stewed sea-kale. (Flowers.) (The Castor.) (Flowers.) Roast beef. Remove.—Stewed kidneys. Turkey. Eggs and spinach. Vegetables.—Potatoes, broccoli, tomatoes, rice, &c. SECOND COURSE. Eve’s pudding. Italian cheese. Churned cream. Open tart. Coffee cream. Oranges, grapes, &e. Brut oF Fare For Sixteen OR EIGHTEEN PERSONS IN Marca :— FIRST COURSE. Soup & la Julienne. Remove.—Stewed eels. Remove.—Stewed breast of veal. Scalloped mutton. Sweetbreads in tomatoes. Boiled tongue. Remove.—Saddle of mutton. Vegetables.—Potatoes, Jerusalem artichokes, cauliflower, tomatves, corn, &ec. Kidneys in wine. Ducks in olives. SECOND COURSE. Dandy pudding. Calf's feet (Vase.) Apricot cream, jelly. in shape. (Epergne.) Blancmange. (Vase.) Cake and custard. Fruits. Remove.—Rhubarb tart. MISCELLANEOUS. Paum-Soap (Superior).--Cut thin two pounds of yellow soap into a double saucepan, occasionally stirring it till it is melted, which will be in a few minutes, if the water is kept boiling around it; then add quarter of a pound of palm oil, quarter of a pound of honey, and six cents’ worth of true oil of cinnamon ; let all boil together another six or eight minutes ;- pour out, and stand it by till next day. It is then fit for immediate use. OLNTMENT FOR ScURF IN THE HeAps or Invants.—Lard, two ounces; sulphuric acid, diluted, two drachms; rub them together, and anoint the head once a day. Cure FoR CHaprpep Hanps.—Instead of washing the hands with soap, employ oatmeal; and, after each wash- ing, take a little dry oatmeal, and rub over the hands, se as to absorb any moisture. Wash Fog A BLotcuep Face.—Rose-water, three ounces ; sulphate of zinc, onedrachm. Mix. Wet the face with it, gently dry it, and then touch it over with cold cream, which also dry gently off. Remepy For Buisterep Feet From Lora WALKING.— Rub the feet, at going to bed, with spirits mixed with tal- low dropped from a lighted candle into the palm of the hand. Dr. Birt Davies’ Govt Mixtvre.—Wine of colchicum, one ounce; spirit of nitrous ether, one ounce; iodine of potassium, two scruples; distilled water, two ounces. Mix. A teaspoonful in chamomile tea two or three times a day. Burns.—If the skin is much injured, spread some linen pretty thickly with chalk ointment, and lay over the part, and give the patient some brandy and water, if much exhausted ; then send for a medical man. If not much injured, and very painful, use the same ointment, or apply carded cotton dipped in lime-water and linseed oil. If you please, you may lay cloths dipped in ether over the parts, or cold lotions. ScaLps.—Treat the same as burns, or cover with scraped raw potato; but the chalk ointment is the best. In the absence of all these, cover the parts with treacle, and dust on plenty of flour. To Sweetex Mcsty Botrries —Rinse them with sul- phuric acid and water mixed in the proportion of a quart of water to half a pint of acid. TeeTaine.—Young children, whilst cutting their first set of teeth, often suffer severe constitutional disturbance. At first, there is restlessness and peevishness, with slight fever; but not unfrequently these are followed by con- vulsive fits, as they are commonly called, which depend on the brain becoming irritated; and sometimes under this condition the child is either cut off suddenly, or the foundation of serious mischief to the brain is laid. The remedy, or rather the safeguard, against these frightful consequences is trifling, safe, and almost certain, and con- sists merely in lancing the gum covering the tooth which is making its way through.

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272 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS. Cores Mixtvar.—Take one teacupful of molasses; add two tablespoonfuls of vinegar; simmer this over the fire ; then, when taken off, add three teaspoonfuals of paregoric, and as much refined nitre as can be put upon the point of a small breakfast knife. Of this mixture, take two or three teaspoonfuls on going to bed, and one or two during the day when you have a disposition to cough. A Paster For a Cover.—Stir sulphur into molasses until thick as a salve; spread it like a plaster, and lay it over the chest. Try them. They can do no harm. Rice-Pcuppixe without Eees.—One teacup of rice ina quart of milk, two tablespoonfuls of sugar, nutmeg, and a little butter ; bake half an hour. Sopa Loar-Cake.—One cup of sugar, one egg, a piece of butter a little larger than an egg, one cup of sweet-milk, with a teaspoonful of soda in it, two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar mixed in three-quarters of a pound of flour; mix with the hand thin enough to pour easily. Cup-Cake.—Two cups of sugar, one cup of butter, one- half cup of sour milk, three cups of flour, four eggs, nut- meg, and saleratus. Sponce-Cake.—Ten eggs and their weight in sugar; beat the yolks with the sugar; take the weight of five eggs in flour sifted, beat the whites toa froth, and put in: add a half teaspoon of soda, and stir in the flour one of cream of tartar; add the flour as quickly as possible, and bake immediately. Lemon-Pir (delicious).—For one pie, two lemons’ juice and rinds, two cups of sugar, one cup of milk, two table- spoonfuls of corn-starch, the yolks of six eggs; bake it; then beat the whites of the eggs with eight tablespoonfuls of fine white sugar, and pour over it; put it in the oven, and dry. Syow-Batis.—One cup of sugar, two eggs, four table- spoonfuls of milk, a teaspoonful of cream of tartar, and one of soda, if the milk is sour; if not, half a teaspoonful ; spice to your taste; flour to just roll out in balls; fry in lard, and dip in the white of egg, then in powdered loaf- sugar, till white. Receipt ror Sweet Pickie.—Peel and quarter large green musk-melons, or halve ripe cucumbers; scrape out all the seed ; rinse in clear, fresh water; dry, and lay the melons on clean linen, and stick them with cloves @hd cinnamon in small pieces; make a syrup of fine white sugar; when skimmed, put in the fruit, and cook until it looks transparent; then put the /rwit ina glass jar, letting the syrup cook till it becomes thick enough ; then mix it with one gill of good vinegar; pour the syrup on the fruit boiling ; cover it with a double napkin until quite cold ; then tie a piece of cloth dipped in melted beeswax over the jar. If the syrup should look thin after a fort- night, cook it again till properly thick, and pour it on the fruit as before. If watermelon rind is to be used, it is better to soak it two days in salt, and three days in alum-water, and in fresh water till all the taste is out. Picktep Crrrox.—Cut in shapes ; lay in cold water over night; in the morning, set them on the fire, in the same water, and scald till tender; then wipe them dry; put in a jar, and cover with vinegar boiling hot, adding spices and sugar, a teacupful of sugar to a quart of vinegar; cover up closely, and they will be ready for use in a few days. A Sprepy Cure ror Cotic 1x Inrants.—Half a teaspoon- ful of breast-wilk well-smoked with tobacco fumes. Chemistry for the Poung, LESSON IX. Method of getting Silver out of its Chloride. MATERIALS, ETC., REQUIRED. 141, A clean tobacco-pipe. Some sesqui-carbonate of soda (i. e., carbonate used for soda-powders). An ivory paper-knife. Spirit-lamp. Piece of charcoal. Blow- pipe. Metallic zine. Quicksilver. Hydrochloric acid (muriatic acid, or spirit of salts). 142. There are several methods of obtaining metalli silver out of its chloride. Of these, I shall describe twe of the most convenient. 143. Having put the chloride to be operated upon into a teacup or glass tumbler—not a wineglass or other conical vessel—add to it a little water, acidulated with about two drops of hydrochloric acid. Into this, put a few slips of metallic zinc, so that they may be brought and remain in contact with the chloride of silver. An action is speedily set up; and the chloride will be found gradually tochange, assuming the appearance of a black powder. 144. This black powder is metallic silver in a state of extremely fine division. Most metals assume a similar black color when in a finely divided state. If this black powder were collected, washed with water, dried, and fused, a button of pure metallie silver would result. This is what we will proceed to accomplish. 145. But the accurate collection of this powder is no easy matter, except we have recourse to an indirect con- trivance. Such a contrivance is suggested by the process of amalgamation, or the combination of silver with quicksilver. 146. If the metal quicksilver be poured on silver, the two speedily anite, and form a compound, to which the term silver amalgam is applied. Amalgam isa general expression for any compound of quicksilver with another metal. 147. Having taken out the zine, and well washed the remaining black powder, or metallic silver, pour in upon it a little quicksilver, and agitate by means of the finger or a glass rod. The quicksilver will seek out and combine with every portion, however minute, of the associated metal, and will form a soft mass, which can easily be removed. 148. Take this mass, and, having dried it by means of blotting-paper, put it into the tobacco-pipe, which is in- tended to be used in this instance as acrucible. Put the bowl of the tobacco-pipe into a very clear fire—that of a common grate will answer—and urge the heat to white- ness by means of the bellows. The mercury will speedily volatilize, leaving the silver as a spongy mass; and pre- sently, this mass undergoing fasion, the silver will melt into a bright resplendent button 149. Thus the fullest demonstration of the separation of the silver from the copper will have been obtained ; but it is impossible to conduct the operation of reduction without incurring a slight loss; hence the estimation of silver as a chloride would have given a more correct weighed result.

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Ehitors’ Gable. Through knowledge, we behold the world’s creation, How in his cradle first he fostered was, And judge of nature’s cunning operation, How things she formed of a formless mass. By knowledge, we do learn ourselves to know, And what to man and what to God we owe. SPENSER. We bring to our “Table,” this month, a little book,* with a quaint title, that reminds us of good old John Bun- yan, who, in his ‘‘ Holy War,”’ calls the five senses ‘‘ gates of the city of Mansoul.” Dr. Wilson opens his work by reminding us of the bountiful manner with which we have been provided with inlets to pleasure and happiness opened for us through the wide universe by the loving kindness of our divine Creator. He warns us against injuring these servants of the soul (the senses) by neglect or misuse. ‘‘ Our souls would be only gaivers by the perfection of our bodies, were they wisely dealt with; and for every human being we should aim at securing, so far as these can be obtained, an Eye as keen and piercing as that of the eagle, an Ear as detective to the finest sound as that of the hare, a Nostril as far scenting as that of the wild deer, a Tongue as delicate as that of the butterfly, and a Touch as acute as that of the spider. No man was ever so endowed, or ever will be; but all are immeasurably short of what they would achieve were they to make their senses what they might be made. **The old have outlived their opportunity ; and the dis- eased never had it; but the young, who bave still an un- dimmed eye, and undulled ear, and a soft hand, and inflated nostril, and a tongue which tastes with relish the plainest fare, can so cultivate their senses as to make the narrowing, which for the old and infirm dwindles things sensibie, widen for them into an almost limitless horizon.”’ The description of the eye, in each of its parts, is full of instruction. The eye is a large ball. The outer wall, commonly called “‘ the white of the eye,’ strong, thick, pliable membrane, in form like an acorn- cup or a wineglass with a narrow stem. In front is a clear, transparent window, exactly like the glass of a watch, with a bent surface like a bow window. The eye- lids may be compared to a pair of outside shutters to this window, put up when we go to sleep, and taken down when we awaken. These movable shutters are constantly rising and falling, or, as we say, winking, in doing which, we unconsciously perform an important duty. “An out- side window soon gets soiled; and the careful housekeeper cleans her window every morning. Bui our eye windows must never have a speck or a spot upon them; and the winking eyelid is the busy apprentice who, not once a day, but all day, keeps the living glass clean.” Behind this ever clean window, and a little way from it, hangs that beautiful circular curtain which forms the colored part of the eye; and in the centre of which is the pupil. It is called the “iris.” This iris opens and shuts with its exposure to light, and the reverse—a phenomenon best observed in the eyes of a cat, where we see the pupil ’ consists of a

* The Five Gateways of Knowledge. By Dr. George Wilson, of Edinburgh. Republished by Parry & M’Millan, Philadelphia.

often contracted to a mere slit when in the sun, and ex- panding to a dark orb in the dark. Behind the iris is a lens, or magnifying-glass. This lens is inclosed in a transparent covering stretching tothe outer edges of the eye; and in the space dividing the lens from the glass window is a clear liquid in which the iris floats. The lens is further set, like the jewel stones of a ring, in what looks, when detached, like a sphere of crystal, but which is, in reality, a translucent liquid Lastly, all the back part of the eye is spread over with a fine white membrane like cambric, and behind that a dark curtain. This curtain, seen alone, is likea flower-cup, and ends in a stem, which is called the “optic nerve,” and in the living person conducts to the brain. We know how small the chamber of the eye is, yet “‘into it the sun and stars, the earth and the ocean, the glory and the terror of the universe enter upon the wings of light, and demand audience of the soul.” The second gateway of wisdom is the ear. of hearing is so hidden that no external inspection can What we call the ear is but the out- Some Across The organ give us an idea of it. ward porch of a set of curious winding passages. of these are filled with air, others with fluids. these passages are stretched curtains of membrane (thin skin), that, like the tambourine or drum head, can be thrown into vibration. Between two of these curtains, a chain of very small bones extends, which seems to tighten or relax the membranes, and to make them vibrate. In the deepest recess of all, rows of fine threads, like the strings of a piano, stretch from the last points to which the thrills or vibrations reach, and pass to the brain. If these threads or nerves are destroyed, the power of hearing is lost as certainly as the power to give sound gues from a violin when the strings are broken. To produce sound, a solid, or liquid, or gas, as the air, must be thrown inte vibration. The human ear is possessed of all these means of carry- ing sound. Thus the walls of the skull are like the metal of a bell conveying sound to the brain. Those winding passages are filled with a liquid which pulsates and undu- lates like the waves under the keel or the oar. Lastly, two chambers, one leading to the mouth, the other to the outward ear, are filled with air. Vibrations, conducted through all these, are perpetually occurring in our ears; and, as a final result, the nerves, ‘‘ piano strings,’’ take an impression <o the brain. Thus we hear. **Is it not to be deeply lamented that the sensitive ears, with which we are almost all of us gifted by our Maker, are so little educated that they might as well be stuffed with tow, or plugged with lead, for any good use we make of them? To be sure, we keep them sufficiently open to hear all the gossip about us; but, as for training them to the exquisite sense of melody or harmony, how few do it! St. Paul says none of the voices or sounds of the world are ‘without signification ;’ and you will find that, for an appreciating ear, they all have an exquisite meaning. How much modern education can do for this organ, I need not tell you.” The nostril, organ of smell, is of much simpler constrne- tion than the eye orear, As this third sense is very closely connected with the necessities of animal life, it is more or aiv

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274 GODEY’S developed in brutes, such as the dog, which must hunt their prey by the scent, than in mankind. A glance at the cleft head of a dog will show that the nostril opens into a large arched cavity with many curled partitions. The walls of this cavity are of bone, lined with a soft, moist, velvety membrane (skin). Over this membrane spread many small threads, or nerves, like the twigs of a branch. These join, so as to form smaller branches, like the boughs of a tree, which finally terminate in a number of stems, several for each nostril, which pass upwards through apertures in the arch, and terminate in the brain. We have thus a leafless nerve-tree spread over the lining of the nostril. This nerve is termed the “olfactory.” When we wish to smell anything, we close our lips, draw in our breath and the air, which is thus made to enter the nose, takes with it the odorous matter, and brings it in eontact with the nerve of smell. Besides the olfactory nerve, the nostril is covered, especially at its lower part, by branches of another, the f/th nerve, of the same nature as those which give susceptibility to every part of the body. It is upon this nerve that pungent odors make that sharp impression with which we are all so familiar. Dr. Wilson goes on to remark that perfumes quickly tire and even pall upon us; while men, in their daily call- ings, submit to the most disagreeable eflluvia, and even work cheerfully amid noisome gas. In the first instance, we seek pleasure, and are disappointed, because the nerves of smell, dulled by the first contact, cannot, with equal acuteness, respond to asecond. For the same rea- son, we can bear the discomfort of the noxious vapors, because their irritation diminishes every moment. This is the philosophical reason why we tire of a pleasant smell, and become indifferent to a bad one. There is, also, a moral reason. In the one case, we think of pleasure ; in the other, of duty. The fourth gateway is the perception of taste, through the tongue. But, though the tongue is usually considered the organ, the throat and the nostril are greatly concerned in this sense. The tongue is largely supplied with nerves ; and through these we experience the various sensations of sweet, sour, bitter, etc. We will only remark of this organ that it is more abused than any other. The eye and the nose, if not properly educated, are left to chance; “ but the tongue is deliberately miseducated, perverted, and led astray. We eat what we should not eat, and drink what we should not drink ; and, moreover, we both eat and drink too much of what we may use without injury. The result is that we ruin our health, enfeeble our bodies, dull our intellects, outrage our feelings, and harden our hearts.”’ The last and most widely open of all the sensuous gate- ways of knowledge is that of touch. This reigns through- out the body, which is supplied, like the ojber organs, with living chords or nerves, communicating with each other, and terminating in that mysterious living centre, the brain. The HAND, however, with its fingers, is pre- eminently the organ of touch, not merely because its tipa, besides rich adornments of nerves, possess, in addition, certain minute auxiliary bodies called tactile corpuscles, bat because the arrangement of the thumb and the mo- tions of the wrist, elbow, and arm give the hand power of accommodating itself to surfaces in a way no other organ possesses. The organs of the other senses are passive. The eye, the ear, the nostril stand simply open, without power of rejec- tion; but the hand makes its selection. It advances to what it pleases, and puts away things uninviting. More- ever, the hand not only cares for its own wants, but sup- LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, plies the places of any of its wanting coadjutors. The hand isthe blind man’s eye. It plucks flowers for the nostril, constructs instruments for the education of the ear; and, as for the tongue, if it had not the hand to serve it, it might give up its occupation as ‘“‘the lord of taste." The hand gives expression to genius, courage, wit, affec- tion; “‘put a sword into it, it will fight for man; put a plough into it, it will toil for him; puta harp into it, it will play for him ; a pencil, it will paint for him ; a pen, it will speak and plead, and pray for him.” Such are the five entrance-ways of knowledge, styled, by good old John Bunyan, Eye-gate, Ear-gate, Nose-gate, Mouth-gate, and Feel-gate. All these gates, woman, as mother, and first teacher of every human being, has under her control. Is she fully impressed with the importance of her trust? Has she been educated to know it? What have law, and custom, and religion as the Church sets it forth, done to sanctify, uphold, and guard this mighty empire over childhood, which God has given to the Woman? SETTLED FOR LIFE. A WORD TO YOUNG LADIES. Lovise has been “cross as a bear,” all the morning; and what for, do you suppose? Why, she has just been reading an article entitled, ‘‘Woman’s Aim and Infiu- ence,” which she has pronounced a miserable slander, and “‘only wishes she knew the author of it."” She has really got quite excited to think that he has dared to affirm that the best part of the life of more than half of womankind is spent in maneuvering to catch a husband; and, this aim secured, there is nothing more in life to awaken and call forth her energies ; and she sinks at once into a careless apathy from which she makes no effort to recover. **Some marry for an establishment,” said she, quoting literally ; ‘‘some to save themselves the opprobrious epi- thet of ‘old maid ;’ and some few marry for love. Each may have a different object; but all are pressing onward to the same goal, eager to see which shall win the race, and secure the highest prize.” * As if,’’ said she, ‘‘we should spend our time in run- ning after a husband when, without taking the least pains for it, we have proposals from dozens of suitors for the honor, the unmerited happiness, the coveted privilege, and so forth! I declare I believe he ’s some miserably disap- pointed old bachelor! but he needn’t visit, with his ven- geance, the whole female race, because he’s been slighted by one.” “More likely,” said I, with a sly langh in my sleeve, “he’s some poor unfortunate whom these husband-hunt- ers have pursued till he is getting desperate. I must con fess I believe every word he says.” With a disdainful toss of the head, and a look of indig- nant astonishment, she has left me, entertaining, I suspect, avery poor opinion of my sentiments, and greatly com- miserating my want of spirit. But it cannot alter the impression received long ago, and which years and obser- vation have strengthened and confirmed. Even in child- hood, I remember to have been struck with this peculiarity of woman’s character, the universal desire of winning the admiration of man. I have seen young ladies, dull, dispirited, and ‘‘ out of sorts,’’ suddenly brighten up at the appearance of gentlemen, and assume a very different man- ner. They could be animated, sprightly, witty, entertain- ing, anything to interest and captivate their unsuspecting victims. I have known them guilty of gross deceit and hypoer sy, that they might make a favorable impression, or take the precedence of some envied rival; and, as I

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EDITORS’ TABLE. 275 have grown older, and come to use a little reason on the subject, I have ceased to wonder that it should beso. It is the natural result of the training they receive. No pains or expense is spared to make a lady of mam- ma’s daughter, as she may some time be mistress of a splendid establishment, conveying the idea that it is “‘a consummation devoutly to be wished ;” and she should be prepared to do the honors gracefully. Her education, so far as books are concerned, is superficial ; but she has been thoroughly drilled in what ‘‘mamma”’ terms the accom- plishments ; that is, she can waltz like a dancing-master ; the studied grace of her manner is perfection; in dress, her taste is faultless; and in flirting she may be rivalled, bat not surpassed. And all this training has been to fit her for the duties of life ; not, as the phrase goes, that she may make “‘some good man a wife,” but that she may secure a desirable husband. It is often the case, too, that “ papa” is heard to say that he is glad Matilda Jane is settled. She is off his hands, and is well provided for. He hopes Clara Sophro- nia will do as well. Everything seems to favor the conclusion that matri- mony is the only thing in the world that woman can look to with the hope of securing an honorable position in society. In that alone is she ever settled for life. Conse- quently, her talent and energy are all put forth for the accomplishment of the great good ; and, when it is gained, there is no longer any motive for their exercise. There is often a great conspiracy among young ladies for the honor of being married sooner than those who are older; and, if one of them accomplishes her purpose, she imagines she has achieved a great deal, and values herself accordingly. Many marry beneath them, as they would once have considered ; but they are growing old ; consequently, they are not of as much value in the market as those who are younger, and cannot hope to secure as great a bargain. Papa hints that all the girls are getting “‘ married off ;” oud, if she doesn’t look out, she ‘ll be left an old maid ; and s0, With desperate resignation, Araminta Mahala accepts the man she has twice rejected, and strives to impress upon him the conviction that she has placed him under life-long obligations. Much has been said on this subject ; and much probably remains to be said. Sensible people have expressed their opinions, and have been ridiculed as antiquated in their notions—accused of being sour old maids and crusty old bachelors, filled with envy, and given to scandal; but I am inclined to take my share of the censure, venturing to express the conviction that, if woman might be taught a little more self-dependence, she would not so often stake her all on the uncertain chance of drawing a prize in the matrimonial lottery ; and, learning more of the world, she would be wiser, happier, and better fitted to grace any station in which she may be placed. That it may indeed be so is the sincere desire of your friend and well-wisher. THE MARCH SNOW STORM. GENTLY as lilies shed their leaves When summer days are fair, The feathery snow comes floating down, Like blossoms on the air ; And o’er the world, like angel’s wing Unfolding soft and white, It broods above the brown, sere earth, And fills with forms of light The dead and desolate domain Where winter holds his iron reign. A Tuovent ror Hvuspayps.—Rev. Dr. Thomas Brainerd thus feelingly admonishes married men: “I would ask husbands to appreciate those who make the joy of their dwellings. Are not the kindnesses of wives often unnoted, unthanked, unregarded? Remember, that these compan- ions of your existence fill offices of dignity and high use- fulness. They are shut out from the world’s applause ; let them rest in the assurance of your gratitude and con- sideration. When you see them still and cold in death, it will not grieve you to remember that your love has thrown suushine into the shade of their allotment, that your prayers and example have given them aid in the right training of your children.” A Trovest ror Wives.—And thus he tenderly reminds married women of their duties: ‘‘I] would ask wives and mothers to remember that life is uncertain. Valuable as they are to their husbands, their children, they are liable How carefully and How much do they at any time to lie down and die. prayerfully should they then live! need a practical and earnest riety, that their responsible duties may be all done and well done! As their children are liable to be handed over to the care of strangers, how necessary that they be led early and safely to Christ!” PLACES OF EDUCATION FOR YOUNG WOMEN. Oxrorp Lapres’ Conueer, at Oxford, Ohio, has the reputation of being among the best seminaries for young Rev. J. W. Scott, D. D., is the president, and the list of professors and lady teach- ladies our country now affords. ers numbers eighteen, so that every branch of education seems to be provided for. The number of pupils, during the last year, was two hundred and nine. In describing the advantages, the writer of the circular says :— **Few places in the Union can present so large an assemblage of substantial advantayes as are here enjoyed. They consist in the remarkable beauty and healthfulness of the surrounding country ; in a rare exemption from all incentives to evil; in the intellectual, social, moral, and religious character of its citizens; and especially in its varied and abundant educational resources. “This being early chosen as the seat of Miami University, the very soil, in its virgin purity, was dedicated to the cause of science and literature. That institution, long occupying the first place among Western colleges, has now gathered around it a theological and three seminaries for young women, containing in the aggregate some seven hundred pupils, and limited to this only for want of larger accommodations. This, itself, is the best evidence of the ad- vantages here enjoyed ; and, at the same time, a guarantee for the efficient use of whatever means of culture are possessed.’’ The plan and objects of the institution are thus set forth :— “The design of the founders was to establish, on a permanent basis, a great puhlic institution, open and accessible alike to all, but under the control of one religious denomination ; and with such endowment as would enable it to furnish the fullest and best facilities for a thorough course of instruction, at rates more within the reach of the industrious and laboring classes than would be pos- sible where private means only were employed. was it intended here to provide a home, and the means of Especially affording a suitable education to the daughters of mis- ’ sionaries and indigent ministers.’ May this noble plan be crowned with success! Oxrorp Lapses’ Seminary, Chester County, Penno7zl- vania, is a school that deservedly holds a high rank. “ It

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276 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

was originated tc do good; to counteract the wide-spreading infidelity and anti-biblical influence on the young; to pre- pare young women for teaching, and to further sound education. Though founded comparatively but a few years, already three hundred teachers have gone forth from its fostering influence; many of these intelligent, but poor Love reigns, which united with firmness gives this school great power over the pupils; they have called it Harmony Hall.” Thus writes a father who has had a daughter educated in this Seminary. The plan is liberal and wise, as we gather from the following synopsis :— ‘As woman should be an ornament to society, and attractive to family and friends at home, she should pos- sess, as far as possible, such accomplishments as will tend to make home happy and herself the centre of its attrac- tions. But, as she possesses talent and impulses for good, and responsibilities equal to those of man, though different in character, she should receive a solid education, enabling her to meet her trials with a firm mind, and to dispense real blessings during the whole progress of her life. It is her province to instruct the young, and to be the compan- ion of manhood, and therefore her education should be such as to fit her for her place, *“*Asto the best method of obtaining her education, it should never be at the expense of health, and always co- ordinate with moral and religious culture.” Rev. John M. Dickey, D. D., isthe president; the pupils number one hundred and three. We have placed these two schools, so similar in name and seemingly identical in purpose, thus together, that parents who desire to avail themselves of either, may know the location of both, and thus be easily enabled to attain their elject. Tar Herxpon MemortAt.—We are glad to find that this sacred charity still warms a few noble hearts. We hope, with the returning prosperity of our country, that larger contributions and a longer list of names will grace our Book. Now, we have— Mary L. J. Poellnitz, Linden, Marengo Co., Alabama, $4 Mr. Robert Barton, Bayou Sara, Louisiana, 2 Miss * Virginia A. Woods, West Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 1

, Lowndesboro’, Alabama, 1

Mornt Vernon Laptes’ AssoctaTtion.—Our record, this month, is not large; but we hope for rich gifts when the spring opens. If the lad es of the United States would, each one, forego the purchase of one pair of gloves, and give the sum these would cost to our Association, the whole amount needed for the purchase of the Home and Tomb of Wash- ington would be secured. Who will begin? The follow- ing have sent their subscriptions: — Miss Virginia A. Woods, West Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 85 Mrs. Dr. J. N. Hume, Eureka, California, 1 * Fannie M. Jackson, Pulaski, Tennessee, 1 THE INDUSTRIAL WOMEN’S AID ASSOCIATION, Ix the January number of the Lady’s Book, we published the circular of this Association, and invited our Western friends to cooperate in the plan. It seemed to promise many advantages, and such would, undoubtedly, be the result could it be properly carried out. But there are ob- stacles which make it difficult for an Association, like ours, to manage the plan successfully. We have no funds, ex- cept we solicit these as charity. We do not consider the young women we wish to benefit objects of charity. They nave the best riches of life—youth, health, and Ahe eapacity

of supporting themselves. The persons who employ these young women do not need charity. Our society was in- tended merely to open the way for these girls to remove West, or wherever their services were needed, in a manner which would ensure them good homes and just wages; while the families that employed them would be benefited by good assistants. In short, our Association was intended as a gratuitous Intelligence Office—bat not as a charity to bear the expenses of removing paupers. Yet many of the young women who would like to go west consider it their right to have their travelling expenses free. This expec- tation we cannot meet. We have registered about four hundred names of appli- cants for places; but a large proportion of these were not fitted for the duties required by those who wanted help. The demand for women’s work at the West is quite as pressing as we anticipated. Orders for these pour in upon us; but each applicant wants the ‘‘ very best help ;” “‘all the virtues” are in requisition, which is very satisfactory and a sure proof of the high value set on good morals by our western friends. But then these excellent girls have good places at home, and few can be persuaded to emi- grate. The Association has sent out about sixty. Those who went to the West are to receive from six to eight dollars per month, and to have good homes. We have heard fa- vorably from some, and we trust that, generally, those who have gone will be benefited. Still, we cannot flatter ourselves that the benefits we have rendered others have been at all in proportion to the trouble, and expense, and annoyances we have had to undergo. One of these has been the unfaithful conduct of some of our girls. Four of these, who had been well recommended, and appeared trustworthy, and had each a “‘through ticket’ advanced, for which they were to pay out of their wayes, left the ears before reaching their destination, and this caused great disappointment to our correspondents, and trouble and loss to the society. We name this because we hope the plan of aiding this transfer of the surplus young women from the Eastern States, where their services are not of much account, to the West, where they are so much needed, and will be so warmly welcomed, may yet be taken up by persons who have talents, time, and means to sustain it. In this hope, we give what informa- tion our experiment has enabled us to gather. One sug- gestion we would make. There should be a ‘“‘Home for Domestic Training” in every city, where emigrant girls may go and be taught domestic duties before they can be well fitted for American domestic service. Then there should be a trusty agent to find good places at the West, and see that these young women reach their destination. One pleasant fact has been elicited by our Association The suffering and destitution of the class we sought to aid do not seem to be felt here as was anticipated when we began our labors. Among all our applicants for places, there have been very few who were satisfied with the offered wages of one dollar per week, which they might have had by going into the country towns in Pennsyl- vania. “They could do better in the city,” and so they left our office to seek places for themselves. We have been unable to get help for many applicants. These will have their money returned by the correspond- ing secretary, J. M. Church, Esq., office No. 136 South Third Street. “The Industrial Women’s Aid Association of Philadel- phia,” having closed its labors, our friends of the Lady's they said; Book are entitled to our warmest thanks for their kind cooperation. Whenever we need their assistance, we shall, with confidence, again ask it on behalf of siding these

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LITERARY NOTICES. 277 industrial young women, whose happiness and improve- ment we most earnestly desire. Saran Josepua HALE. To ovr CorresPponpeNts.—The following grticles are accepted, and will appear when we can make room; ‘To one Beloved’’—* Lost and Found”—* The Bridals’”—* At the Sepulchre”—‘“ Rosemary Hill’’—‘ Song’—‘‘The De- serted Nest”—‘‘ Stanzas”—and “‘ Life’s Distrust.” The following articles are not needed: ‘*To a Wealthy Brother”—*“‘ Lines after Hearing a Sermon,” ete.—‘‘ Oh, Bury me not !"—‘‘ My Home”’—‘“ Gone”—“‘ Hymn" —“ A Day of Joy”—* Echo’’—** Poems to the Muses’’—* Mis- takes’’—“‘ The Best of the Company”—“ Tell it not” —“‘ A Winter’s Day”—“ The Sigh’’—‘‘ Song’’—‘“‘ Mary Clay”— * Stanzas’’ (the writer can do better)—“* My Father’’—‘‘ A Fantasie’ — ‘‘ Lines” —“ Ballad” —‘‘ A Song of Home’’— “Our Willows’ —‘ Mercy’s Flowers’’—and ‘‘ Answer me.”’ “ Hepsy.’’—The article sent meets with favor. ‘we send you the Lady’s Book ? Shall ap , ‘ Witerarp Slotices. Booxs By Mari.—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 thut we notice. In- formation touching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing a stamp to pay return postage. When ordering a book, please mentioa the name of the publisher. From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia:— THE LOST DAUGHTER ; and other Stories of the Heart. By Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, author of “ Linda,” ‘‘ Love after Marriage,’’ etc. etc. The lamented author of the charming story that gives its title to this attractive volume has left behind her many lasting and beautiful souvenirs of her literary triumphs. But, among them all, there is not one, perhaps, more worthy of her reputation than the affecting story of ‘‘The Lost Daughter.” We are not called upon, we are aware, to repeat here all that able critics have so often and truthfully said in praise of the dramatic powers displayed in the writings of the late Mrs. Hentz—of the ease, correctness, and gracefulness of her style—of the purity or the strength of her moral princi- ples—or of the applicability of her lessons and examples to the prudent regulation of the affairs of every-day life. Like her works, those high opinions of the critics have become household words among American readers. But there is still room for the spread of the authoress’s reputa- tion, and for the extended influence of her writings, which are so well calculated to elevate and enlighten the minds of those who may not yet have had the pleasure to peruse them. It is due also to the worthy publisher, who keeps these works before the public, that he should be remune- rated for his labor and enterprise. Exclusive of ‘The Lost Daughter,” this volame contains no less than nine of the authoress’s most delightful stories. Price, in cloth, $1 00, or, in two volumes, paper cover, 75 cents. From D. Appteton & Co., New York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia :— PORTRAITS OF MY MARRIED FRIENDS. By Uncle Ben. It is not often, in these days of fashionable and frivolous literature, that we meet with an illustrated yol- VOL. LVI.—24 | | | ume, the contents of which are so rationally sentimental, and at the same time so practical in their morality, as are the contents of this. Uncle Ben, under the protection of whose name the timid author appears to have sought refuge from heartless or envious critics, is no doubt an artist of wonderful skill; but there are so many tender, beautiful, and touching pictures of life to be found amiong the collection, that we feel conscious there was a fairer and more sensitive hand engaged in producing them than that of the aforesaid Uncle Ben. In our opinion, however, it was not necessary for the author to adopt any such device to screen herself from criticism. Heartless and ma- licious, indeed, will that critic be who shall pretend to have found a picture, a sentiment, or a word of advice or caution in the whole volume, that will not be sustained by reason, morality, and experience. It is for this we wish it success, and that it may find its way among all classes of readers, none of whom, after having perused and studied its admonitions, will regret the amount paid for the plea- sure and instruction received. Price $1 25. From Harper & Brotner, New York, through J. B. Lippixcotr & Co., Philadelphia :— LUCY HOWARD'S JOURNAL. By Mrs. L. H. Sigour- ney. We have been told by one who, we presume, has had the means of knowing the fact, that this is an “‘imaginary journal.” If the statement is true, we are bound to say that, in regard to certain historical events and personages, it has been kept with singular correctness. But the real merits of the ‘‘ Journal,” as of every other work that has emanated from the same gifted mind, will, we think, be appreciated for its quiet tone, its feeling records of home scenes, home duties, and home pleasures and disappoint- ments, and in the meek religious sentiment which spreads a glow of gratitude over all. It purports to have been commenced by the author when a child, only ten years of age, and yet at school, and closes at the eventful period of middle life. The diction is so simple, and the moral and social duties so happily illustrated, that it will no doubt become a text-book and a most useful monitor in the hands of mothers and daughters. Price 75 cents. From Prituips, Sampson, & Co., Boston, through J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia :— WHY AND WHAT AMI? The Confessions of an Inquirer. In three parts. Part I. Heart-Eaperience ; or, the Education of the Emotions. By James Jackson Jarvis, author of “‘ Art Hints," “‘ Italian Sights,” ete. We think it proper to let this work pass without any particu- lar comment. The author has himself restricted the in- quisitive thinker to one chapter a week, as being a sufficient dose. We did read the first chapter as our first weekly dose; but afterwards, prompted by our inquisitiveness, and our desire in some way to gratify the inquisitiveness of others, we turned mechanically to the last chapter, where we detected, as we truly think, some sentiments in relation to the Christian ordinance of marriage, which wili release us from the weekly task we were half inclined to accept. We hope that none, any more than we, will be deceived by the speciousness of the reform argument, in that last chapter, because it is interlarded with some inapt quotations from Scripture. Price $1 00. AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES AND RECOLLEC- TIONS, during a Thirty-Five Years’ Residence in New Orleans. By Rev. Theodore Clapp. The style in which the author has written these sketches of his long residence in the Crescent City is easy, flowing, and attractive, and will, no doubt, together with the refined, liberal, and

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278 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. generous Christian sentiments which characterize the en- tire work, secure for him the respect and confidence of numerous readers in his native North, as well as in the Svuth, the home of his adoption. Price $1 25. From Crossy, Nicnous, & Co., Boston, through J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia :— DUBOIS’ PAPER DOLLS. No. 1. Peter, the celebrated Monkey Prodigy. No. 2. Cousin Charles and Henry, the latter as a lancer, and afterwards as a general. No. 3. Eliza and her twin sister, Mary, the skilful horseback cider. Very pretty and ingenious. They are to be cut out. Price 13 cents each. The above are suitable for all seasons. From Tickyor & Fiex.ps, Boston, through Hazarp Bro- tHeRs, Philadelphia :— SKETCHES OF ART, LITERATURE, AND CHARAC- TER. By Mrs. Jameson, author of ‘‘The Characteristics of Women."’ This is the fourth volume of Ticknor & Fields’ elegant edition of Mrs. Jameson's works. The out- side is decked in ‘‘blue and gold ;’ but within there are many rare and valuable gems, which will be easily dis- covered shining through the printer's ink. No reader of ** sense or sensibility’’ can fail to be mentally charmed, as well as edified, by the delicate discrimination, the truth- fulness and the genuine candor of Mrs. Jameson’scriticisms. Her observations and anecdotes of persons of merit and distinction will be found most valuable and interesting to readers of her own sex, inasmuch as they enforce many proprieties, and present various traits of womanly charac- ter, worthy of being carefully studied, and as carefully imitated, or as carefully avoided. But it is not worth our while to attempt to add anything to the well-deserved praise which has everywhere been long since lavishly bestowed on these ‘“‘Sketches.”” No woman claiming to have received more than a common education can feel herself perfectly at ease among persons of refined conver- sational powers, without having at least read Mrs. Jame- son's works. Price 75 cents. STORIES AND LEGENDS OF TRAVEL AND HISTORY, FOR CHILDREN. By Grace Greenwood. We have here a very neat little volume also in a fashionable blue dress, the contents of which we can very truly recommend to the study of little readers. The style has been carefully adapted to their capacities ; and the stories and incidents of travel are all so amusing and instructive, and so simply related, that we doubt not of its success in promoting a desire for more profound investigations. Price 75 cents. PARTHENIA; or, the Last Days of Paganism. By Eliza Buckminster Lee, author of ‘‘ Naomi,"’ ‘‘ Life of Jean Paul,” etc. This is a work of great classical and historical interest. It fully commends itself to the perusal of those who take a melancholy interest in the study of the charac- teristics of Christianity and Paganism at the close of the long struggle between the two powers for the mastery, and in which the “Galilean conquered.” We do not think, however, that the author has been altogether as successful in producing “ Parthenia’’ as was the author of “‘ Fabiola,”’ which we consider to have been in many respects the model which Mrs. Lee kept in view. Per- haps the length and minuteness of the often repeated de- scriptions found in * Parthenia’’ will sometimes tax too heaviiy the patience of the reader, and perhaps, also, the favorable pertraitures of the character of the Apostate Julian, and of other eaemies of the Christian faith, will occasionally seem more like apologies, than truthfal im- pressions. But aside from such evidences of the author's desire to be more generous than just in behalf of Julian, the romance has much to command the interest of the Christian and philosophical reader. Price $1 00. TWIN ROSES: A Narrative. By Anna Cora Ritchie, author of ‘‘ Autobiography of an Actress,” ‘‘ Mimic Life,’ etc. The reader will probably find some sentiments calmly expressed in this little volume, that may not alto- gether please, especially if he or she should happen to be fastidiously opposed to, or a denouncer of the acted drama ; for this is an affecting story of actors who, of course, will have to be prudently condemned. But then it is such a tale of theatrical life as only the amiable and experienced author could clothe in appropriate and feeling language, and adorn with just and charitable sentiments. So now. if, after this brief admonition, you can do so conscientiously, sit down and read it, and don’t allow any dark prejudices to triumph over your kindly sympathies. Read it, we say, and we know what will be your conclusion, without the least detriment to your stern morality. The perusal, we are sure, will not excite your love for the siage, or your particular respect for actors, but it may teach you that actors are not less susceptible to generous and virtuous feelings, or less capable of noble and honorable deeds, than are any of the rest of the human family. Price 75 cents WHITE LIES. A Novel. By Charles Reade, author of “It is never too late to Mend.’’ We have, in the present, the fourth and concluding number of a tale, the admonitory lessons of which may be invaluable to thousands not now in the habit of considering the importance that attaches to light or idle words. We hope soon to hear of these num- bers being published in a connected form, feeling assured that the efforts of the author are calculated to accomplish a vast deal of moral good. Price $1 25. THE PLANT HUNTERS; or, Adventures among the Hamalaya Mountains. By Captain Mayne Reid, author of ‘‘The Desert Home,” etc. etc. This is another of the author’s interesting publications relating principally to the habits of wild animals, and to the adventures of hunters in their pursuit. It is very handsomely illustrated and neatly bound. Price 75 cents. CHRISTIANITY IN THE KITCHEN: A Physiological Cook Book. By Mrs. Horace Mann. This is neither so large nor so cempact a volume as are several of the cook books recently published. Perhaps this difference in bulk is in some degree owing to its physiological character, and to the attainment of the particular object which the author had in view, which, she assures us, ‘‘is to show how healthful, nutritious, and even luscious food can be pre- pared, without the admixture of injurious ingredients.” Those who prefer a simple or vegetable diet will find this manual a great help in the modes of preparation, and the varieties which it furnishes for the appetite. Price 62 cents. From Darnseit, Moore, & Coo.ipar :— LADIES’ ALMANAC, for the year 1858. little book. Price 25 cents. From Wrattremore, Nites, & Hatt, Boston :— SMILES AND TEARS; or, Life at Glenbrook. By Mrs. F. M. Cheseboro. Price $1 00. JUMPING JACK’S ADVENTURES. By Miss Landor. Price 50 cents. MRS. FOLLENS’ TWILIGHT STORIES: Consisting of ** Piccolissima,”’ with engravings; ‘‘Jumping Jack’s Adventures,’’ with engravings; ‘‘ Little Songs,” with engravings; ‘‘May Morning and New-Year’s Eve,” with engravings; ‘‘ What the Animals Do and Say,” with en- gravings ; and ‘‘ Harmless Stories.” Price $1 00. We have received the above very entertaining and amusing little works suitable for all seasons. A very useful

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 279 Godens Arm-Chair. A Gem—‘‘ The Mother's Blessing.”” The only. opportu- nity the public can have of securing this beautiful plate, except they purchase the large engraving at a high price. We have copied this piece of perfection from the original by permission of the publishers, Messrs. Williams, Stevens, Williams, & Co., of New York. It is a splendid engrav- ing. Our efforts in this line will, we are sure, be appre- ciated by our subscribers. Lapies’ Fcvit Dress Prixtep tn CoLors.—This we give in good time, that it may be prepared for seasonable use. See what our fashion editor says on the subject. ‘‘ Blessed are the Peacemakers’’ will commend itself to everybody. Our fashions are, as usual, the best. WE are again requested to remind borrowers that they are troublesome, But what is the use? Every one that will borrow the Lady's Book after all we have said on our own account, and at the request of those they borrow from, are lost te all reproof. Now, Mrs. , we advise you that Mrs. (you know who it is as well as we do) does not want to lend you her numbers, but does so because she is afraid of offending you. Now, is it not too bad, when you are worth one hundred dollars to her one, that you should allow her to take and pay for a magazine that you use without paying for it? Tearing out the patterns, too! Oh fie, for shame! **Some 30,000 pages of literature have been published by this veteran monthly during twenty-seven years and a half,” says the Delaware Times. This is correct about the number of separate pages. Bat we publish in one year about 120,000,000—one hundred and twenty millions of pages of printed matter. 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 ofa dollar. Notes on all solvent banks taken at par. Be careful and pay the postage on your letter, and direct it to L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. Ovr old friend Freas, of the Germantown Telegraph, has put his paper in a new suit. He may improve the appear- ance of his paper, but he cannot improve the matter with which he fills it. Levy & Co. have opened their splendid drygoods estab- lishment in Chestnut Street above Eighth. We have now on the same square two of the handsomest drygoods establishments in the world—Levy’s and Evans & Co.'s. SupscriBers do not seem to understand that, when we receive money for any other publication, we pay the money over to that publication, and they, not we, are then respon- sible. We only act as the agent to pay over the money. 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. MAKE Up your CLuBs.—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 unani- mous 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 maga- zines is only a few cents, and for these few cents you get nearly one-third more reading and engravings, besides other more expensive 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 ‘* Ar- thur’s Home Magazine.”’ One or more of that-work can be introduced in a club in place of the Lady's Book, if de sired. 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 get a subscription. Clubs are always in time, as we are able to supply numbers from the beginning of the year; yet we 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 half 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 extra copy. Inno instance can this be done, as our terms are so low to clubs that it cannot be afforded. A shop- keeper would look amazed if a purchaser should ask him to throw in an extra yard because she had purchased twelve. And yet we are asked to add an extra copy be cause twelve have been ordered. It cannot be done. So_vent Banks.—We take the notes of all solvent banks in payment for the Lady's Book. Ocean Hovse, Portsmouth, Virginia.—A correspondent writes us in enthusiastic praise of this house kept by Watts & Emmerson, and superintended by Mr. R. J. White. He says their attentions to himself and family merit his warmest acknowledgments. Visitors here, he adds, have an opportunity of seeing the following places of interest: the naval stations and ships of war, including the Great Ship “‘ Pennsylvania ;"’ Naval Asylum ; Fortress Monroe at Old Point Comfort, one of the most celebrated seaboard watering-places in the country; Magnolia Sale Sulphur Springs, distant fifteen miles south by railroad ; the famed lake of the Dismal Swamp, &c. **Godey is the godfather We add that never Tue Delaware Democrat says : of all the magazines in Philadelphia.” had godfather such a degenerate set of godchildren in other publishers. Tae Centreville Chronicle is our authority for the follow- ing. Weadmire the lady's spirit, especially because she insisted on having her own county paper also. ** What will our readers think of a lady, who resides in the northern part of this State, who had seen a copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book, and urged her husband to subscribe for it and his county paper? But he, being one of those class who are always too poor to take periodical or papers, refused. She thereupon took in washing and sewing, and brought the three dollars she had thus earned 4o the printing-office, remarking thatshe had determined to have the county paper and Godey’s Lady’s Book Her spunk is worthy of the ‘ spirit of '76.’”

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280 GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, PorTRAIT oF WaAsninuTon Prixtep 1x Ou, CoLors.— Messrs. Devereux & Co., of Philadelphia, have lately ixsued a most beautiful work of art for the people, a portrait in colors of the greatest of heroes, an exact transcript of Stuart’s famous pieture, the most truthful likeness of Washington extant. Throughout the whole of this Heaven- favored land, in every home where grateful and patriotic hearts are beating, the portrait of our country’s father should find an honored place. This image, before the eyes of the young, should be their constant monitor to follow his examples ; and those benignant features, looking down from the household walls upon the old, should preserve the love of liberty and of country fresh in their breasts until the grave closes upon them. Messrs. Devereux & Co., who are inspired bv the spirit of genuine patriotism, have, in the most liberal manner, p'aced these portraits at the disposal of the ladies of the * Mount Vernon Association” for the mere cost of mechani- cul execution. The profits of the sale will greatly swell the Mount Vernon fund, and hasten the hour, already near at hand, wher the Home and Grave of Washington will be secured from profanation. This is a noble tribute on the part of Messrs. Devereux & Co. to the patriotic originator of the Mount Vernon pur- chase, one which renders the country at large, as well as the ladies of the Association, their debtor. The portraits, which are of good size, and highly finished specimens of chromatic printing, are sold to the public for one dollar each, a sum much below their value, but which places them within the reach of those whose “‘ hands lack means,”’ although their hearts do not lack patriotism. The portraits may be obtained in Virginia from the secretary of the Mount Vernon Association. ANOTHER COMPLIMENT AND COMPLAINT, from a lady who sent a subscription for the purchasing of the Washington estate :— *T take this opportunity, my dear Mr. Godey, to thank you for the many pleasures you, in all your goodness of heart, bestow on us monthly. You leave us not a thing to wish for; you give us prose and poetry of an excellent quality ; you give us receipts for everything, and admira- ble ones, too, and patterns the most unique. In all truth, I would not give your magazine for any one that is pub- lished in the United States (and I have seen all those of I can’t tell you of half its good qualities. I How provoking it note, too). only wish I could keep mine at home. is to see its beautiful leaves all torn and spoiled!” Now, let us suggest to the lady who has borrowed this number that the above specially refers to her. Hark OrnnAments.— Ladies wishing hair made into bracelets, pins (which are very beautiful), necklaces or ear-rings, can be accommodated by our Fashion Editor. A very large aumber of orders have recently been filled, and the articles have given great satisfaction. We give the prices at which we will send these beanti- fal articles :— Breastpins, from $4 to $12. Ear-rings, from 84 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, @4 50. Ovr McsicaL Eprror.—We have great pleasure in an- nvuncing that J. Starr Holloway will in future preside over this department. Missouri, December 9, 1857. Mr. Gopry: Having ever been a friend to your Lady’s Book, and hearing of several persons in this place getting up clubs for, and puffing other periodicals, I at once de- termined that Godey should not go unrepresented, so far as I could exert myself in its behalf. SoI have trudged round through mud and snow for several days, and succeeded in getting up a club of nine, for which you will find inclosed the fifteen dollars. I think the club does very well for me, being a little girl only thirteen years of age, and consider- ing the pressure in money matters. Respectfully your friend, It is a very good beginning ; and we heartily thank Miss Ninah. Nuvag E. Crate. Wants.—A lady wishes to know how to knit a counter- pane in a shell pattern. Can any of our readers inform her? A lady wants a good receipt for hardening tallow candles. Keep your Movutsa Savt.—Never allow the action of respiration to be carried on through the mouth. The nasal passages are clearly the medium through which respiration was, by our Creator, designed to be carried on. “God breathed into man’s nostrils the breath of life,”’ pre- vious to his becoming a living creature. The difference in the exhaustion of strength by a long walk, with the mouth firmly closed, and respiration carried on through the nos- trils, instead of through the mouth, is inconceivable to those who have never tried the experiment. It is said that the habit of carrying on the work of inspiration and expiration through the mouth is the origin of almost all diseases of the throat and lungs. RememMBER that the Lady’s Book is not a mere luxury; itis a necessity. There is no lady who takes the Book that does not save twice the price of itin a year in the matter of domestic economy. Its receipts, its patterns, its needle-work, its instructions in housekeeping are invalua- ble to the housekeeper. Let it be distinctly understood 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 subseribers. Money must be sent to the pub- lisher, L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. Gopryr’s Monthly List of New Music, which will be fur nished at the prices annexed :— New Songs. Oh, whisper what thou feelest ! 25 cta. Apparition of a Dandy (e+ sic), 10 “ I would not have thee Young again, 25“ A Smile from the Youth I Love, _ Happy Moments now Returning (from Trova- tore), 6“ Hope for the Best, 15 “ New Piano Pieces. Amelia Polka, 25 “ La Coralie Polka, 25 * Paisley Schottisch Atlantic Telegraph Quickstep, Thalberg Waltzes (likeness of Thalberg), Bird of Paradise Waltz, SEER J So Town, County, ayp Stats.—Do not forget to put all these in every letter you write. You do not know how much trouble it would save us.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 281 Women and Lapies.—(Our fair conuntrywomen get many a hard rub in the newspapers about their generally ac- knowledged discourtesy toward the male sex, every member of which seems to feel himself in duty bound to give way to them on all occasions, without even expecting the poor guerdon of a smile, or a courtesy, or a word of thanks. We do not know that men will break their hearts over it. Indeed, it is every day becoming more pereeptible that men are growing tired of such thankless offerings, and are discontinuing them as undeserved. We see it in omnibuses, rail-cars, coaches, in places of amusement, etc., where formerly any one of woman kind was sure of a seat, no matter how great the crowd. We must confess that this is a tendency which we regard with anything but satisfaction. It is an indication that our countrymen are losing their proverbial gallantry towards the fair sex, and while we think the retribution justly merited by the rude thoughtlessness of the ladies, we fear it will breed up in us a churlish disposition towards those who in every stage of life are our choicest blessing. In our estimation, it is the duty of every well bred gentleman to give precedence to the ladies on all occasions. There may be exceptional cases, as in the instance of gentlemen in feeble health, or troubled with infirm limbs, but too much stress is always laid upon these cases by people who are not subject to such afflictions, and only seek a plea for their rudeness. Two-thirds of the invalids referred to are prompt to give up to the ladies, being generally persons of thorough breeding. But it sounds very paltry and disgusting to hear a young, strong, vigorous man hunting up such excuses to hide his own want of the natural courtesy of the American gentleman toward females It is a sorrowful truth that all women are not ladies; sorrowful, because the distinction lies solely in the manners, and has no reference to riches, or station, or talent, or education. that they make the lady. who push their way into a crowded stage and at once If manners make the man, it is equally true The vulgar, brazen females begin to throw out insinuations that there are no gentlemen inside, or else they would give place to the “‘ladies, But because ” have no right whatever to the designation. there are such women, it is no reason why men should ignore al! unknown females, and give place only to those whom they know, which is now fast becoming the rule of action in public. It is well enough to give female impu- dence a wholesome rebuke; but the whole sex must not suffer for it. practice, and give up to every woman, than that we Indeed, it were far better to revert to the old should fall heir to the ungallant churlishness of John Buli, or imitate the boorishness of the Hollander towards the sex. Peterson’s Bank-Nore Detrecror.—Here we have a Detector worthy of the name, corrected by Drexel & Co., the Drexels, whom everybody knows from their vast con- nections, their correctness in business matters, and their urbane manners. It will be the most complete and relia- ble Detector ever printed. price current. In fact, it is a work that should be in the hands of every business man, broker, and banker in the country. monthly issue, two dollars a year; much cheaper when several copies are subscribed for. T. B. Peterson, Phila- delphia, publisher. It is also a bank-note list and a For the monthly issue, one dollara year; semi- An ardent Shakspearean has written a pamphlet on the play of “‘Hamlet,” called “‘An Attempt to whether the Queen were an Accessory before the fact, in the Murder of her First Husband.” ascertain 24* It has been suggested, as a security against opening letters, to put the stamp on the reverse side of the envelop, where the letter is usually sealed. The suggestion is a good one, if it could be followed out, and the postmasters aware of the fact, so that they would know where to find the stamp to cancel it. FALSE SPELLING ARISING OUT OF Sorcxp.—A curious list might be compiled of English words conveying, in their present form, meanings totally in discordance with their derivatives. The sound of such words has given birth te anew idea, but of course erroneous mode of spelling. Such are the following, some of which have been already noticed by Dr. Latham in his large grammar :— Buffetiers has been transformed into beef-eaters. Dent de lion has been corrupted to dandylion, from an idea of the bold and flaunting aspect of the flower, whereas its name has reference to the root. Contre-danse is spelled country dance, as implying rural or common life pastime, instead of the position of the dancers. Cap-i-pie, armed from head to foot. to the homely term of apple-pie order Folio-capo (Italian), first-size sheet, sugyestive of fouls- This has given rise cap. Asparagus, popularized into sparrow-grass. Chateau-vert Hill, near Oxford, well known as Shot-over Hill. Girasole artichote, Jerusalem artichoke. Farced-mect balls. The notion of their containing es- sence artificially concentrated has occasioned the spelling Sorced, whereas the meaning is simply ehopped. French, Saree Spar-hawk (or rock-hawk), sparrow-hawk. Satyr and Bacchanels, a public house sigu, Satan and the Bag of Nails. Laak (Anglo-Saxon) play, has been turned into lark, and even into skylark. Sambuca (altered through a French medium), though certainly not euphonized into sacklut, treated by Miss Strickland, in the work above mentioned, as a Scottish bagpipe. Massaniello is universally recognized as the name of the celebrated Neapolitan insurrectionist, who at one time nearly overturned the government of that kingdom. How few who use the word are aware that ** Mas-Aniello”’ is but a corruption of 7homas Aniello, so pronounced by his vulgar companions, aad now raised to the dignity of a historical name? . Hougoumont is a conspicuous feature of the great fleld of Waterloo, and a name familiarly used in speaking of the famous battle. that this is a mere mistake, said to have originated with In course of time, it will be forgotten the great general who achieved the victory, catching up, from the peasantry around, the sound of Chateau Goumont, and the real name of the little rural demesne in question. “Mrs. Harne’s Recerprs ror tue Min.iox.’—This cele brated work is now ready ; and we can furni-h it for one dollar and twenty-five cents; ‘* Mrs. Hale's Cook-Book,”’ one dollar. With course the Lady's Book, every family will have the works it most these twe works, and of needs. Ovr Nerpies.—There may, perhaps, be a very few families in the Union not yet supplied with these celebrated Twenty- needles ; if so, we advise them to apply soon. five cents for one hundred, done up in a neat case.

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, GODEY’S LADY’S 282 BOOK AND MAGAZINE, 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 us, when, in truth, all do; and it is difficult to make a selection from so many, which to publish. It contains within its leaves an encyclopedia of informa- tion to be found nowhere else.— Belleville Advocate. This is undoubtedly the best journal of its class ex- tant.—Sterling Times. The lover of morality, beauty, wit, humor, and chaste- ress of language, as well as the devotee of fashion, may find within it food to suit bis or her particular taste. Every lady should be possessed of it.—Bath Enterprise. rthy of notice. The literary matter is Everything within the Lady's B especially wi ok may be read aloud in the family circle.— Virginia News. We can with safety recommend it as the best and cheap- est magazine in the United States.— West Columbia Mes- genger Many of its articles bear upon them the impress of merit of a high order; and not the least attractive part about it is the wit and humor contained in the editorial depart- ment.— York Press. Godey furnishes the best magazine now published.— Palestine Ruralist. Godey’s Lady's Book is the standard lady's magazine in America There is an army of talent contributing to its pages that cannot be surpassed.— Reedsburg Herald. It is just the work that a lady of refined taste would de- in the Purity of sentiment and a high sire to read herself, and place hands of the young ladies of her fam moral tone are among the excellent characteristics of this work; and one feels sensible that the better feelings of their nature are ay pealed to while perusing its pages.— Rensselaer Banner Tue PREVAILING Sentiment —‘‘ It is the only Lady’s Book worth a copper in America,”’ says the Starkville Advocate Tue Tacve Secret.—* Godey can afford to spend more money to make the Lady's Book interesting than any other magazine publisher in Philadelphia. A heavy purse and a kind and liberal heart have made it what it is sition that Godey now To place any other magazine in the same | is would require perhaps $50,000, and a stock of energy Very much obliged to the Lewis- possess "v which few burg Gazette for its kind opinion ; but we can say to him that it would requiye double that sum, and to work as many hours a day as we do, from ten to twelve, and, in the winter season, nearer fourteen hours ** We are really sorry to find,” says the Minersville Bul- letin, ‘so many of izing and filthy literature as is found in ——, when Go- dey's Lady's Book can be had for three dollars a year.’ This has always been our aim, as expressed by the Tunkhannock Democrat; ** No ady, whether addicted to It will eulti- yur ladies indulging in such demoral- ’ fashions or not, should be without Godey vate her taste, and elevate her in the moral scale of being. Godey grows better and better.” Godey is and ever has been at the head o: the literary mavazines of the land.— Wisconsin Crescent The reading matter is of the choicest in our country ; and Godey bears off the palm from them all.—AUiance Times. Tre Durham University have just had built an elght-oar boat, which is so exactly poised that the rowers are obliged to part their hair down the middle to keep their balance. Patrerns ror Iyrants’ Dresses, on Iyrants’ WARD- RoBes.—Our fashion editor has supplied a great many wardrobes for infants lately, and in every case has given great satisfaction. She has facilities for furnishing these articles better and cheaper than any other person. The vast influence that her connection with the Lady's Book gives her induces importers and others to submit to her their earliest fashions. 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 articles ordered, and that we have to pay in advance. For particulars, address Fashion Editor (uot Mrs. Hale), care of L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. All other patterns fur- nished as usual. Grecian PAtntina AND ANTIQUE PAINTING ON GLASS.— Mr. J. E. Tilton, of Salem, Massachusetts, will furnish all the materials and directions. Our numerous inquirers will please make application to him. He is largely en- gaged in artists’ materials and the fine arts, and we are 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 , and full printed mezzotint engravings (suitable for practice instructions for Grecian Painting and Antique Painting on Glass, a new style, originating with himseif, and equal to the finest copper painting, with a bottle of preparation, &c. The directions are so explicit as to enable any one to learn fully without a teacher. He also includes, at above price, directions for Oriental style, and the beautiful art ca Potichimanie. ‘yr $2 more, or $5, he will send with the above all paints, brushes, oils, varnishes, &c. &c., needed for these arts (Grecian and Antique), and other oil painting. ‘Pull directions only in the above arts, Grecian, An- tique Painting, Oriental, Potichimanie, &c., sent, fzee by mail, on receipt of $1. They are so full and plain thatany ove with no previous knowledge of drawing can be sure to acquire. ‘*He has also published a new picture for Grecian and Antique Painting, called ‘Les Orphelines.’ The paper, printing, and engraving are thoroughly fitted for it, and and superior the effect and finish, when painted, are fine with to canvas painting. Price, rules for painting it, colors, how to mix, &c., $1, sent free, by mail. Address J. E. Titton, Salem, Mass.’ Tar Message Bird, of Waynesville, Ohio, is a de lightful little paper that varies less in its attractions than any other paper we know of. It receives commendations from all quarters, one of whieh we copy :— We must say that our valuable exchange, the Message Bird, is the most handsome sheet in the United States, Its contents are entirely original, which makes it doubly interesting. —American Flag, Dubuque, lowa. The price is only fifty cents a year; and it circulates largely in every State of the Union. A Fam correspondent at the West writes us: “In my native place, there used to reside a family of colored aris tocracy, rejoicing in the family cognomen of Renolds There were three children. The eldest, a buy, was christ ened Georve Washington; and the next, being twing were named to please the aged grandmother, who loved euphonious titles—Angelina Electafina Dewdropina Highf- and number two was christened Angelina And they were linda Ann; Electafina Dewdropina Felinda Hightind and Filind Renolds for short."’ Ann.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 283 ScRAPS FROM OUR JUNIOR :— We have, or had, a protégce who interested us deeply, and to whom now a funny anecdote attaches itself. She had been in the habit of coming to us for assistance for many years, and always sustained the character of a deaf and dumb woman. One day, when she came for relief, we had a lady friend with us, and in the presence of the poor afflicted told friend. Deeply interested, she turned to the mute, saying, kindly creature, we her troubles to our and innocentiv— * Poor dumb?” ** About ten years, ma'am,” thing! How long have you been deaf and said the “poor thing,” courtesying. Do you like macaroons, or, as an intelligent confectioner We do, and we can tell you a funny story, and a true one, about of our acquaintance calls them, maccaronies? these same little cakes. Some years ago, Mrs. J——, a friend of ours, had a basket of macaroons left, from the supper given to a party of friends; they stood some timein her pantry, and then, finding they were very hard and stale, she concluded to throw them away. Mrs. J. lived in this city, but opposite to her front windows there was a large open lot, on which a number of geese fed daily. She went to the window, and seeing one goose on the street in front of the house, threw him one cake; he ateit, and looked up for more; she threw down another; this was eaten, and still, like Oliver Twist, the gx the basket upon the pavement; the goose looked at the ose “asked for more.’’ Then she emptied large supply, turned about, and deliberately walked over to the open lot, to his companions. Astonished to see him leave his feast, Mrs. J. remained at the window watching him. He went in among the flock, and they left their lowed him as he led them across the street The then the leader places, and fol and under the window to the feast spread for them. geese soon disposed of the cakes, and stretched his long neck again towards the window; as soon as he did so, all the others followed his example, and there stood flock, their their mouths open, staring intently at Mrs J, the whole necks stretched out, who de- scribes the scene as one of the most ludicrous she ever witnessed. After waiting patiently for some moments, and finding there were no more cakes, the whole turned gravely from the window, and waddled back to the lot. AmonG the many caprices of fashion, it is amusing to see how she has «ported with the parasols. Ten years ago, a parasol was a small umbrella, and, what it pretended to be, a protection against the sun. Year after year, the pro- portions of the parasols shrunk, until the ladies carried a tiny thing about the size of a tea-plate ; then, it not being possible to make them smaller, they expanded again, until now, small sun-umbrellas are “‘all the rage.” Meeting a colored dawsel, carrying a light sun umbrella, on our way to dinner, yesterday, reminded us of a conver- sation we heard between two dadies of African descent. “Sarah,” said one, ‘‘when are you going to do your shopping?” ** To-morrow, if it’s clear.”’ *Lors! I al goes out in cloudy days, or when it rains just a little what makes you go a clear day? rays These real bright, shiny days is so bad for the complexion.” Aw English paper says that tight lacing is the greatest blessing of modern times, for it kills all the foolish girls, and leaves only the sensible ones. ** Janz,”’ said one of our subscribers to her sister, ‘‘ has Mrs. Jones returned our Lady’s Book ?”’ “*Yes, Mary.’’ ‘* Well, get it for me. I want to draw off that pretty collar pattern.” **Oh, I forgot to tell you! Mrs. Robinson took that out when she had the Book, and she has not retarned it.” “Provoking! Well, never mind; get the Book, and I'll copy the pattern for Willie's little coat.” “Mrs. Peters tore that in halves, accidentally. She made a full apology.”’ **Did she? Well, we can at least look at the pictures, and read the articles, since we cannot make it practically useful.”’ said the owner of a very curly head, let Aunt ** Please, ma’am,”’ peeping in at the door, ‘‘ will you Surah look at your Godey for a little while? She'll be very careful of it, and send it home next week.” ** Let It do offend her I heartily sick of taking the Book, for I never even get a it go, Jane won't to am peep at it until half the contents are destroyed. I believe the folks watch our post-office box to see when it comes, Well, it won't do to offend people, or I'd set down my foot, refuse to lend it, and force them to subscribe, or go without it.” Do it. No fixed rule will give offence; and, if Mrs. Jones finds she fares no worse tban Mrs. Robinsun or Mrs, Brown, she will submit to the rule, and perhaps follow rour example by subscribing , and also refusing to lend. y ple by subscribing t l to lend ‘“*Wuy did you set your cup of tea on the chair, Mr James ?”’ asked a worthy landlady, one morning, at break- fast. ‘‘It is so very weak, ma’am,” replied Mr. James, **I thought I would rest it WE saw lately a bill of dry goods, among which were the following articles: Long Ladies’ Mitts, Short Men's Hose, Colored Ladies’ Gloves, Full Ladies’ Skirts, Fine Ladies’ Sleeves, French Ladies’ Collars, English Women's Hose, British Children’s Hose, Gray Ladies’ Mitts, Thin Children’s Dresses, Pinked Ladies’ Flounces. (Does that We Men’s Gloves, Fine Gentlemen’s stocks, Blue Ladies’ Lawn. merely ask for information.) Thick mean rouged? We always contend for the origi Book. wait months for in other magazines; and then they are nality of the Lady's You are sure to see things there that you have to only copied. Others can see this as well as ourselves ** There is no magazine in this wide world better, or we udapted to the wants of the ladies as There it than all This such an immense circulation, and is daily extending. It might say as well this self-same Godey’s Book is more orig the nai ly in others combined. is reason it has is sent out monthly as fresh as a ‘new blown rose.’ For the life of us, we cannot sce how Godey manages to get up so many new and useful things. There does not seem to be any end to his ingenuity. Epvcation.—Everything is education—the trains of thought you are indulging in this hour; the society in which you will spend the evening; the conversation, walks, and incidents of to-morrow And ought it to be? We may thank the world for its infinite means of im- pression and excitement which keep our faculties awake and in action, and guide us to some divine result A MEDICAL man says that those ladies who make it a ; business to trouble dry-goods clerks, and never buy any- thing, ought to be called counter irritants.

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284 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. We present our lady readers with the following de- s’ription of dreiwes worn at Her Majesty's drawing-room the pre-eut ses.son Devcunss or Ricumoxp.—Court dress of rich violet glace, lined, trimmed with fine old point lace over violet crape, vandyked and edzed with silver; bows of satin ribbon aud silver round the train; petticoat of the same rich m vterial, the uudersk rt having bouillons of crape with vandyked silver, cuught by bows of satin ribbon and silver; taule band«omely trimmed with fine Brussels point ines, Head.tress, feather-, lappet«, and diamonds. Dvc.icss or Beprorp.—Costume de cour composed of a train of the richest brown satin, lined with satin, and tr.mmed with ceri-e and browa satin and magnificent point lace, with pearls; corsage to correspond with point lace, aud stomacher of rubies and diamonds; splendid silver and white skirt, brocaded with bouquets of cerise, eleyautly trimmed with the same cost'y lace and pearls, with bows aad agraffes of rubies and diamonds. Coiffure of ostrich feathers, point lace, and silver veil, with diadem of rubies and diamonds. Decucsas or NoxtracmBer.axn.—Train of geranium- colored mvire antique, lined with white glace, and trimmed With white poppies, and tied in with velvet ribbon; petticoat of geranium crape over white glace, flounced with guipure and trimmed with velvet ribbon. Head- dress, feathers, and lace lappets ; ornaments, diamonds. Ductiess oy MANcHESTER.— Dress of white crepe crepe, with double skirt & la Greque, ornamented with rich fringe and satin bead«, fastened at the side with a chate- laine bouquet of fine white moss roses over a rich silk petticoat; train and corsage of white crepe crepe over a rich poult de soie, surrounded by bouffints of thulle and wreaths of moss roses and buds, Headdress, wreaths of roses and diamonds, with veil and plume; ornaments, diamonds. Maxcuioxness or BaeapaiBane.—Train of white glace lined wth pink, and trimmed with Brussels lace ; petticoat of pink crape over white glace, trimmed with hedge roses aud bark. Headdress, feathers, and Brussels lace lappets ; ornaments, diamonds MaAkcaioness or Apercorn.— Train of blue terry, lined with white glace, and trimmed with point lace; thulle petticoats over glace, with full trimming of thulle, and satin tunic, trimmed with point lace and ribbon. Head- dress, feathers, and lace lappets; ornaments, diamonds, and pearls. Countess Hertxe KieitManseeGe.—Train and corsage of rich white pou't de soie, ornamented with raches of thulle de Lyons, edged with blonde and black velvet, and sur- rounded with bouquets of fine shaded verbenas; dress of thulle de Lyons, with double skirt, trimmed with bouf- fants of thulle illn-ion, and bouqnets of flowers to corre- spond, over a rich white silk petticoat. Headdress, plume, flowers, and veil; ornaments, diamonds Covcstesas or Wittrox.—Habit de cour, train of rich white autique from the shoulders, lined a revers with blue taffetas, tr: mmed with a bouillon of thulle, blonde, silver, and bows of satin ribbon; petticoat, a splendid embroidery of silver on the flounces, thulle flounces under, edged with satin ribbon and blonde, berthe to correspond, and bougnet intermixed with «1lver. Headdress, lappets, feathers, and coronets of diamonds, Miss Canourne Dertxe.—A double skirt of white thulle bonillons, trimmed with bows of white satin ribbon. over white glace; silk petticoat; train, rich white glace silk, trimmed with honeyseuckles and thulle bouillons, Headdress, feathers, diamonds, and honeysuckle, with guipure lappets to match the corsage. A VERY Nice QvesTion For Casuists.—Godey’s Lady's Book has arrived, decked as usual in artistic loveliness, and with enough interesting, entertaining, and useful reading matter to satisfy the most fastidious being. Wonder if Louis A Godey (with all his deserved celebrity) is nota miserable man? We cannot imagine how he can be otherwise, when reflecting on the immense amount of envy created in the breasts of unsuccessful competitors {we hav’n’t a bit], unless he balances the account by placing in the other scale spontaneous effusions that are placed on the altar of gratitude by thirty or forty thousand of nature’s sweetest emanation—lovely woman !—Clarion, Cleveland. Pear. Carp-Cases—very pretty and suitable presents— a great variety, and at different prices. No. 1. Plain or beautifully inlaid different colored shells . , p ° p . » . $300 No. 2. Plain but beautifully varied engraving suit- able for a bride é f . . 400 No. 3. Engraved and border of various colored shells . ‘ ° ° 45 No. 4. Second mourning card-cases ° . - 200 We assure oar 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. E.ectrricrry.—The New York papers give an account of a lady in that city so charged with electricity that, when kissed, the kisser received a severe shock. This is the first time we ever heard of kissing being such a shocking matter. Goop.—The following is the latest parody on ‘* Wood- man, Spare that Tree:” Woman, spare that tea! Touch not a single cup! In youth it tempted thee, But now, oh, give it ap! I know thy mother’s hand First put it to thy lip; But, woman, let it stand, Unless it be catnip ! Inrayxts’ WArpRoBes.—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. Nothing is purchased. She is 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 office stamp; and for all articles that are to be sent by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made out of post-marks. “Mrs. E. K. A.’’—Sent box by Adams’s express 16th. “Mrs, T. J. H.”.—Sent two hair rings, &c. 17th. “A. R.,” Ithaca.—No stamp to pay return postage. But we have none of the article. “Mrs. A. J. J "—Sent patterns 18th. “Mrs, R. L. S."—Sent gold ear-rings 18th “8S. A. C.""—Sent pair of hair ear-drops, hair breastpin, and two gent’s hair breastpins 19th. “Mrs. C. E. G.”—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams’s express 19th.

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. “M. E. P.”—Sent hair necklace as directed 19th. ** Miss J. A. T.’’—Sent chenille 21st. “Mrs. C. C. R. B.’’—Sent hair ornaments 21st. ** Miss M. A. W.’’—Sent slipper pattern 22d. “Mrs. J. P.”—Sent furs by U. 8. express 23d. ‘Miss A. E. B.”—Sent patterns 23d. ‘Miss F. D. McJ.”"—Sent bair ear-rings and finger-ring 2ith. ‘*Mrs. J. R. M.”"—Sent patterns 28th. ** Bridget.’’—We do not think extremes in dress are ever 0 be admired. **Mrs. J. A. B.”’—Sent card-case as directed 28th. “Mrs. S. V. B."’"—Sent patterns 28th. “Mrs. D. L. G.”"—Sent pearl necklace 28th. “Mrs R. O. H.’’—Sent hair ear-rings and bracelet 28th. “Mrs. E. B. L.’’—Sent stamped collar and cottons 29th. “RR. B.”—Sent pearl card-case 30th. **Miss M. L.’’—Sent hair fob-chain 30th. **Miss A. A. P."’—Sent hair ear-rings 30th. “Mrs. J. E. F.’’—Sent patterns 30th. ‘*Miss R. B.”—Sent patterns 31st. “Mrs. J. A. B.’’—Sent infant's dress Ist. “M. K. B.’’—Sent colored cottons, &c. 1st. “Mrs. 8. M. B.”"—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Harnaen’s os express Ist. ‘*Mrs. M. J. R.”’"—Sent bonnet by Adams's express Ist. **Mrs, D. O. A.’’—Sent cloak by Adams’s express Ist. ‘*Mrs. W. 8. B.”’—Sent patterns Ist. **Miss E. E. A.’’—Sent hair fob-chain 2d. “Mrs. L. O. V.""—Sent pearl card-case 2d. **Wallace.”"—Very short hair will do. “8S. M. S."—Sent bonnet by Adams’s express Sth. “Miss D. E. B.”—Sent chain and bracelet 8th. “Mrs. O. V. R.’’—Sent hair ear-rings 8th. **Miss A. A. H.’’—Sent hair ear-rings Sth. ‘Mrs. L. W. B.’’—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Kinsley’s express Sth. **Mrs. E. M.”’"—Sent cottons 8th. ‘Mrs. K. McK.”—Sent fringe and buttons by Adams's express 8th. “Mrs. O. N.”’—Sent hair ring 9th “Mrs. M. D. W.”—Sent patterns 11th. **Mrs. W. C. B.’’—Sent hair ring 11th. “Mrs. E. L. B.”’—Sent patterns 11th **Mrs. M. A. W.”-—Sent Honiton collar 13th. **Sallie.”"—Must send a stamp and name. The answer s too long for this department. “Miss M. C. V.""—Sent silk 14th. **Miss G. H.”’—Sent cameo set 14th. “Mrs. T. D. K.”"~ Sent patterns 16th. “Mrs. A. A. E.”’"—Sent infant’s wardrobe patterns 16th. ~ “L GCentre-Gable Gossip. THE GARDEN—No. 3. WE commence with advice as to the laying out of those little suburban rear gardens which may be made so much of if time, and patience, and thrift be exercised. Usually, they are given up to a scanty patch of grass, two alianthus- trees, a scrubby lilac, and the posts for the clothes-line. Now, see how happily this little space is laid out by a judicious gardener ; and the same general directions as to the borders will apply to any small garden that our read- ers may choose to attempt. “Usually,” says our authority, “we find this space in the shape of a disproportionate oblong, with a border run- 285 ning under the bare brick walls, and one lengthy piece of ground in the centre. Paths, as well drained and as wide as possible, are here essential ; for, in all probability, this is the family drying-ground ; and room should be left for such uses, without the fear of treading on beds or borders. **If the centre be broken into beds (three is a good num- ber), with gravel-paths, or turf around them, the effect is much prettier than if the central piece of ground is left entire. ‘The least trouble is to gravel the space between the beds; but, if the bladed grass has as refreshing an effect upon the ‘visual nerves’ of our readers as on our own, they will give the preference to the greensward, although, to keep it in good condition, it must be cut once a fortnight, and is, at the same time, a certain ambush for slugs and There is no better foreground for floral beauty. It is nature’s own, bringing up and throwing out every va- riety of color, from the faint salver-shaped corollas of the primrose to the rich bloom of the standard roses, which snails, never look to greater advantage than on a setting of smooth shorn emerald turf. “The great obstruction to the proper growth of flowers, in the neighborhood of towns, arises either from the origi- We would especially advise, if in the neighborhood of waste nal poverty or the worn-out condition of the ground. land and pastures, the introduction of a few barrow-loads of fresh mould, to be well mixed with the old soil of the beds. This will be found more beneficial than manure, which, if not thoroughly decomposed, and used in very small quantities, well levigated with earth and sand, is absolutely destructive to flowers.” See that the whole ground is well spaded, and then broken into fine mould, the beds raked off, and laid smooth and even. This is the first thing to be done. “Ifa grass-plot for the centre be decided on, this month will be found an excellent time for laying it out; and a gardener will furnish the tur/, and put it down for a small sum; in the mean while, the beds having been shaped (and fresh earth added), taking care to give thema slightly convex surface. The choice of their contents must be the next consideration, so as to make the most of the limited space, and to waste neither money, time, nor trouble on the attempt to grow such plants as are not sufficiently hardy to bear the atmosphere of town or its near neigh- borhood. ‘*When the situation is open, and the aspect good, the number will be far from limited ; and no time should be lost in getting in a good assortment of perennials, to form the stock-plants of the parterres and borders, adjusting them, as in the case of annuals, according to height and Canterbury bells, blue and white, will be effective But, as one of our first color. in the background of a border. objects is to secure the prime flowers of the spring, and bring in beauty and fragrance to our homes, we would ad- vise the planting of wall-flowers, and pinks, rockets, sweetwilliams, columbines, and carnations—English classic flowers, every one of them, old-fashioned as the times of Philippa of Hainault and the Flemish weavers, whom Edward III., probably at her suggestion, encouraged to settle in England, and who brought the love and know- ledge of flowers and gardening, for which the people of the Netherlands had ever been famous. Amongst these plants of higher growth and later blos- soming, we should intersperse patches of hepatica, white mimulus (or alyssum, violets, gentianella, nd the double garden-daisy, the effect of primroses, musk-plant), : which, in masses of different colors—white, pink, and All low-growing but let any of our fair crimson—is really beautiful. these plants are known best as edgings ;

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286 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. readers try them in circular masses, especially if clusters of crocuses and snowdrops have been planted intermedi- ately ; and their borders will seldom be flowerless after January. * First, the alyssum will cover all its leaves with floral snow ; besides which, the golden chalices of the crocuses will unfold themselves, and the pink and blue hepaticas start up, waked from their winter sleep, in wide-blown beauty, but too hurriedly to wait their leaves; then come the primroses, and violets, and close-quilled daisies; and, later, blue gentianella and the yellow musk-plant, with many a lovely annual to add its blossoms to the garden wreath. “But our business is with the present. As blank bricx walls are an eyesore, no time should be lost in covering them. The ivy loves a northern aspect, and therefore may well fill up a space unfitted for most other climbers, The broad-leaved Irish ivy is excellent in such a situation ; but the ‘ giant ivy,’ with its huge leaves, and more rapid growth, is even better adapted for the purpose. The Vir- ginian creeper is another plant of quick growth and hand- some foliage. Its fresh green, vine-like leaves, and pen- dent manner of growing, are very elegant; while the glorious scarlet in which autumn dyes it rerders it ex- tremely ornamental. As it is, however, deciduous, like the clematis and passion-flower, we must have recourse to the pyrus japonica and Stauntonia latifolia to cover up the walls with winter greenery. The jasmine, too, must not be forgotten. Its hardiness renders it invaluable in the neighborhood of town; and its slender, dark-green stems are cheerful-looking, even when its leaves are gone. Nor should we forget to recommend the flowering ribes to our readers for the sake of its bright and graceful clusters of roxy flowers and their early bloom. Whether grown as a standard, or trained against a wall, it well deserves a place in our gardens “ Another shrub, which does well upon a southern wall or trellis, is the Buddlea globosa, with its honey scent and orange-colored flowers. Its odor is delicious, and its spiked clusters highly ornamental. ** Besides these climbers and their proxies, we would not omit a plant or two of sweetbrier, nor lilac, nor syringa. All of these do well in the suburbs, come early into flower, and are exquisitely sweet; and, beneath their shade, the periwinkle, with evergreen leaves, and bright blue flowers, and clumps of wild primroses might be planted ; while, in some waste spot, where nothing elxe would bloom, a root of Tussilago fragrans would flourish ; and in this month, or perhaps sooner, exhale the odor of mililot, and May, throughout the otherwise blossomless waste.”’ CORRESPONDENCE OF THE “‘CENTRE-TABLE.” Extract No. 1. “Let me tell yon something that happened on our re- turn voyage from China in the good ship H In the first place, though, I must acknowledge my indebtedness to the Lady's Book for its invaluable patterns. I accom- plished an immense quantity of needle-work at our ‘ Cen- tre-Table,”’ for we have one in the little boudoir cabin, which I called my own. * Well, we had been ont weeks, months, and were getting tolerably thirsty for news from home, news from any- where—if you have ever tried the voyage, you can imagine it—when, joyful to tell, we came upon a ship only thirty days from port. We possessed ourselves of some fowls Don't elevate your dear little nez re- Even turnips were hailed with as much delight and some turnips. troussé as the most aristocratic cauliflower could have been. The skipper informed us, in return for our inquiries as to the news, ‘that everybody in New York, Boston, and Phila- delphia was dead broke,’ which was cheerful, as, being 80 sweeping, it probably included owners, they being mor- tal, and subject to bank panics, after all. However, they sent a package of newspapers, that we might see for our- selves. The craft was a whaler from New Bedford, not a woman on board, of course; so imagine my astonishment and delight at discovering a Lady’s Book among the dis- mal heralds of universal disaster. It went to my heart like the face of an old friend; it conjured up visions of other days, of the veritable ‘centre-table,’ in the dear old study at 16 —— Street, heaped with books and copy of the office at 113, and the benevolent face that used to lean over the counter fora morning chat, while! translated the hiero- glyphic of a new arrival in crochet. It was next best to seeing home. It is the dearest old face that magazine ever wore, the cover of the Lady’s Book.” No. 2. We commend our second paragraph to any of our young lady friends who may have a fancy for “ marrying with the army.”’ It is all very well at West Point, at an an- nual ball, or at “‘ Old Point,” or ‘‘Gunner’s Island,” for a hop. Uniforms look well as evening-dress ; but frontier garrison life is another affair; and of this our army are evidently destined to see much in the next thirty years, rather more than they do of New York or Philadelphia. Fort LEAVENWworTH, Kansas, December ——, 57. “We had a sad experience in Florida, so sad that I hope my lot in life will never again be cast in ‘ the land of flow- ers.’ Through June, July, and August, I lay with an ex- hausting country fever, and up to the 20th of September, indeed, when we were ordered to Fort Leavenworth. We were in camp here two months after our arrival, living on the bare ground, encountering very severe weather, snow- storms, etc. We were obliged to remain until the weather was insupportable ; and I should have been there until this time had I not been taken up by two officers, and car- ried in their arms. “There was a violent ‘norther’ the last evening o our stay in camp, accompanied by pouring rains; and our ‘country residence’ was every moment in danger of being blown down. It escaped, however; and I was snugly ensconced in a neighboring house; but poor was obliged to remain with and watch our possessions. So here we are, finally, in quarters I hope to remain all win- ter. This is an old and very large post, of twenty years’ standing; and the city of Leavenworth is two or three miles below. Its growth has been very rapid; and it is destined to become the ‘big city’ of Kansas. "Tis just about at the head of navigation for the large boats. The railroad is creeping along, and is completed as far as Jef- ferson City. The place already numbers eight thousand inhabitants, and is little over one year old. “There are over two thousand troops at the Fort; and we are very much crowded, I can assure you, which was why we were compelled to remain in camp so long, till some of the cavalry and dragoons could be removed to Fort Riley. The express has already gone to Washington, calling for more troops ; and we are all ‘trembling in our shoes,’ fearing that our better-halves will be taken from us, as, without doubt, one regiment is destined for Utah in the spring. If they go, they will probably remain for years; and we have no hope of joining them, even if they are not cut off. I hope the Mormons will elope, as they threaten to do, for imagine the situation of wives and chil- dren in the poor old regiment !””

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FASHIONS. 287 THE NURSERY. To the neglect, or unfaithful performance of the duties of this department, almost all the difficulties which occur in the after training of children—their habits of fretfulness, of deception, of irregularity and unneatness, their rude manners, and even the frequently recurring disorders of their physical condition—are mainly to be attributed. Begin right in the nursery, and the difficulties of all your future course will be greatly diminished. Be at home in the nursery yourself. Do not leave that department to the entire care of servants, however faithful they may be. Have it understood that you belong there, and that nothing can be done there without your know- ledge and supervision, and that no mistakes made by others can escape your notice. Give your heart to the nursery. Do not allow yourself to attend to itasaduty only. Let it be one of the sunniest places about home. Make it so by your cheerful partici- pation in ail its cares, and your genial interest in all its pleasures. Try, as much as possible, to have no other cares to disturb your thoughts when you go there, and no other pleasure that is drawing you away. You cannot possibly have anything to do so important as the training of your children. Let them see that you think so. Let them feel and know that you have no pleasure greater than that of making them happy—not pleasing them, merely, and that for a few moments—but teaching them how to be happy. For this end, “let patience have her perfect work."’ Leave your work, or your reading, or anything else that may chance to occupy you, and leave it cheerfully, to prevent a disagreement, to correct a mistake, to soothe a sorrow, to give a new impulse to a pastime growing dull, and, in fine, to do anything that may tend to brush away a cloud that may seem to be rising, or re- store a calm after it has risen. Have a system, and abide by it. Do not give way to petulance, or let things pass to avoid a momentary self-denial. Fair you must be; but add gentleness to firmness, lest it grow into severity. Above all, remember that, “if any lack wisdom’’—and what young mother does not, at times, feel wholly discoa- raged ?—‘‘let him ask of God, who giveth to all liberally.” TO CORRESPONDENTS. “Mrs. 8. T. H.,” Terre Haute.—We shall take great pleasure in attending to your wishes. There are many young girls who would willingly go South as teachers in private families, and who are fully competent to undertake the charge of young children. In the mean time, they know not where or how toc apply; while families are equally in need of their services, and in ignorance of the way to secure them. ** ALBERTINE. "—There is no “sisterhood” of the kind in this country. Miss Nightingale’s hospital, or school for the training of nurses, when established, will be a most invaluable agency to relieve the suffering. No one would volunteer in such a ministry except from the highest prin- ciple; or, rather, if they come forward through any other motive, the self-denial and difficulties involved will soon dishearten them. ‘*Mrs. L. R. R.”’—We will not forget our promise of an article for those who are wearing mourning. It will pro- bably appear in our next. * Fortune-Tec.er. '’—Hansel Monday is the first Monday in the new year. The supposition is that whatever you do on that day you will be doing all the year. To find a piece of money, or to hear good news, is reckoned particn- larly fortunate. “Teacuer,’’ Saint Mary’s.—There are two more names added to the lives of the Bishops—Dehon and Gadsden, of Svuth Carolina. They compare favorably with those we have already noticed, simple, just, and discriminating. We are obliged to postpone some of our correspondents to make room for our long and interesting ‘“‘ gardening hints.” Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Havine had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research 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 by express to any part of the country. For the last, distinct directions must be given. Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed eapen- diture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq. No order will be attended to unless the money is first received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account- able for losses that may occur in remitting. Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goods from Levy’s or Evans & Co.’s ; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from Brodie’s, 51 Canal Street, New York ; bon- nets from T. White & Co.’s; jewelry from Warden's or Caldwell’s, Philadelphia. When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevaii here govern the purchase; therefore, no articles will be taken back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be considered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR MARCH. Fig. 1.—Carriage-dress of moire, in broad alternate stripes of black and rose, or china pink. The corsage is short, and rounded at the waist. The sleeves are broad, and slightly pointed ; at the top the fullness is confined by plaits, extending about half way to the elbow, with grelots, or pendent buttons between. Valenciennes collar. Un- dersleeves a full puff of thulle, with bands of Valenciennes at the waist to correspond with the collar, and flowing bracelets of black velvet ribbon. Fig. 2.—Robe of black silk, with the flounces in bright Street basque of black velvet, richly or- Bonnet of black lace, with Mazarine blue. namented with passementerie. bands and knots of blue moire ribbon striped with velvet. Fig. 3.—Dinner-dress of black velvet skirt and basque ; the basque is deep, and trimmed heavily with passemen- terie. Collar of point d’applique. Very full undersleeves of thulle in three puffs, slashed with black velvet ribbon. Coiffure of close curls, with c@che peigne of black velvet ribbon. JUVENILE FIGURES. Fig. 1.—Walking-dress for a girl of twelve. Dress of stone-colored cashmere; skirt plain; deep basque, with pockets, Felt hat, with flowing black plume ; violet rib- bon rosettes and strings Fig. 2.—Boy’s walking-dress. Tunic of green cashmere.

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288 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Gaiters and cloak of stone-colored cloth. White beaver hat, with plume. —— LA BRUNEN. (See blue plate in front of Book.) Tuts elegant dinner-dress, unseasonable for our northern belles, is nevertheless timely for our southern subscribers, who are already considering their wardrobes for the sum- mer trips to the lakes or springs. It is to all a hint of the prevailing fashion for the coming season, both for break- fast and dinner dresses. White muslin, cambric, tarleton, in short every possible white fabric, will be in demand, especially at our watering-places. Nothing could be more simple and tasteful as a ground for decoration, which may be as elaborate and varied as the taste of the wearer may suggest. We have more to say of this prevailing tone of fashion in its more general season. La Brunen is among the most elegant styles we have yet seen. It is of muslin, with French embroidery, and reaches us from Paris in its present shape; the robe being accompanied by a descriptive plate, so that there is no dif ficulty in arranging it. The skirt has two flounces, raised in the centre to display the tadlier of elegant needlework, in medallion, which forms the front ; a pouff of plain mus- lin heads each flounce, with a broad blue satin, or sarsnet ribbon run through, having knots of the same to mark the tablier. The basque and sleeves have flounces to correspond. The hair a ciche peigne of the same ribbon, The whole effect of this dress is light and youthful in the extreme. CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADEL- PHIA FASHIONS FOR MARCH. Turre is very little variety or change, this month, everything being kept back for the openings; and indeed our March weather is by no means favorable to new styles, the dust, when it is not mud in the streets, proving de- structive to light fabrics or ornament. Skirts, notwith- standing statements to the contrary, continue as long and bulky as ever. Nor do we wish to see the reign of crino- line entirely ‘past. It is a blessing, but, like others. one might name, to be used im moderation. Anything that saves the pressure of skirts on the hips, and that con- tributes towards giving a freeand graceful carriage, should not lightly be yielded to the caprices of fashion. All bodies are made high for everything not intended for evening-dress, which ace invariably distinguished by a low-pointed corsage and short sleeves. The quilles, or side trimmings, promise to remain in favor through the coming season. Many of the new spring fabrics are manufactured with them, as robes; and, when this is not the case, they are almost universally | added. There is a false report prevailing concerning flounces. They are by no means out of date. Many ladies prefer them to any other style of skirt; some because they give really an added grace to a tall and slender figure—others, to quote the plain-speaking Moniteur, ‘“‘ for the very sim- ple reason that a handsome flounced dress is always more expensive than one with a plain skirt ; and ladies of am- ple fortune are apt to give the preference to what only a limited number can afford to wear.” There is just now a great variety in sleeves, which is an improvement on the fancy of two and three seasons ago, that everything must be cut, whether chintz, muslin, or silk, by precisely one pattern. The general effect of all the various styles is breadth in the upper part, in this way adding to the general contour of thefigure. We givesome of the most marked. The Funnel, an inelegant but descriptive name, wide at the bottom, funnel-shaped, and open to the bend of the arm. The opening may be laced across, or not, according to fancy. The Volante, consisting of two or three plain flounces, cut slantwise of the stuff. The Bouffant, five puffs, taking up the whole sleeve, with a band at the bottom. There is a fourth style, composed of the last two. It has one or two puffs at top, and a short square flounce com- mencing a little above the elbow. Morning-dresses, and plain street or travelling-dresses, have often close sleeves, plaited at top and bottom, with a band atthe wrist. The top plaits are often fastened down by buttons or grelots, as in Fig. 1 of our fashion-plate for the month. Jackets are worn of moderate length. Those so ex- tremely deep are chiefly intended for the street. Ornaments in passementerie—that is, gimp fringe, ete., in silk, or silk mixed with jet and steel—are greatly used. Berths are woven expressly for the dress of fringe, che- nille, or those mixed as above. Jet is more durable, as steel is apt to rust if touched by water. The Fuurragére (forager) is the last novelty, introduced from military equipments, and is thus described by the Moniteur as manufactured at the celebrated establishment in Paris, known as the Ville de Lyon :— “Just fancy a large tress [fringe?] of above a finger's breadth, hanging free across the front of a body, from ene shoulder to the other, At one extremity, the right, hang- ing down the sleeve, there is a flat tassel in three branches ; on the left, another of still different form.”’ Le Savage is the latest style of fringe, adapied only for velvets and fabrics. It is made of feathers and jet, and takes its title from thence. A few bonnets intended for the early spring have been opened. Genin is among the first to display novelties, as he is always in advance for his southern orders. There is a very pretty style of white corded silk known as veloure Imp ratrice, the silk laid quite smooth on the sides, front, and top of the crown. On the edge of tue front is a fall of blonde three inches in width; one the very edge of the front, at the left side. There is a very ingenious coque of ribbons, of different shades of pink, which ornaments both the outside and inside of the brim. White crape bonnet, ornamented with thulle ruches, a white plame, and a row of blonde; béuguets of mallows inside the brim. The front comes forward in the Marie Stuart style, and is bordered by a light ruche, which is continued around the curtain. A ruche also conceals the joining of the front and crown. Bonnet of pale Islay green silk, the whole shape being closely covered with the material. A wreath of large pan- sies begins under the front, follows the cheeks, and con- tinues along the edge, and down the sides, turning on the curtain. Ruches of blonde inside; the strings of No. 22 ribbon, with cheques of white, purple, and green, A néw material for petticoats has been introduced into London by Her Majesty Victoria: It is of a very thick material, with a very brilliant scarlet and black stripe. The Empress Eugenie, whose Spanish taste is fur bright colors, has adopted them, They can be had at Levy’s, in Philadelphia. In our next “Chat,” we shall be able to give a more decided glance at the spring fabrics, in the making up of which, we have given valuable hints above (bonnets), and more especially the mantles, of which Brodie has his usual variety, adapted to the seasons with his usual taste. ' PAsHioy. er EIN

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280 GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PortTrarr or Wasnixeton Prixten rx O11, CoLors.— Messrs. Devereux & Co., of Philadelphia, have lately issued a most beautiful work of art for the people, a portrait in colors of the greatest of heroes, an exact transcript of Stuart’s famous picture, the most truthful likeness of Washington extant. Throughout the whole of this Heaven- favored land, in every home where grateful and patriotic hearts are beating, the portrait of our country’s father should find an honored place. This image, before the eyes of the young, should be their constant monitor to follow his examples ; and those benignant features, looking down from the household walls upon the old, should preserve the love of liberty and of country fresh in their breasts until the grave closes upon them. Messrs. Devereux & Co., who are inspired by the spirit ot genuine patriotism, have, in the most liberal manner, placed these portraits at the disposal of the ladies of the ** Mount Vernon Association” for the mere cost of mechani- cal execution. The profits of the sale will greatly swell the Mount Vernon fund, and hasten the hour, already near at hand, when the Home and Grave of Washington will be secured from profanation. This is a noble tribute on the part of Messrs. Devereux & Co. to the patriotic originator of the Mount Vernon pur- chase, one which renders the country at large, as well as the ladies of the Association, their debtor. The portraits, which are of good size, and highly finished specimens of chromatic printing, are sold to the publie for ene dollar each, a sum much below their value, but which places them within the reach of those whose “‘ hands lack means,’’ although their hearts do not lack patriotism. The portraits may be obtained in Virginia from the secretary of the Mount Vernon Association. ANOTHER COMPLIMENT AND ComPLarnt, from a lady who gent a subscription for the purchasing of the Washington estate :— “T take this opportunity, my dear Mr. Godey, to thank you for the many pleasures you, in all your goodness of heart, bestow on us monthly. You leave us not a thing to wish for; you give us prose and poetry of an excellent quality ; you give us receipts for everything, and admira- ble ones, too, and patterns the most unique. In all truth, I would not give your magazine for any one that is pub- lished in the United States (and I have seen all those of note, too). I can’t tell you of half its good qualities. I only wish I could keep mine at home. How provoking it is to see its beautiful leaves all torn and spoiled !”’ Now, let us suggest to the lady who has borrowed this number that the above specially refers to her. Hare Onwameyts.— Ladies wishing hair made into bracelets, pins (which are very beautiful), necklaces or ear-rings, can be accommodated by our Fashion Editor. A very large aumber of orders have recently been filled, and the articles have given great satisfaction. We give the prices at which we will send these beauti- ful articles :— Breastpins, from $4 to $12. Ear-rings, from 84 50 to $10. Bracelets, from $8 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, $4 50. Our MusicaL Eprror.—We have great pleasure in an- nouncing that J. Starr Holloway will in future preside over this department. Missouri, December 9, 1857. Mr. Gover: Having ever been a friend to your Lady's Book, and hearing of several persons in this place getting up clubs for, and puffing other periodicals, I at once de- termined that Godey should not go unrepresented, so far as I could exert myself inits behalf. SoI have trudged round through mud and snow for several days, and succeeded in getting up a club of nine, for which you will find inclosed the fifteen dollars. I think the club does very well for me, being a little girl only thirteen years of age, and consider- ing the pressure in money matters. tespectfully your friend, Ninaug E. Crate. It is a very good beginning ; and we heartily thank Miss Ninah. Wants.—A lady wishes to know how to knit a counter- pane in a shell pattern. Can any of our readers inform her? A lady wants a good receipt for hardening tallow candles. Keep roor Mourn Sucr.—Never allow the action of respiration to be carried on through the mouth. The nasal passages are clearly the medium through which respiration was, by our Creator, designed to be carried on. “God breathed into man’s nostrils the breath of life,” pre- vious to his becoming a living creature. The difference in the exhaustion of strength by a long walk, with the mouth firmly closed, and respiration carried on through the nos- trils, instead of through the mouth, is inconceivable to those who have never tried the experiment. It is said that the habit of carrying on the work of inspiration and expiration through the mouth is the origin of almost all diseases of the throat and lungs. RememMBer 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 matter of domestic economy. Its receipts, its patterns, its needle-work, its instructions in housekeeping are invalua- ble to the housekeeper. Let it be distinctly understood 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. Goper’s Monthly List of New Music, which will be far nished at the prices annexed :— New Songs. Oh, whisper what thou feelest ! 25 cts. Apparition of a Dandy (comic), 10 “ I would not have thee Young again, _ A Smile from the Youth I Love, 10 * Happy Moments now Returning (from Trova- tore), _* Hope for the Best, 15 “ New Piano Pieces. Amelia Polka, 25 “* La Coralie Polka, 25 “ Paisley Schottisch 3 * Atlantic Telegraph Quickstep, 3“ Thalberg Waltzes (likeness of Thalberg), 50 “* Bird of Paradise Waltz, 50 *“ Towx, County, anp Stats.—Do not forget to put all these in every letter you write. You do not know how much trouble it would save us. o ea a F&F += 6 = eto =

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 281 Women anv Lapies.—Our fair countrywomen get many a hard rub in the newspapers about their generally ac- knowledged discourtesy toward the male sex, every member of which seems to feel himself in duty bound to give way to them on all occasions, without even expecting the poor guerdon of a smile, or a courtesy, or a word of thanks. We do not know that men will break their hearts over it. Indeed, it is every day becoming more perceptible that men are growing tired of such thankless offerings, and are discontinuing them as undeserved. We see it in omnibuses, rail-cars, coaches, in places of amusement, etc., where formerly any one of woman kind was sure of a seat, no matter how great the crowd. We must confess that this is a tendency which we regard with anything but satisfaction. It is an indication that our countrymen are losing their proverbial gallantry towards the fair sex, and while we think the retribution justly merited by the rude thoughtlessness of the ladies, we fear & will breed up in us a churlish disposition towards thuse who in every stage of life are our choicest blessing. In our estimation, it is the duty of every well bred gentleman to give precedence to the ladies on all occasions. There may be exceptional cases, as in the instance of gentlemen in feeble health, or troubled with infirm limbs, but too much stress is always laid upon these cases by people who are not subject to such afflictions, and only seek a plea for their rudeness. Two-thirds of the invalids referred to are prompt to give up to the ladies, being generally persons of thorough breeding. But it sounds very paltry and disgusting to hear a young, strong, vigorous man hunting up such excuses to hide his own want of the natural courtesy of the American gentleman toward females. It is a sorrowful truth that all women are not ladies; sorrowful, because the distinction lies solely in the manners, and has no reference to riches, or station, or talent, or education. If manners make the man, it is equally true that they make the lady. The vulgar, brazen females who push their way into a crowded stage and at once begin to throw out insinuations that there are no gentlemen inside, or else they would give place to the “ladies,” have no right whatever to the designation. But because there are such women, it is no reason why men should ignore all unknown females, and give place only to those whom they know, which is now fast becoming the rule of action in public. It is well enough to give female impu- dence a wholesome rebuke; but the whole sex must not suffer for it. Indeed, it were far better to revert to the old practice, and give up to every woman, than that we should fall heir to the ungallant churlishness of John Buli, or imitate the boorishness of the Hollander towards the sex. Psrerson’s Bank-Note Derecror.—Here we have a Detector worthy of the name, corrected by Drexel & Co., the Drexels, whom everybody knows from their vast con- nections, their correctness in business matters, and their urbane manners. It will be the most complete and relia- ble Detector ever printed. It is also a bank-note list and a price current. In fact, it isa work that should be in the hands of every business man, broker, and banker in the country. For the monthly issue, one dollara year; semi- monthly issue, two dollars a year; much cheaper when several copies are subscribed for. T. B. Peterson, Phila- delphia, publisher. An ardent Shakspearean has written a pamphlet on the play of ‘“‘Hamlet,” called “An Attempt to ascertain whether the Queen were an Accessory before the fact, in the Murder of her First Husband.” 24* ’ Ir has been suggested, as a security against opening letters, to put the stamp on the reverse side of the envelop, where the letter is usually sealed. The suggestion is a good one, if it could be followed out, and the postmasters aware of the fact, so that they would know where to find the stamp to cancel it. FALse SPELLING ARISING OUT OF SovnD.—A curious list might be compiled of English words conveying, in their present form, meanings totally in discordance with their derivatives. The sound of such words has given birth to anew idea, but of course erroneous mode of spelling. Such are the following, some of which have been already noticed by Dr. Latham in his large grammar :— Buffetiers has been transformed into beef-eaters. Dent de lion has been corrupted to dandylion, from an idea of the bold and flaunting aspect of the flower, whereas its name has reference to the root. Contre-danse is spelled country dance, as implying rural or common life pastime, instead of the position of the dancers. Cap-a-pie, armed from head to foot. to the homely term of apple-pie order. Folio-capo (Italian), first-size sheet, suggestive of fools- cap. Asparagus, popularized into sparrow-grass. Chateau-vert Hill, near Oxford, well known as Shot-over Hill. Girasole artichote, Jerusalem artichoke. Farced-meat balls. The notion of their containing es sence artificially concentrated has occasioned the spelling Sorced, whereas the meaning is simply chopped. French, Sarcée. Spar-hawk (or rock-hawk), sparrow-havwk. Satyr and Bacchanels, a public house sign, Satan and the Bag of Nails. Laak (Anglo-Saxon) play, has been turned into lark, and even into skylark. Sambuca (altered through a French medium), though certainly not euphonized into sacklut, treated by Miss Strickland, in the work above mentioned, as a Scottish bagpipe. Massaniello is universally recognized as the name of the celebrated Neapolitan insurrectionist, who at one time pearly overturned the government of that kingdom. How few who use the word are aware that ‘‘ Mas-Aniello” is but a corruption of Thomas Aniello, so pronounced by his vulgar companions, aad now raised to the dignity of a historical name? Hougoumont is a conspicuous feature of the great field of Waterloo, and a name familiarly used in speaking of the famous battle. In course of time, it will be forgotten that this is a mere mistake, said to have originated with the great general who achieved the victory, catching up, from the peasantry around, the sound of Chateau Goumont, and the real name of the little rural demesne in question. This has given rise ‘Mrs. HALs’s Recerprs For THE MiLLion.”—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 course the Lady’s Book, every family will have the works it most needs. Ovr 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.

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282 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Tus 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 us, when, in truth, all do; and it is difficult to make a selection from so many, which to publish. It contains within its leaves an encyclopedia of informa- tion to be found nowhere else.— Belleville Advocate. This is undoubtedly the best journal of its class ex- tant.—Sterling Times. The lover of morality, beauty, wit, humor, and chaste- ness of langnage, as well as the devotee of fashion, may find within it food to suit his or her particular taste. Every lady should be possessed of it.—Bath Enterprise. The literary matter is especially worthy of notice. Everything within the Lady's Book may be read aloud in the family circle. — Virginia News. We can with safety recommend it as the best and cheap- est magazine in the United States.— West Columbia Meea- senger. Many of its articles bear upon them the impress of merit of a high order; and not the least attractive part about it is the wit and humor contained in the editorial depart- ment.— York Press. Godey furnishes the best magazine now published.— Palestine Ruralist. Godey’s Lady's Book is the standard lady’s magazine in America. There is au army of talent contributing to its pages that cannot be surpassed.— Reedsburg Herald. It is just the work that a lady of refined taste would de- sire to read herself, and place in the hands of the young ladies of her family. Purity of sentiment and a high moral tone are among the excellent characteristics of this work ; and one feels sensible that the better feelings of their nature are appealed to while perusing its pages.— Rensselaer Banner. Tue PrevatLine Sentiment —‘“‘It is the only Lady's Book worth a copper in America,” says the Starkville Advocate. Tas Tracer Secret.—‘‘ Godey can afford to spend more money to make the Lady’s Book interesting than any other magazine publisher in Philadelphia. A heavy purse and a kind and liberal heart have made it what it is. To place any other magazine in the same position that Godey now is would require perhaps $50,000, and a stock of energy which few possess."’ Very much obliged to the Levvis- burg Gazette for its kind opinion ; but we can say to him that it would require double that sum, and to work as many hours a day as we do, from ten to twelve, and, in the winter season, nearer fourteen hours. ** We are really sorry to find,” says the Minersville Bul- ldin, ‘‘so many of our ladies indulging in such demoral- izing and filthy literature as is found in ——, when Go- dey’s Lady's Book can be had for three dollars a year." This has always been our aim, as expressed by the Tunkhannock Democrat: ‘*‘ No lady, whether addicted to fashions or not, should be without Godey. It will culti- vate her taste, and elevate her in the moral scale of being. Godey grows better and better." Godey is and ever has been at the head o1 the literary magazines of the land.— Wisconsin Crescent. The reading matter is of the choicest in our country ; and Godey bears off the palm from them all.—Alliance Times, Tae Durham University have just had built an eight-oar boat, which is so exactly poised that the rowers are obliged to part their hair down the middle to keep their balance. PATTERNS FOR INPANTS’ Daresses, on INFANTS’ Warp- roBes.—Our fashion editor has supplied a great many wardrobes for infants lately, and in every case has given great satisfaction. She has facilities for furnishing these articles better and cheaper than any other person. The vast influence that her connection with the Lady's Book gives her induces importers and others to submit to her their earliest fashions. 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 articles ordered, and that we have to pay in advance. For particulars, address Fashion Editor (not Mrs. Hale), care of L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. All other patterns fur- nished as usual. Grecian PAINTING AND ANTIQUE PAINTING ON GLASS.— Mr. J. E. Tilton, of Salem, Massachusetts, will furnish all Our numerous inquirers He is largely en- the materials and directions. will please make application to him. gaged in artists’ materials and the fine arts, and we are 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 instructions for Grecian Painting and Antique Painting on Glass, a new style, origipating with himself, and equal to the finest copper painting, with a bottle of preparation, &c. The directions are so explicit as to enable any one to learn fully without a teacher. He also includes, at above price, directions for Oriental style, and the beautiful art called Potichimanie. ‘For $2 more, or $5, he will send with the above all paints, brushes, oils, varnishes, &c. &c., needed for these arts (Grecian and Antique), and other oil painting. “Full directions only in the above arts, Grecian, An- tique Painting, Oriental, Potichimanie, X&c., sent, free by mail, on receipt of $1. They are so full! and plain thatany one with no previous knowledge of drawing can be sure to acquire. “‘He has also published a new picture for Grecian and ’ The paper, printing, and engraving are thoroughly fitted for it, and the effect and finish, when painted, are fine, and superior to canvas painting. Price, with rules for painting it, colors, how to mix, &c., $1, sent free, by mail. Address J. E. Tixto0N, Salem, Mass.” Antique Painting, called ‘Les Orphelines Tue Message Bird, of Waynesville, Ohio, is a de- lightful little paper that varies less in its attractions than any other paper we know of. It receives commendations from all quarters, one of which we copy :— We must say that our valuable exchange, the Message Bird, is the most handsome sheet in the United States. Its contents are entirely original, which makes it doubly interesting. —American Flag, Dubuque, lowa. The price is only fifty cents a year; and it circulates largely in every State of the Union. A PAIR correspondent at the West writes us: “In my native place, there used to reside a family of colored aris tocracy, rejoicing in the family cognomen of Renolds There were three children. The eldest, a boy, was christ ened George Washington; and the next, being twins, were named to please the aged grandmother, who loved euphonious titles—Angelina Electafina Dewdropina Highf- linda Ann; and number two was christened Angelina Electafina Dewdropina Felinda Ann. And they were Highlind and Filind Renolds for short." aoiweh a= S&S = oo Oe a a ee a ee en ee ee ee a ee a ae a eS

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 283 ScRAPS FROM OUR JUNIOR :— We have, or had, a protégce who interested us deeply, and to whom now a funny anecdote attaches itself. She had been in the habit of coming to us for assistance for many years, and always sustained the character of a deaf and dumb woman. One day, when she came for relief, we had a lady friend with us, and in the presence of the poor afflicted creature, we told her troubles to our friend. Deeply interested, she turned to the mute, saying, kindly and innocently— “Poor thing! dumb?” ‘“* About ten years, ma'am," said the “poor thing,” courtesying. How long have you been deaf and Do you like macaroons, or, as an intelligent confectioner of our acguaintance calls them, maccaronies? We do, and we can tell you a funny story, and a true one, about these same little cakes. Some years ago, Mrs. J , a friend of ours, had a basket of macaroons left, from the supper given to a party of friends; they stood some time in her pantry, and then, finding they were very hard and stale, she concluded to throw them away. Mrs. J. lived in this city, but opposite to her front windows there was a large open lot, on which a number of geese fed daily. She went to the window, and seeing one goose on the street in front of the house, threw him one cake; he ateit, and looked up for more; she threw down another; this was eaten, and still, like Oliver Twist, the goose “asked for more.’’ Then she emptied the basket upon the pavement; the goose looked at the large supply, turned about, and deliberately walked over to the open lot, to his companions. Astonished to see him leave his feast, Mrs. J. remained at the window watching him. He went in among the flock, and they left their places, and followed him as he led them across the street and under the window to the feast spread forthem. The geese soon disposed of the cakes, and then the leader stretched his long neck again towards the window; as soon as he did so, all the others followed his example, and there stood the whole flock, their necks stretched out, their mouths open, staring intently at Mrs. J., who de- scribes the scene as one of the most ludicrous she ever witnessed. After waiting patiently for some moments, and finding there were no more cakes, the whole turned gravely from the window, and waddled back to the lot. Amona the many caprices of fashion, it is amusing to see how she has sported with the parasols. Ten years ago, a parasol was a small umbrella, and, what it pretended to be, a protection against the sun. Year after year, the pro- portions of the parasols shrunk, until the ladies carried a tiny thing about the size of a tea-plate ; then, it not being possible to make them smaller, they expanded again, until now, small sun-umbrellas are “‘all the rage.” Meeting a colored damsel, carrying a light sun umbrella, on our way to dinner, yesterday, reminded us of a conver- sation we heard between two ladies of African descent. “Sarah,” said one, ‘“‘when are you going to do your shopping?” ** To-morrow, if it’s clear.’ *“Lors! what makes you go a clear day? I always goes out in cloudy days, or when it rains just a little. These real bright, shiny days is so bad for the complexion,” Aw English paper says that tight lacing is the greatest blessing of modern times, for it kills all the foolish girls, and leaves only the sensible ones. ** Jang,”’ said one of our subscribers to her sister, “‘ has Mrs. Jones returned our Lady's Book ?”’ “Yes, Mary.”’ ‘Well, get it for me. collar pattern.” ‘Oh, I forgot to tell you! Mrs. Robinson took that out when she had the Book, and she has not retarned it.” “Provoking! Well, never mind; get the Book, and I'll copy the pattern for Willie’s little coat.” “Mrs. Peters tore that in halves, accidentally. made a full apology.”’ “Did she? Well, we can at least look at the pictures, and read the articles, since we cannot make it practically useful.”’ ** Please, ma’am,”’ said the owner of a very curly head, peeping in at the door, ‘‘ will you let Aunt Sarah look at your Godey for a little while? She'll be very careful of it, and send it home next week.” **Let it go, Jane. It won't do to offend her. I am heartily sick of taking the Book, for I never even get a peep at it until half the contents are destroyed. I believe the folks watch onr post-office box to see when it comes. Well, it won't do to offend people, or I'd set down my foot, refuse to lend it, and foree them to subscribe, or go without it.” Do it. No fixed rule will give offence; and, if Mra. Jones finds she fares no worse than Mrs. Robinson or Mrs. Brown, she will submit to the rule, and perhaps follow your example by subscribing too, and also refusing to lend. I want to draw off that pretty She “Why did you set your eup of tea on the chair, Mr. James ?”’ asked a worthy landlady, one morning, at break- fast. ‘‘It is so very weak, ma’am,” replied Mr. James, “T thought I would rest it.” WE saw lately a bill of dry goods, among which were the following articles: Long Ladies’ Mitts, Short Men's Hose, Colored Ladies’ Gloves, Full Ladies’ Skirts, Fine Ladies’ Sleeves, French Ladies’ Collars, English Women’s Hose, British Children’s Hose, Gray Ladies’ Mitts, Thin Children’s Dresses, Pinked Ladies’ Flounces. (Does that mean rouged? We merely ask for information.) Thick Men’s Gloves, Fine Gentlemen's stocks, Blue Ladies’ Lawn. We always contend for the originality of the Lady's Book. You are sure to see things there that you have to wait months for in other magazines; and then they are only copied. Others can see this as well as ourselves. ‘There is no magazine in this wide world better, or we might say as well adapted to the wants of the ladies as There is more originality in This is the reason it has this self-same Godey’s Book. it than all others combined. such an immense circulation, and is daily extending. It is sent out monthly as fresh as a ‘new blown rose.’ For the life of us, we cannot see how Godey manages to get up so many new and useful things. There does not seem to be any end to his ingenuity. Epvcation.—Everything is education—the trains of thought you are indulging in this hour; the society in which you will spend the evening; the conversation, walks, and incidents of to-morrow. And ought it to be? We may thank the world for its infinite means of im- pression and excitement which keep our faculties awake and in action, and guide us to some divine result. A MEDICAL man says that those ladies who make it a business to trouble dry-goods clerks, and never buy any- thing, ought to be called counter irritants.

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284 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. We present our lady readers with the following de scription of dresses worn at Her Majesty's drawing-room the present season. Dvcness or Ricamonp.—Court dress of rich violet glace, lined, trimmed with fine old point lace over violet crape, vandyked and edged with silver; bows of satin ribbon and silver round the train; petticoat of the same rich material, the underskirt having bouillons of crape with vandyked silver, caught by bows of satin ribbon and silver; tunic handsomely trimmed with fine Brussels point lace, Headdress, feathers, lappets, and diamonds. Ducuess or Beprorp.—Costume de cour composed of a train of the richest brown satin, lined with satin, and trimmed with cerise and brown satin and magnificent point lace, with pearls; corsage to correspond with point lace, and stomacher of rubies and diamonds; splendid silver and white skirt, brocaded with bouquets of cerise, elegantly trimmed with the same costly lace and pearls, with bows and agraffes of rubies and diamonds. Coiffure of ostrich feathers, point lace, and silver veil, with diadem of rubies and diamonds. Duchess orp NORTHUMBERLAND.—Train of geranium- colored moire antique, lined with white glace, and trimmed with white poppies, and tied in with velvet ribbon; petticoat of geranium crape over white glace, flounced with guipure and trimmed with velvet ribbon. Head- dress, feathers, and lace lappets ; ornaments, diamonds. Duchess OF MANCHESTER.—Dress of white crepe crepe, with double skirt & la Greque, ornamented with rich fringe and satin beads, fastened at the side with a chate- laine bouquet of fine white moss roses over a rich silk petticoat; train and corsage of white crepe crepe over a rich poult de soie, surrounded by bouffants of thulle and wreaths of moss roses and buds. Headdress, wreaths of roses and diamonds, with veil and plume; ornaments, diamonds. MARcHlIoNEss OF BREADALBANE.—Train of white glace lined with pink, and trimmed with Brussels lace; petticoat of pink crape over white glace, trimmed with hedge roses and bark. Headdress, feathers, and Brussels lace lappets ; ornaments, diamonds. MakcuHioness Or ABERCORN.—Train of blue terry, lined with white glace, aud trimmed with point lace; thulle petticoats over glace, with full trimming of thulle, and satin tunic, trimmed with point lace and ribbon. Head- dress, feathers, and lace lappets; ornaments, diamonds, and pearls. Cocytess Hetive KIgLMANsEGGE.—Train and corsage of rich white poult de soie, ornamented with ruches of thulle de Lyous, edged with blonde and black velvet, and sur- rounded with bouquets of fine shaded verbenas; dress of thulle de Lyons, with double skirt, trimmed with bouf- fants of thulle illusion, and bouquets of flowers to corre- spond, over a rich white silk petticoat. Headdress, plume, flowers, and veil; ornaments, diamonds. Countess orp Wiiton.—Habit de cour, train of rich white antique from the shoulders, lined a revers with blue taffetas, trimmed with a bouillon of thulle, blonde, silver, and bows of satin ribbon; petticoat, a splendid embroidery of silver on the flounces, thulle flounces under, edged with satin ribbon and blonde, berthe to correspond, and bouquet intermixed with silver. Headdress, lappets, feathers, and coronets of diamonds. Miss Carouine Dertne.—A double skirt of white thulle bouillons, trimmed with bows of white satin ribbon, over white glace; silk petticoat; train, rich white glace silk, trimmed with honeysuckles and thulle bouillons. Headdress, feathers, diamonds, and honeysuckle, with guipure lappets to match the corsage. A VERY Nice Question FoR Casuists.—Godey's Lady's Book has arrived, decked as usual in artistic loveliness, and with enough interesting, entertaining, and useful reading matter to satisfy the most fastidious being. Wonder if Louis A Godey (with all his deserved celebrity) is not a miserable man? We cannot imagine how he can be otherwise, when reflecting on the immense amount of envy created in the breasts of unsuccessful competitors [we hav’n't a bit], unless he balances the account by placing in the other scale spontaneous effusions that are placed on the altar of gratitude by thirty or forty thousand of nature’s sweetest emanation—lovely woman !—Clarion, Cleveland. Peart Carp-Cases—very pretty and suitable presents— & great variety, and at different prices. No. 1. Plain or beautifully inlaid different colored shells . : ‘ " - : . $300 No. 2. Plain but beautifully varied engraving suit- able for a bride . ° ° ° ° e 400 No. 3. Engraved and border of various colored shells . ° ‘ . ° ° . 450 No. 4. Second mourning card-cases . ° - 200 We assure our readers that the above is a very superior assortment, and one that cannot befoundelsewhere. They are manufactured to order for Godey’s Lady’s Book. Evecrriciry.—The New York papers give an account of a lady in that city so charged with electricity that, when kissed, the kisser received a severe shock. This is the first time we ever heard of kissing being such a shocking matter. Goop.—The following is the latest parody on ‘‘ Wood- man, Spare that Tree:” Woman, spare that tea! Touch not a single cup! In youth it tempted thee, But now, oh, give it up! I know thy mother’s hand First put it to thy lip; But, woman, let it stand, Unless it be catnip ! Inrants’ WarpDRoBES.—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. Nothing is purchased. She is 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- office stamp; and for all articles that are to be sent by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made out of post-marks. “Mrs. E. K. A.’’—Sent box by Adams’s express 16th. “Mrs, T. J. H.”"—Sent two hair rings, &c. 17th. ‘A. R.,” Ithaca.—No stamp to pay return postage. But we have none of the article. “Mrs. A. J. J.”"—Sent patterns 18th. “Mrs. R. L. 8.” —Sent gold ear-rings 18th “S. A. C."—Sent pair of hair ear-drops, hair breastpin, and two gent’s hair breastpins 19th. “Mrs. C. E. G."—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams’s express 19th.

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. 285 “M. E. P.”"—Sent hair necklace as directed 19th. “Miss J. A. T.’’—Sent chenille 21st. “Mrs. C. C. R. B."’—Sent hair ornaments 21st. **Miss M. A. W."’—Sent slipper pattern 22d. ‘Mrs. J. P.”.—Sent furs by U. 8. express 23d. “Miss A. E. B.”—Sent patterns 23d. “Miss F. D. McJ.”.—Sent bair ear-rings and finger-ring 2ith. ** Mrs. J. R. M.”"—Sent patterns 28th. “ Bridget.’"’-— We do not think extremes in dress are ever to be admired. ‘*Mrs. J. A. B.”"—Sent card-case as directed 28th. “Mrs. S. V. B.""—Sent patterns 28th. “Mrs. D. L. G.”—Sent pearl necklace 28th. “Mrs R. O. H.’’—Sent hair ear-rings and bracelet 28th. “Mrs. E. B. L.”—Sent, stamped collar and cottons 20th. “R. B.”"—Sent pearl card-case 30th. **Miss M. L.’’—Sent hair fob-chain 30th. **Miss A. A. P.”"—Sent hair ear-rings 30th. “Mrs. J. E. F.""—Sent patterns 30th. **Miss R. B.”—Sent patterns 3st. “Mrs. J. A. B.""—Sent infant's dress Ist. “M. K. B.’’—Sent colored cottons, &c. Ist. “Mrs. S. M. B.”—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Harnaen’s express Ist. “‘Mrs. M. J, R.""—Sent bonnet by Adams's express Ist, “Mrs, D. O. A.”"—Sent cloak by Adams’s express Ist, “Mrs. W. 8. B.""—Sent patterns Ist. **Miss E. E. A."’—Sent hair fob-chain 2d. “Mrs. L. 0. V."—Sent pearl card-case 2d. ** Wallace.”"—Very short hair will do. “8. M. S.""—Sent bonnet by Adams’s express Sth. * Miss D. E. B.”—Sent chain and bracelet Sth. “Mrs. 0. V. R.’’—Sent hair ear-rings 8th. **Miss A. A. H.”’—Sent hair ear-rings Sth. “Mrs. L. W. B.”"—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Kinsley’s express 8th. ‘*Mrs. E. M.”"—Sent cottons 8th. “Mrs. K. McK."’—Sent fringe and buttons by Adams's express 8th. “Mrs. O. N."—Sent hair ring 9th “Mrs. M. D. W.”—Sent patterns 11th. “Mrs. W. C. B.”—Sent hair ring 11th. “Mrs. E. L. B.”’—Sent patterns 11th. “Mrs. M. A. W."—Sent Honiton collar 13th. **Sallie.""—Must send astamp and name. The answer is too long for this department. “Miss M. C. V."—Sent silk 14th. ** Miss G. H.”’"—Sent cameo set 14th. “Mrs. T. D. K.”—Sent patterns 16th. “Mrs. A. A. E.”—Sent infant's wardrobe patterns 16th. Gantte- Table 6s: assip. THE GARDEN—No. 3. We commence with advice as to the laying out of those little suburban rear gardens which may be made so much of if time, and patience, and thrift be exercised. Usually, they are given up toa scanty patch of grass, two alianthus- trees, a scrubby lilac, and the posts for the clothes-line. Now, see how happily this little space is laid out by a judicious gardener ; and the same genera! directions as to the borders will apply to any small garden that our read- ers may choose to attempt. “Usualiy,” says our authority, ‘we find this space in the shape of a disproportionate oblong, with a border run- ning under the bare brick walls, and one lengthy piece of ground in the centre. Paths, as well drained and as wide as possible, are here essential ; for, in all probability, this is the family drying-ground ; and room should be left for such uses, without the fear of treading on beds or borders. “*If the centre be broken into beds (three is a good num- ber), with gravel-paths, or turf around them, the effect is much prettier than if the central piece of ground is left entire. “The least trouble is to gravel the space between the beds; but, if the bladed grass has as refreshing an effect upon the ‘visual nerves’ of our readers as on our own, they will give the preference to the greensward, although, to keep it in good condition, it must be cut once a fortnight, and is, at the same time, a certain ambush for slugs and snails, Thereis no better foreground for floral beanty. It is nature’s own, bringing up and throwing out every va- riety of color, from the faint salver-shaped corollas of the primrose to the rich bloom of the standard roses, which never look to greater advantage than on a setting of smooth-shorn emerald turf. ‘The great obstruction to the proper growth of flowers, in the neighborhood of towns, arises either from the origi- nal poverty or the worn-out condition of the ground. We would especially advise, if in the neighborhood of waste land and pastures, the introduction of a few barrow-loads of fresh mould, to be well mixed with the old soil of the beds. This will be found more beneficial than manure, which, if not thoroughly decomposed, and used in very small quantities, well levigated with earth and sand, is absolutely destructive to flowers.” See that the whole groand is well spaded, and then broken into fine mould, the beds raked off, and laid smooth and even. This is the first thing to be done. ‘Ifa grass-plot for the centre be decided on, thfs month will be found an excellent time for laying it out; and a gardener will furnish the turf, and put it down for a small sum; in the mean while, the beds having been shaped (and fresh earth added), taking care to give them a slightly convex surface. The choice of their contents must be the next consideration, so as to make the most of the limited space, and to waste neither money, time, nor trouble on the attempt to grow such plants as are not sufficiently hardy to bear the atmosphere of town or its near neigh- borhood. **When the si.aation is open, and the aspect good, the number will be far from limited ; and no time should be lost in getting in a good assortment of perennials, to form the stock-plants of the parterres and borders, adjusting them, as in the case of annuals, according to height and color. Canterbury bells, blue and white, will be effective in the background of a border. But, as one of our first objects is to secure the prime flowers of the spring, and bring in beauty and fragrance to our homes, we would ad- vise the planting of wall-flowers, and pinks, rockets, sweetwilliams, columbines, and carnations—English classic flowers, every one of them, old-fashioned as the times of Philippa of Hainault and the Flemish weavers, whom Edward III., probably at her suggestion, encouraged to settle in England, and who brought the love and know- ledge of flowers and gardening, for which the people of the Netherlands had ever been famous. Amongst these plants of higher growth and later blos- soming, we should intersperse patches of hepatica, white alyssum, violets, primroses, gentianella, mimulas (or musk-plant), and the double garden-daisy, the effect of which, in masses of different colors—white, pink, and crimson—is really beautiful. All these low-growing plants are known best as edgings ; but let any of our fair —

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286 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. readers try them in circular masses, especially if clusters of crocuses and snowdrops have been planted intermedi- ately ; and their borders will seldom be flowerless after January. “ First, the alyssum will cover all its leaves with floral snow ; besides which, the golden chalices of the crocuses will unfold themselves, and the pink and blue hepaticas start up, waked from their winter sleep, in wide-blown beauty, but too hurriedly to wait their leaves; then come the primroses, and violets, and close-quilled daisies; and, later, blue gentianella and the yellow musk-plant, with many a lovely annual to add its blossoms to the garden wreath. ‘But our business is with the present. As blank bric« walls are an eyesore, no time should be lost in covering them. The ivy loves a northern aspect, and therefore may well fill up a space unfitted for most other climbers. The broad-leaved Irish ivy is excellent in such a situation ; but the ‘ giant ivy,’ with its huge leaves, and more rapid growth, is even better adepted for the purpose. The Vir- ginian creeper is another plant of quick growth and hand- some foliage. Its fresh green, vine-like leaves, and pen- dent manner of growing, are very elegant; while the giorious scarlet in which autumn dyes it renders it ex- tremely ornamental. As it is, however, deciduous, like the clematis and passion-flower, we must have recourse to the pyrus japonica and Stauntonia latifolia to cover up the walls with winter greenery. The jasmine, too, must not be forgotten. Its hardiness renders it invaluable in the neighborhood of town; and its slender, dark-green stems are cheerful-looking, even when its leaves are gone. Nor should we forget to recommend the flowering rides to our readers for the sake of its bright and graceful clusters of rosy flowers and their early bloom. Whether grown as a standard, or trained against a wall, it well deserves a place in our gardens. “ Another shrub, which does well upon a southern wall or trellis, is the Buddlea globosa, with its honey scent and orange-colored flowers. Its odor is delicious, and its spiked clusters highly ornamental. “Besides these climbers and their proxies, we would not omit a plant or two of sweetbrier, nor lilac, nor syringa. All of these do well in the suburbs, come early into flower, and are exquisitely sweet; and, beneath their shade, the periwinkle, with evergreen leaves, and bright blue flowers, and clumps of wild primroses might be planted ; while, in some waste spot, where nothing else would bloom, a root of Tussilago fragrans would flourish ; and in this month, or perhaps sooner, exhale the odor of mililot, and May, throughout the otherwise blossomless waste."’ CORRESPONDENCE OF THE “CENTRE-TABLE.” Extract No. 1. “Ler me tell you something that happened on our re- turn voyage from China in the good ship H——. In the first place, though, I must acknowledge my indebtedness to the Lady's Book for its invaluable patterns. I accom- plished an immense quantity of needle-work at our “‘ Cen- tre-Table,”’ for we have one in the little boudoir cabin, which I called my own. “Well, we had been out weeks, months, and were getting tolerably thirsty for news from home, news from any- where—if you have ever tried the voyage, you can imagine it—when, joyful to tell, we came upon a ship only thirty days from port. We possessed ourselves of some fowls and some turnips. Don’t elevate your dear little nez re- troussé. Even turnips were hailed with as much delight as the most aristocratic cauliflower could have been. The skipper informed us, in return for our inquiries as to the news, ‘that everybody in New York, Boston, and Phila- delphia was dead broke,’ which was cheerful, as, being 80 sweeping, it probably included owners, they being mor- tal, and subject to bank panics, after all. However, they sent a package of newspapers, that we might see for our- selves. The craft was a whaler from New Bedford, nota Woman on board, of course; so imagine my astonishment and delight at discovering a Lady’s Book among the dis- mal heralds of universal disaster. It went to my heart like the face of an old friend; it conjured up visions of other days, of the veritable ‘centre-table,’ in the dear old study at 16 —— Street, heaped with books and copy of the office at 113, and the benevolent face that used to lean over the counter fora morning chat, while I translated the hiero- glyphic of a new arrival in crochet. It was next best to seeing home. It is the dearest old face that magazine ever wore, the cover of the Lady’s Book.” No. 2. We commend our second paragraph to any of our young lady friends who may have a fancy for “‘ marrying with the army.” It is all very well at West Point, at an an- nual ball, or at “‘ Old Point,” or ‘‘Gunner’s Island,” for a hop. Uniforms look well as evening-dress ; but frontier garrison life is another affair; and of this our army are evidently destined to see much in the next thirty years, rather more than they do of New York or Philadelphia. Fort LEAVENWoRTH, Kansas, December > * “We had asad experience in Florida, so sad that I hope my lot in life will never again be cast in ‘the land of fow- ers.’ Through June, July, and August, I lay with an ex- hausting country fever, and up to the 20th of September, indeed, when we were ordered to Fort Leavenworth. We were in camp here two months after our arrival, living on the bare ground, encountering very severe weather, snow- storms, etc. We were obliged to remain until the weather was insupportable ; and I should have been there until this time had I not been taken up by two officers, and car- ried in their arms. “There was a violent ‘norther’ the last evening o our stay in camp, accompanied by pouring rains; and our ‘country residence’ was every moment in danger of being blown down. It escaped, however; and I was snugly ensconced in a neighboring house; but poor —— was obliged to remain with and watch our possessions. So here we are, finally, in quarters I hope to remain all win- ter. This is an old and very large post, of twenty years’ standing ; and the city of Leavenworth is two or three miles below. Its growth has been very rapid; and it is destined to become the ‘big city’ of Kansas. ‘Tis just about at the head of navigation for the large boats. The railroad is creeping along, and is completed as far as Jef- ferson City. The place already numbers eight thousand inhabitants, and is little over one year old. “There are over two thousand troops at the Fort; and we are very much crowded, I can assure you, which was why we were compelled to remain in camp so long, till some of the cavalry and dragoons could be removed to Fort Riley. The express has already gone to Washington, calling for more troops ; and we are all ‘trembling in our shoes,’ fearing that our better-halves will be taken from us, as, without doubt, one regiment is destined for Utah in the spring. If they go, they will probably remain for years; and we have no hope of joining them, even if they are not cut off. I hope the Mormons will elope, as they threaten to do, for imagine the situation of wives and chil- dren in the poor old —— regiment!” pati ples of J che to | to! sto by ave

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FASHIONS. 287 THE NURSERY. To the neglect, or unfaithful performance of the duties of this department, almost all the difficulties which occur in the after training of children—their habits of fretfulness, of deception, of irregularity and unneatness, their rude manners, and even the frequently recurring disorders of their physical condition—are mainly to be attributed. Begin right in the nursery, and the difficulties of all your future course will be greatly diminished. Be at home in the nursery yourself. Do not leave that department to the entire care of servants, however faithful they may be. Have it understood that you belong there, and that nothing can be done there without your know- ledge and supervision, and that no mistakes made by others can escape your notice. Give your heart to the nursery. Do not allow yourself to attend to it asa duty only. Let it be one of the sunniest places about home. Make it so by your cheerful partici- pation in all its cares, and your genial interest in all its pleasures. Try, as much as possible, to have no other cares to disturb your thoughts when you go there, and no other pleasure that is drawing you away. You cannot possibly have anything to do so important as the training of your children. Let them see that you think so. Let them feel and know that you have no pleasure greater than that of making them happy—not pleasing them, merely, and that for a few moments—but teaching them how to be happy. For this end, “let patience have her perfect work."’ Leave your work, or your reading, or anything else that may chance to occupy you, and leave it cheerfully, to prevent a disagreement, to correct a mistake, to soothe a sorrow, to give a new impulse to a pastime growing dull, and, in fine, to do anything that may tend to brush away a cloud that may seem to be rising, or re- store a calm after it has risen. Have a system, and abide by it. Do not give way to petulance, or let things pass to avoid a momentary self-denial. Fair you must be; but add gentleness to firmness, lest it grow into severity. Above all, remember that, “if any lack wisdom”—and what young mother does not, at times, feel wholly discou- raged ?—‘‘ let him ask of God, who giveth to all liberally.” TO CORRESPONDENTS. “Mrs. §. T. H.,” Terre Haute.—We shall take great pleasure in attending to your wishes. There are many young girls who would willingly go South as teachers in private families, and who are fully competent to undertake the charge of young children. In the mean time, they know not where or how to apply; while families are equally in need of their services, and in ignorance of the way to secure them. ** ALBERTINE. "—There is no “sisterhood” of the kind in this country. Miss Nightingale’s hospital, or school for the training of nurses, when established, will be a most invaluable agency to relieve the suffering. No one would volunteer in such a ministry except from the highest prin- ciple; or, rather, if they come forward through any other motive, the self-denial and difficulties involved will soon dishearten them. “Mrs. L. R. R.”"—We will not forget our promise of an article for those who are wearing mourning. It will pro- bably appear in our next. ‘* PoRTUNE-TELLER. ’—Hansel Monday is the first Monday in the new year. The supposition is that whatever you do on that day you will be doing all the year. To find a piece of money, or to hear good news, is reckoned particu- larly fortunate. “Tgacuer,”’ Saint Mary’s.—There are two more names added to the lives of the Bishops—Dehon and Gadsden, of Seuth Carolina. They compare favorably with those we have already noticed, simple, just, and discriminating. We are obliged to postpone some of our correspondents to make room for our long and interesting ‘‘ gardening hints.” Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Havine had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research 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 by express to any part of the country. For the last, distinct directions must be given. Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expen- diture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq. No order will Je attended to unless the money is first received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account- able for losses that may occur in remitting. Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goods from Leyy’s or Evans & Co.'s; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from Brodie’s, 51 Canal Street, New York; bon- nets from T. White & Co.'s; jewelry from Warden's or Caldwell’s, Philadelphia. When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here govern the purchase; therefore, no articles will be taken back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be considered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR MARCH. Fig. 1.—Carriage-dress of moire, in broad alternate stripes of black and rose, or china pink. The corsage is short, and rounded at the waist. The sleeves are broad, and slightly pointed ; at the top the fullness ts confined by plaits, extending about half way to the elbow, with grelots, or pendent buttons between. Valenciennes collar. Un- dersleeves a full puff of thulle, with bands of Valenciennes at the waist to correspond with the collar, and flowing bracelets of black velvet ribbon. Fig. 2.—Robe of black silk, with the flounces in bright Mazarine blue. Street basque of black velvet, richly or- namented with passementerie. Bonnet of black lace, with bands and knots of blue moire ribbon striped with velvet. Fig. 3.—Dinner-dress of black velvet skirt and basque ; the basque is deep, and trimmed heavily with passemen- terie. Collar of point d’applique. Very fall undersleeves of thulle in three puffs, slashed with black velvet ribbon. Coiffare of close curls, with céche peigne of black velvet ribbon. JUVENILE FIGURES. Fig. 1.—Walking-dress for a girl of twelve. Dress of stone-colored cashmere; skirt plain; deep basque, with pockets. Felt hat, with flowing black plume ; violet rib- bon rosettes and strings. Fig. 2—Boy's walking-dress. Tunic of green cashmere.

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288 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Gaiters and cloak of stone-colored cloth. White beaver hat, with plume. LA BRUNEN. (See blue plate in front of Book.) Tuts elegant dinner-dress, unseasonable for our northern belles, is nevertheless timely for our southern subscribers, who are already considering their wardrobes for the sum- mer trips to the lakes or springs. It is to all a hint of the prevailing fashion for the coming season, both for break- fast and dinner dresses. White muslin, cambric, tarleton, in short every possible white fabric, will be in demand, especially at our watering-places, Nothing could be more simple and tasteful as a grownd for decoration, which may be as elaborate and varied as the taste of the wearer may suggest. We have more to say of this prevailing tone of fashion in its more general season. La Brunen is among the most elegant styles we have yet seen. It is of muslin, with French embroidery, and reaches us from Paris in its present shape; the robe being accompanied by a descriptive plate, so that there is no dif- ficulty in arranging it. The skirt has two flounces, raised in the centre to display the tabdlier of elegant needlework, in medallion, which forms the front ; a pouf of plain mus- lin heads each flounce, with a broad blue satin, or sarsnet ribbon run through, having knots of the same to mark the tablier. The basque and sleeves have flounces to correspond. The hair a céche peigne of the same ribbon. The whole effect of this dress is light and youthful in the extreme. CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADEL- PHIA FASHIONS FOR MARCH. Tuere is very little variety or change, this month, everything being kept back for the openings; and indeed our March weather is by no means favorable to new styles, the dust, when it is not mud in the streets, proving de- structive to light fabrics or ornament. Skirts, notwith- standing statements to the contrary, continue as long and bulky as ever. Nor do we wish to see the reign of crino- line entirely past. It is a blessing, but, like others one might name, to be used in moderation. Anything that saves the pressure of skirts on the hips, and that con- tributes towards giving a free and graceful carriage, should not lightly be yielded to the caprices of fashion. All bodies are made high for everything not intended for evening-dress, which are invariably distinguished by a low-pointed corsage and short sleeves. The quilles, or side trimmings, promise to remain in favor through the coming season. Many of the new spring fabrics are manufactured with them, as robes; and, when this is not the case, they are almost universally added. There is a false report prevailing concerning flounces. They are by no means out of date. Many ladies prefer them to any other style of skirt; some because they give really an added grace to a tall and slender figure—others, to quote the plain-speaking Monitewr, “ for the very sim- ple reason that a handsome flounced dress is always more expensive than one with a plain skirt ; and ladies of am- ple fortune are apt to give the preference to what only a limited number can afford to wear.” There is just now a great variety in sleeves, which is an improvement on the fancy of two and three seasons ago, that everything must be cut, whether chintz, muslin, or silk, by precisely one pattern. The general effect of all the various styles is breadth in the upper part, in this way adding to the general contour of the figure. We givesome of the most marked. The Funnel, an inelegant but descriptive name, wide at the bottom, funnel-shaped, and open to the bend of the arm. The opening may be laced across, or not, according to fancy. The Volante, consisting of tyq@er three plain flounces, cut slantwise of the stuff. The Bouffant, five puffs, taking up the whole sleeve, with a band at the bottom. There is a fourth style, composed of the last two. It has one or two puffs at top, and a short square flounce com- mencing a little above the elbow. Morning-dresses, and plain street or travelling-dresses, have often close sleeves, plaited at top and bottom, with a band atthe wrist. The top plaits are often fastened down by buttons or grelots, as in Fig. 1 of our fashion-plate for the month. Jackets are worn of moderate length. Those so ex- tremely deep are chiefly intended for the street. Ornaments in passementerie—that is, gimp fringe, ete., in silk, or silk mixed with jet and steel—are greatly used. Berthés are woven expressly for the dress of fringe, che- nille, or those mixed as above. Jet is more durable, as steel is apt to rust if touched by water. The Fuurragére (forager) is the last novelty, introduced from military equipments, and is thus described by the Monileur as manufactured at the celebrated establishment in Paris, known as the Ville de Lyon :— “Just fancy a large tress [fringe ?] of above a finger’s breadth, hanging free across the front of a body, from one shoulder to the other. At one extremity, the right, hang- ing down the sleeve, there is a flat tassel in three branches ; on the left, another of still different form.’’ Le Savage is the latest style of fringe, adapted only for velvets and fabrics. It is made of feathers and jet, and takes its title from thence. A few bonnets intended for the early spring have been opened. Genin is among the first to display novelties, as he is always in advance for his southern orders. There is a very pretty style of white corded silk known as velours Impératrice, the silk laid quite smooth on the sides, front, and top of the crown. On!the edge of the front is a fall of blonde three inches in width; one the very edge of the front, at the left side. There is a very ingenious coque of ribbons, of different shades of pink, which ornaments both the outside and inside of the brim. White crape bonnet, ornamented with thulle ruches, a white plame, and a row of blonde; bouquets of mallows inside the brim. The front comes forward in the Marie Stuart style, and is bordered by a light ruche, which is continued around the curtain. A ruche also conceals the joining of the front and crown. Bonnet of pale Islay green silk, the whole shape being closely covered with the material. A wreath of large pan- sies begins under the front, follows the cheeks, and con- tinues along the edge, and down the sides, turning on the curtain. Ruches of blonde inside; the strings of No. 2 ribbon, with cheques of white, purple, and green. A new material for petticoats has been introduced into London by Her Majesty Victoria. It is of a very thick material, with a very brilliant scarlet and black stripe. The Empress Eugenie, whose Spanish taste is for bright colors, has adopted them. They can be had at Levy’s, in Philadelphia. In our next “Chat,” we shall be able to give a more decided glance at the spring fabrics, in the making up of which, we have given valuable hints above (bonnets), and more especially the mantles, of which Brodie has his usual variety, adapted to the seasons with his usual taste. FAsHIoN. 23 we Fe ne

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ide it has failed. 8 TEE GCoirtDEN YEAR! ew ee eee or GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK for 1858. This work @aipecn the standard for twenty-eight years. Where animitation has been attempted, THE ONLY LADY’S BOOK IN AMERICA. FIFTY-SIXTH. AND FIFTY-SEVENTE VOLUMES. New Features, Renewed Vigor, Brilliant Engravings, and Attractive Stories; , and but one object in view, to please the Ladies. Among the novelties will be GARDENING FOR LADIES, a series that will, we know. be appreciated by ladies, most of whom have a taste for this beautiful science. A series of articles upon Dress will also.be given, with illustrations, showing when a lady is well dressed, and the reverse. OUR INTERESTING LITERATURE. In.addition to those tales of surpassing interest for which the Lady’s Book has become famous, we trust that the following announcement will please our subscribers. We shall commence in the January number, and continue through every number of the year, a nouvellette :— MARGARET'S HOME; or, The Story of a Household. By Auice B. Haven, author of “The Coopers,’’ “ Getting into Society,’ “‘ The Gossips of River- ton,’’ &. (Mrs Haven is well known to our readers as Mrs. Neal.) The usual contents of the Lady’s Book are— HOW TO DRESS WITH TASTE. CHILDREN’S CLOTHES—How to cut and contrive them. PATCHWORK. THE DRESSMAKER AND THE MILLINER. DRAWING IN ALL ITS VARIETY, useful to the beginner and the proficient. FASHIONS from the establishment of the celebrated ‘* Brodie’’ will be in every number, POINT, BRUSSELS, AND VENETIAN LACE, of every variety. ONE HUNDRED PAGES OF READING will be given monthly. GODEY’S SPLENDID ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL. LONDON, PARIS, AND PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS.—GODEYS FOUR, FIVE, AND SIX FIGURED COLORED FASHIONS. EMBROIDERY PATTERNS. MODEL COTTAGES—We still continue the publication of these beautiful designs. DRESSMAAKING.—With Diagrams to cut by. DRESS PATTERNS.—Infants’ and children’s dresses, with descriptions how to make them. All kind of CROCHET and NETTING work. THE NURSE AND THE NURSERY.—Very excellent articles upon these subjects will o‘ten be given. GODEY’S INVALUABLE RECEIPTS UPON EVERY SUBJECT. MUSIC.—Three dollars’ worth is given every year. In the various numbers for 1858 will be found the newest designs for WINDOW CURTAINS, BRODERIE ANGLAISE, SLIPPERS, BONNETS, CAPS, CLOAKS, EVENING-DRESSES, FANCY ARTICLES, HEADDRESSES, HAIR-DRESSING, ROBES DE CHAMBRE, CAR- RIAGE DRESSES, BRIDES’ DRESSES, WREATHS, MANTILLAS, WALKING-DRESSES, RIDING HABITS, and MORNING-DRESSES. Dresses for Infants and Young Misses, Boys’ Dresses, Capes and Cloaks of Fur in season. Pat- terns for Needle-work of all kinds, and Patterns to eut Dresses by are given.monthly. CROCHET AND NETTING WORK IN COLOURS. SLIPPERS IN COLORS. DRAWING LESSONS FOR YOUTH. Send in your orders soon, as we expect our list for 1858 will reach 150,000 copies. The best lan of subscribing is to send your money direct to the publisher. Those who send large amounts had better send drafts, but notes will answer if drafts cannot be procured. TERMS, CASH IN ADVANCE. One copy one year, $3. Two copies one year, $5. Three copies one year, 36. Five c ir, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making six copies, $10. Bight copies one year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making niné copies, $15. Eleven copies one year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making twelve copies, $20. Ga The above Terms cannot be deviated from, no matter how many are ordered. Ge The money must all be sent at one time for any of the Clubs. Special Clubbing with other Magazines. Godey’s Lady’s Book and Arthur’s Home Magazine both one year for $3 50. Godey’s Lady’s Book and Harper’s Magazine both one year for $4 50. Godey’s Lady’s Book, Harper’s Magazine, and Arthur’s Home Magazine one year $6 00. The above is the only way we can club with Harper’s Magazine. Subscribers in the British Provinces, who send for clubs, must remit 36 cents extra on every subscriber, to pay the American postage to the lines. Address L. A GODEY, 323 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa,

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a - z me ‘ P| —_ oe i a a ; GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK-EXCELSIOR, USEFUL, ORNAMENTAL, AND INSTRUCTIVE. | THE BOOK OF THE Nation, ) awd £88 ARTS UMION OF ABWEAICA. .. VOL, LVIL—MARCH, 1858. r —

EMBELLISHMENTS, &c. . THE MOTHER’S BLESSING. A superb line engraving. ) GODEY’S FOUR FIGURE COLORED FASHION PLATE, A LADY’S MORNING DRESS. Printed in colors. ‘ BLESSED ARE THE PEACEMAKERS, THE CALPE. From Brodie. } PATCHWORK. Two engravings. BORDER FOR CHILD’S FROCK. i TOILET CUSHION IN PERFORATED LINEN CORNERS FOR POCKET HANDKERUCHIEFS. } CROCHET PURSE, IN COLORED SILKS. ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS. { ELDER’S BIOGRAPHY OF THE LATE DOCTOR KANE. Two engravings. 1 THE SCIENCE OF DRESS. ? } THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER. Four engravings. s THE RECEPTION. A beautiful engraving. NOVELTIES FOR MARCH. Dresses and Bonnets. Five engravings. : MODEL COTTAGES, FOR LABORERS, MECHANICS, ETC. LADY’S SHOE BAG. BOY’S JACKET. Two engravings. Copied by permission, WORK. Two engravings. Four engravings. a! DAHLIA PEN WIPER, IN RAISED BERLIN WORK. Two engravings. / BLACK BEAD BRACELET. i SAMPLERS. Two engravings. y INFANT’S APRON, ( FULL INSTRUCTIONS IN NEEDLE-WORK OF ALL KINDS. Two engravings. | DIAGRAM OF BOY’S JACKET. } BRODERIE ANGLAISE. PATTERNS IN EMBROIDERY. ' LO LE OF OOF ELEAF RS ESERS EUS OS OS Contributors and Contents. Thirteen engravings.

— es

Blexxed are the Peacemakers (/linstrated), 193 | Home Treasures, by Finley Johngon, { Masic, by J. Starr Hollowny, 194 | Lines to Mary, by M. W., The Calpe, from Brodie (JMustrated), 196 Enigmas, Patehwork (Plustretet), 197 Novelties for March (/Unstrated), ) Border for Child's Frock (/Uustrated), 198 The Reception ([/ustrated), Toilet Cushion in Perforated Linen Work (/Unstrated), | Model Cottayes, for Laborers, Mechanics, &e. (7d), 200, 201 | Lady's Shoe Bay (/lustrated), Corners for Pocket Handkerchiefs (J ustreted),” ‘Bl, 260 | Boy” » Jacket (J/lustrrted), ( Crochet Purse, in Colored Silks (/Usastrete:), 202 Embroidery (JUnstrated), 203, 258, 264, 266, 267, 268 Alphabet of Faucy ers (lUustrated), PU ) Our Two Gifts, by gitttn PF. Townsend, Elder's Biography of the late Doctur Kane, by Rev. D. W hita ver ({Wustrated), The Mother's Ble«wing, by Virginia De Forrest (Tila), 37 Prank Ward's Confewiun, by Helen Hamilton, Social Games, ) Auut Tabitha’s Fireside, by Edith Woodley, The Art of Making Feather Flowers, Webster on Origin, Margaret's Home, by Alice B. Haren, The science of Dres® (J /liustrated), May Keudall, by Mrs. C. W. Dennison, — “—-

SESZBGESeReSs Coral Reefs, Ja it Trae? by Kate Berry; The Family Drawing-Master (Uustrated), a ta the City, by the author of * The Tullow Fami- = ¥, Corregio, by Kruna, The Child's Farewell to Earth, by Delphine P. Baker, 35 Bonnet—Spirit of byt ke Wilkin Aletrinier, as *_ The Sleigh J

Ceutre-Table Gossip, containing— - The Garden. Dahlia Pen Wiper, in Raised Berlin Work (2Umstrated), Black Bead Bracelet (/lustrated), Juvenile Department (//lustrated), “ infant's Apron (/U«strated), Fall fnstraetion< in Needle Work of all kinds (7U'd), Diagram of Bes" s Jacket (/Uustrated), Receipts, &e Chemist: for the Young, Editors’ Table, containiug—

The Five Gateways of Knowledge, Settled for Life. “A Word to Young Ladies, — The March Snow Storm, A Thou. ht for Hasbands, A Thought for Wives, Places of Education for Young Women, The Herndon Memorial, The American Ladies’ Mount Vernon Association, The Industrial Women’s Aid Association, Literary Notices, Godey’s Arm-Chair,

3383 cenevensedeoney

No. 3. Corre-pon of the ‘*Centre Table,” The -

ELST MPEPEEE

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2 -¢ a hs. - ue APRIL. | ” Makeup your OClubs for thie year. | £ Book” shall surpass all other Magazines for 1858 in the number of Fashion Pla Engravings, Literature, &c. “— XDITED BY VRS. SARAH J. HALE, L. A. GODEY.

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IMPORTANT TO LADIES! AIGUILETTE,’’ MRS. PULLAN, styled in Chambers’ Edinburgh Journal ‘‘ the immortal Profes- soress of Crochet and Point Lace,’’ proposes to afford instruction to the ladies of Paitapgetpuia, and other leading cities, in the various styles of ornamental work, during her stay in America. Her lessons will elucidate all difficulties of the needlework designs in Godey’s and other magazines, and enable the worker to copy all future patterns, as well as those that have already appeared, with taste and accuracy. Ladies wishing private lessons, or to join classes, are requested to address ** Aiguilette,’’ 290 Fourth Street, New York, and to inclose a stamp for a reply. | CAPTAIN MAYNE REID’S Scenes and Adventures in the West and Southwest. The following celebrated Works will be sent, post paid, on receipt of price. ’ ! * THE RIFLE RANGERS. Beautifally embellished with eight splendid Illustrations on plate paper. Price $1 25. THE SCALP HUNTERS; or, Adventures among the Trappers. One vol., 12mo., cloth. Eight beautiful Illustrations. Price $1 25. Ele THE HUNTER’S FEAST; or, Conversations around the Camp-Fire. Beautifully illustrated with eight Engravings, by N. Orr. Price $1 25. THE WHITE CHIEF. A Legend of North Mexico. One volume, 12mo,, cloth. Eight elegant Illustrations. Price $1 25. THE WAR TRAIL; or, The Hunt of the Wild Horse, One volume, 12mo., cloth. Eight beautiful Illustrations. Price $1 25, Address L, A. GODEY, 323 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa, : GoDvDEtHY’sS PUBLICATIONS. — GODEY’'S BIJOU NEEDLE-CASE. Containing 10C very superior Patent Diamond Drilled : Eyed Needles. Price 25 cents. te GODEY’S PATTERN BOOK OF BMBROIDERIES. Price 25 cents. PRESH FRUITS ALL THE YEAR ROUND AT SUMMER PRICES, and How you May get Them. Price 12 cents. BVERY LADY HER OWN SHOEMAKER. With Diagrams. Price 50 cents. ‘* THIRTY OF THE MOST APPROVED RECEIPTS FOR SUMMER BEVERAGES. 4 Price 12 cents. ie GALLERY OF SPLENDID ENGRAVINGS. From pictures by the first masters. Price 50 cents each. Four numbers now ready. THE BOOK OF THE TOILET. Price 25 cents. HOW TO MAKE A DRESS. Price 25 cents. : THE NURSERY BASKET; or, A Help to those who wish to help themselves. With i ; engravings. Price 50 cents. MRS. HALY’S NEW COOK-BOOK. With numerous engravings. Price $1 (00. HALB’S 4545 RECEIPTS FOR THE MILLION. Price $1 25. ANN 8S. STEPHENS’ CROCHET-BOOK. Price 75 cents. C furnished to order.

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NARA \ “ “SNH ail \W D’ANGRL (See description. )

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EMBROIDERY FOR A MUSLIN SKIRT. LA GRANGE. (See description.) 25* 293

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wae | eo PENT 9 CARIOLA. ( See description. )

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( See description.)

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— i —« cmnseaties hay "Nh \ t Hobie lly Hy it A i if | mH CHILDREN’S DRESSES. Sie (See description.)

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FOR A CHILD’S SKIRT. 4 il ——— = — + =— ———4 — REN’S DRESSES. CHILD 297 (See description.)

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PATCHWORK. chvabealechvetiocdecieadechoaiecdied HECCCKLECERAS clecieche dlechocbecheciochechechecd ehecbechechechechecleciochechechedl ebechechecheckecbecieciecdecd-ehed PREPS WARP ~iatuttete ted ONION WING

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THE CORDOVAN. | [From the establishment of G. Bropre, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Vorert, from actual articles of costume. ] In displaying the mysteries of fashion prepared for the coming summer, our friend Brodie has not peen unmindfal of our fair friends in the sunny South. | The above talma, which is in applique, rivals those which have been heretofore made in laces. Scarfs, mantillas, &c. will be made, the coming season, in this highly popular style, The beauty of the different patterns is so exquisite | that our fair friends will be puzzled in their selection. The one we illustrate is a black taffeta. It has a deep border of the same, edged with a rich fringe. We select the above, as black will probably be the favorite color. 299 Z —————— =

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