Godey's Lady's Book 1858-08: Vol 57 Iss 2

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GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK. PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 1858. weer UCU NOTHING NEW = Se pe Be &. UNDER THE SUN. REMAINS OF THE THEATRE AT POMPEII. Ir would be impossible for us to present in a single paper even a catalogue of those ob- jects which modern discovery, digging amidst the ruins of ancient Pompeii, has succeeded in revealing. The fortifications of the city, built of uncemented lava, may be very dis- tinctly traced, its outward wall, about twenty feet in height, divided from its interior and higher wall by an esplanade of fourteen feet in width. Gates (one of them not very dis- similar to Temple-bar, London) had formed the openings through this defence into the city, and portctllises closed the apertures. The narrow winding streets still exhibit the ruts made by the constant passage over their lava-paved surfaces of the biga, or two-horse chariot then in use, and even show points where an elevated stone was placed to enable VoL. Lv.—10 | the passenger to cross them dry shod. There are the remnants of the forum, around which, as was usual in towns in the splendid period of the Roman empire, all the principal buildings were ornamentally clustered. At Pompeii are also found the remains of public offices, of courts for the administration of justice, the granary, the prison, and several temples dedi- cated respectively to Venus, to all the minor deities (the Pantheon), to Mercury, and to Jupiter. It was in a scene similar to this, at Athens, that the apostle Paul had stood, not long before the catastrophe by which Pompeii was destroyed, and had proclaimed the spirit- uality, the unity, the superintendence of the God of heaven, with the dread declaration that as criminals were brought before the public tribunal which stood in the Athenian 109

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| | | SS Ee 110 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. forum, so should all the world answer before God’s universal judgment-seat! Near to the forum at Pompeii are the re- mains of the ancient baths, always conspicu- ous in classical towns, and evidently regarded by the Pompeiians as erections of no small importance. The observer may distinctly trace the arrangements made for conducting and heating the water, and the separate apart- ments, floored with mosaic, in which men and women severally made their ablutions. The very pegs are extant on which the bathers hung their clothes. These ancient Romans, whom every classical schoolboy is taught to look upon as impersonations of the sublime, were but ordinary mortals after all! A hand- some and large chamber, called the tepidarium, through which the warm moist atmosphere, well known in oriental baths, was diffused, so as to prepare for the greater heat of the hot bath, is also in a state of considerable pre- servation. Another room remains in which were performed the shampooing operations still practised in the east. On the other side of the forum stand the places of public enter- tainment. The walls yet retain the stone sta- ples in which was fixed the apparatus employed to screen spectators from the heat of the noon- day sun. A remote corner of the city exhibits the amphitheatre, where the Romans gratified their almost incredible passion for the combats of human beings with each other, or with beasts of prey; with all the extensive prepa- rations requisite for confining the beasts until the appointed moment of combat. Here, if conquered, the gladiator appealed to the mercy of the spectators, and if they turned down their thumbs it was the sentence of death; and here, if conqueror, he obtained, if a slave, his freedom, or, if a freed man, was rewarded by asum from the public treasury ; or received the palm branch, which constituted one of the highest honors—a token employed by the sa- cred writers to commemorate the victors in a conflict which consists not in warring against flesh and blood, whether of beasts or of men, but in the conquest of self and sin and the spiritual agencies with which every believer is surrounded. Sculptures found within the ruined city forcibly illustrate some of these gladiatorial combats. Pompeii was well supplied with public foun- tains, spouting out their water from leaden or bronze heads, as is common in modern times, fitted up with leaden conduits to convey the necessary supply. The private houses of Pompeii, like those occupied by Roman citizens in general, were seldom used simply for purposes of habitation, but had their lower parts formed into shops, constituting a considerable source of revenue to the owners. One of these houses exhibits the remains of a cook’s shop, open during the day to the street, with its oven and conve- nience for provisions, cooked and uncooked. Some of these residences show the marks of having been once superbly decorated, though exposure to the atmosphere has already de- stroyed portions of these valuable remnants of ancient art. The most perfect and curious of these houses is that which bears the name of PANsSAM. #D. on its principal entrance, per- haps the residence of the Adile Pansa. It was evidently a majestic structure, and is en- tirely surrounded by streets. From the ap- pearance of a cross uponethe walls of one of the shops on the ground floor, it has been con- jectured by Mazois that its occupier was a Christian. The house presents the atrium or principal hall, with its cistern of water, exhi- biting still the remains of a jet d’eau in its centre. Inthe kitchen can be discerned the various furnaces used for cooking and stew- ing; and there was found in it a painting representing the household gods worshipped as the protectors of provisions, with the imple- ments used in preparing them, and not unlike in general character to the brownies and fai- ries of modern date. In the garden of another house may be seen the remnants of a summer house, intended for an occasional banquet, with the table and couches of stone, on which, when covered with mattresses, the guests might recline. These disinterments make strange work with modern self-esteem. Things which we had fondly thought were the inven- tions of a recent age, are proved by these re- searches to be no very modern inventions notwithstanding! If, in constructing our pre- sent streets, we imagine that we have made great edvances upon more ancient days, Pom- peii may teach us that there were trottoirs and curbstones before we were thought of! The fresco paintings, which we attempt to revive, were known long before Michael Angelo and Raphael painted the Vatican, with the addition that in the Roman city they could resist, dur- ing 1800 years, the action, first of fire, then ofdamp. The chequers of a.modern alehouse are but reproductions of antiquity. Our sa- loop and coffee apparatuses had their proto- types centuries ago in the thermopolia of the ancients. Pompeiians, as well as ourselves, could make use of artificial, where it was not

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NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN. 111 convenient to have real ones. Howsoever we may pride ourselves on the invention of glass, many fragments of that material, in some cases colored and fashioned for drinking, are found in the ruins of the buried city. Steelyards and scales are shown to be but modern appro- priations of ancient discoveries. Mirrors re- flected the countenances of ancient, as they do of modern beauties. Callipers and com- passes were as well known in that day as in the present. Censers then sent up their fra- grant odors before the shrines of religious worship. The illustrated placards which adorn our city walls exhibit an idea at least as old as the times of Vespasian. Locks were elabo- rate in their construction before Bramah offered his rewards, and American pick-locks accepted them. Paintings were in advance of Van Eycke himself, and caricatures amused the Pompeiians as much as they do ourselves. Sausages were eaten at the foot of Vesuvius before Germany gave them a name. Then, as now, old garments were scoured by careful housewives till they resembled new. An an- cient water-tap yet remains to prove how simi- lar it was to the device of our own times. Gilded pills, otto of roses, lanterns, extin- guishers, braziers, frying-pans, tweezers, bells, slit money-boxes, pins, combs, with many other articles, some of which have the date of their invention assigned to a much later period, are distinctly ascertained to have been in use before they were imbedded in volcanic ashes eighteen centuries ago. Such discover- ies may well tempt us to say with the Gas- con: ‘*These ancients have stolen all our fine thoughts!’’ It is gratifying to turn to some things, however, which mark very distinctly the process of modern improvement. What advances may we observe in the construc- tion of our towns, as well as in many of the domestic arts of life, since the days of Pom- peii! How great has been the progress of navi- gation since the time in which ships were im- pelled by the long lines of oars, worked by hard hands at the command of despotic mas- ters and unskilled sailors! Spectators no longer crowd with avidity to witness the bloody scenes exhibited in gladiatorial conflicts! The elaborate instruments of an old and fatiguing penmanship, which was too slow for the en- lightenment of men, have long been super- seded by an invention which has dispersed over almost all lands the knowledge of science and truth. The apparatus for the worship of ‘*the gods many and lords many”’ have yield- ed to the knowledge of a purer faith, then be- ginning to be taught, but very inadequately known! Our days have incomparable advan- tages. We have therefore more for which we must give account! A correspondent of one of the London jour- nals, under date of Naples, May 18, 1846, gives the following interesting details of a visit to Pompeii, with two sketches, which we copy :— **On the 14th inst. I made my tenth visit to Pompeii, accompanied by an old umbrella and a sketch-book, for the purpose of illustrating your Journal with a few of the latest and most interesting excavations of this ill-fated city. I left Naples at six o’clock in the morning, by the railroad, which passes by the modern en- trance to Pompeii. As I alighted, and heard the convulsive grunt of the retiring train, 1 must confess to a little bit of poetic weakness: the classic forum of a city buried, in all its native truth, nearly two thousand years since, greeted my vision, whilst my ears were saluted by our most marvellous of modern wonders, the steam-engine! ‘The Sleep of the Past— the Life of the Present,’ would have been the title of my inspirations, had not a sensation of hunger induced me to spare your readers and myself. I took a devilled turkey’s leg from my pocket, and picked it in the atrium of the house of Sallust! I do not intend to put on the toga because I happen to be at Pompeii; but I shall give you a simple, unaffected account of what I did, and what I thought. A very few minutes had passed ere I was mobbed by guides; queer- looking fellows, dressed something between a gardener and a footman (out of place). I told them I knew Pompeii very well, and begged to be left alone. How vain were my solicita- tions! they would keep talking on most offi- ciously. Whilst I stroll along the narrow streets, worn by the wheels of the biga, let me observe that, since the publication of the Entertaining Knowledge Society’s two volumes on Pompeii (1836), comparatively little has been done. There are only some thirty men constantly employed, and they are barely sufficient to repair the casual falling in of earth, &c. The portion of Pompeii which has of late engaged attention is the Street of Fortune, running to the gate of Nola, and another nameless line of dwellings advancing towards the Street of the Theatres. Operations have also been car- ried on in the Tortuous Street, near the Forum, where some detached walls, forming a sort of passage apartment, are supposed, by Car.

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112 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Avellino, to have been used by the houseless poor of the city. I have seen very similar resorts in the interiors of Old Naples, where some curious examples of narrow doors and brick-built counters, with cavities in the top, may be found, singularly resembling those of Pompeii. The immediate cause of recent excavations were the visits of the Seventh Scientific Con- gress of Italy, and those of the Emperor and Empress of Russia. The result of the former was the uncovering of a house near the Street of the Wine-shops, which was evidently the dwelling of a rich citizen; it has all the con- venience of a superior Roman dwelling. The HUNTER. HOUSE OF THE APARTMENT IN “THE il Mii i atrium is spacious, and partly paved with a mosaic, of elegant design. The impluvium has a fountain of various colored marbles, at the back of which (no uncommon circumstance) a table was found, supported by lion-clawed legs. The private apartments on either side of the area are decorated with fresco paint- ings; not, indeed, very artistically remark- able, but as good as are usually found. Our illustration is ‘The House of the Hunt- er,’ finally cleared in February (1846). This is a very interesting dwelling, and possesses some novel features. It was, in all proba- bility, the house of a man of wealth, fond of the chase. A painting on the right occupies

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NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN. 113 one side of the large room. Here are repre- sented wild animals—the lion chasing a bull, &e. The upper portion of the house is ele- vated, where stands a gayly painted column, red and yellow in festoons ; behind which, and over a doorway, is a fresco painting of a sum- mer-house: it may be arepresentation of some country retreat of the proprietor’s. On either side are hunting horns. Passing through this doorway, you arrive at a square-built room, in excellent preservation. The most beautiful painting in this apartment represents a Vulcan at his forge, assisted by three dusky naked figures. This is a fine composition. The Vul- can is herculean, and drawn with great bold- ness and power. In the niche of the outer room a small statue was found in terra-cotta. The architecture and paintings of this house were evidently the caprice of its owner; it is singularly rich in decorations, which differ from those executed by artists when left to their own fancy; the colors are very bright and vivid, particularly those of the birds and vases immediately facing the entrance. The house excavated on the occasion of his Russian Majesty’s visit does not present any peculiar features, and I was unable to gather information about the bronzes and amphorer found therein. I believe nothing singular or rare was dis- covered. + I had scarcely finished my sketch when I heard the rattle of advancing carriages. On my arrival in the Street of Fortune, I found a committee of gentlemen had just alighted from their hackney coaches in the middle of the Forum! They were the appointed inspectors of excavation. I joined them as we proceeded towards the nameless street running into that of the theatres. Ope- rations were here commenced, when one of the workmen exclaimed, ‘ Bones and money!’ ‘Clear the way!’ shouted half a dozen excited antiquaries, as they rushed into a small apart- ment. Here were the bones of three skeletons, very perfect; and, near the hand of a young male, were found thirty-seven pieces of silver, and two gold coins: some of the former were attached to the handle of a key! I examined the money, and found the silver to be Vespa- sians, and some family coins. The two gold pieces were Domitians; both in good order, and one having an interesting reverse. The unhappy beings wiro here perished may have been the inmates of the dwelling; or, what is not improbable, thieves, who had profited by 10* PORTABLE KITCHEN, the excitement of the terrific hours, and here concealed themselves with their ill-gotten wealth. We know from Pliny that the young and adtive had plenty of time for escape. Some peculiar motive must have delayed flight —hence the comparatively few skeletons found at Pompeii. We next directed our steps to the spot par- tially excavated for the Empress of Russia. Here a curious domestic article was found—a portable kitchen—of which I give you a sketch. This singular contrivance is made of iron. The upper portion is formed by two circular holes for boiling pots. The tabular surface was oc- cupied with fire, so as to enable other instru- ments of the kitchen to receive the heat which was applied to the elevated portion. A han- dle in the front suggests its portable intention. BMT AA i it HI} Heyy AH ! Hit | a ] iit qe CG bi yy FOUND AT POMPEII. With this event ended one of the most pleasing days at Pompeii I ever remember; in fact, nothing so interesting has been disin- terred for many months. The Committee left whilst I lighted a very bad cigar, and returned to revise my sketches; but not without my chattering guide, whom I was obliged to send to sleep with some brandy-and-water, to en- able me to enjoy that profound silence which forms the eloquence of Pompeii. The hot blaze of day was now deepening into night, and that sunshine which had given me so much beautiful light and shade disap- peared. I returned to the railroad with two Italian artists, now employed in restoring the house of the tragic poet to its original glory. I am glad of this, for no descriptions or draw- ings can ever give one so good an idea of a Roman interior as will here present itself when completed. * * ° * 9

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Tshuc! tshuc!—a horrid scream !—we are off for Naples: the old world is forgotten: I am once again in the how] and hum of the noisiest city in Europe.” This traveller does not seem to be struck with any very profound reverence for what he sees; nor to indulge in the very serious tone of reflection which objects of great antiquity usually inspire. But familiarity is apt to re- move the first impression. We now present a few more specimens of antique objects. The following articles are nearly all known to have come from Pompeii: they exhibit the different forms of Roman dishes. These may be divided into three classes, exclusive of the trays used for their transit, viz: flat dishes, dishes of the saucer type, and those resembling bowls. Two kinds of flat dishes were in use, the one of a large size, such as the mazono- mum, circulus, or laux; the other, such as could be conveniently handed round to each of the guests at an entertainment. Of deeper dishes, suitable for holding soups, stews, or fruit, there is a great variety, commonly term- ed catine, such as Fig. 4 and the five following ones ; also of those of a bowl form, patine and patelle, such as figures 10 and 14. The mate- rial of these vessels, as well as their size, was very various—earthenware, glazed and un- glazed, being the most common; but glass, bronze, and silver, according to the wealth of individuals, were also adopted. Fig. 1.

Fig. 1. A small flat silver dish (discus), 84 inches in diameter.

GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Fig. 2. A salver (scutel/a), or small tray, of bronze, having a medallion wrought in the centre. It is 16 inches in diameter. Fig. 3.

Fig. 3. A curious silver dish, shaped like a shell, and possibly intended to be used as a mould. It is 9 inches in diameter. Fig. 4.

Fig. 4. A plate or dish, of bronze, very ele- gant in form, 5 inches in diameter. Fig. 5.

ee . —>'> Fig. 5. A deeper dish, of glass (catinum), perhaps used to hold fruit, 7 inches in dia- meter.

—————_—_—_S Fig. 6.

Fig. 6. Another dish of the same class as Fig. 5. It is of purple glass, and 4 inches in diameter. Fig. 7. Fig. 7. Another small dish, of green glass, 5 inches in diameter. ‘Fig. 8.

Fig. 8. A large bronze catinum, 15 inches in diameter. Fig. 9. NWNTs,

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FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION AT DOZEYVALE, Fig. 9. A small catinum, 4 inches in diame- ter, with raised ribs on its outer surface. Fig. 10. Fig. 10. A glass patina. One of the many specimens preserved in the Museo Borbonico. Fig. 11. Another small glass patina. Fig. 12. Fig. 12. An oval-shaped glass patina, repre- sented in a painting on the walls of the Pan- theon, the fruit in it clearly indicating to what purpose it was applied. Fig. 13. A brass patina, 1 foot 3 inches in diameter. Each extremity of the handle ter- minates in a human head. Fig. 12. Fig. 14. A very deep glass patina; also trom a painting on the walls of the Pantheon. Fig. 15. Fig. 15. A silver mould (forma), in imitation of a shell. Several moulds of this description are preserved in the Royal Museum. One is ornamented with a mask in the centre, and another is in the form of a fish. ———-+ weer -- FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION AT DOZEYVALE: OR, LOSING AND WINNING. A STORY FOR ALL SEASONS (Continued from page 24.) CHAPTER II. THE CELEBRATION. Mipnicut was brooding over Dozeyvale. Its more staid inhabitants had retired at their usual hours to rest; but the streets, which were wont to be quiet and mostly deserted after ten o’clock, had, on this night, been filled with a sleep-destroying din. At fre- quent intervals were heard the reports of fire- crackers and pistols; and many a drowsy villager, turning restlessly upon his bed, ‘*wished the Fourth was over with.”’ After a time, the sounds died away, and stillness enjoyed a brief reign; when sud- denly, at the solemn hour of twelve, was | heard a loud concussion, which started from their beds all but the most inveterate sleepers in Dozeyvale. Fretful babies woke and cried ; nervous women sprang up screaming; while Young America, who had fired crackers till he was tired, and then gone home to bed, rose, donned his habiliments, and, slyly stealing out at back doors and windows, escaped his father’s vigilance, and hurried to the scene of action, to see the sport and swell the tumult. On the village green, a half score or so of young men, with a body-guard of small boys, had drawn the big cannon, and there begun the important ceremonies which were to usher in the Fourth. At intervals of fifteen min- utes, the firing was kept up till sunrise, when

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116 the committee in charge of the gun concluded to remove that engine of war to a more retired place, and resume the cannonade after a few hours’ period devoted to repose and refresh- ment. As one of the young patriots was wending homewards, he saw Slocum Stiles wielding a hoe among the carrot and beet beds of his well-kept little garden. Slocum in the sum- mer always rose at four o’clock, when, as he was often heard to declare, ‘‘the birds sang sweetest, and there was no one else stirring to prevent his hearing them.’’ Bill Miller bade him ‘‘ good morning”’ over the fence, and asked him ‘‘ what he was at work for on the Fourth of July. He ought to be firing crack- ers.’’ ‘*And what in creation have you been making such an abominable racket all night for ?’’ asked Slocum, without pausing in his labor. ‘I should think a young man like you might be in better business than blacking your face and hands with powder. I’d like to know who gave you leave to take that vile old gun right on to the common, and disturb the whole neighborhood with its noise ?”’ **You needn’t trouble yourself,’’ was the answer. ‘Squire Golden told us to begin at twelve o’clock, and fire all night, and use all the powder we’d a mind to. He’d pay for it.”” ‘*Squire Golden may go to grass !’’ mut- tered our friend Slocum, with his hoe spite- fully cutting a grubintwo. ‘I only hope he may have heard every gun last night him- self.’’ Many of the ladies who had promised to be early that morning at Stone’s woods, having been kept awake by the firing, sank into slumber after sunrise, and found to their amazement, on awaking, that they had over- slept the appointed hour. Mr. Fletcher’s house fronted the common; and Caroline had more than her due share of petty troubles. She spent half the night in trying to soothe the scared little sister who nestled beside her, and, in addition to the din of the gun, had been disturbed by having a pitcher of water thrown, by the violence of a concussidn, to the floor, and broken to pieces. The flooded carpet and fragments of crockery made a hasty progress to her dressing-bureau in search of a match-box by no means an agreeable promenade. Wearied by these un- sentimental and most real vexations, she rose on that hot, sultry morning unrefreshed in body and in spirit, much inclined to be mise- GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. rable. Half unconsciously, she had looked forward to this day as that wherein her course should be determined ; and she needed, when entering upon it, the vigor of all her powers, both mental and physical. At breakfast, she found her father very much annoyed by the ** voices of the night,’’ and completely out of patience with Squire Golden for encouraging that ‘‘senseless firing.”’ ‘‘Confound these celebrations, I say, Cal!’’ was his fretful ex- clamation. ‘‘I hope you’ll have nothing: to do with it, after all.’’ ‘*But, father, I must, you know,’’ said Caroline. ‘‘ Mrs. Hungerford and Tot depend on me to help them arrange the tables; and then our Sunday-school is coming out in a body, and I ought to be there to see to my little class. Besides, I want to hear the ora- tion; don’t you?’’? And she glanced timidly, yet inquiringly, at her father. “Oh, yes! I didn’t think of that. I hope Hammersley will get off something hand- some’’—giving his daughter a keen look, but instantly changing the subject. He suspected something of the state of affairs between her- self and the orator, but had not yet been officially consulted, and, like most American fathers in his position, having discovered no- thing amiss in the young man’s character, had a vague idea of letting them have their own way, unless such a revelation took place; in which case, he reflected that Caroline’s good sense, of which he had a high estimate, would be her own sufficient guide—a wise course in worthy Mr. Fletcher, as opposition has caused many an unsuitable marriage. After breakfast, Mr. Fletcher, scolding be- tween whiles about the celebration and all the trouble it made, told Caroline, with kind, characteristic inconsistency, to hurry and get her basket packed, and be ready to go, for he would drive her in his buggy to Stone’s woods before the heat of the day. On that memorable morning, the streets of Dozeyvale presented a rather unusual stir. Servant girls and their mistresses, all carrying baskets and packages of various sizes and shapes, were going from different directions towards the Baptist church, the vestibule of which served as a depot for a vast pile of pro- visions. From this rendezvous, they were transported in wagons to Stone’s woods, where Caroline, on arriving, found a score of ladies, old and young, all as busy as bees in setting out the tables. Mrs. Hungerford was here, and there, and everywhere, apparently doing a great many things at the same time,

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FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION AT DOZEYVALE. 117 and was seen to turn up her nose very much when Mrs. Judge Grayson’s waiting-woman, with a basket on her arm, reached the grounds. ‘*Why couldn’t she come herself?’ said Mrs. Hungerford to Tot. ‘‘ We shouldn’t bite her.”’ ‘*To be sure not,” laughed Tot; ‘‘ but she might bite us; and so I am glad she isn’t here.’ While the ladies were busy, the morning wore rapidly on ; and, when all had been ar- ranged to their satisfaction, and that of half a dozen young gentlemen who aided them by complacently eyeing their operations, they returned to the village to rearrange their toilets for the afternoon festivities, leaving Mrs. Hungerford’s two daughters to mount guard over the tables during the interval. One o’clock was the hour fixed for the be- ginning of the grand ceremonies of the day, when all who were to participate would assem- ble at the Baptist church, proceeding thence to the banqueting ground in due order. At that cool and comfortable period of a dry, dusty summer day, the villagers began to congregate about the doors and in the yard attached to the edifice, whence, after much confusion, the procession issued. It was not formed on any of the established principles that generally govern such arrangements; but, being composed of horse and foot, light ‘“‘infantry,’’ provision wagons, buggies, and barouches, each component part moved on in that position where it happened to find itself at the outset. A company of young men from a manufactory in a neighboring village, who had organized themselves into a band of mu- sic about a month before, headed, by a figure of speech, the procession, for there preceded them a carriage containing two Revolutionary heroes and three ‘‘ veterans’’ of the war of 1812, who, after diligent rummaging, had been got together from various quarters of Dozey- vale and adjoining towns. And before these worthies a half dozen boys were riding at ran- dom on as many unfortunate old canal horses, which, superannuated and ownerless, had been found wandering and unclaimed, and were forthwith appropriated. The musicians, being raw beginners, did not play in the most melodious manner, or keep the best time in the werld ; and consequently the pedestrians each went on after his own fashion. The smallest children of the Sunday-schools were stowed in wagons; while the larger ones walked behind, attended by their teachers, with the exception of a few young ladies, among whom was Caroline, who were so for- tunate as to obtain seats in some of the ve- hicles in waiting. The little ones formed the most attractive feature of the assemblage— the boys in new suits, and the girls in white dresses, with wide-brimmed straw hats and gay streamers of blue and pink ribbons. When the procession moved off, these dear innocents, at a signal from one of their super- intendents, began singing that touching little hymn— “There is a nappy land, far, tar away,”’ Xc. : and, as their childish voices swelled on the air, many a parent’s eyes grew dim with tears. The parts were in perfect harmony ; and that simple melody held the true idea of music, for it struck a responsive heart-chord, an effect which the braying of the brass in- struments that filled the air, when the chil- dren’s voices died away, failed to produce. Many of the little singers looked heated and tired; but then it was the orthodox way to go off several miles through the dust to cele- brate the Fourth; and who ever thought a better plan could be devised for the delight of the children ? From the heat and glare of the road, there was a pleasant change as the crowd at length entered Stone’s woods, where a very pretty sight was presented. Long tables, neatly spread with white cloths, and at frequent intervals garnished with vases of flowers, were literally covered by baskets of moss, willow, and a few of more substantial but less rural silver, all piled high with cakes, confectionery, and other eatables of every description, pre- sided over by a bevy of blooming girls and young married ladies. The first wore natural flowers in their hair, and the others French ones modified by lace—the recently won dig- nity of the latter very properly balancing the vivacity of their more coquettish assistants. The parties just arrived dispersed themselves about on rough board seats as best they could, Tot and a score of friends belonging to her set securing a bench together. Caroline Fletcher, having arranged her little group of Sunday-school children in a convenient place where she could readily supply them from the tables, joined Tot’s circle. They were scarcely seated when Squire Golden approached with two gentlemen, one a tall, distinguished-look- ing person, with waving locks slightly silver- tinged—the other a young man of about twenty-five, whose features strongly resem- bled those of the first. Our Squire presented SST

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118 them as Judge Sanford and his son, the latter bearing the title of ‘‘ Doctor.’’ Inthe two, the ladies at onve recognized an eminent and justly esteemed lawyer residing in Centsville, an ‘interesting widower”’ of ten years’ standing, and his only son. Judge Sanford at fifty-five retained all the fire of youth in his keen, dark eyes ; and his broad brow was uncrossed by a wrinkle. Courtly manners, with an air of indescribably winning and deferential tender- ness, marked his intercourse with women, to whom these traits made him unfailingly agree- able. Nor was there lacking, beneath this polished exterior, a soul that scorned to de- fend the cause of iniquity, for Judge Sanford was not only a skilful, but in the fullest sense of the term a Christian jurist. Dr. Sanford was not unlike his father, yet lacked that gentleman’s inexpressible charm of manner, a charm so rarely met with now as to have almost ceased to be looked for in these degenerate days, except among certain elderly persons whom we designate as belong- ing to the ‘fold school.’’ But why it should not be expected and cultivated in the young of the present generation there is no substan- tial reason. Young Americans of both sexes would do well to study more attentively the old models of our country. Nevertheless, Dr. Sanford did not fail to interest the ladies, and soon found his way to Tot’s side, when an animated conversation among the young people ensued. The speaker’s stand was near our little group, the members of which were suddenly brought to silence by the nasal voice of the gentleman who had been selected to read the Declaration of Independence. The place which they occupied alone insured their attention. Those who were further off took no pains to listen, evidently regarding as a very dull affair this portion of the exercises. The read- ing was followed by a prayer from one of three clergymen, who, their denominational differences laid aside, were seated together on the platform. Nicely carpeted and furnished with settees, this platform served as the ros- trum. Now, it so happened that the clergy- man knew how to put himself not only in the place of children waiting in sight of a feast, but of older folks too, under similar circum- stances ; so he wisely offered a brief and com- prehensive petition, imploring, in few and reverent words, a heavenly benediction on the company then and there assembled, and ren- dering hearty thanks for the blessings of freedom. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, As the minister’s voice ceased, there was a moment’s lull, then a perceptible rustle of ladies’ dresses, and a turning of all heads in one direction, as Mr. Hammersley emerged from nobody could see where, and mounted the stage. Caroline tried to look like an un- concerned listener ; but her color changed so rapidly that she became unpleasantly aware of her own confusion. Fearful of exciting Tot’s raillery, it was only by a strong effort at composure that she was able to resolve on keeping a seat so near the speaker. With a few preliminary flourishes of his white handkerchief, and an ostentatious ar- rangement of his manuscript, the orator began :— ‘* Ladies and gentlemen, friends and fellow- citizens, with the profoundest embarrassment, the deepest self-depreciation, an undistin- guished American citizen rises to address you on the great and unparalleled occasion which has convened the beauty, talent, wealth, ge- nius, and bravery of the cireumjacent re- gions—’”’ (‘*‘ Whata jib!” said Tot Golden, in an aside to poor Caroline. ‘‘ He isn’t the least bit embarrassed.’’)—*‘ these regions that, but a few short years ago, were a howling wilder- ness, where the unlettered savage whetted his ferocious tomahawk, and bent his deadly bow— where tawny maidens saw their charms reflect- ed in no mirror save the rushing stream and gurgling rivulet—where older matrons knew no higher employment than to crush, between ponderous stones, the products of their scanty harvests, and dress the game brought to their wild cabins by their savage lords—where roamed the wolf, the bear, the catamount. Behold the mutations that freedom and civili- zation have accomplished! Behold, I say, on every hand the vast and incontestable conse- quences of the discovery and peopling of this mighty continent by the white man! Mark those comfortable domiciles, those palatial abodes which have everywhere usurped the place of the unsightly wigwam! Consider our halls of science and learning, where American youth, without distinction of creed or sex, are fully indoctrinated in all the wis- dom, ay, in infinitely more than all the wis- dom of the ancient sages and philosophers, and where they are fitted to fight the world’s stupendous battles of reform and progress. Look at our wonderful and almost miraculous manufactories, our unheafd-of achievements in the ranks of discovery and invention !’’ But we must pause a moment, and, being quite unable to do justice to the speaker’s

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FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION AT DOZEYVALE. 119 words, beg the reader to imagine at least two pages, in a similar strain, about the first dis- covery and the subsequent progress of our great country. **Yet”’—to attempt resuming the orator’s expressions—‘‘ what are all these events, stu- pendous and well-nigh unexampled though they be, to the great act, the master achieve- ment, the incomparably daring deed which we this day commemorate—the Declaration of American Independence? Before it, let the Magna Charta of England hide its diminished and unhonored head; before it, let kings, emperors, and Kaisars, let despots and tyrants throughout the circuit of the habitable globe retire in profound confusion and unsophisti- cated abasement, for by the potent agency of this mighty instrument did they receive their death-warrant. ‘*Let us briefly contemplate, through the hallowing mists of time and the dimming dust of onward ages in their march from hoary antiquity, that momentous transaction. ** Behold those iron-hearted men, armed with dauntless valor, and encased in a pano- ply that no human force could shatter, and in readiness for battle, stalk boldly forward, and, with one stroke of the pen, cause a vi- bration that shall only cease to be felt when the universe returns to primeval chaos. Then listen, in imagination, to the vociferous and long-continued huzzas that rent the welkin, to the boom of cannon and the universal ring- ing of church-bells, which announced to an intensely interested world the never-to-be- forgotten fact that independence of kingly and monarchical tyranny had been declared with trumpet tongue, and would henceforth prevail and conquer till every individual human being would, and of right ought to be, forever free.’’ Here again, in attempting to transcribe Mr. Hammersley’s words, wevyield in discourage- ment. Let a long string of sentences like the last, with the same ideas presented in words of varying and constantly increasing size and sound, be supposed. After which, he reaches the Revolutionary War and the din of battle; and here, more than at any previous point, should we fail to do justice to the orator’s amplitude of words and sonorous periods. Pity it is that those stirring themes should be invested with the ‘‘sound and fury’’ of that poor pretender, Bombast. From the Revolutionary War, our speaker, gathering fresh excitement as he went on, and in the same proportion perspiring, and using the white handkerchief to cool his heated brow, strode onwards over huge moun- tains of sentences to the present glorious era. Shall we try once more to catch something of those ‘‘ words that burn’’ ? ‘* Behold our great, our growing, never-to- be-circumscribed land, the magnificent inherit- ance of those peerless heroes of ’76! spreading from sea to sea, o’ertopped with heaven-sa- luting hills, girdled and intersected by vast rivers, tenanted by a wonder-achieving race, a people great and mighty, who have filled every portion of the Union, and connected its remotest borders by the iron bands of rail- roads—a people far-seeing and daringly in- ventive, as is witnessed by the lightning- winged messengers which traverse, from end to end, this vast confederacy, on the mystic wires upheld by the numerous telegraph poles which ornament the sides of our chief thoroughfares. We have but to cast our eyes abroad to see on every hand the evidences that we are a truly wonderful people. And shall we falter in our progress? Shall any- thing, no matter how formidable, be suffered to put a barrier to ourcareer? Should oceans, whatever be their briny depths, or however high their tempestuous billows roll? Should continents contract their powers, to whom the boundless universe belongs? Away the das- tard thought! On, then—on, my fellow- countrymen’’—and here the orator’s voice waxed higher than ever. He raised himself on tiptoe, and, at the conclusion of the sen- tence, came down with a telling crash on his boot heels—‘‘do or die for your nation and your destinies. Let no craven fear cripple your energies; let no lukewarmness be al- lowed to dampen your imperishable zeal. On—on, ye brave and ye fair—on for freedom and glory. Gird ye to the contest, and cease not till the field is won, the victory yours, and till the proud ensign of America is planted on the highest hill-top, and waving its superb folds in the breeze of freedom’s untrammelled and most benignant mountain atmosphere.”’ ‘* What in goodness’s name does he mean ?’’ said Tot, the saucy Tot, giving Caroline a great poke with her parasol. ‘‘ What are we going to fight about, I wonder?’’ ‘‘Do keep quiet,’’ whispered Caroline, her cheeks and lips at one moment burning red, and at the next of almost deathly white, and through all a laugh struggling up. ‘He is looking directly this way.’’ But he was not the man to fancy himself laughed at—was Hammersley. Secure in the

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| | ) | 120 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. consciousness of his own brilliancy and of the ladies’ admiration, he went on to his perora- tion; which effective portion we must needs abridge. “Lift your gaze, my fellow-citizens,”’ pro- ceeds our orator, ‘‘and behold yonder eagle, proud representative, fitting emblem of our national confederacy, of our country’s great- ness. Mark him as he leaves his rock-bound eyry, and, with heaven-scanning wing and with unflinching eye, sweeps away through the blue empyrean into the far-reaching infini- tude of ether. Who can follow his resistless flight? Who can stay his proud career? Away, away he soars, till a gazing world can only wonder, and withdraw quite overwhelm- ed. Shall Britain’s lion presume to check his progress, or put a barrier to his ever- ascending and continually augmenting flight ? Shall foreign foe, be he who he may, dare to interpose a solitary obstacle? It cannot—it shall never be! And are there any traitorous hearts in this great land who would betray its interests, and for gold barter patriotism? If such there be, let their craven souls tremble, and let retribution alight on their daring heads. All such efforts shall be powerless. Our proud eagle wings his way, unmindful of their puny exertions, till he vanishes from mortal view in a blaze of effulgent splendor. ** And such, my fellow-citizens, must be our country’s course, onward and upward, a ca- reer unparalleled in the world’s history, con- tinually winning fresh laurels, and achieving new conquests, till the radiating reflection of her proud pre-eminence is lost in the great ocean of infinitude.”’’ The orator here made a graceful bow, and, wiping the drops of perspiration from his forehead, retired—we cannot say amidst thun- ders of applause, for to applaud in an uproar- ious way, on such occasions in Dozeyvale, is not the fashion. They are too staid and un- demonstrative a people for such manifesta- tions. But a murmuring sound ran through the assemblage, which, so far as it took the form of words, expressed varying opinions. ** What beautiful language !"’ said some of the ladies. ‘““What a graceful speaker!’’ others re- marked. The group in Caroline’s vicinity did not scruple to free their minds. “What a mess of nonsense!’’ was Tot’s comment, to which Mrs. Hungerford replied that, “‘ for her part, she couldn’t make head or tail of it.” | Judge Sanford dryly observed: ‘‘ What a pity Mr. Hammersley left that eagle up in the clouds, after making such efforts to bring him down !”’ Strictly non-committal was Squire Golden : ‘*A very promising young man—needs a little cultivation.’’ Mr. Fletcher stood behind his daughter talking to a neighbor, and had already quite audibly given utterance to his opinion several times by saying, ‘‘ Stuff! all stuff!’’ at every brilliantly rounded period. As for Caroline, she had her own thoughts, and was silent, taking an early opportunity to quit the circle, and join her little class. One of the clergymen having asked a blessing at the head of the principal table, there fol- lowed a general rush for the eatables. At first, there was some order preserved, as the “ladies in waiting’? helped the gentlemen about them, and the gentlemen helped other ladies, and each Sunday-school class was served by its respective teacher. Then the **music’’ and the miscellaneous crowd came in for a share; and, when they had eaten all they wanted, the members of the band pelted each other with buttered biscuits. Caroline, having revived her fainting spirits with a draught of lemonade, found herself fully occupied in feeding her little scholars. This done, she looked about to see what might be going on that required her aid, longing in her inmost consciousness for an opportunity to escape and be at home. Just then, she heard a childish voice lamenting in these words: “Oh, dear! I hain’t had nothing to eat but half a cookey.”’ It proceeded from a little six-year old girl, one of Tot Golden’s small class of very small scholars, whom Tot, in the captivating society of Dr. Sanford, had forgotten to feed. Tot was only thoughtless— not wilfully neglectful—a characteristic by no means rare among girls of her age and position, and very apt to strengthen into de- plorable selfishness, if not checked by the wise influence of judicious friends. Nor is it the less reprehensible that the usually other- wise amiable traits of its possessor lead us frequently to overlook its perniciousness. But Caroline’s disposition always caused her not only to forget personal enjoyment, but her own woes in seeking to make others happy; 80, taking the little one under her protection, she soon comforted the child with plentiful supplies of cake. ‘‘ Now, Fanny, don’t cry any more,”’ said she, in a soothing voice, gently putting back the little girl’s

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FOURTH OF JULY CELEBRATION AT DOZEYVALE. - 121 locks which had straggled over the wet eyes, and tying the strings of her broad-brimmed hat under the chin yet quivering with infantile grief. ‘** Bestowing kindnesses as ever; and why not vouchsafe to me a smile ?’? murmured a porterntously deep voice behind her. Turning round, Caroline confronted Hammersley, and instantly wished herself a thousand miles off, or at least at a safe distance from his pre- sence, as well as from the inquisitive eyes and ears of others. She scarcely knew what to say, and, feeling ill at ease, inquired if his grandfather and mother were on the grounds. **T don’t know them, and you have promised me an introduction,’’ said she. He answered quite carelessly: ‘‘ They have been here, I believe; but they’ve gone home, I dare say, before this time.’’ At that moment, a loud voice was heard hallooing, ‘‘ Liflet! Liflet! say!” And the speaker, a stout, broad-shouldered, gray- haired man, dressed in a decent, homespun suit, came in sight, and approached them. ‘Look here, Liflet,’? he continued, ‘‘ yer mother’s ready to go home, and she wants ye to go and git the satchel with yer clean shirts in out of the wagon ’fore we start. She guesses she won’t have time to come down to the village ag’in ’fore next Sabbath ; so she brought ’em along to-day.”’ There was no escape for E. Stone Hammers- ley. He stood confessed before Caroline, the grandson of this plain ‘‘old codger,’’ as he inwardly called him—the son of that country- womau in a big bonnet, who was seated in a_ “ vehicle of comfortable but by no means ele- gant construction, holding the reins which guided a pair of horses, not ‘‘ fast,’’ but cer- tainly well-conditioned animals. What didthe gentleman do? Present Caro- line to his grandfather, and lead his affianced to the faithful, hard-handed mother who had toiled and lived for him since his early, father- less boyhood? Not he! His fine manner was gone in a twinkling; his face flushed and paled by turns ; and in anything but respect- ful tones he spoke to the old man. : ‘*You needn’t trouble yourself about me. Tell mother not to wait; I don’t want the things this week.’’ And he strode off in an opposite direction to Mr. Stone’s wagon, leaving Caroline and the old man face to face. ‘** Ain’t you Samuel Fletcher’s daughter ?’’ were the first words addressed her by the worthy farmer, who did not seem in the least VoL. Lvu.—Il1 disturbed at his gifted grandson’s hasty re- treat. Caroline told him she was. ‘*T reckoned so,’’ said he. ‘‘ Them eyes of yours have got the real Fletcher look, kind of earnest like, and pretty good grit in ’em, too. How’s yer father?’’ **Quite well, thank you,’’ Caroline an- swered. ‘‘I believe he is about the grounds here somewhere.”’ ‘Oh, no consequence at all!’ said ’Liflet Stone. ‘I hain’t time to hunt him up now. But I knew him when he was a boy, only knee high to a hoptoad. It seems you’re acquainted with our ’Liflet. How did you like his speech? He never told me a word about it forehand; didn’t know he was going to give the oration ; don’t know the fashion for independence speeches nuther, now-a- days; but seems to me he didn’t come to p’ints enough. You know we can always say straight out what we think of our own folks. *Liflet was always kind o’ visionary.”’ When Farmer Stone stopped his rambling remarks, Caroline hesitatingly replied that she thought the oration quite appropriate. And, as just at that moment his daughter called out from under the shadow of a beech- tree, where his horses were standing, that ‘he had better hurry, as it was ’most sun- down,’’ the old man went from Caroline’s presence with a good-natured smile, and no special effort towards ceremonious leave- taking. Caroline’s thoughts and emotions were conflicting, and not altogether agreeable. There was something ludicrous in the recent encounter, which brought to her face a smile ; but a feeling for her lover, akin to contempt, chased it away. ‘‘If he had only introduced us to each other, my wavering respect might have been renewed. But, to run off as he did, how contemptible! even heartless !’’ Such were the outlines of her thoughts. But now her attention was once more called to the tables by hearing the voices of several ladies in animated discussion; and, on dis- tinguishing her own name called loudly by Mrs. Hungerford, she started to observe the shadows lengthening on the grass, and to find herself alone. She approached the now nearly dismantled board, at one end of which two or three hungry-looking boys—boys are always ready to eat, and consequently always look hungry—were devouring scraps of cake and sandwiches; while further on were several ladies gathering into baskets the somewhat abundant remnants of the feast.

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| : . 122 ; GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ‘What shall we do with all these pieces ?’’ said one. ‘““Why, give them to the poor, of course,’’ suggested another. ‘*Well, for my part,’’ said Mrs. Hunger- ford, sharply, ‘‘I’d like to know who are the poor. There’s only one poor family in our congregation, and they are helped all the time.”’ ‘‘And there is but one poor woman in ours,’”’ said Mrs. Golden, laughing. ‘‘I call her our pet charitable object, the neighbors all have such a strife sending her something every day. And here’s enough to feed a large family for a week.”’ It was finally agreed to divide the frag- ments between the respective families of the sextons of the two principal churches of Do- zeyvale, as being the most appropriate recipi- ents—not that they were poor, by any means ; as the ladies said, there were no poor, strictly speaking, in Dozeyvale—dear, old, stupid, ** well-to-do”’ village ! Mr. Bright and Mr. Fenton, the two sex- tons, were mechanics with decent incomes, and wives and daughters holding their heads as high as anybody. Mrs. Bright had been offended because she was not ‘‘ put on the committee,’’ and would make no cake for the celebration ; but she accepted the half-bushel basket of remains—rather ungraciously, to be sure—and next day invited a party of a few select friends to tea, to help eat them, and to dissect the “‘ aristocracy” of Dozeyvale. Yet this is neither here nor there, nothing save a needless digression. Caroline, having seen that her Sunday scholars were safely bestowed in one of the large wagons that were moving off towards the village, stayed behind to assist in clearing the tables, and taking care of borrowed silver and table linen. A few married ladies kept her company in this duty. The girls, having found gallants, had all disappeared; and Tot herself had some time before been driven home in Judge Sanford’s carriage. Our hero- ine was very tired. She sat down ona rude bench, with a basket in her lap containing spoons and napkins of Mrs. Grayson’s, of which she had promised to keep charge—too weary to set out on foot, and ardently wishing for an opportunity to be carried home. Her father had been sent for at an early stage of the banquet to meet a business acquaintance at the hotel, and had driven off in haste. The grove was almost deserted, and looked very much like that oft-sung “‘ hall’’ of Moore’s. Caroline was silently revolving how the six or eight persons still left would manage to get home in the solitary, one-seated buggy which was waiting for them, and was moreover thinking that it had all been a stupid affair, when she heard the sound of wheels; and presently, to her infinite relief, Judge San- ford’s carriage and black steeds, whose glossy coats were well set off by crimson nets, and the elder Sanford himself holding the reins, drew up in front of the deserted girl’s seat. ‘*My dear young lady,’’ said the Judge, with all the grace and ease—and they are not small—which a polished, elderly man can command, while he alighted, “if you did not forget yourself, no one else could do you that injustice. Allow me the honor of driving you home. Miss Tot remembered you just as we reached her door, and begged that you should be instantly sent for.’ | Tot had indeed quite forgotten poor Carrie till she reached her father’s door, when, with real contrition for her too characteristic heed- lessness, She requested that one of the gentle- men would return for her friend. ‘‘ Just the nicest girl in the world,’’ said she, ‘“‘and a great favorite of pa’s. She must be so tired, too, for she has been on the go all day. I wouldn’t have her obliged to walk down for anything in the world.”’ The Doctor had hesitated, and looked at Tot as if he would fain linger at her side, for her invitation to ‘‘ stay to tea’’ was too consonant with his wishes to be resisted. But the elder gentleman, as good a whip as ever, aud more ready than even in his youthful days to serve the sex, turned back with alacrity to find Miss Fletcher. She gladly accepted his proffered civility, but was so weary in body, and dis- pirited in mind, as to be not quite fitted to enjoy the pleasant talk of her companion. It was not always thus with Caroline, for, unlike many young girls, she fully appreciated the society of an intellectual man, albeit no longer young; and she had herself the rare faculty of being both agreeable and thoroughly reve- rential to hersuperiors in age. But, however she may have demeaned herself, it will yet appear that, whether for good or ill, she made an impression on her escort of that memorable evening. As they were descending the hill which led to the village, Caroline caught sight of her lover, taking a short cut across the fields to- wards his boarding-house, and on his arm the carpet-bag supposed to contain those vexa- tious clean shirts. Mentally waving him a

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SWIMMING. 123 last farewell, she resolved, as mauy a woman in the like circumstances has done before, never again to entertain the idea of love or marriage. When the horses stopped at her own door, inwardly hoping that he would not accept— for she was rather awe-struck by his pol- ished and chivalrous demeanor, and more- over wished of all things to be alone—Caroline timidly asked Judge Sanford to stop and meet her father at tea. But he politely declined, saying that it was necessary he should be in the city at nightfall; and gravely, yet gal- lantly lifting his hat, as he reseated himself in the carriage, he gathered up the reins, and drove off towards Centsville. Caroline rushed to her own room, made all laste to disrobe, bathe her heated face, slip on @ loose wrapper, and throw herself upon the bed with a long sigh of mingled weariness and disgust. The tea-bell rang, and her mother ascended to Caroline’s chamber. She begged to be undisturbed. ‘‘ Her head ached awfully, and she felt perfectly forlorn.”’ ‘*But wouldn’t she get up by and by, and see the fireworks ?”’ **T don’t know; I don’t care anything about seeing them, I am so tired: These celebrations are such wearisome things! You know, mother, I’ve been running about all day, picking flowers and doing everything else since sunrise, through heat and dust.’’ Even heroines get cross and impatient at times ; and we trust that it will not detract from Caroline’s sterling merits to learn that she was not above woman-like or mortal weak- nesses. Had her mind and heart been satis- fied, she might better have borne the bodily fatigues and discomforts of the past day. But, in the coolness and quiet of her own room, Caroline grew calmer, and reflected with composure. Fire-crackers still went off at frequent intervals in the streets; and at sunset the cannon was made to roar with one long, loud, grand report by way of jinale to the performances on that instrument. Then came the fireworks on the common in front of the Academy ; and the mingled noises of the streets rose in a faint murmur to Caroline’s room. Then the door-bell rang, and she heard a well-known step in the hall. Still she lay motionless, with eyes fixed on a pic- ture hanging on the wall opposite her bed’s foot, and thinking very hard. Her little sis- ter tripped up stairs, and spoke softly: ‘‘ Mr. Hammersley wanted to see her.’’ ‘* Please tell Mr. Hammersley that I cannot come down to-night, but will see him to-mor- row evening.”’ Again she was alone. She rose quietly, threw a shawl over her shoulders—for the evening at nine o’clock was cool—and looked at the fireworks for an hour, when the last of their flaming splendors had fairly fizzed out in a spasmodic splutter. Then, with the sound of Tot Golden’s gay laugh ringing in her ears, and the sight of Tot’s short, plump figure moving down the street in the moon- light, accompanied by Dr. Sanford and a party of other young people as merry as themselves, she closed her window, offered her simple prayers for Heavenly guidance, and her thanks for mercies, and went to rest with a mind, if not quite care-free, yet no longer undecided. (Conclusion next month.) SWIMMING. As the season is at hand when the healthy pastime of swimming may be pursued, we venture to give those of our young friends who may be inexperienced in the art, a few hints which may serve them in time of need. Great caution is required in the commence- ment, for it is too often a failing in youth to tempt danger and incur risks, often fatal, from not having acquired the knowledge of averting them. Effects of Bathing on the Health.—Cleanliness, obtained in whatever way, keeps open the | pores of the skin, and allows of the free escape of the insensible perspiration, which is thrown off in great quantities, and the free egress ot which is of the utmost importance to the health of the system. The tonic and reviving qualities of cold wa- ter are of the most remarkable character. How wonderfully refreshing it is to bathe merely the face and hands in cold water! On first plunging into cold water, there comes a shock which drives the blood to the central parts of the system. But immediately a reaction takes place, which is assisted by the exercise of swimming, producing, even in

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: ) | | | 124 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. water of a low temperature, an agreeable warmth. The stay in the water should never be prolonged beyond the period of this excite- ment. Ifthe water be left while this warmth continues, and the body immediately dried, the healthy glow over the whole surface will be delightful. To remain in the water after the first reac- tion is over, produces a prolonged chilliness, a shrinking of the flesh, and a contraction of the skin, by no means favorable to health or enjoyment ; for it is only in water thoroughly warmed by the summer heats, where we may bathe for many hours with impunity. Certain precautions are necessary. Mode- rate exercise, by summoning into action the powers of the system, and quickening the cir- culation, is better than inactivity. We should never go into water immediately after a meal, nor while the process of digestion is going for- ward. Nor should we plunge into the water when violently heated, or in a state of profuse perspiration. Such imprudences are often fatal, especially if the water be unusually cold. If too warm, the temperature of the body may be reduced by bathing the wrists and wetting the head. Times and Places for Swimming.—Before meals rather than after, and especially before break- fast and before supper, are proper seasons for bathing. The heats of the day are to be avoid- ed, but, in very hot weather, a bath is useful to cool the blood, and secure refreshing sleep. If in the middle of the day, a shaded place should be chosen, or the head protected from the sun by being kept wet, or by wearing a straw hat. The sea is the best place for swimming. Owing to the greater specific gravity of salt water than fresh, the body is more buoyant in it, as are other substances. A ship coming outof: water into fresh, sinks perceptibly in the water. The difference is nearly equal to the weight of the salt held in solution. As persons are ever liable to accidents, cramps, &c., it is always best that boys or girls should be accompanied by those who are older than themselves, and who will be able to save them in any emergency. Aids in Learning to Swim.—Probably one of the best ways of learning to swim is to go, with a competent teacher, in a boat in deep water, this supporting the body more bnoy- antly than that which is shallower, and pre- venting the constant tendency of beginners to touch the bottom, which is here of course im- possible. The teacher should fasten a rope carefully around the waist, or, better still, to a belt, which can neither tighten nor slip down. The rope may be fastened toa short pole. Sup- ported in this manner, the pupil may take his proper position in the water, and practise the necessary motions, and the support of the rope may be gradually lessened, until the pupil finds himself entirely supported by the water. Corks and bladders are often used as sup- ports for learners; but it is much better to begin without them. As, however, they may be a protection in some cases against accidents, and enable the learner to practise the proper motions for rapid swimming more carefully, they are not to be entirely condemned. Seve- ral large pieces of cork, uncut into stopples, must be strung upon each end of a piece of rope, long enough to pass under the chest, and reach just above the shoulders; or well blown and properly secured bladders may be fastened in the same way. Care must be taken to con- fine these supports near the shoulders, as by their slipping down they would plunge the head under water, and produce the very catas- trophe they were especially designed to pre- vent. A great variety of life-preservers have been invented, made of India-rubber and cork-shav- ings, in the form of jackets, belts, &c., which may be used like the corks and bladders; but as their bulk is generally all around the chest, they hinder the free use of the arms, and im- pede the velocity of motion. As life-preserv- ers, they would do very well if people ever had them on when they were needed, or had presence of mind enough to fit and inflate them in sudden emergencies. The best life- preservers are the self-reliance and well-direct- ed skill of a good swimmer. Swimming with the plank has two advan- tages. The young bather has always the means of saving himself from the effects of a sudden cramp, and he can practise with facility the necessary motions with the legs and feet, aided by the momentum of the plank. A piece of light wood, three or four feet long, two feet wide, and about two inches thick, will answer very well for this purpose. The chin may be rested upon the end, and the arms used, but this must be done carefully, or the support may go beyond the young swimmer’s reach. A better method, as many think, than any of these, is for the teacher to wade into the water with his pupil, and then support him in a horizontal position by placing his hand under the pupil’s chest, while he directs his

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rHE LAST VOTARY OF THE VENUS. 125 motions. He may withdraw his support almost imperceptibly ; but I do not see what advan- tage this method has over that first noticed with the boat, unless it be that the teacher can better enforce his precepts by examples, and, in swimming himself, give practical illus- trations of his theories of propulsion. The rope is another artificial support, which has its advantages. A rope may be attached to a pole, fastened—and mind that it be well fastened—in the bank, or it may be attached to the branch of an overhanging tree. Taken in the hands, the swimmer may practise with his legs, or, by holding it in his teeth, he may use all his limbs at once. The rope, however, is not so good as the plank, as it allows of less freedom of motion; and the latter might easily be so fixed as to be laid hold of by the teeth, and held securely. The Cramp.—Those persons who plunge into the water when they are heated by exercise, and remain in it until they are benumbed with cold, or exhaust themselves by very violent exertion, are the most subject to attacks of cramp. The moment the swimmer is seized by cramp in the legs he must not suffer him- self to feel alarmed; but strike out the limb with all his might, keeping the heel down- ward, and drawing the toes as far upward as he can, although at the time these movements give him great pain; he may also turn on his back, and jerk the limb into the air, though not so high as to throw himself out of his balance. Should these attempts prove unsuc- cessful, he must try to reach the shore with his hands; or, at all events, keep himself afloat until assistance can be procured. If he cannot float on his back, he may swim upright, keep- ing his head above the surface by striking the water downward with his hands near his hips; and thus make steady progress without using his legs. If only one leg be attacked, the swim- mer may strike forward with the other; and to acquire confidence in cases of cramp, it is advisable to practise swimming with one hand and leg; with the hands only, or even with one leg. THE LAST VOTARY OF THE VENUS. BY HELEN HAMILTOR. Je reconnus Venus et ses feux redoutables.—Ractne. Ir was a cloudless morning in May; the sunshine streamed bright and beautiful into the tribune of the Uffigi Palace at Florence, touching with more glowing tints the rosy limbs of Titian’s Venus, lighting the inspired face of the St. John of Raphael, and even lending something of the warmth and hue cf life to the bending form of the Venus di Medicis. Before the last named stood a young man in an attitude of rapt and breathless adora- tion, and apparently oblivious of all that was passing around him. He was singularly handsome, but almost too delicate and effemi- nate-looking for manly beauty. His wavy fair hair, escaping from a small student’s cap, almost touched his shoulders; and his dark- blue eyes and delicate features would have presented an absolutely feminine aspect, had it not been for the silky, golden-hued mous- tache that shaded his upper lip. In the unwavering gaze which he fixed upon the beautiful statue before him might have been read more than a sculptor’s admiration of a triumph of his art. The adoration of a lover, 11* or the worship of a votary, might fitly have inspired the rapt and passionate tenderness that shone in his eyes. The usual crowd of travellers, guide-book in hand, jostled him as they passed, or stared at him in amazement ; but, silent and unheeding, he stood absorbed in contemplating that most beautiful of all the creations of art. Suddenly, a hand was laid upon his shoul- der, and a laughing voice exclaimed: ‘‘ Why, Franz, man, not dreaming here again? I shall soon be half inclined to side with Johann and Otto, and believe you mad indeed.’’ The young man started, and, passing his hand over his eyes, he turned to the new- comer with a faint and melancholy smile. Rodolph Meyer, the intimate friend and companion of Franz Walden, was, as is often seen in such cases, his exact opposite both mentally and physically. Tall, athletic, and finely formed, his frank, joyous countenance, bright, dark eyes, and jovial manner formed as complete a contrast to his pale, low-voiced, and melancholy friend as can well be imagined. Sinking his arm in that of Franz, he drew him towards the door. ‘‘Nay, you must come,”’

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. : ————— a - 126 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. he said, in answer to an expression of reluc- tance from the other. ‘‘ You have managed to avoid me so pertinaciously for the past two. months that I am only too glad to get an op- portunity of speaking to you. So, come; I will walk with you to your studio, as I want to see what you have been doing all this time.’’ Franz gave utterance to no further objec- tions; and, leaving the gallery, they pro- ceeded towards his lodgings. Rodolph, after vainly trying to animate his friend, and to draw him into conversation, at length desisted, and both relapsed into absolute silence. The lodgings were soon reached, and Franz, taking a key from his pocket, admitted his friend into the small room that served him as a studio. It was in the greatest disorder. Chips of stone and fragments of dried clay strewed the floor, while in the centre of the room stood a half-finished model of a statue, representing a daughter of Niobe. The pose was perfect; and the gradual relaxation of the limbs in death was admirably done ; but the head was unfinished, and the clay had long since dried into hopeless hardness. In one corner, the modelling tools lay piled away, and covered with dust; and a half- completed bust of Diana was pushed aside in another. A large green curtain hung across one end of the room, and effectually concealed it. Rodolph looked around in amazement. ‘*Why, good Heavens, Franz! what have you been about these two months past ?’’ Without answering, Franz rose, and, ad- vancing to the green curtain, he drew it aside, and revealed to his astonished friend the beautiful statue it concealed. Rodolph could not restrain an exclamation of wonder and admiration. It was at the period when Gibson had just introduced the practice of tinting the marble with the colors of life; and the figure before him was an ex- quisite example of the art. It was a fine copy of the Venus di Medicis, with her rounded limbs flushed with the rosy hue of life, and her wavy hair tinged with paly gold; and, more than all, the chisel of the copyist had lent an expression of timid and maidenly tenderness to the features, so inexpressive in the original. She looked no longer the cold and soulless goddess, but the mortal maiden dreaming of her first adorer, with love at her heart, and life upon her lips. ‘Beautiful! But why did you not attempt an original work? Exquisite as this copy is, yonder was surely worth finishing before you commenced this.’’ There was no answer; and Rodolph turned in wonder to his friend. Franz leaned against the wall, his hand pressed upon his eyes, whilst large tears slowly forced their way be- tween his slender fingers. ‘*Franz, my poor fellow, you are ill,’’ said Rodolph, kindly, and laying his hand on his shoulder as he spoke. ‘Not ill,”? cried the other, dashing the drops from his eyes, ‘‘ but mad !’’ **Mad !’’ exclaimed Rodolph, starting back. ‘* Yes, mad—mad, indeed, for I love.’’ “You love! And who, in the name of Heaven ?”’ *T love—love with all the force of my na- ture, all the power of my being—this statue, this Venus, this teo perfect form which re- mains ever cold and motionless beneath my caresses. Why did ever marble take so ali- perfect ashape? Why is the story of Pygma- lion a fable? Oh, my divine love! shall I never, save in my dreams, behold you aught but cold and insensible to my love and to my prayers ?’’ He cast himself on the ground, and pressed his forehead against the feet of the statue. ‘*Cold! cold, indeed !’’ he mut- tered. ‘* Will my love, then, never warm her into life ?”’ Rodolph was seriously alarmed. He saw that the report of his friend’s insanity, which he had heard ‘freely circulated among his fel- low-students, had but too much foundation in truth. As he looked around the room, he saw but too many evidences of the unhappy passion that possessed its occupant. The universal disorder we have described did not extend to the nook where the statue stood. The walls of that portion of the room were covered with a dark-green baize that formed an admirable back-ground for the rosy tints of the figure. The floor was carefully swept, and strewn with small pine branches; and upon a pedestal placed directly in front of the Venus stood a small vase filled with freshly gathered flowers. Franz Walden, from the time of his first arrival in Florence, had been looked upon as a young sculptor of unusual promise. Some months before, an English gentleman, having, with much difficulty, obtained the permission of the Tuscan Government to have a copy taken of the Venus di Medicis, had given the commission to Franz to execute. The unfor- tunate result of that commission we have it is but acopy; and your daughter of Niobe | already seen. Dreamy, reserved, and poeti-

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THE LAST VOTARY OF THE VENUS. cal, and singularly sensitive to beauty in every shape, the admiration he felt for the fair form he contemplated for so many hours each day soon deepened into love. While completing the copy destined for the Englishman, he con- trived to execute a second for himself; and from that day his art was neglected, and his time passed in his studio, or at the Tribune, in mute worship before the beauty he adored. As he grew more calm, Rodolph gradually drew from him these particulars. When Franz had ended, he remained for some moments absorbed in thought. ‘*What if you were to find a living woman the exact prototype of the Venus ?’’ he asked at length. *“‘Then, oh, ‘then!’ cried the other with flushed cheek and kindling eye, “‘I should indeed be blest.’’ ‘‘ Well, farewell for a little while,’’ said Ro- dolph, starting up. ‘I will be with you soon again.”’ Several days had passed away, and Franz stood in his studio arranging a bouquet of roses and jessamine in the vase which stood before his beloved statue. A strange glitter shone in his eyes, and his cheek burned with a feverish and unnatural crimson. Wan, wasted, and sad, he looked as though he had just risen from a bed of sickness ; and the un- usual brilliancy of his eyes, and the flush that rested on his usually pallid countenance, but served to render the strange alteration of his appearance still more striking. Suddenly the door was flung open, and Ro- dolph appeared on the threshold. ‘* Franz! Franz!’’ he cried, ‘‘ leave your statue and look upon the living beauty of which you have so long dreamed !’’ ‘“*What.do you mean?’’ cried Franz, drop- ping his flowers as he spoke. A scuffling sound was heard in the passage, mingled with strange angry cries and the words ‘*Mia Annina carissima,’’ uttered in a sooth- ing tone, and a little old woman burst into the room, half leading, half dragging a young girl, who, shaking off the grasp of her conductor, stood upright, flushed and panting, in the cen- tre of the room. It needed but a glance to reveal the rare perfection of her beauty. Her complexion was of a creamy paleness, and her large eyes were black and brilliant as those of a gazelle; but it was in her faultless form, fully displayed by the tight-fitting black vel- vet bodice and short skirt of her peasant dress, that the rarest element of her beauty lay. Line for line, it was identical with that of the statue before which she stood, and her small graceful head, with its low brow and wavy hair fastened back in a plain Grecian knot, was also exactly like that of the Venus. Breathless with delight, Franz approached her, and would have taken her hand, but the old woman interposed. ** Don’t touch her, sir,’’? she whispered, lay- ing her skinny hand upon his arm; “she’s mjghty easy offended, and you had better get her into a good humor before the sitting be- gins. Give her something sweet, and she ‘ll be good for an hour or so at least.”’ ‘*What on earth does she mean?’’ asked Franz, in amazement. Without answering, Rodclph took from his pocket a bit of sugar, and held it towards the young girl, who still stood motionless in the centre of the room. Uttering a strange inar- ticulate cry, she snatched it from him, and, retiring to a corner, she crouched down, and began to eat with the eagerness and almost the gestures of an animal. Franz gazed on her in astonishment. Sud- denly there flashed across his mind the recol- lection of an opinion expressed in a work on phrenology he had once read, that, “if ever there existed a woman with the peculiarly shaped head and low brow of the Venus di Medicis, that woman would of necessity be an idiot.’? The strange looks and gestures of the young girl were explained. The phrenologist was right. Shuddering, he turned away and covered his face with his hands. ** Send her away,’’ he gasped. Rodolph put some money into the old wo- man’s hand, and motioned to her to withdraw. Well pleased at having obtained the price of Annina’s services as model, without having had the trouble of coaxing her to take the requisite attitudes, she persuaded her charge to follow her, by the bribe of another piece of sugar, and the friends were left alone. Without speaking, Franz turned toward the Venus. Snatching up a large hammer that lay amid his neglected tools, he aimed a blow full upon her graceful head. But the stroke was weak and uncertain; it glanced off harm- less, and, dropping the hammer, he staggered back and would have fallen senseless on the floor, had not Rodolph sprung forward and caught him in his arms. The deep and pro- tracted insensibility that followed was but the commencement of a fearful attack of brain fever. Day after day, Rodolph sat by the

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. bedside of his unhappy friend and listened to his wild ravings, with a feeling of remorse that he vainly strove to stifle. He had heard some talk amongst his fellow-students of the beautiful idiot model, and of her striking re- semblance to the Venus, and in an evil hour he had resolved to try the experiment of bring- ing her suddenly before Franz in hopes that the shock of finding the beauty he had so wor- shipped was indeed soulless, would arouse him from his folly. As he gazed on the flushed cheek and wandering of his poor friend, he felt at first as though he had indeed caused the suffering he witnessed; but calmer reflec- tion convinced him that the shock Franz had undergone had but served as a breath to fan into flame the smouldering fires of the fever in his nature. The crisis of the disease was passed, and Franz lay in a sleep calmer than any he had known since the commencement of his illness. At the foot of the bed sat Rodolph, engaged in finishing a sketch of a group of peasants, but suspending his work from time to time, to cast an anxious glance at the pale face of the sleeper. The window was open, and the warm and perfumed breath of an Italian June came pleasantly and refreshingly into the sick room. By the bed was drawn a small table, from which the medicines had been removed, and which now bore nothing less inviting than a dish of grapes and figs, and a huge bouquet of roses. The doctor had assured Rodolph that Franz would awake free from fever; so he had spent some time in removing as many as possible of the evidences of sickness from the room, and in arranging the fruit and flowers in the most tempting and picturesque manner. Rodolph had finished his drawing, and was holding it off at a distance to consider it cri- tically, when a low voice pronouncing his name struck his ear. Away went pencils and drawing to the floor, and, springing to the bed- side, he saw, to his delight, that Franz was not only awake, but free from fever. ‘*My kind friend, have you been here all this long while?’’ asked the invalid in a faint voice. ‘I have been very ill, have I not?’’ ‘*Very ill,’’ answered Rodolph, endeavoring to steady his voice. ** Ah, I remember,’’ was the answer, ‘‘ the Venus—the idiot girl’’—and, turning aside, he buried his face in the pillows. **Franz, can you ever forgive me?’ asked Rodolph, taking the wasted hand of the other as he spoke. ‘*Forgive you?’? answered Franz, looking up; ‘‘rather let me thank you for awakening me from my insane folly. I have been an idle dreamer too long; but I am aroused at last. I have much lost time to make up, many wasted opportunities to retrieve, many follies of which I must repent. I will work; my old- en days of inspiration and enthusiasm will return; and I shall yet carve out for myself a glorious name. I am no longer an idle vision- ary. Life claims me, life and my art.’’ He paused, and seemed to struggle for breath. ** Raise me, Rodolph,’’ he faintly articulated ; **T want air.”’ His friend did as he requested. The change of posture seemed to revive him; and after a moment’s silence he again spoke: ‘‘ A month ago, I did not care for life, so wretched was I beneath the influence of the strange love that possessed me. But now, with the future stretching bright before me, with a free heart and a joyous spirit, I shall indeed rejoice to live.’? His head drooped lower, and a strange pallor crept over his features. ‘‘ Life! life and art!’’ he muttered. ‘But I am weary, and would rest.’’ His head sank back upon Rodolph’s arm. Slowly the mournful eyes closed; and the weary heart and troubled brain were at rest indeed and forever. Note.—The foregoing tale is founded on fact. During the first empire, a daughter of the Baron Le Gros of Paris pined to death, it is said, for love of the Apollo Belvidere, then at the Louvre. “Cor a Divo.’’—The origin of this phrase is quite curious. It is told in history that Dido, a queen of Tyre, about 870 years before Christ, fled from that place on the murder of her hus- band, and with a colony settled on the north coast of Africa, where she built Carthage. Being in want of land, she bargained with the natives for as much as she could surround with a bull’s hide. Having made this agree- ment, she cut the bull’s hide into thin strings, and, tying them together, claimed as much land as she could surround with the long lite she had thus made. The natives allowed the cunning queen to have her way; but, when anybody played off a sharp trick, they said he had ‘‘cut a Dido,’’ and the phrase has come down to our day.

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THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER.—NO. XV. IN A SERIES OF FAMILIAR CONVERSATIONS. PERSPECTIVE. THE POINT OF SIGHT.—( Continued. ) P. Now, can you answer the question I gave you last month? I will say it again. Why do some lines in perspective incline to a van- ishing point, and why do others incline to a point of sight ? L. We have been trying to find out, papa; but we cannot tell. P. Well, then, let us look back at the draw- ings made last month. How many lines in- cline to the point of sight in the first drawing ? L. None, papa. The point of sight in the drawing is on the front edge of the box, and the lines are running away from it to the two vanishing points. P. Now examine the second picture. Jon. There is no vanishing point at all, papa; but the lines of both squares incline to the point of sight. P. If you pay attention, I will soon make you understand why that is so. Do you re- member that you imagined a straight line drawn from Ion’s eye at the point of station to the point of sight ? L. Yes; and we said it would make a right angle with the horizontal line. P. And so, also, the sides of the two boxes are at right angles with the horizontal line. I think you can understand that; I will say it again. Just as the line drawn from the point of station to the point of sight is at right angles with the horizontal line, so, also, are the horizontal lines of the side of the box. You can see it at once if I mark the position of the lines upon the ground, so. The line from the point of sta- tion to the point of sight is, you see, in the middle, and the side lines of the two boxes run exactly in the same direction. Ion. Or we may say, papa, may we not? W. I will say it once more. The line from the point of station to the point of sight, and in a parallel direction, the lines of the sides of the boxes are in a parallel direction. P. And now you have the reason why they incline to the point of sight, instead of a van- ishing point. All lines in a picture which are parallel with the imaginary line from the point of sta- tion to the point of sight, must incline to the point of sight. Here you have the position of the square and of the imaginary line in the first drawing. Why do both sides of the square incline to vanishing points ? Ton. I can tell at once, papa. It is because they are not parallel with the imaginary line. P. You may now make the rule respect- We will repeat it to- ing the point of sight. gether. The part of the horizontal line which is ex- actly opposite to the point of station is called the point of sight. When drawing a figure in perspective, we must make an imaginary line between these two points; then, all horizontal lines which may be parallel with that line, must incline to the point of sight. Suppose that I make you another drawing ; and, instead of placing both boxes parallel to the imaginary line, I will alter the position of one, so. What do you say of the position of the right hand box ? Ton. That it is in a direction parallel the imaginary not with line. W. So, the lines of the sides will not in- cline to the point of sight, but you will have to make a vanishing point for them. P. That is correct. Here is the drawing, with the position of the square altered. ZL. Yes. You have made two vanishing 129

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130 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. a hee —_ points, papa. Can you make more than two vanishing points in a picture? P. Yes. In some large pictures there may be twenty ; because, when you draw an object in perspective, in twenty different positions, each position, unless it is parallel with the imaginary line, will require a new vanishing point. LESSON 8.—Tue Pornt or Station, AND THE Pont or Sicur. 1. The point at which we stand to look at any object is called the point of station. 2. The point on the horizontal line which is opposite to the point of station is called the point of sight. 3. When drawing an object in perspective, we must make an imaginary line between these two points ; then all the horizontal lines in the object which are in a direction parallel to that line, must incline to the point of sight. 4. When the lines of an object in perspective are not parallel to this imaginary line, they must incline to a vanishing point. P. Let us recapitulate a little. What do you call a figure with three sides? L. A triangle. P. Tell me the four-sided figures you have heard of? L. The rhomb, the rectangle, the parallelo- gram, and the trapezium. P. Let me hear you describe a square ? What is a rhomb? What is a rectangle ? What is a parallelogram ? What is a trapezium ? (An accurate definition of each figure should be given by the reader.) What do you call the line drawn through a picture to show which objects are on a level with the eye? L. The horizontal line. P. What do you call the point in the hori- zontal line opposite to the point of station ? Jon. The point of sight. P. What do you call the point opposite to the point of sight, the place where you stand to look at the picture ? Jon. The point of station. P. What is the use of the point of sight? Jon. When we make a side view of any ob- jects, and draw the horizontal lines of those objects, they must all slant. And they must slant in such a way that they would meet at that point if they were long enough. P. In what direction would they slant ? W. I can tell you, papa. In different di- rections. The lines above the point of sight must incline down to it, and those below the point of sight must incline upwards, just as you may see in this side view of a ladder | a a | eR 7 a 1] ‘ which Ion and I have drawn. If the ladder were exactly in front of us, all the rails would be drawn with horizontal lines ; and now, you see, papa, that some of the lines slant up- wards, and some down, as I told you. P. But one of the lines is quite horizontal. W. Yes. That is because it is on a level with the eye; so it falls on the horizontal line, and it must be horizontal. P. I can understand. If you please, here is one more question. I said that, when you are drawing objects in perspective, the lines of some of them must incline to the point of sight; while in others the lines must incline to a vanishing point. How can you tell which lines must incline to the point of sight?

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A CHAPTER ON ‘‘CLUBS.” 131

Jon. I remember, papa. In order to know, we must draw an imaginary line from the point of station to the point of sight; then when we draw the sides of those objects which are parallel to this line, their horizontal lines must incline to the point of sight. P. But suppose the objects are not parallel to this imaginary line ? Jon. Then they must incline to a vanishing point. P. Suppose, then, that I get this ladder of yours, and only turn it round a little way. You see that I have turned it round a very little. Now, if I were to make a line with a piece of string from your eye to the point of sight opposite, would the ladder be parallel with that line ? . Ion. No, papa. P. Then, of course, I must make the lines of the rails incline to— W., Jon, and Z. A vanishing point. P. Then see me do it. Now, you may all sit down and copy both these ladders in your drawing-books. In one ladder the lines are to be drawn to the point of sight. In the other, they are to be drawn to a vanishing point.

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A CHAPTER ON BY TONY ‘*Crvss, indeed! quite a quaint title for a magazine article.’’ But hold, gentle reader—‘‘ what ’s in a name?’? Well, there is something in a name, after all; and the simple monosyllable which graces the head of this article has its own pe- culiar significance. The name of a mother is a talisman to the infant mind; the name of a lover sounds sweet to certain ears; and the name of the Pater Patria reminds us of many hard-fought battles, as also of the present glo- rious position of our common country: buta truce to names. Now every intelligent person is aware of the existence of various clubs, or societies, as they “CLUBS.” DUTELL, ESQ. | are usually called; and no country village is considered respectable without this desidera- |} tum. Therefore we have ‘‘ Dorcas Sewing So- cieties,’? which are clubs of industrious ladies bent on charitable purposes. We have the ‘* Woman’s Aid Society,’’ which is truly phi- lanthropic in design. And, as an offset to these laudable enterprises, we have ‘‘old fogy’’ anti- progressive ‘‘clubs,’’ ‘‘ Young America’’ fast ‘‘clubs,’’ and the identical ‘‘ club with which Pat Mooney struck Tom Dougherty!”’ Now the latter institution may be considered an exception to American refined society ; but it’s a glorious thing in ‘green old Erin,’’ especially at a ‘“‘wake’’ or on a “ fair day.”

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: 182 GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. I might greatly extend my category; but to come to the point at once—there is no club which sounds so musical to the ear of a maga- zine publisher as a ‘‘club’’ of prepaying sub- scribers! And that elucidates the title to our present article, and brings me to the com- mencement of my story. (Pardon the appel- lation.) "Twas a beautiful day, In the sweet month of May, (as the poets say,) that your humble servt. (myself, that is) conceived it his duty to aid the circulation of a popular magazine; so, taking up a fresh number of ‘‘ Godey,’’ I sal- lied forth down to the notorious and somewhat immortalized village of Gossipdale (’tis still a village, though not a village still !), to try the experiment of raising a ‘‘ club.”’ My advent was not overly propitious, how- ever, as a little circumstance occurred which threatened to throw a damper on my sanguine efforts. Passing down the principal broadway (every village has its Broadway !), I encoun- tered a group of seemingly excited juveniles, evidently discussing a subject of some import- ance, and, assuming the ‘‘time-honored’’ pri- vilege of the village, I made bold to inquire the cause of their confab. ‘* Why, stranger, aint you hearn the news?’’ exclaimed the boys—‘‘there’s goin’ ter be a balloon ascension!’’ And with this answer to my query, the boys, with the common eti- quette of boys in general, dispersed in a helter- skelter manner. Some airy aeronaut, I soliloquized, who wants to be in advance of the season. But the whole village seemed to be aroused to ac- tion by some unusual occurrence, and had it been ‘‘ dog-days,’’ instead of a pleasant morn- ing in the mild, exhilarating “‘month of months,’’ I should have fancied that some unfortunate victim of the canine race was struggling under the effects of that peculiar star whose mystic influence holds such pre- dominant sway over the bow-wow family in general. I proceeded on, however, careless of consequences, relying on the honor of my mission for success. Presently I found my- self face to face with some of the matrons of Gossipdale. Now for my débétin the ‘ club’’- ing business, I said to myself; and, assuming the self-relying maxim of the renowned Sam Patch, that ‘‘ some things can be done as well as others,’’ I advanced. **Good morning, mothers !’’ was my friend- ly salutation; ‘“‘ your good people seem to be all life to-day.”’ ‘* How did you say, sir?’’ inquired one old lady, throwing up her specks, and scrutinizing me with the eye of an orderly sergeant. ** Your village is all on the qui vi e,’’ I re peated. ‘Our village is jist where it allers was, mis- ter,’’ interposed another old lady, in the fami- liar tone of Ike’s mother; and for what I know to the contrary, it might have been the veritable Mrs. Partington herself! ‘One o’ them ar city folk lookin’ up a school,’’ suggested a third party (aside) to her neighbor No. 4; ‘didn’t you hear him use some highfalutin’ kind of words? Now thar’s dear old Mr. Ferule, who larned us and our children too, and he never uses any but dacent understandable language !”’ ‘* Whar did he say our village was?’ in- quired No. 4 of neighbor No. 2; but, ere the reply came, I interposed, fearing that the tone which the conversation was tending might prove prejudicial to my mission. ‘* Ladies ! (and the appellation had an elec- trical effect on my audience), Iam getting up a club for the only Lady’s Book in America! and I desire to call your attention to its excel- sior worth.’’ Opening the Book, I displayed the engravings and fashion-plates, and was about descanting on the merits of the contents in general, when No. 1 exclaimed— ‘* Well, if that aint jist the picter of what passed through our village jist now.”’ And sure enough it was. A lady decked out in crinoline was the occasion of all the stir and gossip that preceded my arrival in Gossipdale. Here was the key to the balloon ascension ! ‘Well, if that’s what you call fashions,”’ exclaimed No. 2, ‘‘I guess all the calerco manerfacteries in the world can’t supply stuit enuff for women and female children !”’ ‘* But, ladies,’’ I interposed, ‘‘the book con- tains excellent reading, valuable receipts, in- structions for making dresses, and ay “Did you ever!’’ exclaimed No. 3; ‘‘men teachin’ us wimmin folks how to dress our- selves! And what ’s the price of your book, Mr.?”? ‘*Only three dollars a year! and consider- ably less for a club of six persons.”’ ‘Three dollars!’’ continued No. 3; ‘‘ why that will pay for two quarters’ schoolin’.”’ **Yes,’’ added No. 4, ‘‘and we can dress ourselves as we allers did !’’ **Your picter book ’s all very nice, Mr.,’’ exclaimed No. 1, ‘‘ but it won’t sell here. You had better go up to Farmer Grace’s, up the

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MARGARET'S HOME. 133 hill yonder, his darters like sich things, and p’rhaps they ’ll buy your book.”’ Acting on the latter suggestion, and mutter- ing to myself ‘* Where ignorance is bliss, ’tis folly to be wise,” I accordingly wenced my way to the residence of Farmer Grace, and was cordially received by the whole family. The Book was lauded by his beautiful and intelligent daughters, and to their influence am I indebted for the hand- some ‘*‘club’’ made up. I am not in the least discouraged. My next visit shall be to Borrowdale, and I feel san- guine of accomplishing a reformation there. MARGARE A HOUSEHOLD BY ALICE B. T’S HOME-* TALE. HAVEN. (Continued from page 36.) CHAPTER XIV. ‘*Isy’t it most time to get ready for church, sister ?”’ Susie had been promised that she should sit up all the afternoon, and was in a great hurry to have the morning go by. The bells were ringing, and Margaret had accomplished her double duty—the work down stairs, and the care of their own room; yet she still sat by the window, leaning her head down, appa- rently looking into the street below. She saw, indeed, the houses, and the little stir of the neighborhood, but it all passed uncon- sciously before her. The milk-shop on the corner, with the two tin cans standing on the pavement before the door, was the centre of attraction. Shivering little girls, Susie’s age, or younger, with their unfastened dresses be- traying a poverty of underclothing, and their stockingless feet, protected only by dilapidated shoes—or boys, Master Washington’s week- day associates, with the little earthen pitcher slung on their arms, and both hands in their pockets for warmth, were the general messen- gers. Now and then, an unshaven man, with the soil of the six days’ work still upon him, or a slatternly belated housewife, made their appearance on the same errand, or to bring water from the hydrant, nearer still to Mar- garet’s window. One or two decent-looking church-goers issued forth, an entire family, father, mother, and two toddling little ones, in answer tothe summons of the church bells, which now increased their cheerful clamor, as if to arrest those who were usually unmind- ful of their voices. Susie wondered what had happened to Mar- * Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1858, by Alice B. Haven, in the clerk’s office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. VOL. LVII.—12 l | garet since Friday, the memorable day eon which the new dress was brought. She had been so cheerful and bright all through her stay at home, and especially that evening came hurrying up stairs, and gave her such a great hearty kiss on both cheeks, encouraging her to talk about the home of their own, that they were to have some day, which had now become a fixed idea with Susie. She looked at her sister wistfully, and thought it would be pleasanter if Margaret would always be cheerful, as she once was, and not have these long sober thinking times, when she would look and look so earnestly at one thing, whether it was her work, or a book, or the floor, it did not seem to make a great deal of difference which. ** Ain’t you afraid you ll be late?’’ urged Susie presently. Margaret, herself, had taught the child the most exacting punctuality in church-going. “*T don’t think I shall go to-day.”’ “Don’t you? Ididn’t know you were sick, sister. Is it your head ?’’ ‘* No,’’ said Margaret, turning around, short- ly. ‘What makes youthink I’msick? Yes, I am, Susie. Sick? Yes, heart-sick,’’ she said, despairingly, to herself. **T thought you must be.’’? Susie was at once satisfied that there was a reason for Mar- garet’s dulness, but sorry that she was suffer- ing. ‘‘I thought so last night when you came home. I don’t think anything but being very sick would keep you from saying your prayers and going to church.”’ ‘‘Were you awake when I came to bed? You did not speak.”’ ‘“*No; because I thought perhaps you would be saying your prayers, after you lay down, and I should disturb you. I’m so sorry you can’t go. I wonder if I shall ever go again!

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) : ) | 134 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. it seems solong! Does the pretty little girl that sits in the corner come this cold weather ? and the lame woman with the brown bonnet ? She always speaks so nicely to me; when I don’t even know her name. Isn’t it funny? I should like to hear ‘We praise Thee, O God!’ once more. It always sounds so grand, and rolls so through the church, and fills it. When I shut my eyes, it seems as if I could see them all standing on the glass sea, with their harps up in heaven; all ‘the glorious company of the apostles;’ and the holy mar- tyrs and theprophets, just as it says. I won- der if it is wicked to care so much more about the singing than I do about the sermon, sis- ter? Which do you go to church for most ?’’ Ay! what, indeed, did she go to church for? Why was she staying away? What had checked even her prayers? It was the tumult of her soul which ske could not quell—the doubts of God’s love and kindness to her—the miseravle murmurs at her lot—the sullen de- fiance of His rule over her—and the resolve to walk by the light of her own human will and inclination. It was unjust that she should always be suffering for others ; denied love, when it was wasted on one who already had every other gift in lavish profusion! She stood in a great strait, and there was no one to counsel her. Her father would not under- stand it all, and was indeed so self-absorbed that he could not enter into the difficulties that surrounded her; no one could, for no one knew the extent of the sacrifice which con- science demanded. What did she gotochurch for? Was it not to seek the very help and guidance which she so much needed? And this simple childish question gave her the clue to the labyrinth of temptations by which she was surrounded. ‘*T think I will go, after all’’—and she be- gan her simple toilette; ‘‘1 may feel better after I am in the air.’’ Again the temptation whispered: ‘‘ What good willitdo you? You can say your prayers as well, or better, at home.”’ But she was roused to see the first wilful erring from the straight path of duty, and though she did not know how it could avail her, she would take the first step towards a return. She was not late, after all; for the fear of being so had quickened her walk through the side streets and courts that made her most direct way to the old parish church where her mother before her had prayed; yes, that the child then kneeling beside her, the quiet, brown-haired Margaret, might have the strength and guidance she needed, in just such trials as these which had come upon her. The tide of fashionable church-goers was pouring into the iron gates, as she caught sight of the well-known stone coping that surmounted the wall on either side—the heavy parti-colored brick wall that screened the slumbers of the dead in that quiet old church- yard from sight, or sound of profanation ; and standing in their midst, so that the shadow of the cross on the graceful spire passed from grave to grave, as the day deepened to noon, or faded to twilight, was the honored house of prayer in which they had been baptized, and from which they were carried to their burial. It needed no stately arches, no fretted aisles to enhance the reverence with which all who worshipped there turned towards it, as to their home. It had that which wealth, hhow- ever lavishly or tastefully displayed, could never give. Huge, and perhaps ungraceful in its proportions, its walls were tableted by memories of the dead who die in the Lord, chief among them the venerable patriarch, whose snow-white hair had been crowned with many a glory from the square chancel window, as he ministered before it to those nis hands had signed as lambs of the flock, in their in- fancy, at its font, and were sent forth by him, in later life, as ‘‘ servants and soldiers’’ of the cross. Heavy wreaths of ivy, bearing witness to its age, crept everywhere, garlanding its walls, and essaying even to drape the spire itself, with its unfading freshness, or stooping to trail o’er some moss-grown memorial stone that marked the last resting-place of one who had seen the foundation laid, and this witness to the zeal and piety of our forefathers rise to its completion. The close turf had scarcely lost its freshness, and overhead swung the heavy, drooping branches of the old willows, that ranged with statelier trees, and were the first to send a thrill of the spring’s green glad- ness into the close dull heart of the city. There are not many such monuments to the goodness of God to his people from generation unto generation, in this age of rapid growth and unsparing change; thrice hallowed and vene- rated be those that remain. Bonds like these drew many of its worshippers from their far-off homes in more fashionable quarters, unheard of when the substantial dwelling-places around it were in their prime. It was thus that its congregation united strange contrasts, now that the homes of the poor and lowly had crept up to the very boundaries on one side, while

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MAKGARET 8S HOME, 135 on the other fashion still lingered, and the call to daily prayer reached even to the shock and turmoil of business life, the great com- mercial centre of the city. It was a house of prayer for all people, one of the few in which ‘*the rich and the poor meet together’ to ac- knowledge that ‘‘the Lord is the maker of them all.’’ Margaret stood aside on the broad stone flagging for a moment, to let the children of the Sunday-School pass with their teachers— a quiet little train of bright and thoughtful faces, chiefly gathered among those who had few other opportunities of instruction; while the teachers entered on their self-denying ministry from all classes of the congregation. Overhead the chimes were singing through the morning air a glad triumphant strain; and as Margaret listened, and looked, thoughts of her own childhood came with softening memories. She had once made one of the little procession, as Susie now longed to do. How well she could remember looking out eagerly, as she crossed the churchyard, to catch a glimpse of her mother’s loving smile, and claim her hand as they passed up the dusky gallery stairs to their own seat, just as she ascended them this morning, and knelt in that very place, kept through all the changes of years, because it had been her mother’s. She could not pray, even here; only a wild, lonely yearning fcr help and hope filled all her scul as she rose and waited for the service to commence. Susie’s old friend, the lame woman in the brown bonnet, was already there, in the oppo- site corner of the square pew, her prayer-book opened, and her spectacles laid across the page, to be ready when the voluntary should cease. From below came the clatter of chil- dren’s feet as the boys of the school crossed the marble pavement of the chancel to take their places in the opposite gallery. Margaret looked down to the chancel, with its warm, crimson draperies, to the window through which poured a softened light ; but it was not this which attracted her. She tried to turn away, tried not to see what she knew would only add to her disquiet, ‘‘ but looked, never- theless.’’ The high square pews, with their original ample space and comfortable furnishing, were occupied chiefly by family groups, each a pic- ture in itself. There were fathers with snow- white hair—dignified matrons with the uneasy little ones of the second generation at their side; while young men and maidens had come up through the good old paths in which their childish steps had been guided to join in prayer and psalm. Margaret saw the family she sought for in their accustomed places, all but one; and, as she looked again, he came in, and stood un- covered, with bowed head and thoughtful, reverent face; not as one who conforms only to an outward custom; every deed of Lewis Churchill’s life attested that he worshipped ‘‘in spirit and in truth.’? With Margaret’s strong devotional feelings, this had strength- ened the confidence and respect with which only she had first regarded him; and it was still the highest, purest element in what she had come to know was ‘‘ inordinate and sin- ful affection,’’ since he was now bound to another. Weak and unmaidenly it might have been before; but now it was to be re- sisted as sin. Should she ever conquer it ’— looking for his face day after day, as the siek and the prisoner watch for the sunshine, thrilling to her very heart at the sound of his voice, starting at his step, however distant ; knowing that they should never meet again, it might be; but no—not while in his daily presence. How quietly happy they all seemed in each other! Mr. Churchill looking round upon them with pardonable pride—his wife anxious for Agnes’s comfort, as if she had been still an invalid—Kate checking the bright glances and dimpling smiles of her merry face with the remembrance of the presence they had come up to seek. She saw it all, even the thanks of Agnes, as her brother moved the footstool at his mother’s signal, and marked the psalms for the day. Why had God set them in an Eden of affection and con- tent, leaving her a famished beggar at the gate? Strive as she would, her mind wan- dered back to this. Through the prayerful, hopeful words of the psalm, through the so- lemn petitions of the litany, nothing reached her dull and heavy heart until the prayer especially appointed for the day put into her very lips the cry that had striven vainly for utterance :— ‘‘With great might succor us! that, whereas through our sins and wickedness we are sore let and hindered in running the race that is set before us, thy bountiful mercy may speedily help and deliver us.’’ A soft mist, as of a coming fruitful shower, gathered in her hot and tearless eyes, as she rose from her knees; but, though she could not see the page before her, she heard the clear, deep voice of their pastor in the lesson that followed :—

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136 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ** Be careful for nothing ; but in everything, by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known unto God. And the peace of God, which passeth all under- standing, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.’’ But no, this gentle counsel, this loving pro- mise were not for her. Thanksgiving she could not offer; peace she could not hope for. The prayer suited her best ; and she said over to herself: ‘‘Through our sins and wicked- ness, we are sore let and hindered.’’ She remembered, when the noble face and figure of their rector appeared in the high, old- fashioned pulpit, so near that his eyes seemed to seek her, as he looked around upon his people, that the sermon was the last of the Advent lectures, in which God’s people had been called upon from Sunday to Sunday to rise and shake off the sloth and coldness which had gathered about them through a year of prosperity and pleasure. It was as it had been a trumpet call in its earnest solemnity to self-conviction and self-denial, even to the right hand or the right eye. Secret faults, subtle besetting sins, darling self-indulg- ences—all these stumbling-blocks in the King’s highway, were to be set aside, that “‘the rough places might be made straight, end the crooked places plain.’? This was not the comfort and help Margaret had longed for. She had asked for a draught of oblivion; and a sharp, searching knife probed the wound instead. It had left her without excuse; but she only felt more hopeless and despairing as she rose to leave the church. The living tide thronged outward from the aisles, and down- ward from the galleries above. There was a crush in the vestibule, Where the two currents met; a pause, filled by nods of recognition, and fragmentary comments or questions, among kinsfolk and acquaintance, on the sermon, the weather, and—shall we record it ?’—still more indifferent topics, but all in that hushed church-going whisper which still preserves the outward decency demanded by the day and the place itself. It seemed strange to Margaret, battling with the solemn call she had listened to, to hear such words as these :— ** Out, after all! My dear, your new bonnet is lovely.’’ ‘* Pretty woman, Miss ——, if you can catch a glimpse of her. She sat with the ——s.”’ **Cold for the season, though. We shall have an old-fashioned winter, I imagine. Better go home and dine with us.”’ ** All such miserable sinners? No, my dear madam ; don’t set yourself and myself down among the ignoble crowd. Don’t you think the sermon was rather long ?’’ While she wondered that even these gay triflers could so soon put aside the earnest words of a faithful pastor, or watched the thoughtful stillness of many more faces that flowed past, beneath her, as she stood arrested midway in her descent, some one, pressing close to her, said: ‘‘ Ah, if we laid such words to heart! If the Advent warning was only listened to as it should be!’’ And she turned to find Miss Churchill and her brother. He was bending down to his sister as she spoke ; but when he raised his head they stood face to face, and pressed so closely in the throng, as she stepped down quick.y with the instinct of avoidance, that for a moment his arm sup- ported her; and she could almost hear the strong, measured beating of his heart. It was doubtless the surprise of meeting her there so suddenly — it had never chanced before ; though sometimes she had had a distant greeting—which called such a sudden light into his face. ‘‘Margaret!’’ And he put out his hand, this time undenied. Only for one moment! He had called her ‘*Margaret,’’? too! It was part of her old self- deception. But the dying are allowed fare- wells; and she suffered him to take her hand into the warm grasp of a friend, not the dis- tant, ceremonious touch of civility to an infe- rior. She felt his breath upon her cheek, met his glance with one that said she knew not what! nothing that she need blush for! a friend—he had shown himself her friend— might know that his compassion was not wasted. Then the crowd swept out over the time- worn threshold, and separated them. That was as it should be. Henceforth, they were to go separate ways; she knew it now; that touch—it thrilled her yet—had given hei ** knowledge of the good and evil’’ in her own heart. She must not trifle now; she must not linger in the way of temptation. CHAPTER XV. Sunpay was always one of Margaret’s trial days. At other times, she could escape the sight at least of the ill-regulated, noisy house- hold; and, as is usually the case where there is no family rule, self-indulgence and its con

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MARGARET’S HOME. 137 sequent evils reigned paramount on this day of all others. Margaret still held to her own mother’s teaching, quaintly expressed by Ruth’s homely proverb, ‘‘ Never clip the wings of the Sab- bath.’’ But Mrs. Grant put ‘‘idle’’ for ‘‘ holy”’ in her reading of the Fourth Commandment, and observed it to the letter. Church-bells were her signal for rising ; and the remains of breakfast, which it was Margaret’s business to prepare, usually stood on the table at her return from morning service, the children undergoing their weekly ablutions in the mean time; or, if they escaped out of doors before their mother seized upon them for the dreaded ceremony, this duty also fell upon their elder sister, or Susie, when she was the little maid of all work. There were two hours, at least, of hurry and confusion at noon, of teazing, or quarrelling between the boys, and sharply administered rebukes of tongue and hand from their mother, in the pauses of making her own elaborate toilet for the afternoon’s neighborly visiting. Her husband always passed it in long strolls on the outskirts of the city, ending in the vicinity of some railroad depot, where he could meditate at leisure on his own premedi- tated improvements in machinery. Time had been when he too attended service regularly ; but his desultory habits, and failing health, his shabby dress, and the whole gradual low- ering of moral tone, had broken in upon higher duties ; though he had ever kept aloof from the uncongenial society of the low and vicious around him. The purple satin hat was displayed con- spicuously upon the bed in the adjoining sleeping-room, when Margaret entered the house, and Mrs. Grant was arrayed in a shot silk of orange and blue, the remains of her wedding finery. Dinner was hurried; the boys being allowed to come to the table just as they had risen; although the baby had on a clean dress, and sat up on the floor quite peaceably, employed with a bone from the dinner-table, which did not in the end im- prove his personal appearance. Mrs. Grant’s anxiety as to the weather, and the state of ‘‘ the walking,’’ was followed by the modest request that Margaret would ad- minister the required quantity of soap and water to the faces of the boys, and look up their clean clothes. ** Dear knows, it ’s seldom enough J go out of the house, with all I have to do!”’ she said, in the whining voice which always grated 12# more uncomfortably on Margaret’s ears than her loudest wrath. ‘‘ Everybody else can dress themselves up and parade the streets but me. Here I must stay and slave in this kitchen, just because some people are put up to think themselves too sick to work, and other people allow them in their laziness. It’s all very well to say I shall be made a lady of some day. I ’ve heard that a great many times. Ishould like to see some of the money a little closer.”’ Yet, for all this expressed unbelief, Mrs. Grant’s special errand abroad that day, next to displaying her new bonnet, was to astonish her acquaintances with the information that her husband had made a fortune, and they were going to move up into Second, or South, as soon as their quarter was up. ‘** Never was such boys !’’—and she sat Mas- ter Al violently down in his chair—‘‘ chasing all ’round the neighborhood, instead of stay- ing home to be washed and dressed decently. But when should I get time to do it, any way, with every step to take for myself, and sick people to wait on into the bargain! Dear knows! if J could have my time to myself, and work at my trade, I wouldn’t be beholden to the best man living for victuals and clothes ; but some people have everything just as they say, and I must put up with it, and be ground down, and walked over!”’ It was hard to sit still and bear these stings of the tongue, unjust as they were ; but harder still for Margaret to see her father push away his scarcely tasted dinner, and leave the house to find quiet, at least, abroad. She was glad to do anything that could hasten Mrs. Grant’s departure, and breathed more freely when that lady set forth, arrayed in a gay shawl, crowned by the splendor of the new bonnet,.and carry- ing the baby with her, his face looking out from under a compound white satin hat, with a marvellous plume! Left to herself, the boys gave little trouble comparatively, although they declined her invitation to stay and “‘ play at Sunday-School”’ after they were dressed— her only successful method of reaching them. Ruth’s kindly face appeared just as this was accomplished, on her way to afternoon service. ‘‘Susie not down stairs yet?’’ she said, in her cheery voice. ‘‘ But I guess she’s just as well off where she is, for a week or so yet; keep her in bed as long as youcan. I don’t suppose you ’Il leave her this afternoon again, but I thought I’d just step round and see. Bless me, just look at the child!’’ Margaret started, as well as her visitor, to

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138 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. 1 see the apparition at the foot of the stairs. It | and always gave a parting bend to her black was very imprudent, but very natural on Sn- sie’s part. She thought Margaret never would get through, and, wrapping a shawl around her, slipped out of bed, and down stairs, at the risk of being carried immediately back again. ** How natural it does look, clock and all !”"— and Susie, sitting on the lower stair, gazed around with visible satisfaction. ‘‘I’m so tired of our room !”’ ** You ll please go back to it as fast as you can, though, you crazy little thing! Don’t wait a minute now—”’ ** But, sister—”’ **Not a word till you’re in bed again! Ruth will come up; won’t you, Ruth?’’ And Miss Susie found herself deposited up stairs before she had a chance to make even a feint of resistance. Ruth sat down in the sewing- chair, while Margaret made the little invalid’s toilet, the child being all excitement at this partial escape. ‘Shoes and stockings, and a dress. Oh, please Margaret, a real dress! not a clean nightgown, and that hateful sacque! Though it ’s a very nice sacque, and I don’t know what I should have done without it; only I’m so tired of it now. That’s real good !’’—and Su- sie stood on tiptoe to see herself in the glass over Margaret’s dressing-table, but turned away with a rueful look. “Oh, dear! I’m just like a bey! Oh, I @idn’t think I looked so queer! What made you cut my hair so close? What am I going to do?’ “Dot Why, nothing; let it grow,” said Ruth, complacently. ‘“‘Guess you wouldn’t have had much of it left if I hadn’t cut it off, or much of yourself, either. Hold still, and let ‘Margaret part it. There! frizzle up the ends alittle. There! She does make a first- rate boy ; doesn’t she, Margaret? Little peaked yet.” Susie’s spirits were beyond her strength thongh, and she was soon very glad of the easy chair Ruth had arranged in her primitive way, and to lie quietly in it, an odd old-fash- ioned little figure, holding a clean pocket handkerchief tightly in her almost transpa- rent hands. Rath found it was time to leave them, when she had seen her fairly settled, and paid a visit to Margaret’s mirror on her own account, not from any vanity, but force of habit, and exactness ; for Ruth liked to pin her shawl at just such an angle across her plump figure, Leghorn bonnet before she went into the street. *“*T suppose Miss Agnes hasn’t been in to see you again,’’ she said, turning this way and that in the vain attempt to see the back of her head. ‘It’s hardly time yet, though ; and I suppose she’s pretty busy, too. Well, good-by, children ; I shall run in to wish you a merry Christmas, in the course of the week, and to see Susie’s new frock on. I suppose it’s to be done by then. Don’t come down to the door, Margaret! I guess I can find my own way out by this time.” They were all alone again—the house to themselves, in Sabbath stillness and quiet. Susie could not resist castle-building. ‘*Isn’t it beautiful to be all alone so? Oh, sister! don’t you wish we could be, all the time? Just suppose this was our house, and we could have Ruth, or any one we liked, come to take tea and spend the evening, and have custard for supper, or sponge cake, and a fire in the other room. I don’t think it’s nice to have people sitting around while dishes are being washed, and have to ask them to move when we sweep up. We’ll have two rooms, any way; won’t we ?’’ ‘But what would become of father then ?’’ Susie’s countenance fell. ‘‘That’s the only thing that troubles me, when we ’re living all] alone. WhenI’m playing so, you know. I should like to have father always; and I think he would work as he used to, if he had a nice warm room, and sit with us evenings, and read ; don’t you? I wonder if I ought to wish to have the boys too! But I can’t, yet; though I may, some day, when they don’t teaze me so.”’ **Well,”’ said Margaret, ‘‘I suppose that we might be doing better to-day, at all events, than turning the boys out of house and home. You haven’t told me yet what you did all the morning. Oh! did Ruth tell you Miss Agnes’s last name? I meant to have asked her. Per- haps it’s some one that used to go to Sunday- School when I did.”’ ‘No, I forgot. We always have so many things to say when we begin to talk about her. I do hope she will come again. She could come and take tea with us, perhaps, if it was all our house. How nice it would be to hear her and you talk together! I shouldn’t want to say a word.”’ It was not Susie’s unknown friend, but Ade- laide Long, who rose before Margaret while Susie rambled on. But she claimed a truce

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ons ed il n= SS — w& CO we lO—Sl—‘“‘lYy SOCIAL GAMES. 139 with her own heart for the time. She must be all alone with her God; not even the child for a witness to that final conflict. ‘*But what did you do while I was gone to church, dear ?’’ ‘Oh, I was going to tell you! I read the Psalms, and the Lessons, and then I found my text in the Bible and learned it. I think it such a nice plan to say my text to you every night, and I read so many little bits before I find it! How many sick people and blind people Jesus cured; didn’t he? I learned a verse in Romans to-day, where all the short ones are.”’ Margaret looked for the well-known chapter in the Bible she had taken from her dressing- table, while Susie folded her hands, as she had said her prayers in babyhood, and repeated— *** Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves; but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.’ I learned that to put me in mind not to talk back, or be ugly when I go down stairs again. I knew I shouldn’t do it, ever,’’ added the child, in a penitent tone. But Margaret had gone on to the end of the chapter, wondering if the message had not come to her instead of Susie. She remembered the simple direction she had so often relied on in darkness and doubt: ‘‘If any lack wisdom, let him ask of God.”’’ She had asked it all that day, and what di- rection had she received? To give up all that lead to temptation, though dear as her own right hand; to leave retribution to one who knew all, and could make her innocence clear as the noonday. Self-conquest, at any sacri- fice, was before her; and the first step was to turn away from every association that had nourished her foolish dream, or that could lead her into the temptation of cherishing un- availing murmurs at her lot. up her place to do this; and it must be done at once. It involved all her dependence; she had no other resource, no friend to secure another situation. Could it be duty? and the thought of Susie turning to her for every little comfort or pleasure, and her father ab- solutely in need of her aid. Of a truth the right hand and the right eye were required of her. But might she not, at least, free herself from this humbling suspicion before she left? Would it be more than simple justice, such as another might demand of her; for, if she gave no ex- planation—and what could she give ?—the very act would be held as proof of her guilt. Mr. Churchill might doubt it now, at times— as to-day, it had seemed forgotten—even he could then hold her guilt as certain. And yet she read again, and the words burned them- selves upon her memory: ‘‘ Avenge not your- selves; if thine enemy hunger, feed him ; if he thirst, give him drink. Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good."’ And was not concealment the meat and drink her enemy had need of ! Poor girl! The strength to make this utter self-renunciation could come alone from the hand that required it; and while Susie, wea- ried by unusual exertion, slept lightly in the comfortable chair, Margaret knelt and prayed as she had not done for many a day, with wrung, outstretched hands, and bitterness of heart that none but God could know. (To be continued.) She must give — -- #+eoeee — - ~ SOCIAL Many of the most amusing and interesting games we have are merely puzzling ones, which require some little ingenuity for the uninitiated to discover, but are very simple to play. One of this sort is The Witch. One of the company leaves the room—he must be one who is in the secret—while an- other enacts the witch, and the rest fix upon some word which the spirit (outside) is to guess. The spirit enters. The word selected is Table. The witch, who is armed with a GAMES. wand, must address the spirit, each sentence of her speech commencing with a consonant in the word, and the vowels being given by thumps on the floor with her wand. One thump for A, two for E, three for I, four for O, five for U, thus— Witch. Trusty spirit (one thump). Be pre- pared. Jet me hear you answer my demand for the word on which this worthy company have fixed (two thumps). To the surprise of the company the spirit answers: Table. He is again sent out, and the word Elephant selected.

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| | 140 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Witch (two thumps). Let me hear, my spirit, what word we have selected (two thumps). Prepare to answer me. Have you listened at the door (one thump)? Nay; I did not sus- pect you; don’t be hurt. Trusty spirit, give the word. Elephant—cries the trusty spirit. The Wizard is another game of this description. One of the company—the spirit—goes out, while the others name some article which he is to guess, among others named. The secret being for the right word to be named after some four- legged animal ; as, the word is Book. Wizard. Is it a cake? Spirit. No. Is ita bucket? No. Is it a bottle? No. Is itatable? No. Is ita book? Yes. Or one question will do, put in this way— W. Is it a cake, bucket, bottle, dog, book, boot, pencil, or pen? S. Book. That article being named after a four-legged one. The game may be varied by making the right article come after one beginning with some particular letter, or of some particular color or shape. Another of these guess games is My Trade. Two players are in the secret. One goes out ; the other is to have some trade put upon him by the company, and the one outside guesses it from its coming after a profession: as, a Mason is the trade agreed upon. The one inside asks: These good people are going to bind me toatrade; what is it? Is it a butcher? No. 2. No. A shoemaker? No. A lawyer? No. Amason? Yes. A very pretty game for the exercise of the memory, and one in which many pretty speeches may be exchanged by the ladies and gentlemen, is called The Butterfly. All the gentlemen take the names of differ- ent insects: as, one is a Bee, another a Wasp, another an Ant, Caterpillar, Beetle, Spider, or any other insect—the leader being the But- terfly. The ladies must each take the name of a flower. The Rose, Honeysuckle, Eglantine, Violet, Lily, or Daisy. The names being distributed and under- stood, the Butterfly, as first speaker, com- mences talking about what he pleases. It must be remembered that no person must pronounce a name either of an insect or flower that has not been adopted. Each player must take up the discourse as soon as the last speaker has pronounced his or her name. The three words, Sun, Gardener, and Watering-pot must be intro- duced occasionally. These being words for which the players are not so well prepared as for the flowers and insects, produce many for- feits ; for, if any one does not speak as soon as his name is called, or act when these words occur, he must pay a forfeit. At the mention of the Sun, all should rise from their seats ; at the Gardener, all the jlowers hold out their hands as if asking his assistance, and the in- sects put out their arm as if frightened, and wishing to push him away; at the word Watering-pot, all the flowers start up as if re- freshed by his showers, while the insects fall upon one knee, as if prostrated by the same. These postures must be kept until the speaker names another flower or insect. I will give an example of how the game proceeds. The Butterfly. Here I am, embarrassed by my tempting situation. Among so many beau- tiful flowers, how can I select one with whom to hold an enchanting flirtation? If I name the Violet— Violet. How, gaudy insect! dare you insult me by proposing a flirtation? Know you not that my lowly position makes me constant to the Caterpillar. Jaterpillar. Charmer! so to enchant me. No longer shall the beauties and smiles of the Honeysuckle— Honeysuckle. How, sir! dare you insinuate that I smile upon you? Why the very Gar- dener ( flowerg and insects act as directed) knows to the contrary. I live in the beams of the Sun (all rise), and nothing less brilliant can attract me. Even the Wasp— Wasp carries on the conversation. This is avery pretty game, and may, when there is wit and good nature among the players, be made very entertaining and attractive. Another game of the same character as the last is called The Painter and the Colors. The leader of this game is the Painter; the rest of the players are the colors, as, Green, Red, Blue, Orange, and Pink. When, as the ~~ 42 Dose > —

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SOCIAL GAMES. 141 Painter relates a story, he names a color, the bearer of that color must reply by naming another. There are also four other words which must be answered in various ways. The Painter is supposed to have a commis- sion to paint a particular subject, on which he founds a discourse. When he names the palette, all the other players cry out: Colors! Colors! If he says colors, all cry : Here we are! If of his pencil, they cry: Brush! Brush! If he speaks of turpentine, all cry: Help! Help! When any one of the colors names another, the one called upon says: Here, sir! Mistake or hesitation to be punished by forfeits. Example. Painter. Iam commissioned by His Majes- ty, King of the Cherokee Peninsula, to paint a picture of Pocahontas at the Siege of Troy. I have sketched my plan, and my colors— All. Here we are! P. Must be prepared to be placed upon the palette. All. Colors! Colors! P. Ican’t employ you all at a time witha single pencil. All. Brush! Brush! P. So I will now commence. Pocahontas’s eyes are to be painted first. They were black. Black. Green. Here, sir! P. Her dress must be of the most brilliant Green! Green! orange. Orange. Pink and yellow. Pink and Yellow (together). Here, sir! I have several times mentioned forfeits as penalties in the different games. Iwill givea few at the end of each article. When a person is called upon for a forfeit, he or she must deposit some article—a bou- quet, handkerchief, smelling-bottle, glove—or any trifle, with the leader. At the end of the game, the forfeits may be redeemed by the owner, by going through some performance named by the leader. FORFEITS. A Song upon a Given Subject. This forfeit is seldom called for, unless the person offending is known to have a pleasant voice, and some impromptu powers of versifi- cation. Ifthe person singing cannot improvise a song, he may sing one from his collection that will have some relation to the given sub- ject. The Will. The player, ordered to make his will, be- queaths to each of the company something he possesses, either personal property, or a moral or physical quality. This is of course an in- exhaustible source of compliments and sar casm. Comparisons. The culprit must compare a lady (if the culprit is agentleman), or a gentleman (if the culprit is a lady) to some object, and explain in what respects she (or he) is like and un- like that object ; as, for instance— Miss Jones compares Mr. Smith to a sheet of white paper. He is like it because he easily takes impressions ; unlike it, because one im- pression with him is easily effaced by another, while the paper is more constant. Or— Mr. Jones compares Miss Smith to a clock. She is like it because she ornaments the room in which she is placed; unlike it, because, instead of calling his attention to the hours, she makes him forget how swiftly they are flying . Kissing the Candlestick. When ordered to kiss the candlestick, you politely request a lady to hold the candle for you. As soon as it is in her hand, she be- comes the candlestick, and may be saluted as such. Tuere is a strange, unnatural kind of plea- sure felt sometimes in the continual attacks of evil fortune; the dogged courage with which we bear up against the ills of fate, swimming strongly as the waves grow rougher, has its own meed of consolation. It is only at such a time, perhaps, that the really inde- pendant spirit of our natures is in the as- cendent, and that we can stand amid the storm, conscious of our firmness, and bid the winds ‘‘ blow and crack their cheeks.’’ Yet, through how many sorrows must one have waded ere he reaches this point. Through what trials must he have passed! How must hope have paled, and flickered, and died out! How must all self-love, all ambition, all desire itself have withered within us—till we become like the rock amid the breakers, against which the waves beat in vain! —Good intentions, like the waxen wings of Icarus, melt with the morning sun.

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: : : AUNT TABITHA’S FIRESIDE. No. XVII.—THE ESCAPE-VALVE. BY EDITH WOODLEY. ** You don’t know, Lizzy, how good it seems to be home ag’in, and settin’ in my own chimbley corner. It pears to me as if I’d been gone an age.”’ **You have been absent a long time, aunt.” * Arter all, as the old provarb says, home is home, though ever so homely.”’ *“*T hope that nothing happened, while you were gone, to prevent you from enjoying yourself.’’ **La, no, indeed! I’ve had as good a visit as ever was. Wherever I went, the folks were glad to see me, and I was glad to see them. But I tell ye I al’ays bore one thing in mind, and that was not to wear my welcome out. If I seed the people were oncommon busy where I went, I timed my visit accor- din’ly. Sometimes I didn’t even take my bonnet off. The last pairson I went to see was Lois Hart. You’ve heerd me tell of Lois ?”’ **Oh yes, often !’’ **She’s a cousin of mine, and about my age, and for the matter of a dozen years has kept Josh Dawberry’s house. I had some misgivin’s about goin’, for everybody told me that Josh was one of the crastiest old bachel- dors that ever breathed the breath of life. But, come to consider on it, I knew that Lois would be dreadfully hurt if I left the place *thout jest givin’ her a call, so I made up my mind to go. Arter I was there, I tell you *twas no easy matter to git away. Lois was detarmined that I should stay and drink a cup of tea with her. She’d been bakin’, she said ; and, besides a loaf of riz bread, light as a cork, she ’d plenty of sarcer-cakes, equal to any pound-cake that was ever made, to say nothin’ of custards and cramberry tarts. And that wa’n’t all, she said. She had some per- sarved squinches, that jest the sight of ’em would make a pairson’s mouth water. But you know, Lizzy, that, when I go to see a fri’nd, ’tisn’t for the sake of da‘nties ; and so I telled her the plain truth—that I felt a leetle shy of Mr. Dawberry—had heerd he was sub- jeet to fits of ill humor, and, like ’s not, would think my room better ’n my company.”’ ***La, no he won’t!’ says she. ‘Josh isn’t 142 the worst critter in the world, I wouldn't have you think. To be sure, he’s a leetle mite waspish sometimes; but, sence I con- trived the ’scape-valve for him, in a gin’ral way, I get along as smooth as can be with him.’ ‘** A scape-valve?’ says I. ‘What kind of a critter is that ?’ ‘Lois smiled, and p’inted to the furder corner of the room. ‘“**You don’t mean that black cat, with white feet,’ says I, ‘that’s been settin’ still, as if she was watchin’ a mouse, ever sence I’ve been here ?’ ‘**Sartain,’ says she. ‘That’s the very critter.’ “*Du tell!’ says I. And with that I jumped up, detarmined I would s’arch into the mystery. ‘If this don’t beat all!’ says I; for, when I come to look, I found ’twa’n’t a livin’ cat, on’y a stuffed one. ‘It’s all a riddle to me,’ says I; ‘and, if you ’ve no par- tic’lar objection, I should be raly glad to have you tell me the meanin’ of it.’ ‘** Well, I’ve nothing ag’inst your knowin’ about it,’ says she; ‘though I shouldn’t like to have the people round here know, ’cause, if they did, they ’d be sartain to tell Josh; and then there ’d be an eend to all the benefit to be had from my scape-valve, that’s done me sich an abundance of sarvice.’ ‘“‘She then went on to say that, when she first went to keep house for Josh Dawberry, she had a cat that used to belong to her sister Nancy, afore she went out West. Nancy sot a dreadful sight by her, and charged Lois to take good keer of her. She promised she would ; and she kept her word as fur as she was consarned ; but you see she couldn’t per- vent Josh from barbecuin’ her. If he was in an ill humor, whenever he happened to come _ acrosst her, he was sartain to take her on the toe of his boot, and send her the whole length of the room. But it is said to be an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and Lois soon found out that, whenever he had a chance to vent his spleen on the cat, he sildom or never found fault with her. ‘‘ At first, she thought she might be mis- _ a—_ @ of rr a a ae ee

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\o 1 h eTvwrivelceshC ™hUCUY av ff Fry 3S Ba AUNT TABITHA’S FIRESIDE. 143 taken, and so hid the cat away when she seed Josh a comin’. But she soon got tired of that, for, if anything in the course of business had chanced to rile him, she found that his ill humor, if the cat was on’y in the way, seemed, as ’twere, to ooze out at the toe of his boot, jest as some people’s courage is said to ooze out at the eends of their fingers. ** Not havin’ the common method to flee to, he did nothin’ but scold, and fret, and find fault with every individiwal thing she said or did. Some days, when she felt a leetle nar- vous, and he kept scoldin’, and complainin’, and sayin’ there wa’n’t a mouthful of any- thing on the table that was fit to eat, she said her head felt as if ’twas spinnin’ round jest like atop. Soshe put on her considerin’ cap, and thought and thought, for she didn’t like to have the cat abused, or be abused herself. ‘Jest at this juncture, as old Deacon Drew used to say, she had a chance to give puss away, where she knowed she’d be well treated; and, what was full as fortinate, by some means or other—she didn’t tell me how—she got the stuffed cat I’ve been tellin’ you about. ‘“** Well,’ says I, ‘’tis strange he never found out the trick you sarved him.’ ***Lal’ says she, ‘when he’s in sich a blus- ter, he don’t know a single artom what he’s about, more’n a pigeon that’s shot in the head.’ ** Jest as she said this, who should come in but Fanny Bright, a gal—so Lois told me ar- terwards—Josh took quite a fancy to. He wa’n’t to blame, nother, for she was a right- down purty gal; there was no sich thing as disputin’ that p’int. She wa’n’t a bit proud and starched up, if she was handsome—was free and sociable as could be; and, while Lois was gittin’ supper, we chatted away, as if we ’d al’ays been acquainted with each other. ‘*When everything was about ready, Lois went and took the ’scape-valve, as she called it, and, arter she’d put it on a cricket that had a cushion to it, sot it in sich a perspice- rous place that a pairson, on enterin’ the room, couldn’t very well help seein’ it. She winked at me, and says she, ‘There’s no knowin’ whether ’twill be needed or not ; but then, you know, ’tis best, as the sayin’ is, to be on the sure side of the hedge.’ ‘*Fanny Bright looked kind o’ surprised, but asked no questions. ‘°Twa’n’t long arter this afore we heerd Josh a comin’. He opened the door of the room where we were all of a sudding ; and it swung back so fur as to hide me; and some- how Fanny, who sot some ways off, was purty much out of sight, behind one of the winder- curtings, so that he didn’t obsarve that any- body was there. Well, the first we knew, the stuffed cat, stool, and all was landed ag’inst t’other side of the room. But that wa’n’t the worst of it. You see that, while Lois was puttin’ some of the other things in place, so as to make room for it on the table, she sot the dish of squinch sass on to a leetle, three-legged light-stand, which, onfortinately, was right in the rake of the ’scape-valve. Well, of course, when it hit ag’inst the light- stand, it tipped it over; but where do you s’pose, Lizzy, the dish of persarves landed ?”’ ** On the floor, didn’t they ?”’ ‘No; right into Fanny Bright’s lap; and, what was strange, it landed right side up, so as not to splash her gownd sca’ce a mite. On’y a few leetle spatters went on to it. Well, it didn’t ’pear to disturb her an artom. She took the dish into her hand, and riz up jest as calm as aclock, and sober as a deacon, and then made alow curchey. ‘I’m greatly gbleeged to ye, Mr. Dawberry,’ says she. ‘I’m amazin’ fond of persarves, and this kind is my favorite; but I’m afeared you ’ve gi’n me more ’n my sheer.’ **T raly wish you could ’ave seed Josh when he first diskivered Fanny Bright was there, and found out that the dish of squinch sass had slid off of the light-stand into her lap. He was the shamedest-lookin’ critter that ever was. If he’d been ketcht stealin’ a sheep, he couldn’t have looked more so. Old Tray, when he gits a scoldin’ and skulks away into some sly corner, can’t hold a candle to him. He turned red as a blaze of fire, and, arter a while, stammered out: ‘I’m sure, Miss Fanny, I’d no thought—that is, I’d not the leastest notion in the world, Miss Bright—no kind of idee that you were here.’ **¢Oh !’ says she, jest as cool as a cowcum- ber, and lookin’ as meek as a lamb, ‘ ’twas all a mistake, then! You didn’t mean to give me the persarves ?’ ‘‘Sartainly ’twas,’ says he. ‘Not that I shouldn’t be willin’ to give you a whole cart- load, as tothat. But there’s no need of my tellin’ you so. You know, and have known, ever sence last ’lection time, that, accordin’ to my idee of womankind, there isn’t a single female pairson among the fair sect that’s more ’n equal to you.’ ‘“**]T don’t mean to call in question your ginerosity, Mr. Dawberry,’ says she, ‘though

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144 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ~- I must refuse to accept it ; for, if you should use as little ceremony in presentin’ me with a cart-load of squinch sass, or any other sass, as you did in givin’ me this dishful, I mightn’t come off as well as 1 have now.’ ** *Didn’t I tell you ’twas a mistake ?’ says he. ‘I don’t think you ought to lay it up ag’inst me.’ ***Oh, I sha’n’t !’ says she. ““*Then,’ says he, ‘I sha’n’t despair of seein’ you settin’ at the head of this table, as mistress of the house, afore long.’ ‘**That’s a p’int that may be considered ruther doubtful,’ says she, ‘specially if you continer to wear spring-sole boots.’ ‘**Spring-sole boots?’ says he. ‘I never wore a pair in my life. What made you think I wore ’em ?’ ‘** Why, when I obsarved that one of your feet flew up, so all of a sudding, when you stepped into the room. It seemed to me it must have been caused by some hidden spring, ’thout you’re so onfortinate as to be afflicted with St. Vitus’s dance.’ ‘*His face was red afore; now it turned purple. ‘I sha’n’t stand this,’ says he. ‘I ain’t goin’ to be made fun of under the ruff of my own house.’ ‘* For my part, when it come to this, I be- gun to be scairt, and so, I guess, did Lois. ***Come, come, Josh!’ says she, ‘seein’ *twas you that begun the fun, it’s nothin’ more ’n reasonable that Fanny should have her sheer, pertic’larly when she come so nigh havin’ her gownd splashed all over with the squinch sass.’ | | | ‘“*Seein’ that Lois had made sich a good openin’, I thought I’d lend a hand, and throw a leetle mite of ile on the troubled waters, as *twere; for, arter my cousin had exarted every narve to git sich a nice supper, I thought ’twas asin and a shame to git into sich a wrangle as to spile our appetites. So I riz, and come for’ard. ‘Mr. Dawberry,’ says I, ‘I think jest as cousin Lois does. When you throwed that ’ere cat across the room in jeest —for I take it for granted you were in jeest— you of course had no idee of the accident that was goin’ to foller; but, sence it did foller, you ought to expect that this young lady would joke you a leetle mite about it. If you take her in airnest, as a nat’ral consequence she ’ll take you in airnest, and then, like’s not, you ’ll be at sword’s p’ints ever so long. There’s no sich thing as cale’latin’ when *twill come to aneend. Now, take my word for’t, Mr. Dawberry, ’twill be dreadful on- comfortable for you to have your feelin’s riled up every time you and she happen to meet.’ ** Well, if youll b’lieve me, he cooled right down in a minute. ‘I raly b’lieve you ’re right, marm,’ says he; ‘and, if Miss Fanny will agree to let the matter drop, I will.’ ‘**T told you some time ago,’ says Fanny, ‘that I shouldn’t lay it up ag’inst you.’ ‘So we all sot down to the table, and everything went on as calm and pleasant as a summer’s mornin’. For all that, if Fanny Bright ever consents to be Josh Dawberry’s wife, I shall lose my guess.’’ e PAPER FLOWER-MAKING. THE DAHLIA. A pretty flower, which we advise the be- ginner to attempt, is the Dahlia, of which Fig. 7 gives four patterns. It is composed of sixty-six petals. . No. 1, which forms the heart, must be green. Of No. 1 there should be 16 “ 2 “ ““ 18 “ 3 “ “ec 20 “ 4 “ “ 12 Commence with No. 1, drawing together with the pincers the two extremities from right to left, the one before the other, and roll them lightly. No. 2 pinch and roll in the same manner, but reversing them; that is to say, one side must be rolled back, and the other forward ; then bend backwards the base of the petal to divide it into quarters lengthwise. Those of No. 3 wilk be the same as the pre- ceding, without bending back the base of the petal. No. 4%s to be goffered as No. 1, care being taken to leave a space between the bending of the petals, which are all made open, and slightly rolled at the extremities. Finish by giving to these petals a strong bend backwards, to part them at the base. Construction.—The sixteen petals of No. 1, which are green, are to be attached to the heart with silk; then gum upon these last, in two rows of nine each, the eighteen of No

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PAPER FLOWER-MAKING. 145 Fig. 7.—THE DAHLIA. 2; then No. 3 the same, two rows of six each ; and, lastly, the twelve of No. 4 in one row. Terminate by attaching one green star. Na # f There are Dahlias of which the heart is not green ; it is then to be made of the same colo: | |} as the flower itself. Fig. 8.—POMPON ROSE. POMPON ROSE. The patterns of the Pompon Rose are three in number. (See Fig. 8.) Three petals are required of No. 1, four of No. 2, and four of No. 3. Goffering.—No. 1 is goffered by twice pinch- ing each part of the petal. VOL. LV11.—13 No 2 \ a the ball tool. No. 3 is also indented; but of the four, two must have their superior extremities turned back. Construction.—Construct in the same way as | No. 2 is indented in the centre by means of | | Gum one directed for flowers of large petals. on the other, then place beneath the flowers the green jagged calyx, which forms the base of the natural rose. | Mounting.—When the stalk is papered, pre- pare the thorns which occur on the stem of the Rose. Take some green crape, and cut it into small strips on the bias, and roll it round the stalk as in the manner of papering. FIELD POPPY. Fig. 9 represeuts the two patterns for this flower, and the other for the bud. Four are necessary. Goffering.—There are several ways of goffer-

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: : : 146 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Fig. 9.—FIELD POPPY ae en FETAL OF BUD FEM 4 LLM? 4 | ra - ‘\ {ng the petals of the Field Poppy. First fold the flower of the Poppy. Common ink will the petals in two, and then crumple them do for this purpose, though Chinese ink gives lengthwise, in crape, as follows :— a better black. Fold the petal in two in a piece of crape on Construction.—The petals are to be attached the bias, and place it under the palm of the to the heart with silk. Finish by placing two left hand; the pressure you give it serves to small green bracts to form the calyx. The crimp it. Before crimping it, it is necessary bud is formed and mounted in the usual way, to imitate the black marks which occur within and is to be made more or less open. THE UNLOVING WIFE. BY CLARA AUGUSTA. | not all evil. Lowdown in her being there | was a fountain of gorgeous fancies and noble | thoughts; but the foul waters of worldly pride had crusted over the pure spring, and there, sealed up and crushed, her better im- CHAPTER I. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly, Self-pleasing folly’s idle brood, Wild laughter, noise, and thoughtless joy, And leave us leisure to be good! | Light they disperse; and with them go pulses slumbered. The summer friend, the flatt'ring foe. At length, she loved—a man young, hand- Gnar's Ode to Adveretty. some, and wealthy ; and by his side her proud Sue married Rupert Anderson—and for heart softened, and her love of admiration fled what? Not for love, not for money, not for away. His approbation was enough, his at- respect! Wherefore, then? The history of tention all she asked for. In a happy reverie, her life shall tell. time fled along, and an awakening came. Bertha Wells was a belle, a beauty, a spoiled Mr. Wells, the father of Bertha, became child. Reared in luxury, the idol of her pa- largely involved in the affairs of a heavy rents, the pet of her older and plainer sister— manufacturing firm in a neighboring city. every whim gratified, every wish answered— The company failed, and their indorsers went her naturally good heart had been overrun down in the wreck. Mr. Wells, the former with the turbid waters of vanity and selfish- ‘‘merchant prince,’’ found himself possessed ness. Not that she might confer happiness of but a mere pittance, scarcely enough to support life comfortably. It has been said on those around her lived Bertha Wells, but | for the flattery and adulation everywhere | that adversity tries and proves friends ; and poured out freely at her shrine. Yet she was the family of the bankrupt soon learned by

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THE UNLOVING WIFE. 147 bitter experience the truth of this saying. Those whom they had fondly deemed true and devoted friends turned from them in mis- fortune ; and admirers of the beautiful Bertha fluttered around gilded flowers. This was, of necessity, a sad lesson to the young girl, who had fancied the world true and sincere. But a heavier trial was appointed unto her. A letter came to her from Herbert Falmouth, her lover, coldly renouncing her love, and asking a release from his engagement; and a release was given; but none knew the pain it cost poor Bertha to write those few polite words which informed him that henceforth they were to be strangers. Bertha Wells’s pride alone kept her from sinking beneath this accumulated weight of misery; and, though in the presence of her parents and sister she was gay and frivolous as ever, in the privacy of her chamber anguished sighs burst from her sorely tried heart. About two months after the failure of her father, Bertha Wells read, very calmly te ali appearance, the marriage notice of Herbert Falmouth and Mary Elmore, the richest heiress in the city. She laid down the paper without comment, and finished dressing for an evening- party, the last she expected to attend in her own circle. At that very party, she met Rupert Ander- son, a man rich in this world’s goods, and rich in the honors and emoluments which go to make up the essentials of a great man. He had outlived his first youth. Full thirty years had passed over his head, brightening and perfecting his character, until men called him the soul of nobility, and women blushed their admiration of his virtues. This man received an introduction to Ber- tha. He pursued the acquaintanceship, and, strange as it may appear, offered her his hand in marriage. And she accepted it. Not a word was said on either side of Jove, that is so much talked of, and yet so little understood. There were none of those fond imaginings of future bliss so common with all lovers—no low, ten- derly whispered words—no soft hand-pres- sures; in short, nothing of that outgushing affection which makes the hours of courtship the most blissful of existence. The wedding festivities were gorgeously brilliant, the bridal trousseau magnificent, and the bride the envy of those who had but so recently scorned her. To his splendid resi- dence in New York Mr. Anderson took his young wife ; and here she was surrounded with all that elegance could suggest, and a refined | | taste select. Admiration met her at every step; flatterers were her daily companions; and, if such can fill the heart with joy, then Bertha must have been happy. But, as we said be- fore, she had not called Rupert Anderson by the sacred name of husband because of his wealth; neither did she love him. In her eagerness to show to Herbert Falmouth her contempt of him and his baseness, she had accepted Mr. Anderson, married him out of pique; and well she knew him ten times worthier of a true woman’s love than he who had cast her away in the hour of misfor- tune. CHAPTER II. *Tis not to make me jealous To say my wife is fair, feeds well, loves company, Is free of speech, sings, plays, and dances well ; Where virtue is, these make more virtuous. SHAKSPEARE. New York fashionable ‘‘ upper tendom’’ were thrown into commotion by the arrival of a French nobleman, a bona fide count, fresh from his castle on the Loire. Wealthy, and endowed with whiskers, moustache, and soap- locks ad infinitum, he was admired, flattered, and petted; and of necessity he became ac- quainted with the belle, Mrs. Anderson. J /e married belle! We would, for the credit of our fair countrywomen, for American honor, that such an expression would not apply to one of our sex this side the Atlantic! We would that every married woman could find happiness in the society of him she has chosen from all the world to be her husband, without forsaking the charmed circle of home, and going forth to court the admiration of shallow- brained fops and titled libertines! Were this the case, how many families, now made wretched by strife and discord, would become the very abiding-places of content! and the bright spirit of joy would settle down to re- main with them forever. Count De Velours was attentive to Mrs. Anderson. He became a visitor at her house. She was pleased and flattered by the notice of so distinguished a gentleman, and exerted to the utmost her unrivalled powers of pleas- ing. Evenings were passed at a fashionable theatre or concert-room, with the Count at- tending; and mornings flew by in recherché little gatherings in Mrs. Anderson’s spacious parlor, where the Count was the great centre around which the satellites revolved. The Count appeared wholly devoted to the ee

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148 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. beautiful Mrs. Anderson; and she, with her foolish vanity, was proud of her distinction. And where, during all this, was Mr. Ander- son? Deeply buried in business, interminable columns of figures, vast sales, and unheard-of speculations. Money flowed freely into his already overflowing coffers; and still he toiled on—toiled because he must do something. Vague rumors of his wife’s gayety reached him; but he turned an indignant ear to all who would have called her indiscreet. ‘‘ Ber- tha had a right to spend her time as she pleased ; he was not her jailor.’’ And thus was she left exposed to the great temptations which surrounded her. Through all the days of their wedded life, not one word of affection had been exchanged between Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. They were polite, even kind to each other—nothing more. And people (as people are apt to do in such cases) talked and wondered. But did the heart of Bertha—her woman’s heart—never yearn for a close and tender eommunion with him who should have been her nearest and dearest friend? Ah, yes! many times. There came, after the cessation of gayety and excitement, hours of miserable loneliness and depression, when she would gladly have laid her head on her husband’s breast, and craved sympathy ; but she argued : ‘*Mr. Anderson is so cold, so much older and graver, and dislikes such childish demonstra- tions. He would be displeased.’’ And so she shut her heart to the blessed monitor that would have brightened her existence, and kept on the same unvarying round of folly. Oh, could she but have known the nature of the man she had married! Could she have known of the wild yearning of his soul for the companionship of a kindred, then might both have been happier. And Anderson, when he thought of the estranged life they led, said to himself: ‘* Bertha is young, thoughtless, and fond of admiration. The love and devotion of one heart, the heart of an old, sober man like myself, would but ill recompense her for the loss of society.’’ And the world-weary man turned back to the endless routine of business, and forgot his home-yearnings. CHAPTER III. No reck’ning made, but sent to my account With all my imperfections on my head! Ghost in Hamlet. Ose night, in the streets of New York, there was a murder committed. The Count De Velours, on returning to his hotel from a call on Mrs. Anderson, had been stabbed to the heart by some unknown assassin, and was found by the watchmen in the last agony. Suspicion—notwithstanding the immaculate purity of his character hitherto—fixed itself on Mr. Anderson. Circumstances conspired together to make ‘‘ assurance doubly sure ;”’ and a warrant for his arrest was issued. The well-known intimacy of the murdered Count with the wife of the suspected man; the fact that Mr. Anderson was absent from home on the evening of the murder, and that he had been seen by a friend in the self-same street where the deed was committed but a half hour before; the fact that the dagger found upon the body of the Count bore upon its hilt the initials ‘‘R. A. ;’’ and many little incidents, which at another time would have been passed over as unworthy of a thought, conspired to make his guilt clearer; and, after a brief examination, he was thrown into prison to await his trial. Then the better nature, the nobler part of Bertha Anderson triumphed, and shone out the more brightly that it had been so long held in subjection. She woke from the aim- less life she had led, as it were by magic, and became the earnest, self-sacrificing wife, alle- viating the distress, and striving to redress the wrongs of her husband. She wrote for her sister Sarah, who was still unmarried, to come and take charge of her household; and, immediately on her arrival, Bertha set herself about preparations for Mr. Anderson’s de- fence. She retained the most talented and experienced counsellor in the State, and, in conjunction with him, set on foot innumerable projects to bring to light the real murderer. Not for a moment did she doubt her husband’s entire freedom from guilt. Not the slightest shadow of a suspicion in her mind dimmed his lofty honor. Every moment of time which she could spare from her exertions to establish his innocence was passed in his cell; and there, within the gloomy prison walls, those two beings awoke to a new life. For the first time, words of affection were spoken between them, and heart spoke to heart, and was hap- pier. It was like the breaking of a long pent ocean of waters. Mr. Anderson’s voice sank to a thrill of exquisite tenderness when he spoke the name of wife; and Bertha grew a very child, a guileless, happy child, in the assurance of her husband’s love. It ail seemed very unlike the natural emotions of

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THE UNLOVING WIFE. 149 aman with the doom of a murderer staring him in the face. Bertha’s courage did not fail her. Even to the last trying moment she was hopeful. Ap- pearances were very much against Mr. An- derson, she well knew; yet she trusted greatly to the influence of his spotless life and the efforts of his counsel. The day appointed for the trial came. Early in the morning, while Bertha sat holding her husband’s hand, and striving to imbue him with her own buoyant hopes, the prison-door opened, and the jailor gave Mrs. Anderson a scrap of paper. On it were written, in an un- known hand, these words :— Come immediately to A dying woman makes ‘*Mrs. ANDERSON: No. 7 B—— Street. the request.”’ It bore no signature, and Bertha turned to her husband for advice. ‘*Go, dear wife,’’ he said, kissing her adieu. ‘*God will take care of you.” A poorly clad woman awaited her at the door ; and, signalling an omnibus, Bertha bade the woman follow her into the carriage, and they drove rapidly to B—— Street. Up two flights of rickety, creaking steps to the third story of a miserable wooden building they went. The meagre woman pushed open a worm-eaten door, and they stood in the cham- ber of death. A blank, comfortless chamber it was, almost entirely destitute of furniture ; and, although it was mid-winter, there was no genial fire amid the gray ashes upon the hearth. On a straw bed, in one corner of the apartment, lay a young and surpassingly beautiful woman, beautiful even in the very embrace of death. Her dress, though torn and soiled, bore evidence of refined taste ; and her voice, as she addressed Bertha in broken English, was very sweet. ‘*Madam, I amdying. I cannot talk much ; but I have written all that is necessary. You will blame me a great deal; but I do not de- serve too much censure. He destroyed me, body and soul, and I have had my revenge. Here, uniler my pillow, you will find a packet. Take it, but do not read it until the trial of your husband. It will free him from all stain. Woman,’’ she said, turning to the poor woman who had brought Bertha, ‘be my witness that every word written therein is solemnly true.”’ There was a dead silence in the room for a few moments; then the dying girl groped feebly among the bed-clothes. Her large o£ v dark eyes glowed with an intense light. She murmured, faintly: ‘‘ Ah, it does its work well! slow, but sure. God, pardon me! I have sinned grievously! Ciel! darkness cometh! Oh, don’t tell my poor father that I died by my own hand, I his cherished child ! Grand Dieu! faites nous miséricorde !”’ The lips ceased their convulsive quiver- ings, the pale hands unclasped, and the lady sank back a corpse. Horrified beyond mea- sure, Bertha dispatched the woman for assist- ance; and, on the arrival of a police-officer, she hurriedly communicated to him the cir- cumstances of the strange death she had witnessed, and then hastened back to her husband. The trial had already commenced ; and she made her way to the court-room. Placing the packet in the hands of her hus- band’s attorney, she sat down, and with forced calmness awaited the issue. The evidence for the prosecution was given, and dark indeed looked the prospects of the accused. There was no more to be said on the part of the commonwealth; and the counsel for the prisoner arose. After a few introduc- tory remarks, he said: ‘‘Since coming here this morning, a document has been placed in my hands by the wife of my client—the con- fession of adying woman. For the acquittal of my client, it is necessary that I read this document here in the presence of the court.’’ CHAPTER IV. Lost, lost, lost! A beautiful soul is lost! A beautiful soul went down, down— Down like a ship at sea! Who knows if a soul be lost ?—ALprRICcH. THERE was a death-like stillness in that crowded court-room when the attorney ceased speaking; and, as he unfolded the paper, every eye was fixed upon him. In a clear, firm tone of voice, he commenced :— ‘¢*To make clear the character of an inno- cent man, it is necessary that I relate the brief tragedy of my miserable life. I had hoped to die with the secret of my crimes locked in my own breast; but I cannot see a fellow being condemned to an ignominious death for my guilt. ‘¢T was born in the southern part of France, of Italian parents. ’Neath that sunny sky, the strong passions of my nature strength- ened; and my beauty ripened into lustrous

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- 150 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. perfection. Men looked at my face, and flat- tered it. Early in life, I became acquainted with Leon De Velours, a descendant of one of the most distinguished families in the régime. I loved him; he professed to return my love. For some reason, to me inexplicable at the time, my father, who was my only living rela- tive, forbade me De Velours’ society. But I, inflamed with love as I was, disregarded my father’s warnings, and met my lover clandes- tinely. I gave him my deepest love, my fullest confidence, and was lost. On my knees I be- sought him to marry me. But in vain. He laughed at my entreaties, scorned my tears, and called me by a name too vile to be written. Then did I curse him; I registered the oath— an oath which would curdle your cold Ameri- can blood with horror—to follow my destroyer unto the ends of the earth with an undying vengeance ; and well have I kept that vow. ‘‘De Velours fled from his estates, for well he knew my nature. I traced him on board a Mexican schooner, and engaged passage for myself in the next American bound vessel. I dogged him through the principal southern cities of the United States, keeping him ever in view, but never revealing myself to him. Four months ago, I followed him to this city. On a certain night, I saw him emerge from the mansion of arich and beautiful lady, whom he had been attempting to corrupt with his foul flattery. My hand could be stayed no longer; and in the night and darkness I re- vealed myself to him; and, ere his paralyzed lips could syllable a word, I plunged my dag- ger in his breast. I do not regret the deed. God will, I trust, forgive me the crime, for he knows how sorely I have been tempted. I am dying, even as I write—dying by my own hand. A death upon the scaffold I will not suffer; and I cannot see an innocent man judged for my crimes. When this is read, I shall be beyond the reach of earthly laws—in the hands of a justly incensed God. I have deserved Divine anger, and I go to receive it. Riccra ALEPPo.”’ The attorney ceased; and the nightmare spell, which had bound the congregated list- eners in a thrall of silence, was broken. Friends crowded forward to take Mr. Ander- son by the hand, with the manner of those who welcome one restored from the very arms ef death; and Bertha, her arms around her husband’s neck, and her face hidden on his bosom, sobbed for very joy. Rupert Anderson and his wife went home, home to a life of love and happiness. Hence forth, every grief and every joy was shared between them; and, when the man came home from business wearied and care-worn, careful hands attended to his comfort; and warm lips pressed his with the seal of devoted affection. In her own home, in the bosom of the beautiful family which sprang up around her, Bertha found her greatest happiness ; and in the earnest love and sympathy of her husband she was blessed. Errect oF Coton upon Heattu.—From seve- ral years’ observation in rooms of various sizes, used as manufacturing rooms, and occu- pied by females for twelve hours per day, I found that the workers who occupied those rooms which had large windows with large panes of glass in the four sides of the room, so that the sun’s rays penetrated through the room during the whole day, were much more healthy than the workers who occupied rooms lighted from one side only, or rooms lighted through very small panes of glass. I observed another very singular fact, viz., that the work- ers who occupied one room were very cheerful and healthy, while the occupiers of another similar room, who were employed on the same kind of work, were all inclined to melancholy, and complained of pain in the forehead and eyes, and were often ill and unable to work. Upon examining the rooms in question, I found they were both equally well ventilated and lighted. I could not discover anything about the drainage of the premises that could affect the one room more than the other; but I observed that the room occupied by the cheerful workers was wholly whitewashed, and the room occupied by the melancholy workers was colored with yellow ochre. I had the yellow ochre washed off, and the walls and ceiling whitewashed. The workers ever after felt more cheerful and healthy. After making this discovery, I extended my observations to a number of smaller rooms and garrets, and found, without exception, that the occupiers of the white rooms were much more healthy ¢ than the occupiers of the yellow or buff-colored rooms; and, wherever I succeeded in inducing the occupiers of the yellow rooms to change the color for whitewash, I always found a cor- responding improvement in the health and spirits of the occupiers.—TZhe Builder.

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HINTS TO DRESSMAKERS AND THOSE WHO MAKE THEIR OWN DRESSES. BY MRS. TTints on Apron-making. To make an apron is an easy matter; but to make pretty aprons is another thing; and more depends on how an apron is made than really on the material. I have found the silk eighteen or nineteen inches wide make the prettiest aprons. Long aprons are neither graceful nor smart-looking. Cut one yard and a half of silk in two, then cut one of the pieces in two down the silk, and now place one of the two pieces on each side of the wide piece, so as to have a seam on each side of your apron. Having now run the seams up, the apron is ready totrim. Velvet is much worn, both plain and Vandyke. Different widths of black velvet are stylish only on the bottom part of the apron; and put one nar- row round the apron. Frills, or rather flounces, are a pretty trimming. Put one three or four inches deep, and then three very narrow ones, as a finish. Whatever you may be trimming an apron with, do not let the trimming be all one width. It gives a hard, stiff appearance. I quite grant you that it is more trouble to calculate trimmings two or three widths; but, when your work is fin- ished, you are well paid for the trouble and taste you have displayed. Plain colors, as a rule, are prettier for aprons. Dark green or dark blue is pretty. In buying your silk, ask for a glacé, a silk at not less than seventy- five cents. The yard and a half of silk is for a plain apron only ; so you must calculate your trimmings extra. Very little fulness is re- quired in your flounce for the apron; and it may all be cut on the straight ; but, straight or cross, the quantity is put on the same. Almost everything is worn ina scallop; and a flounce is much improved by being worked over round the scallops in the same manner as you work a common button-hole. You may either work with wool the color, or coarse twist, or sewing-silk. You can make a very good pattern to work from by marking out with a pencil, along a sheet of paper, half of a quarter-dollar piece. Now cut out the paper, and take a piece of cotton, and run on your silk to the shape of the paper. Do not cut out your silk till you have worked it. DAMAS. Braid run round the scallops is equally pretty, or a narrow lace. If you wish your round longer, take a half-dollar piece, and you have it directly. In doing the top of an apron, you must shape it a little. Double your apron in half; put your scissors in the silk one inch and a half from the edge ; now cut, and gra- dually come off to nothing. To gather an apron is, to my taste, prettier than to pleat it; but pleats will do. The gathers should be done neat and even. It is better not to fasten off one drawing till the whole are fin- ished gathering, and then draw them up, and fasten them off. Do not draw the gathering into a very narrow compass. Nine inches, or nine inches and a half, is a good space. A middle-aged person will require it wider than a young one. A ribbon two inches wide, made to tie behind, looks very well; but in these little things study the taste of the wearer. Tow to make a Cap Before you begin to make a cap, it is neces- sary to study what color is most becoming, and what style the party is in the habit of wearing. Not one person out of fifty can wear any new fashion that comes up. Every one that wears caps or headdresses has a pe- culiar style of her own, which must in some measure be copied, but made as near the pre- vailing fashion as possible. For instance, I have known some ladies always wear their cap plain on the forehead, let what would be the fashion; others, on the contrary, must, have it full all round. A becoming cap is a great improvement, and an unbecoming one very ugly. Most ladies know what suits them best. It is a very bad plan to try to persuade them into keeping or buying a cap they do not like. It is quite a chance if ever they get reconciled to it. Do not use heavy lace for a cap. Every sort of lace or blonde that comes near the face must be as light as possible. Caps are frequently made of wide and narrow blonde or lace; but always put the lightest or most pointed near the face. An uneven edge in blonde or lace is more becoming than a hard even border. In putting on a cap bor- der, gather it, or let the pleats be single. 151

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152 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Double pleats are heavy and ugly. I mean by the double pleat the common ordinary way of pleating ; this is too heavy foracap. When you are pleating a border, leave the cotton so that you can move the pleating according to the fulness you require it in rounding the corner of yourcap. It requires more fulness than either behind or round the top of the face. The head-piece of a cap round the front will measure seventeen inches long. Most persons will take it this length ; some require it one inch longer. Supposing your cap length to be seventeen inches long, put four inches on each side of the face as wide border, and let the nine inches that are left be quite narrow for the forehead, or else put this part plain, according to taste. Before you begin to make a cap, either unpick an old one for the pattern of the head-piece, or else have a pattern pro- vided. If you have a good pattern head-piece, you may change the look of your cap ten times by the trimmings. Take one of your little silk neckerchiefs, and cut a piece of net like the half; and now trim this half neckerchief all round with white or black blonde, and put this on your cap for a trimming. You may vary the look of your cap very much by put- ting the point of your half square on the fore- head ; and on another cap let the point come behind the ends that fall on the ears. It requires a pleat or two put in them to make it set well. You can put a bow on the outside of the ends, or under them near the face. If you will take a little pains, you can easily make a very nice bow. You have nothing to do but to tie a piece of ribbon, just the same as if you were tying your bonnet strings ; and then add a loop or twomore. Ask some one to lend you her finger, and then tie a bow on it. You will soon find no difficulty. It will require that you should with your fingers pull the bow nicely into shape; but it will cer tainly not require so much time to do it as I have seen some young persons spend in pull- ing the strings of their bonnets in the right place, or making the bow set nicely. All the bows made by our best milliners are made in the way I describe. It will make no difference if your ribbon is narrow or wide. I have already told you what sort of lace to use. In choosing your flowers or ribbon, all must be light—no heavy bows near the face. Small flowers are more becoming than large ones ; but in making a dress cap you could place a rose or a flower that size on the ear, outside the border, and this will not interfere with the front of the cap. Narrow black velvet is pretty on a cap mixed with flowers or ribbon. Many caps are now made with black and white blonde mixed. The ornaments on the crown would be black, and the blonde near the face white. - ——~weer ———— SHATTERED BY BY T. 8. THE FIRST STORM. ARTHUR. (See plate.) At the ripe age of twenty-one, handsome Harry Melville decided to go into business on his own account. ‘‘Wait until you are twenty-five,’ said Harry’s prudent father. ‘*And lose four years !’’ returned Harry, almost with indignation. ‘‘ It is folly.’’ ‘And gain ten,’’ said old Mr. Melville. ‘* The earlier a young man goes into business, the oftener he has got to fail before he grows wise enough and strong enough for success. My advice is to wait until you are thirty. There will be ten chances in your favor then to one in your favor now.’’ But Harry considered his father old fogyish and behind the times, and so let his prudent counsel go for naught. He had been three years in a jobbing house on Market Street, and considered himself fully posted up in business matters, and quite equal to the com- mon run of merchants. Indeed, to hear Harry talk on matters of trade was quite edifying; and an uninitiated listener would hardly fail to give him credit for considerably more than was his due. Harry Melville had ten thousand dollars left to him by an uncle. At twenty-one, the property came into his hands. It was in the shape of State stocks, and readily convertible into money. Upon this sum, he commenced business, in company with a young friend about his own age, and about equally expe- rienced. Ten thousand dollars in cash was something

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SHATTERED BY THE FIRST STORM, 153 of a basis for credit ; and, although our young merchants expended twenty-five hundred dol- lars in fitting up their store, they found no difficulty whatever in stocking it with more than all the goods they needed. The times were propitious. Credit was cheap. Everybody bought and everybody sold, with scarcely the formality of inquiry as to the basis upon which confidence rested. In less than two years, Melville & Morris were doing business at the fast rate of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars per annum, and making fabulous profits. To marry, and set up flashy, domestic establishments, came as a natural result. Both the young partners committed this additional folly. To marry would have been well enough, if modest Pru- dence had smiled her quiet blessing on the rites. But, as it was, silly Pride and weak Ambition reigned triumphant. Old Mr. Melville shook his head, looked grave, and remonstrated in private with his son; but Harry grew impatient at the old gentleman’s narrow-thoughted interference, and finally requested him to cease the repeti- tion of language that was only felt as an an- noyance. Of course, the father was hurt, and did not go near his son again for some weeks. As a peace-offering, Harry bought a new house, for which he paid down three thousand dol- lars in cash, and gave his notes for the balance, four thousand. With the title-deeds in his pocket, he called at the modest paternal resi- dence. Mr. Melville received his son kindly, yet not with the old cordiality, for one or two sentences, uttered during their last interview, stung him severely, and the pain had not yet subsided. ‘*What are these?’’ asked the elder Mr. Melville, as Harry laid upon a table, before his father, the title papers of the new house. ‘‘Read them,’’ was the smiling answer. With a half curious manner, Mr. Melville opened a broad parchment sheet. His eyes glanced hurriedly over the contents; but his face, instead of brightening, grew clouded. ** Explain this, Harry,’’ he said, looking up at his son. ** Does it not explain itself, father ?’’ “Ta” Mr. Melville shook his head to make his **no’’ still more emphatic. “‘T have always looked forward to this time with a pleasure that words can hardly ex- press,’’ said Harry, leaning towards his father, and speaking with a sudden warmth of man- ner. ‘These papers are simply the title- deeds of a house, which is yours. Take them, as some small return for all that I owe you. A son’s debt to a good father can never be wholly cancelled.’’ Mr. Melville was touched by this act, and softened by the manner of his son. For almost a minute he sat with his gaze upon the floor. Then, looking up, he said, in a low voice that trembled with suppressed feeling : ‘*My dear boy, it pains me deeply to refuse what, in the generous impulse of your heart, is now so freely offered. But this house is not yours to give, and, therefore, honor and right compel me to decline its acceptance.’’ ‘* Not mine to give? Father! what do you mean ?”? “It belongs to your creditors, Harry.” ‘*My creditors! Am I, then, only a bankrupt in your eyes? Father, this is too much !’’ **You are scarcely two years in business, my son; and now you propose to take from that business two-thirds of your original capital, and put it into a house for me.”’ ‘*But we have made over fifty thousand dollars, and are actually coining money in our business.’’ ** Profits on paper, at best,’’ answered the incorrigible old man. ‘‘ But, my word for it, if the footing up is so large, there is a mis- take in the figures somewhere. The thing I regard as simply impossible. You are dash- ing ahead at too desperate a speed, my son, as I have before declared ; and just so sure as any disastrous change in the business world takes place, will you be hurled to swift de- struction.”’ In anger, Harry parted with his father on that day. On the next, his bank offerings were all thrown ont. He called, in surprise, upon the cashier, to ask the reason. There was a stringency in the market, an unusual demand for money; depositors were drawing out heavily, and the bank was restricting its loans. This was the comfort he received. He tried to borrow from accommodating neigh- bors; but everybody had been cut down or cut off at bank, and so everybody was “‘short.’’ A pulse of fear throbbed suddenly in the heart of Harry Melville. He took down sundry bank notices from a rack, and ascertained the amount which must be paid before three o’clock. The sum reached the uncomfortable aggregate of fifteen thousand dollars; while the bank balance was below three thousand. So there were twelve thousand to raise. Young Melville considered himself great as a financier. His self-confidence overleaped

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154 GUDEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. all possibilities and impossibilities. But the time of trial and proof had come now. Credit and confidence are sensitive things. When banks restrict, private lenders take the alarm ; and the price of money goes up to ruinous figures. So our young merchant found it. Melville’s financiering operations on that day were things for after remembrance. He has, probably, not forgotten them up to this time. At three o’clock, his notes were all lifted, but at a sacrifice fearful to contemplate. After a glance at his bill-book for the next day, Melville started for his luxurious home, to meet his dainty, fashionable wife, in a state of mind bordering on to despair, for the next day’s payments were over twelve thousand dollars. He had seen and heard enough, during the day’s financial experiments, to satisfy him that not one-half of that sum could be raised; and so a vague terror took the place of conceited self-confidence ; and the frightened young merchant, who had come in and gone out with such an elastic tread and proud bearing, entered his home with all his feathers drooping. So quietly had he come in that his waiting wife failed to hear the open- ing door and familiar step in the passage. Wondering at her husband’s long stay beyond the usual hour, she came down stairs, under the influence of a restless feeling. Entering the parlor, she started in sudden surprise and alarm, for there, reclining upon a lounge, was her handsome young husband, his pale face the image of weak despair. ‘‘Oh, Harry, you are ill !’’ she exclaimed, flying across the room, and dropping down upon the floor in front of the lounge. **T am in trouble,’”? was his choking reply. **Oh, what has happened, Harry ?’’ **T don’t know,’’ he answered. ‘I am bewildered. Something has gone wrong in business. Oh, Florry, I have passed through a fearful day! and there is no strength left in me.”’ What a change from the bold, business braggart of the day before! But Harry Mel- ville was a mere dandy in trade. There was no muscle in the man, no reserved power, no elastic property. He had grown as a balloon grows, and, like a balloon, collapsed at the first sharp puncture. What could a mere summer-blossom of a wife do to help a man in such an extremity? Nothing. She could weep, and wring her hands, and sob like a distressed actress. But she had no comforting suggestions, no brave words, no hopeful sentiments to offer. Did our young merchant, after a period of cool reflection, take heart again? Did he go out on the next morning, and nerve himself for another struggle with the difficulties which had so suddenly closed around him? No! Busy memory, through the remainder of that day and evening, supplied him with data enough to complete his total overthrow as a man of nerve and action. His boyish partner came to see him, and tried to reinspirit him with brave words. But they were of no avail. He was panic-stricken by the fearful aspect of things, and gave up without a struggle. On the next day, the notes of the firm went to protest. An assignment followed; and, at the settlement of affairs, the creditors received a dividend of twenty cents in the dollar! Just twenty-three years of age was Harry Melville, when he shrunk back from his ad- vanced position in the business and social world, a bankrupt, his name a word of re- proach or contempt on hundreds of lips, and sought a hiding-place with his helpless wife in the house of his father, whose predictions had been too speedily fulfilled. His bark was shattered by the first storm. Take the lesson to heart, ye too eager young men. The story is scarcely an exaggeration. Old Mr. Melville was entirely right in his counsel to his son. A business commenced at twenty-one, or even as early as twenty-five, is almost certain to result in failure. The first thing a young man who hopes to succeed in the world needs to learn is economy in his personal expenditures. If, as a clerk, he spends his entire earnings, and trusts to get into business by virtue of credit, the chances of failure are twoto one against him. His habits of mind will tempt him to almost cer- tain destruction. BeactirvL Simirz.—The pious Jonathan Edwards describes a Christian as being like “‘such a little flower as we see in the spring of the year, low and humble on the ground, opening its bosom to receive the pleasant beams of the sun’s glory, rejoicing, as it were, in a calm of rapture, diffusing around a sweet fragrance, standing peacefully and lowly in the midst of other flowers.’? The world may think nothing of the little flower; they may not even notice it; but, nevertheless, it will be diffusing around sweet fragrance upon all who dwell within its lowly sphere. —‘‘ Act considerately,” is the practical ver- sion of ‘* Know thyself.”’

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LACES AND EMBROIDERIES. Iy no one article, perhaps, is female extra- vagance in dress carried to a greater length than in the use of elegant and costly laces and embroideries. Almost fabulous prices are sometimes paid for them. The rich laces in this country are imported from Europe. The reason of this is, that American girls are not willing—and we trust they never will be compelled—to work for five dollars a month ; and foreign manufacturers could undersell the native artisan. The costliest specimens of lace are easily disposed of. Lace at twenty dollars a yard—and that but one-tenth of a yard wide—finds ready purchasers; so do capes at two hundred dollars apiece, and jets at one hundred. The demand for rich laces is constantly increasing, outrunning the supply, thus appreciating the prices ; and consequently the genuine article can only be worn by the wealthy. Belgium supplies the American ladies with more laces than all the countries of Europe together, and laces of the rarest kind, finest quality, and most artistic design. In fact, lace is indigenous to Belgium, and has been so for generations. In some parts of Belgium the flowers are made separately, and then worked into the ground, while others carry on the pattern and the design together. The division of labor is very great. The droche leuse continues to work at the ground, and the platteuse at the flowers, and when they have finished, the striquese works one into the other, and the task is complete. The thread required for lace-making is manufactured in Belgium ; the finest kind being made in cellars and kept there, lest exposure to the air should render it liable to break. This thread sells for 1800 francs a pound, and has been known to bring 10,000 francs. The labor of washing lace is almost an art; and only the most skilful in that line are en- gaged init. After washing, lace is spread out to dry on a cushioned table, and pins of a peculiar sort are run through each hole to prevent the fabric from shrinking. When very fine, or the pattern intricate, an entire day will be spent upon one yard of lace. ‘* Mechlin’’ was formerly the ‘‘ queen of lace,’’ but Point de Venise antique now occupies the first place. It is a rare old lace, light and open, raised in some parts like embossed work, and has an air of antiquity that is highly prized. The manufacture of it is said to be entirely abandoned, and it is only found now as heirlooms in families, except when a stray specimen finds its way into market, in which case there is a great competition for its possession. The Point de Venise antique is seen more frequently in Italy than in any other country, for the high dignitaries of the Catholic Church have their official robes trimmed with flounces of this costly material. It finds its way into this country chiefly through the medium of American travellers, who seize upon every opportunity to obtain these relics of ancient fashion. One lady re- turned lately with a cape and berthé of Vene- tian point, for which she paid $600. Next in value is Point d’ Alengon, of which it is said nearly fifteen thousand dollars’ worth was used in the outfit of the King of Algiers. It has a dingy hue, and the first idea connected with it by unsophisticated minds is that it needs washing. Fashion, however, corrects this notion. Point de glaze is as fine as a spi- der’s web, and as light as thistle down. Brussels point d’applique ranks very high. It is formed by sewing sprigs of the real point upon illusion or any other kind of plain laces. It is very much used for flounces, and costs thirty to thirty-five dollars per yard, five- eighths wide. It is very pure in color, which is owing to a white powder with which it is saturated, and which it continues to retain, and obviates the necessity of washing. Honi- ton lace came into fashion in 1842, and owes its present position to Queen Victoria. Com- miserating the miserable condition of the lace- workers of Devon, she determined to assist them by bringing their manufacture into fash- ion, and in furtherance of this laudable pur- pose had her wedding-dress made of it. Honi- ton at once became the rage, and has continued popular and expensive ever since, although previously purchasers could hardly be found for it. Chantilly lace is always black, is ex- ceedingly fine, and is much used for veils and flounces. Our supply of embroideries is derived chiefly from France, Switzerland, and Scotland; the two former supplying all the finer and more 155

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156 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. elaborate specimens. Although the Swiss laces are really superior to the French, yet so despotically do French fabrics rule the fash- ionable world, that they are obliged to be sold as French. = -—e oe —_— THE CURSE AND BLESSING. BY EMILY HERMANN. “Hence, hie ye to the Eastern hills! Where dwells the Syrian band ; Nor may sweet rest, by shadowy rills, Your hungry feet retard. * Hence, hence, and bring the haughty son Of Beor to the plain! Thus may the princely gift be won, Of wealth a glittering rain. **A people 'mid the desert sand Spreads, like the stars of heaven, Around on Heshbon’s pleasant land— For them the curse be given! *‘ Hence, by the dark Abarim hills, And through the vineyards fair! Nor stay your speed till, o’er his sill, My kingly word you bear.” Thus spake the Lord of Moab To his followers, dark and bold, Who homage paid him, kneeling low, Ere where the Tigris rolled. They hied them forth in eager haste, To bear the high behest To him who o’er his chamber paced With wildly heaving breast. “Back to your homes!” in trembling voice, The cowering prophet cried ; **T, in this thing, may dare no choice ; The royal boon ’s denied !"’ But urged, his patient beast bestrode Along the Syrian hill, Among the belted heathen rode The man whose curse could kill. He passed along the cultured lines, Where fragrant leaves were twining, And where the sinuous Arnon shines, The words of fate divining. While Moab’s princes, on the height, To Baal their hearts are turning, Amid his spirit’s clouded night A fire of heaven is burning. ‘Lo! Balak, the royal, in Aram hath sought me, And forth from the hills of the morning hath brought me, Saying, ‘Come, curse me Jacob!’ but God hath not cursed ; * Defy thou this Israel that strangers have nursed.’ “ Nay, how can I curse him whom God hath not cursed? Or how shall I mock what Jehovah hath nursed ? Behold! from the top of the mountains I see him, Along all his borders the stranger doth flee him. ** Among the rude nations he may not be known ; Uncounted, his children are dwelling alone ; No nation lived ever so wondrous as this; Oh, would whea I die that my end were like his Then hotly spake the Moab king: “A fruitless deed I "ve done; For curse, not blessing did I bring Of Beor the wayward son !"’ And straight, with seer and priest, he went To Zophim’s emerald brow ; “*Curse me the foemen thence,” he cried, “That skirt yon plain below !” The bullocks and the rams were burnt, The altars there were seven ; But hard the task those princes learnt To mock the Lord of Heaven. ‘Rise, Balak, and listen, thou son of Zippor! God is not a mortal who ever can err ; His word, unrepented, stands sure as ‘twas spoken, His promise or threat’ning can never be broken. “In Jacob and Israel there dwells no wrong thing ; God's strength is among them, the shout of a king ; He saved them from Egypt; their fetters and gyves He burst off in anger; He hallows their lives. **There lives no enchantment, I know no divining Can light on the people where God is outshining ; *T will rise like a lion that seeks for the prey, The young, fearless lion that turns him at bay. ‘*The future shall speak of this wonderful thing— The strong-banded pilgrims with God for their king.’ Then spake again the royal lord, And turned in wrathful mood, Along the grassy mountain, towards The salt sea’s mystic flood. Still dwelled the people in their tents, According to their tribes ; In fervor new, with thought intense, Despite the royal bribes. The son of Beor took up his song, The “‘man with open eyes,” And turning to the desert throng, He answered in this wise:— ** How goodly thy tents are, O Jacob! How fair Thy dwellings, O Israel! thy blessings, how rare! As rivers in valleys, as trees on the plain, As aloes, God-planted, your strength shall remain. ** As gardens by waters, as cedars on hills, Your glory shall grow till earth's kingdom it fills ; The unicorn’s sinew shall strengthen his limb, Till all that oppose shall pay tribute to him! ** He couched like a lion, that king of the wild; And who shall arouse him? Great good, undefiled, Distils in the accents of blessing o’er him, And accursed be their lot who his brightness would dim!"’ Then Balak’s anger rose again, His hands together pressing— **Three times I bade thee curse those men, Three times ‘tis turned to blessing. “Now get thee to thine Eastern home, Nor deem me graceless donor ; Small gift of mine, with thee may roam, Nor wealth, nor place, nor honor.”’

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POETRY. 157 s But farther ran the parable From Mesopotamia’s mountains, Through Beor’s son, against his will, Like pure, rock-guarded fountains: **I shall see him from afar, I shall see it, but not now; There shall come a shining star, And a sceptre, too, shall mar Moab, from yon lofty brow. “Out of Jacob there shall rise One of valiant might and pewer ; Seir shall be his enemies, All the rocky strongholds his— Who of us may bide that hour?” Then the seer returned to his mountain home, And the Moab king to his royal dome; And the dust on their crumbling bones was deep When that star woke earth from her midnight sleep And that sceptre, too—but its owner's hand Was spurned, on a cross, by the Hebrew band— Yet it rales over earth with unearthly power ; And who may abide its judgment hour? MY FORTUNE. BY 8. W. HAZELTINE, M.D. Who said the future no one knows? The thought is false as it is old; I know the very day I"ll die— Ive been and had my fortune told ! I know, too, when and whom I 'll wed ; I'll meet my wife within a year; A farmer's daughter she, and lives Not more than twenty miles from here. I know, althongh we 've never met, These are the looks that she doth wear— Sharp features, peaked nose and chin, A freckled face, red eyes and hair! Our married life will be all smooth, No sorrows will obscure the way— But oh, my bonny bride must die, One year, just, from our wedding day. Then hope and joy will shed no light, No more I ‘Il feel but grief and pain; My heart will be a sepulchre, And I shall never wed again. 1 almost wish I didn’t know Just what the future is to be; It makes me sad to think so soon That death must part my wife and me! That I had never seen the hag Who thus my future path revealed, Sbowing the thorns and brambles there Which God in wisdom hath concealed. Por, knowing now what is to come, When drinking of the cup of bliss, "Twill mar the sweetness of the taste To think ‘there are dregs of woe in this!” And when my fiftieth birthday nears— That is the time I am to die— I fear my sou! will cling to earth, And dread to feel that death is uigh. VOL. Lvi1.—I14 Therefore, I wish I didn’t know Just what the future is to be—~ That I had not a chance to dread The sorrows which it hath for me. THE LAUGH OF MY BOY. BY MRS, MARY JANE PHILLIPS. On, sweet to me is the laugh of my boy, Now gentle and mirthfal, now ringing with joy ; It comes from his heart with a birdlike tone, And a gushing melody all its own, And it thrills my heart with its cadence wiid— Oh, I love, I love the laugh of my child! And sweet is the sound of his tiny feet As music made where the bright waters meet ; Their patter has, like soft summer rain, A power to soothe my heart's dull pain, To chase the gloom from the weary hours With thoughts of brighter suns and flowers. But oh! when he climbs upon my knee, And looks into my face so trustingly, Lisping “I love you, ma,” with his ruby lips, Smoothing my face with his finger tips, Ah, then, when I fold him close to my breast, It seems that I love his prattle the best. But still, when I gaze in his azure eyes, And they answer me in silent replies, And it seems I can see the heart within As yet all free from the stain of sin, Oh then, though his laugh and voice are sweet, And merry the music of his littie feet, I pray for the soul of my beautiful boy, That if may be kept from earthly alloy. THOUGHTS OF ONE UPON A BED OF SICKNESS. BY Cc. @. BARBER. Gertie dreams, come hither, hither, Fold thy unseen wings awhile, And around my spirit hover, With thy sweetest influence cover All its sadness with thy smile. Gentle dreams, come hither, hither, Soothe my couch of weary pain, Whea the evening gathers slowly, With sweet slumber for the lowly ; I have sought for rest in vain. What hath fame to do with pleasure? Leaves it not a heaven to gain? It may with a promise borrow From the heart its weight of sorrow— But that promise oft is vain! What hath wealth to do with pleasure? If the cross is still to bear, Doth it make the burden lighter, Gilding any hope the brighter, When a thorn is planted there? Gentle dreams, come hither, hither— Bring, oh bring forgetful sleep: Like as Love and Pity hover, They are sweetest when they cover Hearts thas early ieft to weep.

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158 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. THE BLUE-EYED DAUGHTER. (Suggested from Life.) Tue little blue-eyed daughter Is wondrous sweet and fair, With the dimple on her soft cheek, And her clustering flaxen bair, While the echo of her laughter Rings out on the morning air. She has snuffed the fragrant breezes As they merrily wandered by ; She has chased through the tal! clover The brilliant butterfly : Life through her frame is bounding— How it sparkles in her eye! And the father standeth quiet, A little way apart, Watching mournfully, yet gladly, This idol of his heart ; But when her smile is sweetest, His tears will quickly start. Now she plucks the fairy violets From ‘neath their broad green leaves, And a coronal of beauty With snowy blossoms weaves, Looking as did another For whom affection grieves He is thinking of the mother Whose love was life to him ; How the grass o’er her low grave murmars A mournful requiem ; And this is why his dark eye So often seemeth dim. This little blue-eyed daughter Is a gem of purest ray, To bless and cheer that father Throughout life’s changefu! day, Till they go and seek their lost ove In the islands far away. TO C####H*, BY c. 8% A Dreams of old quiet steal before me now, As I am looking out upon the night, And groups of bright-winged, merry-laden things Come trooping round about me in the light The robin and the blue-bird on the wing Are trilling, as of old, their welcome song ‘Mid memory’s eaves, as backward through the hours Of past delight she slowly steals along: Times of old quiet, when on moss-grown log I sat me down and whiled the hours awa, Listening, with eager heart, to that dear vo ve Which charmed, with unknown power, my early day: Oh! those were happy, very happy times, When you and I sat waiting, side by side, While ofttimes, knocking at your heart and mine, Came longings that would scarcely be denied. And, ah! those days, those dear old days, gone by, Find they no echo in your stronger heart, Telling, in Joyous tone, what I have dreamed, That we two cannot always dwell apart? THE DESERTED NEST. BY BEATA. Come, rest awhile, and 1 sten, Bell, Thou lovest simple tales to hear ; I will a truthful story tell Of that cool, sheltered homestead near. The time of birds, the sweet spring prime, When tender nature looks so fair, Reminds me of the joyous time When we were wont to sojourn there. Look at the low-roofed western end, With windows low and closely set; There watched we oft a little friend, A gentle, unobtrusive pet: "Twas but a bird—a small gray bird— All soberly and plainly clad ; But when its modest chirp we beard, We welcomed it with voices glad. And each returning year it brought A mate, to cheer its homely nest— Homely indeed you would have thought— Of sticks and moss together pressed. In it they reared full many a brood, And nothing ever wrought them ill; While “Aunty,” ever k:nd and good, Would feed them from the windouw-sill. One autumn, when the birds had flown, And early frost lay on the ground, Some wasps, who thought the nest their own, Plastered mud cells in and around. Spring brought our truants back again, In the same suit of quiet gray ; They sought their home, but all in vaia, "Twas buried ‘neath a mass of clay. Though willing hands removed each trace, They ne'er forgave the nuisance sore ; Awhile they lingered near the place, Then left, and sought it never more. The dark stained wall we stil! behold— No nest now clings upon the stone; The sash is raiséd, as of old, But the kind face long since has gone. O Time! relentless, sparing naught, Us onward bear with footsteps feet ; Thy touch is with one blessing fraught, It hurries us our loss to meet. SONNET.—THE POLE-STAR. BY WM. ALEXANDER. Anica the pole, like eager sentinel, Gazest thou on us with unslumbering eye, The cynosure star, set in the dark blue sky For sea-tost mariner. And nightly, well, By thy bright beacon-light, he onward guides His compassless bark over the dark wild sea, Now seeming boundtess as eternity, And to the wished-for haven safe she rides. So, mid the turbulent billows of our life, As on the muddy brink of time we stand, The soul with sublunary sorrows rife, Is there a pole-star guiding us to laud? See you yon shining Light which gleams afar? "Tis Christ, the true believer's Polar Star.

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POETRY. 159 A SON’S REMEMBRANCE. BY FINLEY JOHNSON. My father, I can see thee now, As in my youthful days, When hope across my pathway threw Her bright alluring rays ; I Bee thee now, in memory’s glass, Just as thou lookedst then, Though falling tears are on my cheek And stay my faltering pen ; I see thee with thine eyes of love Fix'd smilingly on me, While brother with a childish laugh Is climbing on thy knee. That brother, dearest futher, has Bright manhood on his brow, And only now in memory Can wé gaze on thee now: Yet often, when fuir fortune’s wheel Has turned us good or ill, We feel thy spirit walks the waves, And bids the storm be still ; And though thy friends may strew thy grave With summer flowers fair, We two, who loved thee more than all, Know well thou art not there. I still with that dear brother live, Within our old abode, And we both feel that thy pure love Is keeping watch with God ; And when at night we knee! to pray At heaven's holy shrine, Ofttimes our Maker's sacred name Is half confused with thine ; And though thy early loss to us We ever shall deplore, We feel indeed thou art not lost, But only gone before. FIRST 18 LINES OF R. HERBERT’S LATIN PRIZE POEM, ‘“AVIUM MIGRATIONES.”’ TRANSLATED BY CECILIA FERGUSON. How blest is man! divinely called to share This world, as formed with its creations fair! Life’s noble destiny foredoomed to fill, Discerning virtue from the path of ill! With inborn powers gifted, to attain Each highest purpose, and each end to gain! But ah! thrice happy and thrice blest is he, When, guided onward by his Lord’s decree, Rejoicing calmly in this world’s delight, He aims his course towards the Throne of Light! Though speedily the cares of life surprise, And wayward fancies in the heart arise, The erring heart, with ever-changing will, Impassioned, ardent, but inconstant still: When man disdains this earth for higher things, He slowly rises on ethereal wings, Upborne by seraphs to the land of rest, And dwells forever there, amid the blest! Enigmas, ANSWERS TO CHARADES AND ENIGMAS IN JULY NUMBER. 1. I-van-hoe. 2. Foot-stool. 3. Hope, 1 Past ANSWER TO PUZZLE IN JULY NUMBER. Gal-vest-on. - CHARADES, 5. My frst’s a dog of doubtful breed, My second is his end ; My whole's our practice when we need Rather to save than spend. ENIGMAS. 6. Ir it be true, as Welshmen say, Honor depends on pedigree, Then stand by, clear the way— Retire, ye sons of haughty power, And ye, the spawn of old Glendower, And let me have fair play. For though you boast, through ages dark, Your pedigree from Noah’s ark, Painted on parchment nice, I'm older still, for 1 was there— For before that I did appear With Eve in Paradise. For I was Adam, Adam I— I was Eve, and Eve was I, In spite of wind or weather: But mark me, Adam was not I Neither was Mrs. Adam I, Unless they were together. Now, suppose Eve and Adam talking— With all my heart; but if they ‘re walking, There ends all simile: For I 've a tongue, and often talk, And also legs, yet when I walk It puts an end to me. Not such an end but that I ’ve breath ; Therefore to such a kind of death I make you no objection; For svon I come again in view, And though a Christian, yet "tis true I die by resurrection. A PUZZLE. I am composed of nineteen letters. My 16, 11, 13, 12, is a piace where we often send. My 1, 14, 5, is a dessert. My 3, 19, is a useful animal. My 2, 18, 7, 5, is a favorite flower. My 17, 9, 18, 10, is a bird. My 2, 11, 17, 5, is an eatable grain. My 3, 10, 13, is a night-fowl. My 17, 8, 10, is what we could scarcely do without My 1, 9, 18, 4, 5, 7, 6, 3, 2, is my title. My 10, 14, 12, 13, 11, 5, ‘s what I am sometimes called. My whole isthe name of a gentleman of Cataula, Georgia

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160 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, NOVELTIES Fig. 1. FOR AUGUST. Fig. 3. Fig. 1.—To close our summer morning- dress styles, we give, in addition to the full page figure, a basque of piqué, or Marseilles, which will come more especially into use for Fig 4. the cool mornings of theensuing month. The berthé, sleeves, and basque are trimmed by a rich braided pattern, the sleeves cut open or the forearm ; the whole edged by fringe.

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NOVELTIES FOR AUGUST. 16] Fig. 3. Fig. 2—Cape of the same material, to be thrown over a thin morning-dress, if required ; che flounce is in broderie Anglais. Figs. 3 and 4.—Two styles of open under- sleeves, for those who prefer them ; both have muslin or net puffs above the muslin and Valenciennes flounce. Fig. 5.—Pointed fichu, for dinner or evening dress ; body of spotted muslin ; trimming, a 14* double row of very sheer Swiss or French muslin, set on in close plaits, by a puff and ribbon drawing. Fig. 6.—Rich Honiton fichu of medallion pattern, for full evening-dress. Figs. 7 and 8.—Two styles of wrought cam- bric caps, for morning-dress. The last is re- lieved by loops and ends of mauve-colored ribbon.

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162 Fig. 9.—A bonnet, composed of straw and plaid silk, laid on bias; the bows over the top of crown are of ribbon. A roll of plaid Fig. 9. ribbon and full illusion caps at the side form the inside trimming. The strings are of broad plaid ribbon. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Fig. 10.—A bonnet, composed of white crape, with bands of very bright plaid silk cut bias, and trimmed with a blonde edge. A Fig. 10, scarlet velvet band, with a bunch of scarlet and white flowers, form, with the short illu- sion ruches, the inside trimming. HANDKERCHIEF BORDER. p

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WORK DEPARTMENT 163 CIGAR-CASE IN CROCHET. Materials.—Black crochet silk, four skeins ; white ditto, one skein; green, four skeins ; blue, ene skein; apricot, one skein; scarlet, one skein ; crimson, one skein. All these are to be of a coarse size. The above is a pretty design. BRODEUSE OUTLINE CIRCLE.

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164 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. VASE FOR Prfferent ways of Preserving Natural Flowers. THERE is scarcely any one who does not value flowers in winter. To the invalid they recall the sunny skies and green fields of summer ; and as she looks upon them in her closed room, she can forget for a time the snow-clad, ice-bound trees and fields around her. To the belle, they furnish a bouquet for her evening parties and balls; to the housekeeper, they are the most beautiful of mantel or centre- table ornaments ; and to every one they have pleasant associations and a value. There are three sure ways of keeping flowers from their first blossoming in the summer until that pleasant season coming round again provides us with fresh ones. The first of these ways is to preserve them in alcohol. This one has the great advantage PRESERVING FLOWERS of preserving the flowers for many years. A bud or blossom taken from the hand of a dying friend, or plucked from the grave of a dear departed one, buried far away from home and kindred, may be kept in alcohol a life- time. The mode of keeping them is very: simple. Place the flowers in a bottle ; fill it to the top with alcohol; cork, and hermetically seal it. Another way of keeping flowers is to cut the stems carefully, seal them at the end with sealing-wax, place them in an empty bot- tle (both flowers and bottle must be perfectly dry), cork the bottle, and hermetically seal it with either sealing or beeswax. Still another way, and by far the most beau- tiful, is the one given in our engraving. Take a vase and fill it with flowers, arranged to suit

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 165 the taste, and of as many varieties as the per- son pleases, carefully sealing the stem of each flower before placing it in the vase. Place the vase upon a wooden stand, and place the shade over it. As before, be careful that flowers, vase, and shade are perfectly dry. Then fill up the groove in the wood, in which the shade stands, with melted wax. By covering the wax with chenille, it can be per- fectly hidden. Flowers preserved in this way will last for a twelvemonth. The flowers preserved in the empty bottle may be taken out, the wax cut from the stems, and, if arranged in a bouquet, will last as long as perfectly fresh flowers. Those in the alco- hol will, after a time, lose their color, and will not last after taking them from the spirit. In following any of these directions, be careful not to tie the flowers. No string must be used. The flower stems must each be loose and separate from each other. Wy, ‘ANVN NWOO a c “AHMTHOUAMANVA V UOd F

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166 GODEY’S LAPY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. STRAW WATCI-POCKET. Our engraving represents a very pretty variety of the watch-pocket—an ar‘icle al- ways in requisition, both for use and ornament. It has a sort of rustic effect, being principally formed of straw, with which its pink silk bag and pink satin rib- bon bows contrast remark- ably well. It is necessary to begin by forming four rounds of straw, similar tothose which are on the centres of the we AS »S crowns of the straw bonnet. Having done these, and pressed them under a warm but not hot smoothing-iron, having a piece of damp mus- lin laid between them and the iron, they must be ee . é Aine mm ~ bound round with narrow ; ' , pink ribbon. These rounds, when complete, measure twoinches and a half across. The back or foundation on which these are afterwards fastened is a piece of card- board five inches and a half long, the bottom part being circular, and a little smaller than the rounds of straw; -he upper part must be nar- rowed towards the top. A second complete round of card-board to match the lower part must also be cut. These are both to be bound round with narrow sarsenet ribbon. Then take a piece of pink silk, six inches long, and two inches and a half wide. Narrow it about half an inch at its four corners. A piece of pink ribbon of the re- quired width will answer the same purpose. This should be lined, to give it atability. It must be gather- iar, SHUT Slitny S> i} — — 4 / A we {/AoWN\\\ 1/7, ‘ ((@®))\\\\ NS ey, iy ~~ Serigiy ae AS fSSMNN ee a ae 4 ed at both edges, and fulled in on the back to round, leaving a sufficient opening for the the round which terminates the card-board watch. The four rounds of straw must then shape, and in the front to the corresponding be attached, one in the front, three behind ; a

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WORK DEPARTMENT, 167 little wadding, covered with silk, laid and fastened inside, to protect the watch, the bows of pink satin ribbon placed at the top | and the two sides, and this pretty little article will be found complete. —_———__*+ 9 ooo "_—" THE NONPAREIL GARMENT. y Yip J YY “iy » LOY. war ESs — N a WENT FSS | Y Lllgdfed: “| Lis PP ee Tuts garment, combining the chemise and to those giving out their wash, and to ladies drawers, has very many advantages. We boarding. It is also decidedly cooler for sum- recommend it especially to ladies travelling, mer. FOR INFANT’S CLOTHING. Q® & ab & Rs & & Une Teil Bed TY Den

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168 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, SHELL PATTERN QUILT. Take cotton No. 8, three ply, two coar : steel needles. Cast on one needle forty-six stitches ; knit one across, plain. To form the holes, knit three plain stitches; throw the thread over the needle ; narrow, by taking off two stitches, and so continue to widen and narrow until within three stitches of the end of the needle; knit these plain; knit back once plain. Second row of holes precisely the same. Then knit five rows plain, and five rows ribbed, alternate, until the shell is nar- rowed to a point. To form the edge and narrow the shell, al- ways knit three plain stitches at the begin- Lae QTE ning and ending of each needle, Narrow once each time on knitting across two stitches from the end of the needle in knitting off. Com- mence to narrow four stitches from the end, which will leave the three plain stitches for the edge. Persons who know how to knit will réadily comprehend how the five plain and five ribbed rows are knit. It is simply knitting plain and ribbing, alternate, until five plain and five ribbed rows are formed in the pattern. In joining the quilt, one shell forms the cor- ner, and the others are sewed on as repre- sented. EMBROIDERY FOR A SKIRT. © 0 AooO WV Q ey BoP 5 © ) OO /\) oY QOOQOOQOOVOOOOOOO VO OOOO OOO

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169 WORK DEPARTMENT. BRODERIE FOR A SKIRT. BRODERIE FOR A SKIRT. BRODERIE FOR A HANDKERCHIEF.

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GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, OF A COLLAR. PORTION EMBROIDERY FOR AN INFANT'S SUAWL OR BLANKET. ]

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 171 CARRYL’S CURTAIN ESTABLISHMENT. (See splendi?t embellishment in front.) Amone the many elegant stores on Chestnut Street, there is none more justly celebrated than the truly splendid Curtain Establishment of Messrs. W. H. Carry! & Brother. Here the skill and the art of every part of the civilized world are exhibited to an extent unsurpassed in any single establishment of our country. Here the artistic excellence of the French in designing and manufacturing heavy silk fabrics which combine the most striking effect with the greatest possible du- rability, is amply revealed in their gorgeous wide silks, satins, brocades, brocatelles, ribbed satins, Xc., of varied colorings, for curtains and furniture coverings. Here may be seen exquisite specimens of French printing on worsted reps, lastings, &e., of unchangeable colors, and copied from nature. Here, too, may be seen the artistic skill with which the French arrange colors and materials to pro- duce the wide satin these beautiful materials for curtains, of every conceivable variety of design and at the nominal sum of Here, also, may be seen in designing and em- most brilliant effect in lanes ; color, are furnished two dollars a yard. their skill and taste broidering lace curtains; some of these de- signs alone cost from two to three thousand franes, and are protected by government. Ex- juisitely tasteful lace curtains, from fifteen to fifty dollars a pair, were pointed out to us by Mr. Carryl; and lace and muslin curtains, of Swiss manufacture, are sold at from three to thirty dollars a pair. India is represented in silks for linings, and in satin damasks of various colors and patterns. Heavy worsted and union damasks, in solid and fanciful color- ings, and wide reps, from English and Scotch manufacturers, and celebrated for durability, Germany is represented by its different styles and designs in general use for pew linings, of wide cotton damasks and union damasks, from fifty cents to one dollar a yard, for sleeping-room curtains, lounge coverings, &c. Here the brass ornaments, the hooks, rings, brackets, canopy rings for French beds, and for hanging mosquito nettings, combine utility and taste. The gilt window cornices and gilt bands of France, Austria, and Prussia are ex- hibited in every form of grace and beauty ; and at prices ranging from fifty cents up to five and seven dollars each. These prices surprise the visitor, as these ornaments appear worth three times the price. The fringes, silk cords, tassels, gimps, &c., of American and French workmanship, are unrivalled as to quality and beauty; they vary in colorings and price to match the materials. The gold border win- dow-shades, so indispensable for excluding the sun, of any required size, and in a variety of ornamental and plain patterns, are of Ameri- can manufacture. The gold leaf is tastefully arranged on fine cambric, of plain colors, to combine durability and elegance. They are sold from one dollar and a half to eight dollars each, with suitable trimmings and fixtures complete. Persons wishing to order eurtains from Carryl’s should mention the color preferred, the amount they wish to expend, and the height from the floor to top of window-f:ame, and the width of the window-frame at top. The proper measure for window-shades is the exact size of the space where they are intended to be placed. The sizes and style of curtains are so varied that no set price can be fixed ; the prices vary from fifteen to two hundred and fifty dollars, according to the materials used. French satin damask iane curtains are furnished, made and trimmed ready to put up, from twenty-five to forty-five dollars each window, according to size and style. These elegant materials are much used, being rich and tasteful without being expensive. They can be neatly boxed, and sent ready to hook up at the windows in any part of the country. By all means establishment of the Messrs. Carryl in the Masonic Hall, 719 Chestnut Street, and witness for yourselves visit this what we have but faintly depicted. — — ~seer — CLERGYMAN’S BAND CASE. (See blue plate in front of Book.) We always feel much pleasure in rendering any assistance to our lady subscribers in the various branches of ornamental needlework, us we know that often the kindest sentiments of affection are manifested through the medium of the Work Department ; and it is sometimes a great disappointment when kind intentions cannot be fulfilled for the want of aid in some particular undertaking. In even the smallest matter of clerical ornament, the strictest pro- priety ought to be observed, which very much The pattern given has been expressly designed for this purpose, and we feel assured that many ladies will avail themselves of it, and thus double the value of a kind present by the ad- restricts the limits of decorative taste.

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172 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ditional compliment of their own taste and | this is allowable for this purpose. The lines industry being bestowed upon it. The mate- of the pattern must be worked in very neat rial of which these cases are formed ought to chain stitch, and the spots worked in simple be either black or violet watered silk, or black or violet velvet, with the pattern worked in the contrary color; as no diversity beyond | raised satin stitch. By enlarging the pattern, a very handsome sermon case may be made. SS Mi mG, UU, » TTI ‘ PERFORATED LINEN WORK. To be worked with very coarse cot- ton, and a very fine, even cord. )\\\ Za. CP Sf UW rt TOILET GLASS. So arranged as to see the back of the head. PATCHWORK.

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RECEIPTS. 173 eceipts, &e. DIRECTIONS FOR PRESERVING FRUITS. CurRAnNT JeLtiy.—Pick fine red, but long ripe, currants from the stems ; bruise them, and strain the juice from a quart at a time through a thin muslin; wring it gently, to get all the liquid; put a pound of white sugar to each pound of juice; stir it until it is all dissolved; set it over a gentle fire; let it become hot, and boil for fifteen min- utes; then try it by taking a spoonful into a saucer; when cold, if it is not quite firm enough, boil it for a few minutes myer. Or, pick the fruit from the stems; weigh it, and put it into a stone pot; set it ina kettle of hot water, reach- ing nearly to the top; let it boil until the fruit is hot through, then crush them, and strain the juice from them ; pat a pound of white sugar to each piut of it; put it over the fire, and boil for fifteen minutes; try some in a saucer; when the jelly is thick enough, strain it into small white ars or glass tamblers; when cold, cover with tissue-paper, 1s directed. Glass should be tempered by keeping it in warm water for a short time before pouring any hot liquid nto it; otherwise it will crack Currant JeLiy witnort Cookinxe. —Press the juice from the currants, and strain it; to every pint, put a pound of fine white sngar; mix them together until the sugar is lissolved ; then put it in jars, seal them, and expose them to a hot sun for two or three days. GoOosEBERRIES PRESERVED.—Take the blossom from the end, and take off the stems; finish as directed for straw- berries and currants. To keep Rep Goosererrirs.—Pick gooseberries when fully ripe, and for each quart take a quarter of a pound of sugar and a gill of water ; boil together nntil quite a syrup; then put in the fruit, and continue to boil gently for fifteen minutes; then put them into small stone jars; when cold, cover them close; keep them for making tarts or pies. Fixe RucsBars Jam.—Let the rhubarb be drawn on a iry day; wipe the stalks clean, but do not wash them ; poel off the skin and coarse fibres, and slice the stalks thin. To each pound thus prepared, allow a pound of fine sugar in fine powder: put the fruit in a pan, and strew a quarter of the sugar amongst it and over it; let it stand until the sugar is dissolved, when boil it slowly to a smooth pulp; take it from the fire, and stir in the remainder of the sugar by degrees ; when it is dissolved, boil the preserve quickly until it becomes very thick, and leaves the bottom of the pan visible when stirred. The time required for preparing this preserve will depend on the kind of rhubarb used, and the time of year in which it is made. It will vary from an hour and a half to two hours and a quarter. should be slowly drawn from it at first. The juice Cuerries Parservep.—Take fine large cherries, not very ripe; take off the stems, and take out the stones ; save whatever juice runs from them; take an equal weight of white sugar; make the syrup of a teacup of water for each pound; set it over the fire until it is dis- solved and boiling hot; then put in the juice and cherries ; boil them gently until clear throughout; take them from the syrup with a skimmer, and spread them on flat dishes to cool; let the syrup boil until it is rich and quite thick ; set it to cool and settle; take the fruit into jars or pots, and pour the syrup carefully over; let them remain open until the next day ; then cover as directed. Sweet cherries are improved by the addition of a pint of red currant-juice, 15* and half a pound of sugar to it, for four or five pounds of cherries. To Dry Curerrties.—Take the stems and stones from ripe cherries ; spread them on flat dishes, and dry them in the hot sun or warm oven; pour whatever juice may have run from them, a little at a time, over them; stir them about, that they may dry evenly. When they are per- fectly dry, line boxes or jars with white paper, and pack them close in layers ; stew 4 little brown sugar, and foid the paper over, and keep them in adry place; or put them in muslin bags, and hang them in an airy place. The There are of these large and small; the large are called sweet The great difficulty in preserving plums is that the skins crack and the fruit comes to pieces. The rule here laid down for preserving them obviates that difficulty. Pivms.—There are several varieties of plums. richest purple plum for preserving is the damson. damsons; the small ones are very rich flavored. Purple gages, unless properly preserved, will turn to jaice and skins; and the large horse-plum (as it is generally known) comes The one recommended herein will keep them whole, fall, and rich. completely to pieces in ordinary modes of preserving To Preserve Prreie Prrms.—Make a syrup of clean brown sugar; clarify it as directed in these receipts ; when perfectly clear and boiling hot, pour it over the plums, let them remain in the syrup two days, then drain it off, make it having picked out all unsound ones and stems; let them re- main another day or two, then put them in a preserving- boiling hot, skim it, and pour it over again ; kettle over the fire, and simmer gently until the syrup is reduced, and thick or rich. One pound of sugar for each pound of plums. Small damsons are very fine preserved as cherries or any other ripe fruit. Clarify the syrup, and when boiling hot put in the plums; let them boil very gently until they are cooked, and the syrup rich. Put them in pots or jars. The next day secure as directed. To Preserve Pies witrovt THE Skins.—Pour boiling water over large egg or magnum bonum plums; cover them until it is cold, then pull off the skins. of a pound of sugar and a teacup of water for each pound Make a syrup of fruit; make it boiling hot, and pour it over; let them remain for a day or two, then drain it off, and boil again ; skim it clear, and pour it hot over the plums; let them remain until the next day, then put them over the fire in the syrap ; boil them very gently until clear; take them from the syrup with a skimmer into the pots or jars; boil the syrup until rich and thick; take off any scum which may arise, then let it cool and settle, and pour it over the If brown sugar is used, which is quite as good, plums. except for green gages, clarify it as directed. To Dry Pirs them, and lay them on plates or sieves to dry in a warm —Split ripe plums, take the stones from oven or hot sun; take them in at sunset, and do not put them out again until the sun will be upon them; turn them that they may be done evenly; when perfectly dry, pack them in jars or boxes lined with paper, or keep them in bags ; hang them in an airy place. To Preserve Green Gaces.—The following receipt ap- pears to be a good one: Pick and prick all the plums; put them into a preserving-pan with cold water enough to cover them ; let them remain on the fire until the water simmers well; then take off, and allow them to stand until half cold, putting the plums to drain. To every pound of plums, allow one pound of sugar, which must be boiled in the water from which the plums have been taken ; let it boil very fast until the syrup drops short from the

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GODEY’S LADY’S 174 spoon, skimming carefully all the time. When the sugar is sufficiently boiled, put in the plams, and allow them to boil until the sugar covers the pan with large bubbles; then pour the whole into a pan, and let them remain until the following day; drain the syrup from the plums as dry as possible, boil it up quickly, and pour it over the plums ; then set them by; do this a third and a fourth time. On the fifth day, when the syrup is boiled, put the plums into it, and let them boil for a few minutes; then put them into ars. Should the green gages be over ripe, it will be better to make jam of them, using three-fourths of a pound of sugar toone pound of fruit. Warm the jars before putting the sweetmeats in, and be careful not to boil the sugar to a candy. Jam or Green Gaces.—Put ripe green gages into a ket- tle with very little water, and let them stew until soft; then rub them through a sieve or colander, and to every pint of pulp put a pound of white sugar powdered fine ; then put it in a preserving-kettle over the fire, stir it until the whole is of the consistence of jelly, then take it off; put the marmalade iu small jars or tumblers, and cover as directed for jelly. Any sort of plums may be done in this manner. To keep Damsons.—Puat them in small stone jars, or wide-mouth glass bottles, and set them up to their necks in @ kettle of cold water; set it over the fire to become boiling hot, then take it off, and let the bottles remain until the water is cold; the next day fill the bottles with cold water, and cork and seal them. These may be used the same as fresh fruit. Green gages may be done in this way. To Preserve Damsons a Seconp Way.—Put a quart of damsons into a jar with a pound of sugar stewed between them ; of cold water, and set it over the fire for an hour; set the jar in a warm oven, or put it into a kettle then take it out, set to become cold, drain the juice off, boil it until it is thick, then pour it over the plums; when cold, cover as directed for preserves. To Preserve APPLEs.—Pare, and core, and cut them in balves or quarters; take as many pounds of the best brown sugar; put a teacup of water to each pound; when it is g¢ hot, put lissolved, set it over the fire; and, when bo ia the fruit, and let it boil gently until it is clear, and the syrup thick; take the fruit with a skimmer on to flat lishes, spread it to cool, th Lemons boiled tender in water, and ‘n put it in pots or jars, and pour the jelly over. sliced thin, may be boiled with the apples. To Preserve Piprins 1x Stices.—Take the fairest pip- pins, pare them, and cut them in slices a quarter of an inch thick, without taking out the cores; boil two or three lemons, and slice them with the apples; take the same weight of white sugar (or clarified brown sugar), put half a gill of water for each pound of sugar, dissolve it, and set it over the fire; when it is boiling hot, put in the slices, let them boil very gently until they are clear, then take them with a skimmer, and spread them out on flat dishes tv cool; boil the syrup until it is quite thick, put the slices on flat dishes, and pour the syrup over. These may be done a day before they are wanted ; two hours will be suf- ticient tv make a fine dish for dessert or supper. To Preserve Cran-Appies.—Take off the stem and core them with a penknife, without cutting them open; weigh a pound of white sugar for each pound of pre- pared fruit; put a teacup of water to each pound of sugar ; pat it over a moderate fire. When the sugar is all dis- solved and hot, put the apples in; let them boil gently until they are clear, then skim them out, and spread them BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Boil yrup in whatever they are to be kept, and, when the on flat dixhes the syrup until it is thick; put the syrup is cooled and settled, pour it carefully over the fruit. Slices of lemon boiled with the fruit may be considered au improvement; one lemon is enough for several pounds of fruit. Crab-apples may be preserved whole, with only half an inch of the stem on; three-quarters of a pouud of sugar for each pound of fruit. BakeD Swesr Appies.—Wash well the apples; place them in a pan with a very little water, that the juice may not burn, if they are to be cooked in a brick oven; then put the apples in a jar, cover them close, and bake them fiveor six bours. Sweet apples should be baked long after they are tender Baked Sovr Apries.—Wash well the apples; place them in a pan; pour ina teacupful of water and one of sugar; bake them slowly till done. Eat them with cream and the juice which cooks from them. CoppLep AppLes.—Take windfalls, or fall apples: wash them, and put half a peck into a preserving kettle; add half a cup of water, sweetened with a large cup of sugar, or half a cup of molasses. Cover them, and boil genily until tender. To PReseRve FRUIT SO AS TO KEEP WELL IN A Hor Cut- MATE.—The fruit to be ripe, but not over ripe; picked with the best lump sugar used ; and all to be boiked ra- Then care ; ther longer than is usually done in this country. pour into jars, and, when quite cool, tie over with bladder. To Preserve Pears.—Take small, rich, fair fruit, as soon as the pips are black ; set them over the fire in a ket- tle. with water to cover them ; let them simmer until they will yield to the pressure of the finger, then with a skim- mer take them into cold water; pare them neatly, leaving on a little of the stem, and the blossom end; pierce them at the blossom end to the core, then make a syrup of a pound of sugar for each pound of fruit; when it is boiling hot, day, when drain it off, make it boiling bot, and again pour pour it over the pears, and let it stand until the next it over; after a day or two, put the fruit in the syrup over the fire, and boil gently until it is clear; then take it into the jars or spread it on dishes, boil the syrup thick, then put it and the fruit in jars. To Stew Pears.—Pare them and cut them in halves, if larye, pan with very little water, cover them and let them stew till tender, then add a small teacup of sugar to a quarter or leave them whole, if small; put them in a stew- of a peck of pears, let them stew until the syrup is rich ; a lemon boiled with the pears, and sliced thin when the sugar is put in, improves both flavor and color ; or a wine- glass of red wine may be used instead. To Bake Pears.—Wash half a peck of tart pears, cut the stems so as to leave only an inch length; put them in an iron pot over the fire, with half a pint of water and a pint of molasses to them ; cover the pot or kettle, and let them boil rather gently uatil the pears are soft and the syrup rich, almost like candy ; take care not to scorch it. Pears 1n Branpy.—Take fine, rieh, juicy, but not very ripe pears; put them into a saucepan with cold water to cover them; set them over a gentle fire and simmer them until they will yield to the pressure of your finger, then put them into cold water; pare them with the greatest care, so that not a single defect may remain; make a syrup of three-quarters of a pound of white sugar for each pound of fruit, and a cup of water to each pound of sugar; when the syrup is clear, and boiling hot, put in the pears, boil them gently until they are done through and clear, and

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RECEIPTS. the syrup is rich; now take them with a skimmer into lass jars; boil the syrup thick, then mix with it a gill f white brandy to each pint, pour it over the fruit, and, when cold, put paper and a close-fitting cover over. PeaR MARMALADE.—To six pounds of small pears, take four pounds of sugar; put the pears into a saucepan with little cold water; cover it, and set it over the fire until he fruit is soft, then put them into cold water; pare, quar- er, and core them; put to them three teacups of water, et them over the fire; roll the sugur fiue, mash the fruit fine and smooth, put the sugar to it, stir it well together atil it is thick, like jelly, then put it in tumblers or jars, ud when cold, secure it as jelly. sliced pine- To Borris Freit.—Cherries, strawberri pple, plums, apricots, gooseberries, &c., may be preserved n the following manner, to be used the same as fresh fruit- wide- (iather the fruit before it iewery ripe; put it in ill them as full as al the corks; put mouthed bottles made for the purpose; f they will hold, and cork them tight; se some hay in @ large saucepan; set in the bottles, with hay etween them, to prevent their touching; then fill the saucepan with water to the necks of the bottles, and set it is nearly boiling; then take »ver the fire until the water t off; let it stand until the bottles are cold; then keep them in a cool place nntil wanted, when the fruit will be found equal to fresh. Pixe-AppLe Preserve.—Twist off the top and bottom, ond pare off the rough outside of pine-apples; then weigh them, and cut them in slices, chips, or quarters, or cut them in four or six, and shape each piece like a whole pine- apple; to each pound of fruit, put a teacup of water; put t in a preserving kettle; cover it, and set it over the fire, snd let them boil gently until they are tender and clear; then take them from the water, by sticking a fork in the Put to the water white sugar, a pound for each pound of fruit; atre of each slice, or with a skimmer into a dish. stir it until it is all dissolved ; then put in the pine-apple; ver the kettle, and let them boil gently until transparent throughout: when it is so, take it out, let it cool, and put t in glass jars; as soon as the syrup is a little cooled, pour it over them; let them remain in a cool place until the Pine- usual next day, then secure the jars as directed previously The manner of preserving it, by putting it into the syrup with- pple done in this way is a delicious preserve. mt first boiling it, makes it little better than sweetened eather. Ping-AppLe Jetiy.—Take a_ perfectly ripe and sound pine-apple, cut off the outside, cut it in small pieces; put it in bruise them, and to each pound put a teacup of water i preserving-kettle over the fire, cover the kettle, and let them boil for twenty minutes; then strain it, and squeeze it through a bit of muslin. For each pound of fruit take 1 pound of sugar; put a teacup of water to each pound ; set it over the fire until it is dissolved ; then add the pine- For each quart of the syrup, clarify an ounce let it boil until, by ipple juice. f the best isinglass, and stir it in; taking some on a plate to cool, you find it a stiff jelly. Secure it as directed. BARBERRIES.—Preserve them the same as currants; or they may be preserved in molasses. Pick them from the stems, and put them into a jug or jar with molasses to cover them. The acid soon destroys all taste of molasses. The small winter or frost grape may be done in the same manner. A New Pres&rve.—A correspondent sends us the fol- lowing: ‘I have lately been very busy making a new kind of preserve, which, I may say, is quite a discovery, to me at least, and which promises to insure me a plentiful supply of good, wholesome jam, for my family during the winter, at a price below the usual cost of preserves. I was, the other day, making some ordinary apple jam, and be- fore finishing it, I put in some blackberry juice, in order to give it a little color, and I was surprised at finding how much the preserve was improved by the addition ; so much so that it might very easily be mistaken for damson jam. And as you will see, by the following proportions, the cost must be very small, wherever apples and blackberries are to be wot. that is, I bring the berries up to a simmer for five minutes, I put to two quarts of the juice of blackberries— and then strain them through a coarse cloth—about six pounds’ weight of cut-up apples, and one pound of crushed lump-sugar, and stew it up in the usual way, till the ap- ples are softened down, and the mass becomes of the usual thickness. It is wholesome and good, and I thought that what was within any one’s reach ought to be known.’ To Canny Frvir.— After peaches, plums, citrons, or quinces have been preserved, take the fruit from the syrup; drain it on a sieve; to a pound of loaf sugar put half a teacup of water; when it is dissolved, set it over a mode- rate fire; when boiling hot, put in the fruit; stir it eon- tinually until the sugar is candied about it; then take it upon a sieve, and dry it in a warm oven, or before a fire; repeat this two or three times if you wish. To Preserve CvucUMBERS AND MrLons.—Take large cu- cumbers, green, and free from seed; put them ina large jar of salt and water, with vine leaves on the top; set them by the fireside till they are yellow; then wash and set them over a slow fire in alum and water, covered with vine leaves; let them boil till they become green; take them off, and let them stand in the liquor till cold; then quarter them, and take out the seed and pulp; put them in cold spring water, changing it twice a day for three days. Have ready a syrup made thus: to one pound of loaf-sugar, half an ounce of ginger bruised, with as much water as will wet it; when it is quite free from scum, put boiling, the rind of a lemon and juice; when If the syrup is in. when quite cold, pour the syrup on the melons. too thin, after standing two or three days, boil it again, and add alittle more sugar. A spoonful of rum gives it the West Indian flavor. Gherkins may be preserved the same way. One ounce of alum, when pounded, is suffi- cient for a dozen melons of a middling size. How To MAKE Tomato Fics.—Pour boiling water over the tomatoes in order to remove the skins; then weigh them and place them in astone jar, with as much sugar as you have tomatoes, and let the.a stand two days; then pour off the syrup, and boil and skim it until no scum rises. Then pour it over the tomatoes, and let them stand two days, as before, then boil and skim again. After the third time, they are fit to dry, if the weather is good ; if not, let them stand in the syrup until drying weather. Then place on large earthen plates or dishes, and put them in the sun todry, which will take about a week, after which pack them down in small wooden boxes, with fine white sugar between every layer. Tomatoes prepared in this manner will! keep for years. TomMATO Preserves.—Take the round yellow variety as soon as ripe, scald and peel; then tu seven pounds of to- matoes add seven pounds of white sugar, and let them Take the tomatoes out of the sugar, and Put in the tomatoes, stand over night. boil the syrup, removing the scum. and boil gently fifteen or twenty minutes; remove the fruit again and boil until the syrup thitkens. On cooling, put the fruit into jars and pour the syrup over it, and add a few slices of lemon to each jar, and you will have some- thing to please the taste of the most fastidious.

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To Pickis Tomators.—Always use those which are tho- roughly ripe. The small round ones are decidedly the best. Do not prick them, as most receipt-books direct. Let them lie in strong brine three or four days, then put them down ia layers in your jars, mixing with them small onions, and pieces of horseradish; then pour on the vinegar (cold), which should be first spiced as for peppers; let there be a spice-bag to throw into every pot. Cover them care- fully, and set them by in the cellar for a full month before using. Tomato Catsup.—Take ripe tomatoes and scald them ust sufficient to allow you to take off the skin; then let them stand for a day, covered with salt; strain them tho- roughly, to remove the seeds. Then to every two quarts, three ounces of cloves, two of black pepper, two nutmeys, and a very little cayenne pepper, with a little salt. Boil the liquor for half an hour, and then let it cool and settle. Add a pint of the best cider vinegar, after which bottle it, corking and sealing it tightly. Keep it always in a cool place. Another way.—Take one bushel of tomatoes, and boil them until they are soft. Squeeze them through a fine wire sieve, and add—half a gallon of vinegar; one pint and a half of salt; two ounces of cloves; quarter of a pound of allspice; two ounces of Cayenne pepper ; three tablespoonfuls of black pepper; five heads of garlic, skin- ned and separated. Mix together, and boil about three hours, or until reduced to about one-half. Then bottle, without straining To Preserve Sevit.e Oraxces WHoLe.—Cut a hole at the stem end of the oranges, the size of a half dime; take out all the pulp, put the oranges into cold water for two lays, changing it twice a day; boil them rather more than sn hour, but do not cover them, as it will spoil the color; have ready a good syrup, into which put the oranges, and oil them till they look clear; then take out the seeds, skins, &c., from the pulp first taken out of the oranges, and add to it one of the whole oranges, previously boiled, with an equal weight of sugar to it and the pulp; boil is together till it looks clear, over a slow fire, and, when cold, fill the oranges with this marmalade, and put on the tops ; cover them with syrup, and put brandy paper on the top of the jar. It is better to take out the inside at first, to preserve the fine flavor of the juice and pulp, which would be injured by boiling in the water. ORANGES IN JELLY.—Take a dozen of the smallest-sized oranges; boil them in three changes of water, until a straw will easily penetrate the skin ; take half a pound of white sugar for each pound of oranges, and for each pound of sugar a small teacup of water ; when it is all dissolved, set it over a genile fire, put in the oranges, cover them, snd let them boil gently ; when the fruit looks clear, take the oranges up, cut them half way down in quarters, or ent them entirely through; put to the syrup half an ounce of isinglass dissolved in a little hot water, give it one boil, then take some of it into a saucer; if it is not as thick as you wish, boil it a short time longer, put the oranges into deep glass dish, and turn the jelly over them. Apple- elly may be used instead of isinglass. Lemons may be done in this manner. This is a bighly ornamental dish, and may be made the day before itis wanted. The jelly may be made firm, and the oranges sliced; put an ounce of isinglass to a quart of syrup. Put the jelly av inch deep in the mould; when it is cold, lay in slices of the preserved orange: put more jelly in; when that is cold, put on more slices; and so continue until the mould is full. When wanted, dip the mould for an instant in hot water, then turn it out on a flat glass dish. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE BILLS OF FARE. Bi. oF FARE FOR A DINNER POR EIGHT PERSONS IN AUUUST OR SEPTEMBER :— FIRST COURSE. , VUcra soup. Remove.—Mutton cutlets, with stewed mushrooms in the middle. rongue. (Epergne.) Egg Plant Sweetbreads Remove.—Fillet of veal. Vewetables.—Potatoes, French beans, salad. SECOND COURSE. Sweet omelet. Trifle. (Eperg ne.) Tartlets Nuts. Fruits. Peaches and cream. BIL. OF Fare FoR TWELVE Persons IN AUGUST OR SEPTEMBER :— FIRST COURSE. Tomato soup. Remove.—Cod boiled. (Vase.) Ham (Epergne.) Harico rabbit ( Vase.) Remove.—Saddle of mutton. Vegetables. —Potatoes mashed, salad, peas, tomatoes SECOND COURSE. Lemon apple pudding. (Vase.) Jelly. Epergne. Tipsy cake (Vase). Churned cream. Peach souffle. Berries Bu. or Fare For StxTeen oR E1GHTeEEN PERsoNs IN AUGUST OR SEPTEMBER :— FIRST COURSE. Mock-turtle soup. Remove.—Chickens. Lamb cutlets, Lobster ( Vase.) pattios. with stewed beans in centre (Epergne.) (Vase.) Sweetbreads. Kidneys. Veal cutlets. Remove.—Neck of venison Vegetables.—Potatoes, peas, salad. SECOND COURSE. Birds. Jelly. (Vase.) Cheese-cake. (Epergne.) Peaches (Vase.) Apple cake, and cream. with custard. Raspberries.

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Evitors’ Gable. FAIRIES, In olde dayes of the King Artour, Of which that Bretons speken gret honour, All was this land fulfilled of fierie. The elf-quene, with hire joly compagmie, Danced ful oft in many a greene mede. This was the old opinion as I rede; I speke of many hundred yeres ago: For now can no man see no elves neo.—CHALCER. In childhood, we are delighted with fairy tales; and in more matured age we appreciate these “tricksome spirits” with the classic poets of our language. While Shaks- peare, Spenser, Ben Jonson, with other renowned though less mighty names, have used these fanciful little beings as machinery, and ornamented garnish to their creations of genius in prose and poem, is it strange that fairies should have become naturalized, as it were, in the litera- ture of our tongue? We, of this Western World, and in this nineteenth century, look upon these as toys for child- 1, or gleaming tints for poetic dreams, rather than— hood, remembering that for onr European ancestors they were a reality—objects of superstitious dread or superstitious hope. The belief in fairies seems to have pervaded all Europe; though these tiny creatures, appearing everywhere, are lered according to the people of the In habits ceseribed and consi were believed to haunt Elf, dressed in far, with 1. fferent nations the and character, the Norwegian icicles from his beard, is very different from the brilliant French Fée, who or to the homely English Puck, with his rough tricks and hard is Cinderella’s godmother, work, Where, in one night, ere glimpse of morn, , His shadowy flail hath thrashed the corn That ten-day laborers could not end. L’ ALLEGRO. The Irish and Scotch Fairy, owing to the wild aspect of these countries, and wilder character of their people in the den times, is less genial than those of England. The Irish Elves are droll and humorous; but they lack the good fellowship and superior cultivation of the English Mab and Robin Goodfellow. The creatures of Scottish uncanny the and vindictive, into swollen streams, superstition are mostly ‘“‘water kelpie” betraying the victim nd raising hideous screams of laughter at his distress, and phantom monsters, too, who, at Hallowmas Eve, «weep by the belated peasant, frightening him with the sound of their tiny harps and the music of their bridle- bells. The French Fée is an elegant marquise. comfort, and has all the etiquette and ornaments of a court She ‘‘has the honor to receive you” with a stately She is called in at christenings and weddings, She lives in dame. courtesy. ind returns the compliment by some rare gift. Even the te Carabasse, malicious, old, ugly, is by no means deficient in good breeding or magnificence. Notwithstanding these differences of race, there are some immutable qualities which appear to belong to the fairy tribes wherever they are found. To tell them a lie, or to attempt to deceive them, is sure to bring a dreadful pun- They always require the exact Then their ishment on the offender. truth, and thus point an important moral. revels are always held ia the night, and, though often generous, they are implacable, thus showing their utter only belongs to lack of that “‘quality of mercy’’ which the human Divinity, and which God only can breathe into ¢ soul, The fairy love of truth, and their unsparing rigor against the criminal, are both illustrated in “ Parnell’s Fairy Tale,”* where the courageous Edwin, by truth and courage, loses his deformity ; while Sir Topaz, as a punishment for deception, is obliged to take the hump-back from which Edwin has been so happily freed. This poem is founded on a real legend, and is quite in keeping with belief. different lands, we will re ‘ tant ancient To show how similar traditions are met with in late a Spanish fairy legend :— “A countryman, returning from his work rather late one night, passed near the ruins of an old castle, which, to his “ams of light through its dilapidated surprise, exhibited g windows. He softly gained a post of observation, and found the great hall illuminated by millions of tiny wax roundelay was danced with mucl tapers, They danced to their own ¢ while a gi spirit by a troop of ly little elves. singing, in a monotonous tune, constantly repeating over and over again the first three days of the week in mea- sured jingle— ‘Lanes y Martes y Miércoles tres. “‘The human and stricken spectator, suddenly inspired a rhyming muse, finished the couplet for them, and sang aloud the otber three days of the week— * Juéves y Viérnes y Sabado séis.’ “The fairy court were perfectly astounded and charmed with this stupendous effort of talent. Their song was completed, embellished, perfected. They surrounded the fortunate peasant, and sent him away loaded with gold and jewels. Returning to his village, he showed his wealth, and told his story. mined to try his luck, and the next night, at ‘the witch- He found the joyous A covetous neighbor deter- ing hour,’ sought the haunted ruins. set merrily dancing to their now finished couplet— ‘Lanes y Mirtes y Miércoles tres, Juéves y Viérnes y Sabado séis.’ “The stupid eavesdropper, who had no ear for rhythm, found no better expedient for adding to the song than to ery out ‘Y Domingo’ (Sunday). Such a stupid interrup- tion, which had neither rhyme nor reason, justly exaspe- rated the little crew, who flew on him, and flogged him heartily. The show vanished, and he was left in the dark, bruised and beaten.” The ‘Midsummer Night's every reader with Titania and Oberon. which is supposed to have furnished has familiarizea Drayton's poem, Dream” “ Nymphidia,” Shakspeare with the idea of these little sovereigns and their court, is less known ; but, as it is a little chef d @uvre of fairy poetry, we advise those who know it not to peruse it. In the mean time, we will extract from it the descrip- tion of the fairy palace :— 177

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178 GUDEY ‘*This palace standeth in the air, By necromancy placed there, That it no tempests needs to fear, Which way soe’er it blow it; And somewhat southward, tow'rd the noon, Whence lies a way unto the moon, And thence the fairy can as soon Pass to the earth below it. “ The walls of spiders’ legs are made, Well morticed and finely laid He was the master of his trade It curiously that builded The windows of the eyes of cats, And for the roof, instead of slats, Is covered with the skins of bats, With moonshine that are gilded.”’ Fairy tales, if the real meaning of the fable is rightly unfolded to the child reader by the author or teacher, may be made very instructive. These tales are always inte- resting, we might say captivating, to the young idea, be- cause imagination is earlier developed than reason in the child. This arrangement must be wise; it is the order of the Creator. We cannot change it; and parents and instructors would show more wisdom in rightly directing this early imaginative faculty than in endeavoring ruth- All the gifts of God are good when cultivated in the fear and love of God. lessly to suppress or annihilate it. THE LADIES’ MOUNT VERNON ASSOCIATION. Tae following admirable appeal of the Ladies’ Mount Vernon Association of the Union should go to the heart of every patriot of the land, and arouse new interest and zeal in a glorious cause. It is proper to state that the ‘*Southern Matron,” this document, yielded to the solicitations of Mr. Everett in signing her baptismal name to and other friends :— MOUNT VERNON THE PROPERTY OF THE NATION. It is with feelings of the highest gratification we an- nounce to the public that the persevering efforts of the Ladies’ Mount Vernon Association of the Union have been crowned with success commensurate with their sacred aims and lofty patriotism, and that they have at last se- cured to the American people the privilege of making the Home and Grave of Washington the property of the nation. On the failure of the Mount Vernon bill in the General Assembly of Virginia, we renewed our overtures to Mr. Washington to sell the property to the Association. These overtures met with a favorable response; and on the 6th of April a contract was signed by Mr. Washington, which obligated him to transfer Mount Vernon to the Association on its compliance with the following terms, viz. :— The payment of two hundred thousand dollars for two hundred acres of land, including the mansion, gardens, landing-place, and, above all, the tomb. Eighteen thousand dollars to be paid on closing of con- tract, and the remainder of the sum, in four bonds, paya- ble in yearly instalments, with the permission, after payment of the first bond, to pay to Mr. Washington any amount of the balance due, in sums of not less than five thousand dollars, which sums will be credited to the Asso- ciation, in this manner lessening the interest. The title to the estate and possession to be given on pay- ment of ‘he principal and interest ; and the privilege also granted of obtaining possession, on thirty days’ notice, at any time the Association may be ready to furnish the entire purchase-money. ’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. AN APPEAL FOR MOUNT VERNON. More than half a century has now elapsed since Wash. ington walked among us—a half century of neglect and ingratitude to his memory. Between the broken pledges of Congress, and the apathy of his mother State, the re- mains of the Father of his Country have lain unhonored by the mausoleum voted in the hour of a nation’s grief, and his Home and Grave left to the fate of private property, and accessible to the public only through the forbearance or courtesy of its various private owners. Ever and anon, a voice was heard to protest against republican ingratitude, for, ever and anon, the heart this nation seemed to throb with a remembrance of his virtues and of his services, and the priceless legacy great he bequeathed. But, during the stern struggles of a young republic, this voice was unheeded; and, since America became a power on earth, it was either silenced by the din of party and sectional strife, or stifled by the murmurs of mammon, until the geuerations which knew him not were in danger of forgetting and wholly departing from those principles which are the bulwark of our great- ness, and those warning counsels which can alone main- t But that Providence which has n our Union in safety. so often interposed for our rescue in the darkest days of the Republic, when the ship of State, with no master hand at the helm, rocked to and fro on the angry waves of sec- tional strife and bitterness which threatened to engulf it, has stirred the heart of woman to revive, through the res- cue of the sacred ashes of the Father of his Country, that love for his memory, slumbering, but not dead, which could be made all powerful in regenerating and healing influences. A call was made to the women of the South to gather around his grave, and become the Vestals to keep alive The motives were pure, the inten- Ye who watch the signs Washington be- the fires of patriotism. tions generous; but they failed. of the times, know ye not wherefore? longed not alone to the South ! Again the call was made, and this time to the women of the nation. Again it failed. And wherefore ? The title and all the power were to be given toa State ; and Waghington belonged not to one State alone! Devoted woman would be neither baffled nor conquered ; but she only triumphs when the common homestead can be procured as a common heritage for the estranged chil- dren of a common father, the spell of whose memory will yet have the power to reunite them around Ais hallowed sepulchre. Unexpected success has crowned her efforts. Our coun- try can be saved, one and indissoluble forever, for woman has become her guardian spirit. In the sacred groves of Mount Vernon, she will learn those lessous which will never leave us without a Mary to train a Washington for her country’s hour of need. Orators, statesmen, the noble brotherhood of Masons, Oddfellows, patriots, one and all have come promptly to the aid of woman. And ye, women of the North and of the South, of the East and of the West, will ye not rally to the work? Will ye not vie, one with another, which will give most and do most, that we may, on the twenty- second of February, 1859, claim aud take posycssion of the Home and Grave of him who loved us all, and thus make his birthday the birthday also of republican gratitude, justice, and fraternal love? ANN PAMELA CUNNINGHAM, Regent Mount Vernon Ladies’ Association. April 15th, 1858.

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EDITORS’ TABLE. 179 We shall keep the Lady’s Book open for subscribers to the Mount Vernon Association till December next; and we hope to receive a Jarge number of names to record. The young ladies might form associations in every town and village, collect names and subscriptions, and forward them to us, where all will be published. We have now the following names to record :— Mrs. Laura Smith, Fillmore, Louisiana, $2 Mrs. C. D. Elgin, Rocheport, Missouri, 2 Annie E. Stoner, Chambersburg, Pennsylvania, 1 Miss Lizzie Pusey, Wilmington, Delaware, 1 Mrs. Anna E. Jones, Cuthbert, Georgia, 1 Mrs. Eliza D. Hyde, Keytesville, Missouri, 1 Miss Bettie Hyde - ” 1 Mrs. A. E. Few, Leavenworth City, Kansas Territory, 1 From the following persons in Trenton, New Jersey, we have received one dollar each for the Washiagton Por- trait: H. A. Buttolph, John Keefe, Dorsey Gardner, H. F. Carriel, C. Sager, J. Vance Powers, Thomas Whitehead, Thomas Ingram, William Cooper, Thomas Kelley, Charles McWilliams, Wm. Turnbull, Isaac Cox, Philip Clark, Henry Hedges, William Farrell, Samuel Tonge, Richard Haghes, Milton 8S. Ryder, Patrick Now!an, Mrs. M. R. B., Miss Mary Taber, Miss Mary Morrison, Miss C. McGuigan, Miss Mary Handwright, Miss Mary J. Ryder, Mrs. M. Can- field, Miss Ellen White, Mrs. L. W. Sly, Helen A. Brown, N. J. 8. L. Asylam. rHE BIBLE IN EDUCATION. Hox. WILutaM SiaApe, in his Circular to the young ladies he has taken to the West as teachers, thus describes the influence of the Bible in the school-room :— ** You have the Bible, God's Text-Book for the education of the human soul. The more you study it, the more you will see its wonderful adaptation to this purpose. The entrance of God's word giveth light; it giveth understand- ing tothe simple. The light of the sun, in its influence on the world of animal and vegetable life, is a fitting emblem of the influence of the Bible, brought into daily contact with the human soul. The pure, simple Word of God, without note or comment—we do not sufficiently con- sider its power. The society which has sent you to your fields of labor was not unmindful of this when its Constitution was formed, which pledges the daily use of the Bible in the schools of its teaghers. It felt the import- ance of the Christian element in education, and thus, with a wise forecast, provided for it. You will, of course, not be unmindful of the special obligation thus imposed on you, to bring it into daily contact with the minds and hearts of your pupils. ‘‘And you will do this not only with reference to the Bible as an instrument of moral culture, but also with reference to its power in training the Intellect, by bringing it in contact with great objects of thought, in such a con- nection as to create an intense interest in them, and thus, by a natural law of mind, quicken its energy, and give greater tenacity to its grasp. I cannot here dwell upon this great idea. I commend it to your special considera- tion. Think of the study of the Bible as a means of intel- lectual culture; and think of it with a reference not only to your pupils, but to yourselves. ‘* But there is another instrument of great power in your work of moral training. It is your owncharacter. Have you ever thought of the force of character, of its power to mould into itsown image? In how many ways may it be brought out, so as to make an impression! It sits on the brow; it looks out of the eyes; it beams from the countenance ; it utters itself in the tones of the voice; it moves inthe step. It creates an atmosphere—an atmo- sphere that will fill a school-room with its influence. It acts silently, but with great power—with all the more power, indeed, because it is silent. If you would give the Bible its full and proper force in forming the character of your pupils, see to it that your own characters are formed upon this model. The children will be more likely to imitate you, than to act from the force of mere precepts, though drawn from the Bible. You must use the Bible; but you must also present in your own persons @ corre- sponding example. Failing to do this, you will use the Bible with very little effect." SONNET.—THE POWER OF THOUGHT. BY MRS. HALE. As bursts the lightning o’er a stormy sky, So Thought, amid life’s tumult, flashes forth ; For mighty minds at rest too often lie, Like clouds in upper air, cold, calm, and high, Till, tempest-tossed, and driven towards the earth, They meet the uprising mass, and then is wrought The burning thunderbolt of human Thought, That sends the living light of truth abroad, And rouses, from the tomb of wan despair, The peoples, half consumed in slavery, Whose eager eyes suck in th’ illumined air, And flash back hope to Thought that makes them free, Shivering, like glass, the towers of force and fraud, And awing the bowed world like oracle of God. Scnoon For Youre Lapies.—The school of Miss Ha'e was named in our last number, giving the circular in fal! Now we subjoin the References.—Mrs. Emma Willard, Troy, N. Y.; Mr Lincoln Phelps, Baltimore, Md.; Henry Vethake, LL. D., Provost of the University of Pennsylvania ; Charles Hodg« D. D., Princeton, N. J. ; A. McGill, D. D., Princeton, N. J Prof. Stephen Alexander, LL. D., Princeton, N. J.; Jud Hepburn, Carlisle, Pa. ; William Bacon Stephens, D. D Philadelphia; William H. Ashurst, Esq., Philadelphia George A. Wood, Esq., Philadelphia; Louis A. Godey, Esq Philadelphia ; Thomas A. Budd, Esq., Philadelphia; Wi liam J. Duane, Esq., Philadelphia; Richard Ronaldsor Esq., Philadelphia ; M. A. De Wolfe Howe, D. D., Phil: delphia ; Samuel Nelson, Esq., Geneva, IUinois. Address Miss 8. J. Hale, No. 12 Portico Square, Spruce Street, Philadelphia. To ovr CorresPonpENts.—The following articles are accepted, and will appear as soon as we can make room ‘‘Bells in Distant Lands’—‘‘ Sonnet’’—‘‘The Hawthor: Spray”—*‘ Didactic Epigram”—-“‘ Lines to Miss E. H. H.""— “The Sunbeam's Mission’’—‘ Raindrops’’—‘‘ Parting ’’— “The Deserted Cottage”—‘‘ Faithful’’—‘‘ Little Eddie’’— “Spirit Longings”—and ‘‘ Memory.” The following are declined for want of room and other reasons: ‘“‘ Loneliness’—‘‘ Bertha Bennington’’—“ Infin- ence” (will be returned to the author when stamps ar forwarded) —‘‘ Song”’—‘‘ Nina's Life’’—‘‘ Where?"’ (sub ject grand, but execution feeble)—‘‘ A Lesson"—“‘ Visions of Fairy-Land”—‘‘ Hope’’—‘‘ Album Poem''—“‘ Regrets" — “The Gypsy’s Warning’—‘To-morrow”—‘‘A Memo- rial"—‘‘The Bower’’—‘' Windfalls”— “ Sketches” — and three “‘ Songs.”’ We have other articles on hand not yet examined.

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Health Department. BY JNO. STAINBACK WILSON, M.D. We might extend our remarks on the “importance of correct medical knowledge, and on popular medical errors,” through several successive numbers ; but, as these subjects will incidentally engage our attention hereafter, we proceed at once to define “our position,’ and to discuss the first item in the programme arranged for the benefit of the numerous readers of the Lady’s Book. While it is true that our position might be developed sufficiently by our subsequent communications, we think it best, for several reasons, to declare it in the beginning. The two principal considerations in favor of this course are these: Ist. If it be known in advance, the non-profes- sional, for whom we write, will be better able properly to estimate any directions that may be given for their guidance. And 2d. We think it due oar profession dis- tinctly to announce the relationship we sustain to them in assuming the novel position of contributor to a “‘ Health Department” in a non-professional or secular work. To come at once to the point, then, we are a *‘ regular physi- cian.”” We disclaim all alliance with the Pathies of the day, even the venerable Allopathy himself, as he is de- scribed by some who have a kind of spite at the old gentle- man. We believe that ‘‘regular medicine,’’ with all its errors, abuses, and defects, is the only true and scientific system ; that it has correct, well-established fundamental principles on which it rests; that facts and principles are constantly accumulating in the progress of the science; that these will become a part of the noble superstructure which has bravely withstood the assaults of blind igno- rance and interested empiricism for “twice a thousand years ;’’ and it is destined to stand, in spite of all opposi- tion, doubtless to the end of time. Yet, while these are our honest convictions, we do not, by any means, consider regular medicine as perfect ; nor would we have the infer- ence drawn that we are in favor of the old roatine of calo- mel, opium, the lancet, and warm bath, to the exclusion of everything else. To be more explicit, we believe in what may appropriately be called Regular Scientific Eclec- ticism ; and this would repudiate all exclusive, one-idea systems ; while the truly good and useful would be appro- priated, in accordance with the well-established principles of legitimate medicine, from whatever quarter they might eome. After saying what we have, it is hardly necessary for us to declare that we could not do violence to our feel- ings, and be guilty of the inconsistency of resorting to the common and dishonorable expedient of seeking favor from the people by catering to their errors and prejudices, or by ridiculing and decrying the regular profession. And surely no selfish considerations would prompt any mem- ber of this ‘‘God-like’’ profession, which so justly boasts its philanthropy, to oppose the diffusion of knowledge among the people on the all-important subject of health. As it is more desirable, for obvious reasons, to prevent than to cure disease, the remainder of this, ard perhaps several subsequent articles, will be devoted to Hyatens. Dress is a subject which will surely engage the atten- tion of the readers of a magazine designed to instruct in the things of taste and fashion ; and the interest manifested in this subject should be much enhanced by the considera- tion that it is as important in its hygienic as in its orna- mental relations. Yet, while this is true, we are sorry to add that health and comfort are too often disregarded, aud that thousands of the fairest and best of our land are daily immolated on the altar of tyrannical and arbitrary Fashion. Notwithstanding this theme may be hackneyed, then, though our admonitions may be disregarded, and thoagh we may not be able to add anything new, we feel that we would be guilty of a dereliction in duty were we to fail to indicate some of the prevalent errorsin dress. That every organ should be free and uncompressed, so that it may perform its functions without restraint, is a fact consonant alike with physiology and common sense. This being true, then, how can the important functions of the lungs and heart, respiration and circulation, be properly per- formed when these vital organs are bound with more than triple cords? It may be answered that fashion has changed in this respect ; but, while this may be literally true, it must be admitted that a close-fitting, unyielding case of steel and whalebone, bound around the body with inelastic meta! catches, must be as injurious, or even more so, than the strongest cord. Those who thus violate the law above announced will most assuredly suffer the penalty in short ness of breath, faintness, nervousness, fulness and swim- ming in the head, palpitation of the heart, nausea or sick stomach, pains in the sides, or some form of fatal organic disease, of which these and other symptoms are too oftea the premonitions. We might say much more on this point; but we must forbear, with the expression of a sincere desire that some, at least, will regard these few hints, and that they will no longer sacrifice health and life to false ideas of the beauti- ful, remembering that “Nature when unadorned ’s adorned the most,” and that perfect health and full, beautiful physical develop- ment can be obtained only by leaving the body free and unrestrained. Another evil, to which we can merely allude, is the custom of wearing thin shoes. The circuls tion in the extremities, as the bands and feet, is naturally more easily affected by a low temperature than the trunk or other parts nearer the heart. It is not surprising, then, that those who have the feet insufficiently protected (and especially the inhabitants of our Northern States) should be affected with congestions and inflammations of the lungs, brain, and other vital organs. The best protection for the feet in cold weather is tick cork or leather-soled shoes India-rubber overshoes are objectionable because they are impervious to the air, because evaporation is consequently prevented, and the feet are kept wet by perspiration, and are therefore much more liable to be injuriously affected by cold on the removal of the overshoes. While we have thus found it necessary to condemn some of the customs of dame Fashion, we are happy to add that, in one respect at least, she is found ranged on the side of health and comfort. We allude to the use of metallic and other similar supporters of dress-skirts ; for, while this, like other fashions, may have been carried to extremes, its advantages are obvious. For supporters of this kind render it unnecessary to resort to such a number of heavy garments in order to preserve the fulness of the skirt; and the dragging weight is thus avoided. And, even admitting that the number of garments is not dimin- ished, the downward pressure is toa great extent obvi- ated by the resisting circles which sustain them. CoLumsus, Ga.

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LITERARY ¥1 terarn #otices. Books py Mari.—Now that the postage on printed mat- for our In- formation touching books will be cheerfully given by s so low, we offer our services to ter 1 subscribers or others any of the books that we notice procure inclosin When ordering a book, please mention the name of the g a stamp to pay return postage. publisher. From J. B. Lippincorr & Co., Philadelphia :— THE HISTORY OF MINNESOTA; from the Earliest French Explorations to the Present Time. By Edward Duffield Neill, Secretary of the Minnesota Historical Soci- ety. As everything connected with the early history of the American continent, and especially of that portion of it which has fallen to the lot of the North American Re- publics, must necessarily prove interesting to the present seneration, and must as necessarily become more and more so to these who shall succeed them, the volume before us may be truly considered an important addition to our na- tional records. The author, having held an important oficial station in the late territory, has had many oppor- tunities of acquiring a correct and practical knowledge of **its characteristics and adaptation for a dense and robust population,” which otherwise he could not have obtained ; and as for the past, he appears to have made the best use of the authorities before him that could have been expected. Price $2 50 QUITS: A Novel. of ** The Initials.” By the Baroness Tautpheeus, author We have already ex- pressed our opinion of this capital story. To those who have read her first work, an introduction to the author, as The vivid remem- Second edition. we have said, is quite unnecessary. brance of the pleasure afforded by its perusal has induced them, ere this, we think, to pay their respects to the new claimant for their favor. Those who have yet failed to realize this pleasure will be surprised to find, under so modest and unassuming a title, a tale of absorbing inte- rest—a charming picture of life and manners. With a highly cultivated intellect, a refined taste, and a genial temperament, the author combines rare powers of observa- tion. She depicts the characteristics of English and Ger- man life, in various phases, with theskill and truthfulness The character of the heroine is There is a sweetness, a grace, a natural- of an aceomplished artist. a masterpiece. ness, a living, perennial freshness in Nora which is posi- tively fascinating, and contrasts most favorably with the artificial creatures of too many works of fiction. She thinks, feels, talks, and acts like a true woman, and as such endears herself to every reader. We parted from her with unfeigned regret; and we advise our readers who have not done so to lose no time in making her acquain- tance. Price $1 25. From H. Cowpertuwairt & Co., Philadelphia :— AN EPITOME OF THE AMERICAN ECLECTIC PRAC- TICE OF MEDICINE; Embracing Pathology, Symptom- atology, Diagnosis, Prognosis, and Treatment. Con- taining, also, A Complete List of the Remedies used by Allopathists, Homeopathists, and Hydropathists, and an Eclectic Pharmacy and Glossary. Designed for Physicians, the Students of Medicine, and as a Domestic Practice for Families. By Wm. Paine, M. D., Professor of the Princi- ples and Practice of Medicine and Pathology in the Eclectic Medical College of Pennsylvania. The object of the author, VOL. LViI.—16 \ names are given. NOTICES. 181 as he states in the preface, in preparing this work, has been to record, in a condensed form, what he conceives to be true relative to the present condition of practical medi- cine, and to the American Eclectic treatment of disease, which, as he says, has proved signally successful in his hands. There are at the present time so many schools of medicine before the public, each one claiming to be the true school, that it would probably be considered imperti- nent, if it did not turn out to be dangerous, for one who has never thoroughly studied either of them, to presume to decide on their merits. All, of course, have the best of the argument when they speak for themselves, and decide in favor of their own orthodoxy, as they all have done, much to the bewilderment of those who, unfortunately, have to call on medical professors for aid in time of sick- ness. But with the printed works of each profession or school before them, we must leave others to do as we have done—to judge, without prejudice, for themselves. Price $2 Ov. From Peterson & Broruers, Philadelphia :— MARY DERWENT. By Ann 8. Stephens, author of **Fashion and Famine,’ “‘The Gypsy’s Legacy,” ‘‘The Heiress of Greenhurst,”’ “The Old Homestead,” ete. etc. ” Mrs. Stephens’ tales have always been sought after with avidity, and have established for her a deserved popularity. They have generally been well told, and are full of inte- rest—characteristics that are well sustained in the present work, which claims to have its foundation in history, and the scene of which is laid in the beautiful valley of Wyo- ming, made immortal by the poetry of Campbell. In re- lating the affecting story of Mary Derwent, the author also adopts a poetical style of expression, often very beautiful. Many of her characters, too, are distinctly and ably drawn Mrs. Stephens is a pleasing and an attractive writer, who is fully worthy, and able to command the attention of the popular ear. Price $1 25. From Murray, Yorne, & Co., Lancaster, Pa., through Pererson & Broruers, Philadelphia :— WHY DO YOU WEAR IT? or the Fashionable Profes- By James E. Giffin, A. M., Professor of Church@wn This is a small volume, sor. Academy, Lancaster County, Pa. treating of the subject of dress in its connection with reli- gion, and reasoning that the follies of fashion and extrava- gance are not in conformity with true Christianity. The We have no Price 30 subject is a fruitful one, and is well handled. doubt the publication will find a ready sale. cents. THE BOUQUET, and other Poems. By Brown. A collection of very ordinary poetical articles, with an occasional one which by its excellence may make amends for the rest, and redeem the book. Lovers of po- Price 30 cents. James Scott etry may not be displeased with it. From D. Appieton & Co., New York, through Perer- son & Broruers, Philadelphia :— CORNELL’S FIRST STEPS IN GEOGRAPHY. By S. 8. Cornell, Corresponding Member of the American Geo- graphical and Statistical Society. Admirably adapted as a text-book in primary schools. The lessons are short, the language simplified, and the pronunciations of all proper We believe it to be an improvement on the books now in general use. URSULA: A Tale of Country Life. By the author of “Amy Herbert,” “ Ivors,” In two volumes, This is an English book, republished in America, We have examined it carefully, and believe it to be a truthful pic- etc.

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182 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ture of every-day life in England. The book does not attempt the abrupt, powerful, and tragic style which is so much in vogue among late writers. If it did, we think the attempt might prove a failure. But the style is pecu- liar te the author, plain and straightforward ; and it is all the more interesting for being so Everything is written quietly aod naturally ; and many beautiful truths are told in & most beautiful way. There is a vein of deep religious feeling running through the book; and many gems of poetical sentiment and expressiou sparkle amid the simple varrative. The reader does not feel a strong interest in the volume, and thinks he may lay it down at any time without caring to resumeit. But he finds his mistake, snd is more apt to read many portions of it a second time than to leave any unread. Price $1 50 From Harper & Brotuers, New York, through Perer- sox & Brotuers, Philadelphia :— FRED MARKHAM IN RUSSIA; or, the Boy Travellers By W. H. G ithor of “‘Salt Water,” “‘ Peter the Whaler,’ iu the Land of the Czar Kingston, Esq., * ** Mark Sea- ** Manco,” ete. With numerous illustrations. It ves us pleasure to recommend this book to the attention parents. It will prove amusing to children, because it tbounds with incidents and descriptions, and excites their iuterest; and it will be profitable because it gives them useful information, and implants a taste for good reading. It is better to buy one book of this stamp, than tweuty ** Jack the Giant Kill- ibsurd stories like ‘‘ Cinderella” and ‘his is superior even to the better class of juvenile books, for children never pause to deduce a moral from iything they read; and, if the moral is put down in full, they invariably skip over it: while books of this class combine instruction with amusement, in such a manner that it cannot fail to be pleasing. Price 75 cents. WYOMING: mantic Adventures. its History, Stirring Incidents, and Ro- By George Peck, D. D. is finely illustrated, and will attract universal attention, The volume as relating to a spot whose history is most romantic and The style is simple and narrative; and the in- Price $1 25. thrilling. terest of the reader never flags. in Dersy & Jacxsox, New York, through Perer- son & Brorners, Philadelphia :— STEPS TOWARD HEAVEN ; or, Religion *n Common Life: Awakening A series of Lay Sermons for Converts in the Great By T. 8. Arthur. Showing, with the au- thor’s peculiar faculty, the relation of religion to every- day life. He has selected, as examples, the most common trials in life; and everything relating to them is stated in a simple, truthful, and impressive manner. One cannot read the sketches which the book contains without feeling his better nature strengthened and encouraged for the future. Price $1 00. From Dick & Firzaerap, New York, through Perer- son & Brotruers, Philadelphia :— THE YELLOW FRIGATE; or, the Two Sisters. By Captain James Grant, author of “* Harry Ogilvie, or the Black Dragoons,” “‘ Frank Hilton, or the Queen's Own,” ** Philip Rollo, or the Scottish Musqueteers,”’ ** The Adven- tures of an Aid-de-Camp,” ete. This is a romance of early Seottish history. It narrates the marriage of the Duke of tothsay, afterwards James IV., of Scotland, with Marga- ret Drummond. The book is well written, and full of interest. Price 50 cents. From Litre, Sox, & Co., Boston :— THE LIVING AGE accomplishes what we would all desire—it improves with age. Several additional pages of matter are now added to this excellent periodical, and the appearance is mach improved. The “Living Age” sup- plies the reader with the best literature of all the European Next journals. It is a garden of flowers without weeds. to the Lady’s Book, which is indispensable in every weil- ” ordered household, we commend the “‘ Living Age. From CHAr.ies Desi.ver, No. 714 Chestnut Street, oppo- site the Masonic Hall, Philadelphia :— PRAYERS FOR THE USE OF FAMILIES, chiefly selected Srom various Authors, with a Preliminary Essay, toge- This The prayers are ther with a Selection of Hymns. By Albert Barnes. bouk is well adapted for family worship. simple, and appropriate for daily use, and embrace many intended for particular days and occasions. The hymns are familiar to every one, as they are selected from well- known books. Price $1 00. From Ticknor & FreLps, Boston, through Hazarp & Brorners, 724 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia :— SPECIMENS OF DOUGLAS JERROLD'S WIT: Together with Selections, chiefly from his Contributions to Journals, intended to Illustrate his Opinions. Arranged by his son, Being the choicest and best sayings Every one has Blanchard Jerrold. of the late English wit and journalist. heard of Douglas Jerrold, and every one will wish to see this book. Price 75 cents. New York, through 608 Chestnut Street, From SHeipox, BLakeMAN, & Cov., Witniam J. & ALFRED MARTIEN, Philadelphia :— SELECT DISCOURSES. cher, Tholuck, and Julius Miiller. French and German, with Biographical Notices, and Dr. Monod’s Celebrated Lecture on the Delivery of Sermons. By Rev. H. C. Fish, and D. W. Poor, D. D. This volume contains a fine steel portrait of Dr. Monod. By Adolphe Monod, Krumma- ) } Translated from the The discourses are excellent, and illustrate many truths. We commend Price $1 00. them to attention. From Suetpoy, BLakemay, & Co., New York, through Gowetr & VorHMER, successors of Cowperthwait, 509 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia :— WOMAN, her Mission and Life. By Adolphe Monod, D. D., late Minister in Paris, France. Translated from the With a Biographical Sketch of the Author, and These discourses will no doubt French. a Portrait from steel. meet general approval, though we question whether a man can deal properly and fairly with the subject. Some one has said, and we think wisely, that it is impossible for either sex to prescribe the duties and mission of the other truly and without prejudice; but each is only qualified to speak of its own. Price 50 cents ~ , . Godens Arm-Chair * O Ovr Avavst Numper.—To vary our series of plates, we give our annual landscape; and we can truly say it is a beautifal one, executed in that peculiar style of engraving termed Gemograph. It is entitled ‘‘ Summer,” a very ap- propriate title. Another five-figure colored fashion is given with it, in addition to the numerous cuts of the latest fashions up to the time of going to press. We are glad to see that the public and the press begin to see the import- ance of good wood engravings. We pride ourselves very much upon this department.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 183 Reap “‘ Fourth of July at Dozeyvale.” ‘‘ Aunt Tabitha” is with us once again; and ‘‘ Margaret’s Home”’ increases iu interest every month. ResTavRanxt.—We have at length in ouscity an estab- lishment where gentlemen can dine. There are many unfortunates who are not able, from the pressure of busi- ness, to eat that comfortable meal, dinner, at home, and many others who, during the hot weather, make but one term of business. To all, we recommend the establishment of Messrs. Petry & Brother, Walnut Street above Third, in the house formerly occupied by the late Charles Chauncey, Esq. There is the grand room for those who only wish to eat and run; and there are private rooms for little par- ties; and very agreeable and pleasant rooms they are. The cooking is excellent, worthy of the great fame of the Petrys; and the wines are of their own importing. It is well known that the French have made a science of cook- ery ; and it is equally well known that food cooked in the French method is more digestible; and that is a matter of som consideration in hot weather. Do not register your letters ; and another piece of advice we give is this: Don't let any person know you are going to send money. Put your letter in the post-office, keeping your own counsel, as if it were a letter without money How often are we written, when money miscarries, “I put the money in the letter in the presence of nm and no doubt intrusted it to that person to mail we say, let no one know that there is money in your Again letter. McsarpD Concerts—WaALKER.—A lucky man is Mr. Walker. He makes everything succeed that he under- takes. Not satisfied with doing well, he (just like ourself) trusts to do better; and so we sare promised Formes, the great basso. Perhaps, before our readers see this, Formes will have been here and gone, for we write somewhat in advance of time. However, some great novelty will succeed Formes, as we understand Walker has the Opera House for some time. Walker is great, and the Opera House is his proft. By the way, could not an arrange- ment be made with the Ravele? They would cram the house nightly. Mvatc Deciinep.—Mr. Holloway has found it necessary to decline, for various reasons, the following pieces of music sent for insertion in the Book: ‘Chariton Polka,” ** Montreal Waltz,”’ ‘‘ The Course of True Love," “‘I Think of Thee,” and “A Serenade.”” With a little more practice, the cgmposers of some of these pieces would succeed pretty well. Harr Dye ry Four Dirrerent Coroxs.—The most per- fect article of this kind, manufactured by the celebrated Berger of Paris, is now for sale in this city by Fouladoux, in Chestnut Street above Fourth. It will color the hair biack, brown, light brown,-or of a very light almost flaxen color. There is no deception in this, for we have seen the article tried, and pronounce it, without any exception, the very best hair dye we have ever seen. Those who order will please specify what kind they want—as one case only contains one particular dye. In addition to the above, Mr. Fouladoux manufactures wigs and fronts, and furnishes every article in the hair line. Towyx, County, axnp Stats.—Do not forget to pat all these in every letter you write. You do not know how much trouble it would save us. Just Heak THESE BacneLors !—We inquired, in a late number of the Book, what had become of them all—mar- ried, of course, we thought, by this time; but no such good luck, at least for them; and some of them seem to glory in their forlorn condition. We will let them speak for themselves. First comes the editor of the News at Boonsboro’ :— ‘““Godey wants to know what has become of all the bachelor editors, and asks if they have all blown away. Bless your dear soul, Mr. Godey! have you forgotten us so soon after the hard words we have heaped upon you for the inroads which are being made into our ranks by that incendiary document of yours, the Lady's Book? We blush for the integrity of our sex when we realize that so many otherwise good fellows have ‘caught the bit,’ and run headlong into the ocean of matrimony, and all from reading the Lady’s Book ; and yet you tauntingly ask what has become of them. Really this is too much. You deserve to be fricasseed in bachelorie anathemas, and be devoured by an assemblage of the ugliest old maids in all womandom. No, Mr. Godey, we have not all blown away. There is one honest bachelor yet left, though we shall expect to be pretty hard blown if we are ever so un- fortunate as to get tangled in the web of Hymen. We confess, however, that we do feel rather smiling when looking at the pictures, and, on the whole, think we can stand it another year; so, as the Widow Bedott would say, ‘ please continner.’”’ If the editor of the News doesn’t get a Xantippe when he does marry—and he is a sure case—then we don’t know anything of retributive justice. The editor of the Southwest, at Bed- ford, comes out in this style:— ‘**We notice a query in the last number,to the following effect : ‘**Where are all the bachelor editors? dead, or married off ?’ **As we do not wish to have the impression go abroad Here is another. Are they all that the race has become extinct, we simply offer, in re- ply, that we don’t know where all of them are; but we do know where one of them ‘stays ;’ and, if Mr. Godey should ever happen out our way, we ‘ll show him up with Indeed, sir, it isn’t our fault. Nobody ever How can we help it now ?” Have you ever asked anybody ? pleasure. asked us to ‘have’ ‘em. That is all nonsense. Don’t wait to be asked ; all you have to do is to pop the question ; no lady refuses an editor. We have a few more for our next number. We are not done with you yet, you miserable bachelors! TALLEYRAND was one day leaving a council of ministers when he met a courtier distinguished for his imprudent gossiping. ‘Well, M. Le Prince,” he cried, “‘what has passed in council to-day ?” ‘*Four hours have passed,” replied the Prince, gravely La Faroe Hovse, New Yorx.—We recommend this excellent hotel to all who visit that city. It is situated in the most fashionable part of the city, is admirably kept by Mrs. Henry Wheeler, and ably superintended by Mr. W W. Hill. Proressor Jonn S. Hart.—We have been presented with an admirable portrait of our friend, engraved in mixed style by Mr. Sartain. It is an excellent likeness of the worthy professor of the High School; and the engrav- ing is in Sartain’s very best manner. Indeed, we think it the very best engraving of a bead we have ever seen.

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184 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Attantic Crry.—We have been there, and advise every one to go there. Fine hotels, a beach far superior to Cape May, one upon which you may ride nine miles without interruption—excellent fishing, crabbing, and oystering, to say nothing of the bathing. And, ladies, a word in your ear: The president is a very handsome and agreeable man. If you could only find out the day he is going down, you would be well taken care of. Seriously, we think Atlantic City is to be the bathing-place of the coun- try. The capabilities there are very great ; and it is won- derful to see the improvements from yearto year. The ride is a very agreeable one, taking but two hours and a half; and during the season there is to be an express line to run through intwo hours. It has also this advantage over Cape May: Parties may go down in the afternoon, enjoy a bathe, and return before business hours in the morning. A gentleman having his family there can spend every evening with them, and return inthe morning. Stason- tickets are very low. “Tue Sone-Brrap Fancier.”—Every lady who keeps birds should have this useful book. We can furnish it fur twenty-five cents, and it is worth dollars to them. DerRo!r. My pear Mr. Goper, We all call you so, From the veriest lady Down to our little Joe. The coming is greeted, By both word and look, Of that dearest treasure, The ladies’ own book. The thanks is at present, Which I think you're due, For making time pleasant To the younger folks too. Indeed, I hope truly You ‘ll still do the same ; I pledge myself duly A Friexpd To your Name. How often will it Address Fashion Mus. Hate is not the fashion editor. be necessary for us to repeat this? Editor, care of L. A. Godey. How to Remrt.—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, seeure them care- fully in the letter; otherwise, they are apt to work out of Stamps over three cents are only taken for Notes on all solvent banks the envelop. the fractional parts of a dollar. taken at par. Be careful and pay the postage on your letter, and direct it to L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. “On, Julia!” cried a sentimental youth, “never weep before my eyes! I am sure that the first time I see you weep, my despair will kill me.” ** And the second time ?"’ coolly inquired Julia. A LADY sat gazing ata star. Her lover, who had suf- fered in pocket from her exacting disposition, cried: * Alice, do not look so wistfully upon that ‘bright, par- ticular star ;’ I cannot buy it for you.” We have often thought that one of the most ridiculous things in this world was for a man brought up toa city life, working all his days at a certain business, and amass- ing a competence, all at once to quit business, retire to the country, and die, absolutely for want of occupation Take our own case; and we love the country as well as any man can love it for three months in the year, but with no cessation of business; that is, we like to come to town, attend to matters until four in the afternoon, and then go to the country. We have tried a day away from business in all the beauty of the most beautiful country, and we were not pleased. We missed something; we even missed the little imp called by printers the D——1; we expected him to say ‘“‘the last form is waiting for you,’’—a thing, by the way, he has not often to remind us of. We missed the usual calls. In fact, it was too quiet. We endeavored to get up a row among the chickens; but they did not seem disposed to break the universal quiet that reigned around. All seemed hopeless; and we quietly gave it up. These remarks are made to introduce the following para- graph that we cut from a newspaper. We are satisfied that man was made to work; and we shall continue on, despite riches or anything else. We say with Macbeth that we will die “with harness on our back.” “Tae ImPoRTANCE OF CcsToMARY OccUPATION.—We all know the depressing effect of robbing a man of the interest of his customary occupation. Idleness is only possible to those who are educated enough to be idle—in other words, to those who have a great variety of small but pleasurably interesting occupations which fill up the intel- lect, and demand attention. If a man has not learned to occupy himself with ease—if he is dependent on some one accustomed task to occupy him, withdraw that task, and he is lost. How many men die simply because they have ‘retired from business,’ without having previously learned the business of improving themselves! The great vacuum in their lives is insupportable. The nervous energy has nothing to spend itselfon. It tries one thing— tries another, and cannot rest. The saved energy exhausts itself on disease, and the man dies.’ ’ Warer-CooLters—a necessity this weather; and you want a good one manufactured on scientific principles. To get the really good article, and these we can most as- suredly recommend, call at J. S. Clark's, 1008 Market Street. Tre basement of a church in —— having been rented for the storage of some liquor, a placard was found on the door, one Sunday morning, which ran as follows:— “Spirits above! spirits below! Spirits of joy! spirits of woe! The spirits above are the spirits divine; The spirits below are the spirits of wine.” Tur man who has never tried the companionship of a little child has carelessly passed by one of the greatest pleasures of life, as one passes a rare flower without pluck- ing or knowing its value. “Mrs. HaLe’s Recetprs 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.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. Tue following, from the pen of the author of the “‘ Widow Bedott and Aunt Maguire Papers,” has been kindly fur- nished us by a friend and relative. It is very amusing, and has never before been printed. HOW TO DRY CURRANTS. (In a letter to a friend.) Ir gives, me joy by no means small, My worthy friend, to see That I know anything at all Which is not known by thee. Sut still, so generous is my heart, Of selfishness devoid, That, did I not my stock impart, It would not be enjoyed. Keeping one’s talents all unused I ever have decried. Knowledge should always be diffused, Not in a napkin tied. With kin@ly feelings that o’erflow For you and all beside, I sit me down to let you know How currants should be dried. First, take a brass or copper kettle, No matter which, I ween, Not very big, nor yet too little, And wipe it dry and clean. One glass of water and a pound Of sugar you'll require ; Then in the kettle whisk them round, And hang it o’er the fire. Ay, hang it there to melt, not boil ; Don't let it boil, my dear, For that would all your currants spoil, And cost you many a tear. Then take six pounds of currants fresh, Pick off each worm with rigor, Next wash them in a calabash, And pour them o’er the sugar. Your precious time you may beguile With some instructive book, If at the kettle you meanwhile Will cast a frequent look. For instance, if “ Watts on the Mind” Should be the work selected, What ’s on the fire I think you'll find Would be almost neglected. Well, when they ’ve boiled up once, my dear, Oh, take them off in haste! For, if you longer leave them there, The juice will surely waste. Then spread them out on pans of tin— Broad pans—not very high, For, if you do not spread them thin, They ‘ll never, never dry! Some place their pans before the fire, Some on their garden beds, And some go up a little higher, And dry them on their sheds The latter plan is scarcely neat, For bugs and flies can reach ‘em ; And hens’ and roosters’ dirty feet Are very apt to scratch ‘em. I like the course my mother takes ; She uses wondrous care. The oven where her bread she bakes, She swectly dries them there. My mother knows what she’s about ; Through many scenes she ’s been ; And, when she hauls her bread pans out, She pokes her currants in. And she repeats this process thrice, Which dries them just enough ; For know, they ‘d not be done at twice, Four times would make them tough. And every time she takes them out, She's sure to turn them over. When done, she puts them in a pot Beneath a cotton cover. A pitcher with a broken snout, Or old cracked jar will do; Because they never will get out, They never can run through. Prart Carp-Cases—very pretty and suitable presents— a great variety, and at different prices. No. 1. Plain or beautifully inlaid different colored shells . ° ° ° . $3 00 No. 2. Plain but beautifully varied engraving suit- abie for a bride ° ° 400 No. 8. Engraved and border of various colored shells . ° ° ° ° ° 450 No. 4. Second mourning card-cases ° ° 2 00 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. A soLprer found an inscription on a tomb in antique letters of bronze. He detached the letters one by one, and, carrying them in a bag to an antiquary, threw them down before him, asking the meaning of the inscription. A MAN hearing of another who was a hundred years old, said, contemptuously: ‘‘Pshaw! what a fuss about nothing! Why, if my grandfather was alive, he would now be a hundred and fifty years old.”’ PATTERNS FOR INFANTS’ Dresses, on INFANTS’ 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 (not Mrs. Hale), eare of L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. All other patterns fur- nished as usual. Remember 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.

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186 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. Mas. Disnagti.—Train and corsage of rich blue brocade, lined with white satin, and trimmed with gold lace, clasped the shoulders with stomacher, clusters of diamonds and turquoises; flounces of costly wold lace. Headdress, a magnificent tiara of diamonds; necklace of same; gold lappets, white and blue feathers. Mas. Fietcuer Nortorn.—Costume de cour, composed of the richest white satin, and trimmed with splendid Irish guipure lace; corsage to correspond with a stomacher of diamonds and emeralds, and a diamond girdle, with Irish guipure lace; the skirt of rich white satin, with a deep flounce of Irish guipure lace, with marabouts and bouquets of peonies, intermixed with green leaves and marabouts. Coiffure composed of white ostrich feathers, point lace lappets, and a magnificent diadem of diamonds emerald and diamond necklace and diamond on diamonds ; and rubies ; ear-rings. Countess or Licnrretp.—Train of white lace, trimmed with thulle, and bouquets of white acacia; petticoats of thulle over giace, with flounces of Brussels lace. Head- dress, feathers, and lace lappets; ornaments, diamonds. Countess or DartTmMovts.—Train of green and white moire antique, lined with glace, and trimmed with Brus- sels lace; petticoat of green thulle over lace, flounced with Brussels lace, and trimmed with satin ribbon. Headdress, feathers, and lace lappets ; ornaments, diamonds. Countess Howr.—Train of green glace, trimmed with blonde and ruches of glace; petticoat of green thulle over glace. Headdress, feathers and blonde lappets; orna- ments, pearls and diamonds. Countess or HAREwoop.—Train of pale green moire antique, lined with white glace, and trimmed with bouillons of thulle and pompons of satin ribbon; corsage to correspond; jupe of very handsome chene silk, taste- fully trimmed with deep fringe and ribbon. Headdress, plumes, flowers, and lappets ; ornaments, diamonds. Countess Somers.—Costume de cour, composed of a train of the richest white taffetas d'Italie, lined with pink silk, most tastefully trimmed with crape, blonde, and feather fringe ; corsage to correspond, with very elegant Venetian coquellage fringe and trimmings, blonde, &c. ; skirt of white taffetas d'Italie, with pink skirt, trimmed with blonde flounces, feather fringe, and several borcers of Venetian coquellage. Coiffure of diamond and Venetian coquellage, ostrich feathers, and silver veil. Countess Craven.—Costume de cour, train of blue poult de soie, lined with white glace, and trimmed with Brussels lace, corsage to correspond ; jupe of blue crepe, with one very deep volant of Brussels lace, looped with neeuds of blue ribbon. Headdress, plumes, lappets, and flowers; ornaments, diamonds. Countess or GALLOWAY.—Train, from the shoulders, of Marie Louise moire antique, richly trimmed with blonde and neads of blue and silver ribbon ; dress of blue crape, with three skirts, trimmed with blonde and ruches of crape, with bouquets of blue flowers and silver lilies over white silk slip. Headdress, feathers, blonde lappets, and diamonds. Countess Constance Grosvenor.—Train of green glace, trimmed with thulle, and pink and white roses; white thulle petticoat over glace, with bouillon trimming of thulle, dotted with pink and white roses. Headdress, feathers, and lappets; ornaments, diamonds. Countess or CAMPERDOWN.—Train of blue terry and white moire antique, in alternate stripes, trimmed with blonde; blue glace petticoat, trimmed with insertion and flounces of blonde. Headdress, feathers, and lappets; ornaments, diamonds. Covstess or Dor#aM.—Train of white glace. trimmed with thulle and bouquets of chestnut blossom ; thulle dress, over white glace, flounced with Brussels lace, and trimmed with satin ribbon. Headdress, feathers, and lace lappets ; ornaments, diamonds. Corntess oP BRapFORD.—Train of blue and white bro- cade, lined with white glace and trimmed with Honiton lace and white satin ribbon; white satin petticoat, with flounces of Honiton lace over a trimming of thulle and Headdress, feathers, and lace lappets ; or- naments, diamonds. Countess or YARBoROvGH.—A court train of rich lilac glace silk, trimmed with blonde, lace, and ribbon, with diamond ornaments; a petticoat of lilac glace, trimmed with thulle and blonde lace. Headdress, feathers and lappets ; ornaments, diamonds. Cocntess or Bectrive.—A court train of lilae glace silk, trimmed with thulle bouillon, blonde lace, and clusters of mixed crocuses ; a petticoat of lilac thulla, over glace silk of the same color, full trimmed with thulle bouillon and voilures of blonde lace; with clusters of mixed crocuses. Headdress, feathers, diamonds, and lappets. satin ribbon. Ay actor, who was always hissed on account of his ex- treme ugliness, advanced one evening to the footlights, saying: ‘* Ladies and gentlemen, I assure you it is easier for you to accustom yourselyes to see my face, than it is for me to change it.” NAPOLEON once entered the hut of a Dutch peasant, who had been hospitable to his soldiers. ‘‘ My friend,” he said, ‘“‘I am the Emperor Napoleon.” “*Good day,” said the peasant, keeping his seat ‘*My friend,*’ Napoleon repeated, ‘“‘I am the Emperor.’ “Your” “Yes” *“*T am content.” **T come to make your fortune.’ **T have made it.” ‘Have you daughters?” “Tea.” “I will provide husbands for them.” ** T have provided them.” Napoleon left. A MAN being advised not to let his daughter marry till she was older and wiser, replied: ‘‘ If she grows older and wiser, she will not marry at all.” Mcex.—Ladies—we beg pardon, ladies do not use musk : and we would advise all our friends, when visiting the city, not to use the vile stuff. A wrong construction will be put upon them. We once heard an old lady say that no one used it who had not something more powerful to overcome. Any person having the slightest degree of consideration would not use it in an assemblage of persons, for to many it is so offensive as to cause headache. ScpscriBers 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.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. Tue Scientific American has the following upon the subject of hair specifics :-— “The number of hair specifics which are now vended under the astounding names of ‘Wahpene,’ ‘Tricophe- rous,’ &c., is really wonderful. It is professed for them that they restore the hair (curing baldness), prevent it fall- ing out, give ita beautifully soft and glossy appearance, and either kill or cure all the ills that hair ‘is heir tw.’ Judging from the number of establishments where such articles are manufactured, the quantity sold must be pro- ‘ligious ; and, judging from the prices at which they are sold, the profits arising from them cannot be small. That some of these lotions are good in their way, there can be no room to doubt; but the merits of thg best are greatly exaggerated by those who sell them. We will give a few receipts for making such specifics, so that these of our readers whe wish to use them can make the preparations themselves. “No. 1. Take ean de cologne, two ounces; cantharides, half an ounce; and add twenty drops of the tincture of oil of lavender. “No. 2. Take vinegar of cantharides, half an ounce; eau de cologne and rose-water, each half an ounce. “No. 3. with a pint of aleohol, and add half an ounce of the tinc- Take an ounce of castor oil, mix it thoroughly ture of cantharides. ‘“*No. 4. Sulphuric ether, one ounce ; tincture of cantha- olive oil, one ounce; alcohol, one pint. The first two are rides, one ounce ; **These four receipts are sufficient. from the work of Erasmus Wilson, F. R. 8., the author of an able treatise on cutaneous diseases. The last two re- ceipts are followed by persons who manufacture the article for sale, and are better than the first two. They are capa- ble of making excellent Tricopherous, both for keeping the head clean, preventing the hair falling out, and, in some cases, curing partial baldness. In using them, the head should be brushed smartly with a hard hair-brush, the lotion then applied with a piece of sponge, the head brushed again, and a silk nightcap put on. The best period to apply it is just before going to bed, but it may aiso be used at any time of the day. **The philosophy of éuch hair specifics consists in con- sidering decay in the growth of hair to be due to an absence of vigorous action in the nerves of the scalp. The tincture of cantharides excites action in these nerves; and its office is to restore vigor to the hair, preventing its fall- ing out, and promoting its growth. The oil keeps the skin soft; and the alcohol tends to dissolve the scurf, and keep the scalp clean. The alcohol requires to be ninety- five per cent. proof, or it will not dissolve the oil. The tincture of cantharides can be purchased at the druggist’s; but it can be made one-fourth cheaper by steeping one ounce of Spanish flies in six ounces of alcyhol for twenty- four hours. Any perfume may be used; but the oil of lavender is about the cheapest. “‘The Tricopherous can be colored a beautiful crimson by steeping a few chips of alkanet root in it, or colored yellow by a tittle bichromate of potash ; but the color adds nothing to the quality of the lotion. An alkaline solution of honey is recommended by some for restoring the hair in cases of baldness; and a vinegar extract of horseradish as a substitute for cantharides is described in one of Eras- mus Wilson's specifics ; but those we have given are as good as any, and can be made at a comparatively small cost.” A stone in a large pool in Ireland had engraved upon it the following inscription: ‘‘ When this stone is out of sight below the water, the fording is not safe.”’ 187 Mrs. Partineron Skirtep.—The darkening of our door by a large body caused us to look up for a moment, and we saw Mrs. Partington making an effort to get in. A glance assured us of a great change in her costume. The perpendicularity of line that formerly marked it had as- sumed a rotund form, the curve, gracefully rounding, relieving her appearance from the angularity that had so long prevailed. At the first attempt to enter, she struck one side of the door, at the next the other, and finally got in by the aid of Ike, who squeezed her skirts together, and pushed her through. She sailed in like a seventy-four, and stood for a moment coquettishly, as if to allow us to view the improvement in her outward appearance. ‘‘Over- coming, isn’t it?” said she; “quite a change in my mono- tony, isn’t it?” We assured her that her anatomy in externals was cer- tainly changed. “Well,” said she, taking hold of her skirt, ‘it is ail owing to steel-hoops. Lock here!” She commenced turn- ing round and round like a frame on a milliner’s pedestal. ‘Don’t it put you in mind of Hogag’s line of beauty?” said she, smiling. The awkward rotundity of the hoop was avoided, and a graceful outline secured that would have delighted Hogarth. ‘I never like the Cains,” con- tinued she; ‘‘ but Mr. Le Cain has moved all that injunc- tion by sending me this. Bless the inventors, I say! and, though ladies are under a weight of obligation to ‘em, it only weighs twelve ounces.”’ The old lady stood in the floor, while Ike and Lion walked round her, whistling ‘‘ Hoop de doodle doo.”’ —_— Tre ‘Fry-Lear,” Newnay, Gro.—This very agreeable publication still flourishes. We are in receipt of the last number; and the contributions do great credit to the young ladies of the College Temple. We have attentively read the articles; and, for variety, sprightliness, and intelli- gence, they cannot be surpassed. Goney, after Longfellow :— Here it comes—the Godey's monthly ; Let us look at the engraving, At the handsome steel engraving. The first thing that greets your vision, As you turn the first leaf over, Is ‘* The Old Stile,’’ where two lovérs, Sitting very near together, Look such love as can’t be spoken. In his hand the lover's hat is; On the stile he rests the other, Almost touching Miss’s fingers. One would guess, to look upon him, That he longs to draw her closely To his breast, and speak in kisses What his lips refuse to utter ; And she looks—the bashful maiden— Just as if she'd not resist him. The stories all are just as pleasant As they ‘ve ever been aforetime. On our outside, lady reader, You will find one that’s a sample. Messenger, Hyannis. A SERVANT sent to match a castor bottle, returned with one of an entirely different pattern. After scolding for some time, the mistress said: “‘ Stupid, do you not see that the two are entirely different ?"’ ‘No, mum,” was the reply; “only one of them is dif- ferent.”

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188 Hare OrnsNAments.— Ladies wishing hair made into bracelets, pins (which are very beautiful), necklaces, or ear-rings, can be accommodated by our Fashion Editor. A very large number of orders have recently been filled, and the articles have given great satisfaction. We give the prices at which we will send these beauti- fal 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 Grectan PAINTING AND ANTIQUE PAINTiNe on GrAss.— Mr. J. E. Tilton, of Salem, Massachusetts, will furnish all Qur 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 nstructioas for Grecian Painting and Antique Painting on Glass, a new style, origivating with himseif, and equal to the finest copper painting, with a bottle of preparation, &e. 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. **Fall directions only in the above arts, Grecian, An- tique Painting, Oriental, Potichimanie, &c., sent, free by mail, on receipt of $}. They are so ful! and plain thatany ene witb no previous knowledge of drawing can be sure to acquire ‘He has also published several new and beautiful pic- tures, designed for the above arts, including the elegant engraving of ‘Hiawatha’s Wooing,’ and companion. Price $1 50 each, post paid. Alse others at lower prices, 60 cents, and upwards ; all of which have special rules for painting, and are sent free of post. (See Circular, fur- nished on application.) Address J. E. Tiztox, Salem, Mass.” 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. H. L. S.""—Sent hair charms, Faith, Hope, and Charity, May 19th. ** Mrs. C. McE."’—Sent hair ring, &c. 19th. “Mrs A. L. MeC,”’—Sent patterns 19th. ‘Mrs. L. L’ K.”—Sent patterns, &c. 20th. ** Miss M. C. T.""—Sent hair breastpin 20th. ** Miss A. A. B.’’—Sent hair bracelet 2ist. ** Miss M. A. M.""—Sent sleeve pattern 21st. “Mrs. C. 8. W.’’—Sent patterns for infant 2iet. “An Old Suabscriber.’’—$3 50 is the price. If you had signed your own name and sent a stamp, you would have received an answer two months sooner. ** Miss V. C. W."—Sent hair breastpin 2ith. GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “E. G. A."—We do not know what becomes of tadpoles’ tails when they become frogs. We should like to. “Mrs. L. V. O."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood's Skirt by Adams's express 2th. “Mrs. E. R. H.”—Sent Douglas & Sherwood's Skirt by Harnden’s express 24th. ‘** Miss A. T. MeA."’—Sent pearl card-case 24th. “Mrs. W. D. §.""—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams's express 2ith. “Mrs. B. H. J."—Sent patterns for infant’s wardrobe ith. “Miss A. A. W."’—Sent hair necklace, &c. 26th. “Mrs. C. W. B.”—Sent infant's patterns 26th. “Mrs. 8. O. V,"—Sent sleeve patterns 26th. “Mrs. J. A. N."’—Sent infant's patterns 26th. “Mrs. R F. R.”"—Sent patterns 26th. “Mrs. M. J. W."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Adams's express 26th. “Miss 8S. E. W.""—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Adams's express 26th. ** Miss 8. G. E."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood's Skirt by Adams's express 26th. “Mrs. W. M. S "—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Kinsley’s express 26th. “R. T. H.""—Sent five of Douglas & Sherwood's Skirts by Kinsley’s express 26th. “C. H. R."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Kins- ley’s express 26th “Miss L. R. B.”"—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Kinsley'’s express 26th. ** Miss A. R.’’"—Sent two of Douglas & Sherwood's Skirts by Kinsley’s express 26th. “Mrs. C. A. M."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Kinsley’s express 26th. “H. G. H.’~ Sent two of Douglas & Sherwood's Skirts by Kinsley’s express 27th. ‘* Miss M. E. F.""—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt and dress material by Harnden’s express 7th. “Mrs. D. E. G."—We do not send patterns. We will not take the trouble of hunting all over town for them, and storekeepers do not like to give them, they have been imposed on so much by persons who procure them for other purposes than those intended. “Mrs. A. E. M."—Sent infant’s cloak to H. & Co. 27th. “Mrs. M. J. C. B."’—Sent infant's patterns 27th. “Mrs. A. M. B.”—Sent infant's patterns 27th. ‘‘Mrs. M. R. M."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood's Skirt, &c. by Harnden’s express 28th. “Mrs. E. S. M.""—Sent Douglas & Sherwood's Skirt by Adams's express 28th. “Mrs. G. C. N."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt and organdy, by Adams’s express 28th. “R. V. F.""—Sent colored cottons 29th. “Mrs. S. A. 8.""—Sent apron patterns 29th. ** Miss K. H. D.”—Sent sleeve patterns 29th. **4 Subscriber, Jacksonville, Florida.”--Mrs. Hale's ‘« Household Receipt Book” will furnish that and very much other valuable information. Price $1 25. “Mrs. J. A. W.""—Sent pattern for boy’s pants and blouse 31st. ‘*A Western Reader.’"—They are neither paints nor stains, but regular water-colors, and can be procured any- where. “ Miss L. H. G.""—Sent hair charms, Faith, Hope, and Charity 31st. “Mrs. W. G. C.”"—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Adams's express 31st. “Mrs. M. G. McD.""—Sent hair charms, Faith, Hope, and Charity 31st.

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. “Mrs. M. E. W.""—Sent pink cambric strips Jane Ist. “Mrs. R. H. A.”’—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt, &c. by Kinsley’s express Ist. “*Mrs. E. R. C.""—Sent silk 2d. ** Miss 8. A. D.’’—Sent stamped collars 2d. ** Miss 8. E. O.""—Sent patterns 2d. ‘*Miss A. E. B.’’—Sent hair bracelet 2d. ““Mrs. C. W. L."—Sent pattern for infant’s christening robe 2d. “C. J. G."—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt by Kins- ley’s express 3d. “Mrs. 8. F. 8.""—Sent patterns 3d. “Mrs. A. E. O."—Sent hair charms, Faith, Hope, and Charity 3d. “Mrs. E. S. B.""—Sent patterns for a boy 3d. “* Biddie.""—It is impossible to answer your request fully here. All depends upon circumstances Generally, no. “Miss A. L. T.""—Sent hair ring 4th. “*Mrs. E. L. S.’’—Sent chenilles 4th. **Miss A. G.""—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt 5th. “Mrs. C. L.’’—Sent stamped pattern for infant's shawl 7th. “McC. N."’—Sent blouse by Harnden’s express 7th. “Mrs. C. H.’"’—Sent orné ball, &e. Sth. “D. V. W."'—Sent chessmen and board Sth. “EE. H. B.’’—Sent ribbon. buttons, &c. 9th. ** Miss L. W.”—Sent bonnet by Adams's express 9th. ** Miss E. E.""—Sent bonnet by Adams's express 9th. ** Mrs. M. E. H.’’—Sent hair breastpin 10th. “Mrs. D. W. L.”—Sent hair chain 10th. ** Miss M. J. A.”’—Sent hair bracelet 10th. “Mrs. S. B. McG.""—Sent gold bracelets 10th. “ E. F.”—Sent parasol by Kinsley’s express 10th. “Mrs. M. E. D.’’—Sent infint’s dress by Adams's ex- press 10th. “Mrs. J. S. H.""—Sent articles for infant’s dress, &c., by Adams's express llth. ** Miss B. B.”"—Sent sleeve pattern 12th. ** Miss M. McO."’—Sent hair bracelet 12th. “Mrs. D. S.""—$2 25, and must be sent by express. “Mrs. E. H. A.”—Roast it. “Ss. L. E."—Sent chenille, cord, braid, &. 14th. “Mrs. C. W."’"—Sent by mail 14th. ‘Mrs. L. M. T."—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Wells & Fargo’s express 15th. ‘*Mrs. C.' 8S. H.""—Sent five of Douglas & Sherwood's Skirts, &c., by Adams’s express Lith. “Mrs. 8. D. G.”"—Sent set of infant's patterns 15th. “Miss M. 8.""—Sent patterns 15th. “Miss D. R.""—Sent Douglas & Sherwood's Skirt by Adams's express 15th. Contre-Cable Gossip. DRESSING CHILDREN. Tue tendency of the day is, no doubt, te extravagance and a lack of fitness in the dress of little children. There are two chief rules to be followed, simplicity and conveni- ence, leaving the question of health altogether aside. It is neither proper nor desirable that little ones of four and five should be flounced, feathered, shoulder-knotted, and overloaded generally with ornament. A natural child frets and chafes against it, tugs at the offending tassels, and tears the suffocating blonde that waves about its half- blinded eyes. If they are sufficiently unchildlike not to rebel, we pity both parent and child. The seeds of vanity 189 thus early sown wili bear an abundant crop of extrava- gance and folly hereafter. It is the most insidious of all faults into which one can fall. The child is pretty; or, with natural parental vanity, they consider it so. The gay hat and plume are becoming ; baby must have it. The hat cannot be worn without a corresponding cloak. Some kind aunt presents an elegantly embroidered frock. There must be petticoat and pantalets of broderie Anglaise, gaiters with patent-leather tips; and, after this holiday suit, the every-day clothes look so common and plain. Besides, it will not do to descend in the next outfit to any- thing inferior to what ‘Charley has worn;” and then **Jane’s children always have such things; and, dear knows, Jane can't afford it as well asIcan.”’ So the evil goes on increasing, until the mother becomes quite insen- sible to the hold it has upon her, and the sacrifices of time or conscientiousness she is constantly making to accom- plish her mistaken aim. Besides, people of the best standing and taste never fol- low these excesses. One of the most admirable points in that excellent household tale by Miss Yonge—‘“ Violet’*— is the amazement of the underbred sister-in-law, who brings her socked and bare-kneed boy to astonish her Lon- don relative, and finds Mrs. Martindale's children in brown Holland sacques with long sleeves. The person of position and wealth, who has influence in any community, and continues to dress her children with comfortable plainness and simplicity, confers a public benefit. Mrs. Green pays a call, and notices it. She feels happier in remembering that she cannot afford to dress her children in velvet and ermine as does Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Black calls it meanness, but secretly acknowledges that it is sensible; and Mrs White, who makes the great lady her standard, instantly adopts it ; and her little ones are all the more happy, and stand a better chance of grow- ing up more sensible for it. Let a chijd’s wardrobe, then, be abundant, plain, com- fortable, simple; and, whatever they wear, never talk of its becomingness to them or before them. CONVENIENT HINTS FOR QUIET HOUSEHOLDS. Havine suffered from the first inconvenience provided for in the following sensible directions, we subjoin the article, hoping it may prove acceptable to the housekeep- ing members of our Centre-Table Club. The hints are seasonable this dusty, glaring month. ‘Instead of Venetian blinds or outer shutters, where the sun is powerful, blinds, or small curtains, of white hol- land, towards the window, and dark silk, or stuff, towards the roum ; and again, lined curtains within, to be drawc close before the sun turns round, and undrawn after it goes off. By this fourfold protection from the summer heat, composed of materials that would otherwise have been ‘lying by,’ I have known shutterless bed-rooms kept ex- ceedingly cool and comfortable, which with a single white blind, and the windows open during the heat of the day, were scarcely habitable. “In some cottage sitting-rooms, the garden door opens into them, and some other door opposite insures a thorough draught, which, however agreeable in summer, is very comfortless in winter. Curtains befcre the doors will make such rooms both snug and pretty, and for those who settle down for a long winter’s evening, and are not likely to have much going in and out, the trouble of undrawing them occasionally will be a small inconvenience, compared with the warmth and snugness of the room when they are drawn. If properly hung, they can be pushed aside from within or from without.

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190 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “The great triumph of adaptation is when that which, in one shape, would be unsightly lumber, is transformed into something comfortable, useful, tidy, or even elegant. Sach transformations have I seen effected, in regard to cer- tain chests and boxes, which, either hidden under beds, put in some ‘out-of-the-way,’ or left in some very much ‘in-the-way’ place, but necessary for the stowage of what drawers and chests were insufficient to contain, were, when out of commission and on half-pay, most ugly and neonvenient. Even such chests and boxes have been in- troduced to me as very available and respectable-looking pieces of furniture. A little spare damask, and a cushion to match, afforded a seat or settee to the eye as well as use ; and the box, secured alike from damp or dust, and easily ‘vot at,’ gave ample room to many articles of wearing ap- parel that would have been crushed in drawers, or must otherwise have been dragged out from bandboxes beneath the beds. In various other ways—on landings and in at- ties—such coverings as the piece-box may easily supply, and ingenuity will advantageously apply, will make /wm- bering boxes useful and presentable, and at the same time preserve them from mildew and decay ; the space beneath the beds will be left unencumbered, and the house delivered from that look of departure and discomfort which the sight of uncovered packing-cases, or the presence of ‘things about,’ that should be put away, is calculated to give.” THE GARDEN—No. &. Avoeust.—There is little to be done in the flower-garden, the present month, beyond occasional weeding and the regular watering which the frequent droughts of autumn especially demand. Unless you have taken our advice with regard to planting late flowering annuals, your beds will begin to look brown and ragged ; although this is the month for a profusion of flowers from verbenas, gerani- ums, and petunias. Dahlias ought to be carefully looked after, and tied up, or their weight of buds and branches will destroy all your hopes for the next month. A distinct branch of gardening is carried on the last of this month and the first of next—the propagation of flow- ering shrubs, ete., for next year’s supply; and we give, from well-known authority, the following simple direc- tions :— ‘Flowering shrabs are propagated by slips, cuttings, layers, suckers, buds, or scions. **Slips are simply small branches, slipped down from a larger stem. These should be taken carefully, so as to have an eye or heel at the lower end. ‘Cuttings should be made from shoots or stalks of a prior year’s growth. Those that are well ripened should be selected, having joints not far apart, cut so as to have three or four joints in each. ‘Layers differ from cuttings in nothing except that they strike root in the soil while yet adhering to the parent plant. ‘Suckers are in reality young plants, connected with the parent at the root, which should be carefully separated and transplanted. ‘Scions are of two sorts: those properly so called, and buds. A scion is a cutting or portion of a plant caused to grow upon another plant, from which it extracts fluid for its leaf buds, and thus becomes gradually united to it. “To raise hardy flowering shrubs’ by slips or cuttings, let a border be prepared in a shaded and sheltered situation by mining and deep digging. Provide cuttings about a foot long, insert them in the ground ful! one-third their length, press the ground around the stems, and rake it smooth. If this is done in the spring, with watering in hot weather, and hoeing occasionally, they will be rooted If made in autumn, they should be protected by leaves, straw, or litter. “To increase flowering shrubs, rose-bushes, or any plant, by layering, dig the ground around it to a good depth ; then, with a sharp knife, cut between two joints, half through the stalk, or branch on the under part ; turn the edge of the knife upward, and make a slit, carrying it past the first joint, half way to the next one; make a hol- low in the ground, and insert the cut part from one to two inches deep, keeping the branch perpendicular, and the slit open. Each layer should be pegged down with a hooked stick made from a twig. “Budding is best performed on rose-trees in August, as the buds are generally matured, so that the bark parts freely from the wood.” by autumn. TO CORRESPONDENTS. “Master Harry.”—The trick is very simple. The egg is soaked in strong vinegar: if it does not make the shell perfectly flexible, add one teaspoonful of strong acetic vin- egar to every two tablespoonfuls of common vinegar. The exy may then be forced into the bottle without breaking. ‘*Mrs. P. 8.""—Never water flowers or plants when the sun is on them; it is probably the reason of the pining you speak of. Always let the water stand in the sun if drawn from a well, until the chill is taken off. There isa very nice flower-pot, recently invented, with a sloping shelf half-way down outside, so that it will hold water; but holes are perforated at the bottom of this gutter through the sides of the pot, so that the soil can be wetted half-way down at the same time that it is watered at the top. ‘*A Lapy Farmer’? would do better to apply to some agricultural book: see our notice of one the present month. It has been proved, we believe, beyond doubt, that dry weather is the most congenial to the potato plant, and that when the cycle of dryer summers returns the potato disease will leave us. ‘Mra. ANDRew L.”"—We can sympathize with our cor- respondent's domestic trials, but believe that patient and steady training is the best remedy for a careless household, whether servants or children are in fault. In all kindli- ness, we would caution our friend against the excess of the virtue she delights in. Some one has well said— ** Cleanliness and order are good things; Christian eha- rity and its attendant happiness are defter. Cleanliness and order, therefore, should be but servants in the house- hold; Christian charity and happiness should rule and The mistaking the means for the end, which It is ‘the cart be- govern them. is so common, is always a fatal error. fore the horse,’ and nothing but an entire stand-still, or the painful exercise of great energies to little purpose, can be expected from it. That which might easily be drawn by the horse, before the cart, will scarcely be moved by all his kicking and plunging, behind ; nor will any persevering efforts, by which, at last, the cart may be pushed over, ever avail to push it on. ‘Cleanliness and order are, then, only desirable when employed as a means for promoting the comfort and sweet temper of the family; when they are the end proposed, and maintained at the expense of the harmless ease and Christian cordiality which really constitute a home—the house in which these virtues reign is, virtually, in more confusion than any from which they are excluded.” “Mrs. J.—We have heard of two effectual remedies, or rather preservatives from moths. One aims at their destruction, the carpet moth especially. It is, to shut up closely the room or closet in which they are found, and

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FASHIONS. throw powdered sulphur on live coals, creating a dense smoke, which is said to destroy them. An English autho- rity advises those troubled with them to get, at any che- mist’s, some powdered culocynth, or, as it is commonly called, bitter apple, and dust over the things to be pre- served. The moths will not touch them. ““ALIcE.’’—We give several receipts ; we have tried nei- ther, but all are well recommended. The Vegetable or Bo- tanic Extract made thus: rose water and rectified spirit, eack 1 quart; extracts of orauge-flower, jasmin, acacia, rose, and tuberose, of each 2 oz.; extract of vanilla, 4 oz. Mix well. They are principally of a gummy nature, and are either made with Iceland moss or linseed and water variously per- Rose Liquid Bandolines claim a few words. fumed, and also by boiling quince seed with water. Bandoline is made of gum tragacanth, 1} oz. ; rose water 2 quarts; otto of roses 1 drachm ; dissolve the gum by maceration ; pass it through a clean linen cloth, let it stand for a few days, and pass it a second time, when will incor- Almond Bandoline is made by Gum traga- porate the otto of rose. substituting otto of almonds for rose otto. canth is the basis of the liquid paste or glues used for labels, etc., and may be prepared as paste by any one, by dissolving half an oz. in cold water, and adding a little corrosive sublimate to preserve it fresh. It should then be marked poison, and kept out of the way of the chil- dren. f- . Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Havixe 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- déture, 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 oceur 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 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 AUGUST. Fig. 1.—Dress of the bluish gray, sometimes called ashes ofvroses. The material is silk. The lower skirt full, without trimming of any kind ; the upper skirt has quilles of ribbon set on in a trellis pattern; corsage plain, and | 191 slightly pointed in front; sleeves, a full flounce set in a cap. Fig. 2.—Walking-dress of pale buff piqué. has two skirts; the upper one being opened after the fush- ion of a tunic. Loose sleeves, slit up to the shoulder, and caught together by loops of white Marseilles braid, fastened The quilles of the skirts, front of the corsage, Undersieeve This, also, by buttons. bretelles, etc., are trimmed in the same way. a full puff of white French cambric; collar of the same, with a delicate chain of needle-work. Bonnet of gray straw, with velvet bands. Fig. 3.—Riding-habit of dark green ladies’ cloth. The basque is extremely deep, reaching nearly to the knee ia front. Rolling collar, and mousquetaire sleeves. Chemi- sette and undersleeves of linen, pigu2, or Marseilles. JUVENILE FIGURES. The boy’s dress is a blouse of dark green velvet, with white trousers, collars, and sleeves. It will be noticed that the hair is parted nearly or quite in the middle. Little girl’s dress of rose-colored challais, with velvet trellis trimming. Under-waist and sleeves of white cam bric. Bonnet of fancy straw, with red velvet trimming MORNING-DRESS (See engraving, page 100.) Dress of white cambric, the skirt plain at the waist, from which it descends in alternate fine tucks and embroidery ; pulfs of the same down tle front breadths. Waist drawn behind, open to display a tucked chemisette in front. The trimming of the sleeve extends up the forearm, which is open to the elbow. Fauchon of Jace with ribbous for the cap. LATEST STYLE OF DINNER-DRESS. (See engraving, page 101.) Dress of rose-colored g/acé silk, the upper skirt set on about ten inches below the waist, with a row of narrow The pointed trimming at the knee is of velvet in The lower set on fringe. three different widths, edged with a fringe. skirt has points of extremely narrow velvet, daraignée or cobweb fashion. The same trimming on the berthé and sleeves. Headdress, cdche peigne and barb of blonde. NEW STYLE OF WAIST. (See engraving, page 104.) Or, more strictly speaking, basqae—for basque it is in general proportions, the sides being cut out, leaving square lappets behind and before. Fall flowing sleeve. Cut-away basques are gaining favor; and this is suitable for silk, cloth, or any full material. CHILD’S DRESS. (See engraving, page 105.) Dress of pale lavender silk, with a bar of black running through it; chequer-work trimming of black velvet rib- Street basque of black silk, edged with grelots. Collar, undersleeves, and bon. Dark straw hat, and feather. trousers of needle-work, on white cambric. CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADEL- PHIA FASHIONS FOR AUGUST. Tus is the month of lawns and organdies, of crape and chip bonnets, of lace and bar’ge mantles. Everything that

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192 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. is light, and delicate, and fanciful, bas its place in August. Now is the time for deciding the relative merits of crino- line and expaasion springs, the greatest boon that has been granted by the caprices of fashion since the days of gored skirts, and those were undesirable, we fancy, in colder seasons. We have had several styles sent to us for inspec- tion and approval. Demorest has, in addition to his pattern establishment, entered soméwhat into the manufacture of steel spring skirts, which have a bustle, and are well graduated ; the bustle is not adjustable, however. Douglas & Sherwood claim this improvement entirely, and their skirts have been heretofore commented on, and illustrated in our pages. Te pass through their immense manufactory, is at once to settle the question ‘‘ Are hoops going out of fashion?” in the negative. Others prefer for lightness and elasticity the imported steel clock springs, though they are by ne means so well made, or so strong. Then we have springs in- serted in a white gauzy fabric, which can be removed when it is washed ; and an indefinite number of real crino- line, that is to say, horse-hair fabrics, made up with one, two, and three flounces. These are heavier than the skele- ton skirts, of course, but considered superior by many. As to basques, a question of equal importance as to whetber the fashion will be continued, we are sorry to say that they are declining in favor, though we do not thiuk they will be wholly given upthis year They are already made shorter, hollow, or pointed at the hip, so as to take the form of lappets, and extending in a long rounded point at the back and in front of the waist. The present month basques, or jackets, of pigué, Marseilles, and fine corded dimity, are worn for negligé ; and lace, Swiss or French muslin with puffings filled by ribbon, ete. ete., for diuner or evening-dress. We shall be exceedingly sorry to see the last of this picturesque and convenient fashion, and trust it is not quite at band. The Moniteur, which is the most reliable of all infor- mants, issues the sensible decree that, however fashionable sleeves gathered into a cuff or wristband may be, they should be loose and flowing for light materials during the summer months, and undersleeves should correspond. The newest undersleeves are very wide, with two puffs of lace or muslin, and a flounce of lace or embroidery. They are more or less properly ornamented with ribbons and velvets. Among Gagelin’s summer stuffs—that is to say, dress materials—are enumerated, for plain dress, goat’s- hair cloth, Paris grenadine, toile de soie, taffetas de laine, striped, ribbed, or clouded, barége, and printed muslius and Pekins —a white ground, with colored figures. For full dress, summer moire antique, stripes and plaids on a gray ground, clouded silks, and“carmine in plaids or broad stripes. There are also tissues with small gray flowers on a white or colored ground, and surrounded by stripes of two tints, forming a square ; sprig patterns of a new gold tint; gray silks, shaded to imitate puffings, and intersected hy gold stripes. This last article is the greatest novelty, and most stylish of all. SECOND-MOURNING STYLES. As most of our readers know, mourning goods are a busi- ness by themselves, either in a separate department of some large establishment, or, as in several cases in all our large cities, there are entire stores in which all that is needed in a mourning outfit, and this alone, is furnished. Among the most tasteful we have long noted Jackson's, and are indebted to the courtesy of the heads of this estab- lishment for some novelties relating to second-mourning. The most noticeable change of the season is from violet or lavender and black, to simple black and white, in the combinations of dress materials, bonnets, ribbons, ete. In fact, purple and lavender are not now considered mourning at all, and never have been really so, though admitted to general wear the past five years. In dress materials, gray cloths, whether Lavella, mousselines, Madonna, or silk tis- sues—and stripes, plaids, and figures of black on a white ground, or white on a black ground, are the most desirable. This last, in silks, glacés, foulards, or chinée, has an excel- lent effect, as well as in the tissues especially belonging to . the month—grenadines, organdies, etc. Dresses of plain black English crape will be made up over black silk, with a light mantle and bonnet of the same, for a visiting or carriage-dress. Nothing could be in better taste. Grena- dine is much used in making up sets of undersleeves and collars for deeper mourning instead of black crape, keeping In second-mcurning tarleton, illusion sets, are its shape and color better. Swiss muslin and plain lace, or quilled admissible. Light veils for second-mourning are made of Brussels net—sbort, or demi-veils, round at the corners, and trimmed with a ruche of crape, lightened by another of black illusion, being placed underneath. Mixed straws, gray chips, white chips, trimmed with black and white ribbons, Neapolitans, and crapes are among the favorite bonnets. Ruches of ribbon or crape, encircling the bonnet on the outer edge of the brim, and carried round the cape, are much used in trimming them. We will! give the latest fashions for brides and brides- maids in our vext, and now pass on to a few items in children’s dress :— JUVENILE FASHIONS. For very little girls, a low corsage is adapted with a guimpe of worked muslin. Girls of ten or twelve years of age usually have a high corsage with a basque, especially if the dress is intended for plain costume. Several dresses of silk and poplin have been made with corsages in the styles just mentioned. Among the materials already intro- duced for children’s summer costume are piqu? and jaconet of various kinds. Up to the age of seven, dresses of white percale, or cambric muslin, ornamented with needle-work, are elegant ; or white pigué may be employed ifa plainer style of costume is desired. A little pardessus composed of white piqué, and trimmed with grelots,4s one of the prettiest we have seen. The most admired dresses recently prepared for little boys include one composed of a loose jacket, and trousers composed of gray cashmere. The jacket is fastened from top to bottom by a row of gray buttons. The sleeves, which are loose, and reach to the middle of the forearm, ure turned up at the end in the form of revers cuff, and trimmed with passementerie. The undersleeves of white jaconet are closed at the wrist by bands fastened with an ornamental button. A plain white collar, turned down, and a green necktie, complete the costume. JEWELRY As something to be admired, though of course not held up for imitation, we note an exquisite set of jewelry lately This commission embraces a complete The designs repre- sent magnolias in diamonds, with foliage set with eme ralds, and lilies of the valley in rubies. The whole is characterized by the most exquisite taste, and the most finished skill in execution. A parure in hair jewelry is also worthy of notice. It is formed of beads or balls of hair, set in bands of black enamel, edged with gold. The parure comprises earring-brooch, an ornament for the front Fasmion ordered in Paris. parure, or set of jewelled ornaments. of the corsage, and a bracelet.

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK-EXCELSIOR. USEFUL, ORNAMENTAL, AND INSTRUCTIVE. THE BOOK OF THE NATION, 48ND THS aers UMIOW OF AWEBICA. VOL. LVII—AUGUST, 1858. RRR LIRR EF PLE ELELELE LE LE LULL FEL LRLREL LOLOL EL ECL ECL OED CL CLL EL LOL EMBELLISHMENTS, &c. =UMMER. A beautiful landscape in gemograph. GODEY’S FIVE FIGURE SPLENDID COLORED FASHIONS. CLERGYMAN’S BAND OR SERMON CASE. Printed in blue. FASHION PLATE—CARRYL’S CURTAIN ESTABLISHMENT. MORNING-DRESS. THE LATEST STYLE OF DINNER-DRESS. MORNING-COLLAR, CUFF, AND OPEN UNDERSLEEVE. A LADY’S CUFF. THE COATEE. GIRL’S DRESS. THE SEVILLIAN. From Brodie. SHATTERED BY THE FIRST STORM. ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS. NOTHING NEW UNDER THE SUN. Eighteen engravings. THE FAMILY DRAWING-MASTER. Six engravings. PAPER FLOWER-MAKING. Three engravings. NOVELTIES FOR AUGUST. Basque, Capes, Undersleeves, Caps, and Bonnets. Ten engravings. HANDKERCHIEF BORDER. CIGAR-CASE IN CROCHET. BRODEUSE OUTLINE CIRCLE. VASE FOR PRESERVING FLOWERS. CORNER FOR POCKET HANDKERCHIEF. NAME FOR MARKING. STRAW WATCH-POCKET. THE NONPAREIL GARMENT. SHELL PATTERN QUILT. PORTION OF A COLLAR. EMBROIDERY FOR AN INFANT’S SHAWL OR BLANKET. PERFORATED LINEN WORK. TOILET GLASS. PATCHWORK. PATTERNS IN EMBROIDERY. Nine engravings, LLLP PARLE LE PRP LAP LDF ABA LL LPP 4 Contributors and Contents. Carryl’s Curtain Establishment (7llustrated), 97, 171 The Deserted Nest, by Benfa, 158 Music—By the Sea-side, by J. Sturr Holloway, 98 Sonnet—The Pole-star, by William Alexander 158 Morning-Dress (J/iustrated), 100, 191 A Son’s Remembrance, by Finley Johnson, 159 The Latest Style of Dinner-Dress (Illustrated), 101, 191 * Avium Migrationes,” translated by Vecilia Ferguson, 159 Embroidery (JUustrated), 102, 105, 167, 168, 169 Enigmas, 159 Morning Collar, Cuff, and Open Undersleeve (JU’d), 102 Novelties for August (IUwstrated), 160 Lady's Cuff (IUustrated), 104 Handkerchief Border (/Uustrated), 162 The Coatee (JUustrated), 104, 191 Cigar-Case in Crochet (///ustrated), 163 Girl’s Dress (/ustrated), 105, 191 Brodeuse Outline Circle (/Uustrated), 163 The Sevillian, from Brodie (IlUustrated), 106 Vase for Preserving Flowers (Jlustrated), 164 Shattered by the First Storm, by 7. S. Arthur Corner for a Pocket Handkerchief (JUustrated), 165 (IUustrated), 107, 152 Name for Marking (JWustrated), 185 Alphabet of Fancy Letters (IUustrated), 108 Straw Watch-Pocket (J/lustrated), 166 Nothing New Under the Sun (Jllustrated), 109 The Nonpareil Garment (/l/lustrated), 167 Fourth of July Celebration at Dozey vale, 115 Shell Pattern Quilt (///ustruted), 168 Swimming, 1233 Portion of a Collar (JUustrated), 170 The Last Votary of the Venus, by Helen Hamilton 125 Embroidery for an Infant's Shawl or Blanket (IU'd), 170 ** Cut a Dido,”’ 128 Clergyman’s Band Case (/Uustrated) 171 The Family Drawing-Master (Illustrated), 129 Perforated Linen Work (/Uustrated), 172 A Chapter on “Clubs,”’ by Tony Duell, Eaq., 131 Toilet Glass (JUustrated), 172 Margaret's Home, by Alice B Haven, 133 Patchwork (JUustrated), 172 Social Games, 139 Receipts, &c., 173 Aunt Tabitha’s Fireside, by Edith Woodley, 142 Editors’ Table, containing— Paper Flower- Making (JUustrated), 144 Fairies, 177 The Unloving Wife, by Clara Augusta, 146 The American Ladies’ Mount Vernon Association, 178 Effect of Color upon Health, 150 The Bible in Education 175 Hints to Dressmakers and those who Make their own Sonnet.—The Power of Thought, by Mrs. Hale, 179 Dresses, by Mrs. Damas, 15 School for Young Ladies, 179 Beautiful Simile, 1st Health Department, 180 Laces and Embroideries, 155 Literary Notices, 181] The Curse and Blessing, by Emily Hermann, 156 Godey'’s Arm-Chair, 182 My Fortune, by S. W’. Hazeltine, M. D., 157 Centre-Table Gossip, containing— The Laugh of my Boy, by Mre. Mary Jane Phillips, 157 Dressing Children, 189 Thoughts of One upon a Bed of Sickuess, by C. G. Bar- Coavenient Hints for Quiet Households, 189 her, 157 The Garden, 190 The Blue-eyed Daughter, 158 To Correspondents, 190 ToC#*####* by C. S.A, 158 Fashions, 91

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otices of Gadens Lads Book | (Different Notices willbe published every Month.)

Some years i er ve seriously of making Godey President, ribet ¢ ndotied that idea out of pure self- ishuess. They don’t think they can get along comfortably without his services as editor of their monthly.—Sandy feradd. Hi It is decidedly the best and most successful magazine pnb- lished. —Silver Creek Mirror. The contributions to this — ner are by the first writers in the land.—Brockport Any one comparing xy with others, must acknow- ledge that it is ahead of all competitors. The Book isan “art union” of itself; its frontispreces.salected with good taste, and executed by the best of artists. The engravings in Godey carry a story with them without reference to any printed mat- ter.—Clyde Times. Godey’s Book takes the lead of all the magazines of its class. — Randolph 3 It appears to be the ambition of Mr. Godey not only to & tance all other publishers of ladies’ magazines, but to su in each successive publication the attractions and merits o| the cane: 4 and by a strict adherence to this programme, he

as rendered the Lady's Book a periodical which no woman | of fashion can afford to dixpense with.—Brooklyn Times. It ix, beyond all question, the magazine of the country.— Baldwinsville Gazette. Godey’s Lady's Book is not only the cheapest, bat the best lady’s book now published. —Careackie Union. It is the best magazine of the kind in America.—Cattskill Democrat It ix the best magazine extant.— Waverley Advocote. Godey’s ig unquestionably the best work of the kind for ladies in thie or any other country,— Ballston Journal. As a lady's magazine there is no other to compare to Godey. — Kingston It is a perfeet pleasing to the lady of fashion and taste.— Rhinebeck Adver- tiser. ‘to L. A, Godey must be awarded the credit of contributing more to the happiness and actual benefit of American ladies than any other publisher. We regard it with a degree of in- terest we hav felt for any other simiiar publication in this or any eountry.—Horcelisville Courier. In respect ms, the Lady's Book is of more value to the fairer porfionof creation thaa any other mayazine pub- lished, and saves many dollars to the housekeeper.—Miner’s Jour G vley surpases, in heanty and interest, any similar pub- lication in America. He never uses second-hand plates, as is doue by other magazines, but engnges, at great expense, the best artists in the country to illnstrate the Lady's Book.— Uniontmon St Peas Lrrerarees. —Much literature of the present day styled polite, has been reduced to that level, that the influence it exerts apon these who occupy their leisure moments in its perusal, is decidedly deleterious. character to elevate and eonoble the human intellect, but ra- ther prodipee a contrary effect. The cause of this often arises from. this fact, that me who have control of the leading m nes Joe ¥ writers of an inferior grade, and of immo- ra! habits. ey, of course, will igstil into their productions their own sentiments and feelings. One can as easily become acquainted with an author by reading his publications, as by being engaged ip actan! conversation. Among the | terary periodicals of the present day we find ove, however, that differs very materially from the general character of such publications. [t is Godey’s Lady’s Book, published in ‘Philadelphia. All the contributors’ to this ex- ceedingly popular maguzine are of the first class, as their writings will abundantly show.—Repuhlicin, Waynesburg. Asa lady's magazine, Godey has no superior. It is a mo- del book, and one that everybody in the land should take: the engravings surpass anything of the kind we have ever seen. — Times, We-t Greenfield. Godey’s Lady's Book ts decidedly the greatest, best, ‘and most original magazine ever published in this country. It is the best magazine in the world, worth its weight in dia- monds to ladies,— The engravings are, Sooke doubt, better than those pub- lished in any of the other magazines. The literature in Go- dey's book is of a higher grade thaw that ia most others of its class, »nd no one can successfully compete with it. It is now in ite twenty-eighth year, and during all thix time it has been enguged in cultivating a taste for the beautiful. It has sac- ceeded in teaching it to the poor as well as the rich. Other publications of its class have done well, but Godey’s book exce|s them all.— Reporter, Randolph. We take the liberty of saying, tlrix is the best book ont, and “keeps a bestning.’’—Giraffe. Raleigh. Godey doubtless will retain the high po - y-> fg ' . =

:

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SEPTEMBER. | Make up your Clubs for this year. aby ii our periodicals seem to imitate Godey’s Lady’s Book. It appears to be the mode) * | beyond which they desire not to reach.—Democrat, McConnellsburg, Pa. AP #) : (BOOK. hk EDITED BY MRS. SARAH J. HALE, L. A. GODEY. VOL. LVItI. “4 \

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i] f 4 ee NBEEDLHS FOR UAYDIES. GODEY’S BIJOU NEEDLE-CASE. We have often heard of complaints made by ladies living in the country that they cannot pro- cure Goop NEEDLES. Ever alive to what may be a convenience to our customers, we have made arrangements with the celebrated house of John English & Co., of England, through their agents, E.C Pratt & Brothers, of Philadelphia, to furnish their PATENT DIAMOND DRILLED EYED NEEDLES. Price 25 cents, and a stamp to pay return postage. Address L A. GODEY, No. 323 (late 113) Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. eed GOonDnDEbYsS PUBLICATIONS. GODEY'S PATTERN BOOK OF EMBROIDERIES, for Handkerchiefs, Linen Apparel, Flannel, Silk, Lace, &c., including patterns for embroidering every article of a lady’s wardrobe. Price 25 cents. EVERY LADY HER OWN SHOEMAKER. With six large Diagrams. Each Diagram containing several Drawings of various kinds of Shoes. Price 50 cents. ALONE. A Novel. By Marion Harland. Price $1 25. THE HIDDEN PATH. A Novel. By Marion Harland. Price $1 25. FRESH FRUITS ALL THE YEAR AT SUMMER PRICES, and How you may get Them. Full Directions to put up Fresh Fruits in Air Tight Cans (Arthur, Burnham, & Co.’s), especially designed for Housekeepers. Price 12 cents, or four postage stamps. THIRTY OF THE MOST APPROVED RECEIPTS FOR SUMMER BEVERAGES. Price 12 cents, or four postage stamps. GALLERY OF SPLENDID ENGRAVINGS. From pictures by the first painters. Each number contains at least twenty-five engravings from steel plates. Four numbers now pub- lished. Price for each number 50 cents. THE BOOK OF THE TOILET—Containing a great number of Receipts particularly interest- ing to the ladies. Price 25 cents. HOW TO MAKE A DRESS; or, A Help to those who wish to help themselves. By the Editress of the Fashion Department of Godey’s Lady’s Book. Price 25 cents. Conrtents.—Introduction. Shopping for the materials. Cutting out. The waist or body. Sleeves, how to make them. Skirts, how to make them. Trimming the dress. Cloaks, how to make them. And a chapter devoted to ‘‘ Mourning.’”’ THE NURSERY BASKET; a Handbook of Practical Directions for Young Mothers— Including the preparation of a young infant’s wardrobe, the choice and making up, the child’s bath, out-of-door dress, worsted knitting, flannel embroidery, the clothes of older children, etc. etc. Price 50 cents. MRS. HALE’S COOK-BOOEK. Price $1 00. MRS HALE’S HOUSEHOLD RECHIPT-BOOK. Price $1 25. These two works are absolutely necessary for every housekeeper. MRS. ANN 8S. STEPHENS’ CROCHET-BOOE. Price 75 cents. MUSIC furnished to order. See List of Music published monthly in Lady’s Book. Address L. A. GODEY, No. 323 (late 113) Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. ~ rerere GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK. GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK, of Literature, Engravings, and Fashion. One hundred pages of reading every month, with every new Fashion as it appears, colored and others. Ladies’ work of all kinds; and contributions from all the celebrated authors in the States. TERMS, CASH IN ADVANCE.—One copy one year, $3. Two copies one year, $5. Three copies one year, $6. Five copies one year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making six copies; $10. Eight copies one year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making nine copies, $15. Eleven copies one year, and an extra copy to the person sending the club, making twelve copies, #20. Godey’s Lady’s Book and Arthur’s Home Magazine both one year for $3 50. ~ '- =. oe? ve on . ’ —

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Ca

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TSA“ _q_y . [hina LA DEMIE TOILETTE. (See description.)

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NAME FOR MARKING. Ke 5 i " _————— hhh ae SS LE PARIS ELEGANT. (See description.) 17* 197

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JET ITZ * i 7 Sf 7 Sats

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‘a SOFA CUSHION IN BLACK NET. With pattern darned in colored wools. (See description.)

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‘AVITON CAUACIOUANA o oo% f oe

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