Godey's Lady's Book 1859-01: Vol 58 Iss 1

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CATALOGED V, OO -UDBDlie Libra: Vy. Nov 1U lau DETROIT, MICH

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om Uy Yyy YY Uf (See description, page 3.)

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oe Fe i -.tae ian aS eae = = a == —— eee 4 : ee pie eee SS es a— - 4 ss — Ss a pty 7 ee ee =a feet di _— _ J ae = ssa _ = ae — ed eae —f——— i € mer. rx iS 3 > “z Se a: Sa. —S—— 72a = pe ree reer Fares pera ieee SE = 59) os sozaee i a 4 a ~ese

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(See description, page 93.) THE MARIONETTA.

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THE PICCOLOMONI ROBE DE CHAMBRE. (See description, page 93.)

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MORNING WRAPPER. (See description page 93.)

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THE CASTILIAN, [From the establishment of G. Bropis, 5] Canal Street, New York. Drawn by L. T. Vorer, from actual articles of costume. } ‘““Waart a beautifal cloak! i«n’t it perfectly lovely? Mr. Brodie has certainly had this expressly designed for a holi- day gift thie season, hasn't he, Mr. Godey?"’ Indeed, fair lady, I cannot answer this question with certainty; but I do think that it would have been difficult to construct a more beautiful one for such an occaxion, and we advise every friend of onrs, who may be searching for an appropriate gift, to seek no further, but at once order from Brodie—throngh us, if he pleases—a ‘‘ Castilian,’’ and surprise hie wife, danghter, sister, or sweetheart, by such an acceptable offering of affection Its chief peculiarity consists in the shape and great depth of the hood, and its novel ornamentation, which is strikingly bold and effective. The one from which our design was taken was of black cloth, with the hood and sleeves faced with black velvet lozenges, elaborately embroidered, and bordered by a heavy silk twist, or plaited cord, which is also wreathed over the shoulders in graceful circles. The tops of the sleeves are similarly adorned and tasseled. The sleeves, them selves, are very much of the same form asx those of the cloak in our September number, these being tasseled as they were —— of the velvet embreidery is enriched bv a massy fringe and tassel«, and the whole garment edged with a velvet rder, v

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Cer CES + ( See description, page 66.) HOME MANUFACTURED PICTURE-FRAME.

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EQOA sh DO SUA Oy eter apatites, 4 YOUNG LADY'S DRESS a ' t t t ‘ x ‘ t t t t t t ae F Ye q O tant Yeo, ”, ¥ Ir is a sort of body worn by young ladies of between six and ten years of age. It is made of either spotted or sprigged muslin, and trimmed round with a double row of either lace or rich em- broidery. This is worn over either a silk or colored muslin, and is confined round the waist with a rich ornamental silk cord and tassels, to match the under dress, which is made without a body. This article of dress is peculiarly French. It is light, elegant, and extremely convenient, as it can be worn over any variety of skirt, and at once converts whatever it thus accompanies into a cos- tume suitable for all occasions. 11

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— - —— = =_— .-

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GODEY’S Hats Book and Tlagusine. PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1859. THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR. Ix the parlor of a large, handsome house, about five miles from Dayton, a town in the far West, there were seated, one pleasant evening in the early spring of 1856, a party of ladies. The eldest one was Aunt Lorrie, the next was mamma, and then came the three fair sisters, Minnie, Cora, and Susie, or, as she was always called, Pet. They were sewing, round a little table, and the tall astral lamp that gave them light showed that gas had not yet reached Dayton. They are awaiting the arrival of the gentlemen of the family before having supper, and while they continue their sewing, I will introduce the family. The head of it, Mr. Melville, was a wealthy man, who, having made a handsome fortune in New York, as a merchant, had emigrated to the West, from a love of novelty and a wild country life. He had bought a large house of an unfortunate speculator, who had begun to build on a large scale, and stopped for want of funds. This house Mr. Melville had finished, and furnished as many rooms as were required for the use of his family, leaving several large, handsome apartments entirely unfurnished. Mrs. Melville is a pretty, middle-aged lady, whose ruling passion is for contriving, and, as she says, ‘“‘fixing up things.”” Aunt Lorrie is Mrs. Melville’s maiden aunt, a New England lady. Minnie and Cora are twin sisters, about seventeen years of age, tall, handsome bru- nettes; while Pet is a stray sunbeam, a tiny, laughter-loving blonde, just fifteen years old. Besides the daughters, Mr. Melville has two sons, Albert and Walter, the children of his first wife, who are now fine young men, of twenty-six and twenty-three. These are the VoL. LVII.—2 family ; but, at the time our story opens, there were two companions of Mr. Melville’s sons, George Fields and Harry Watson, on a visit to the West, and living with Mr. Melville. ‘*Here they come!’’ cried Susie, springing up, and flying to open the door. The gentlemen came in. They had all*been to Dayton, and opened their budget of letters and news. ‘* Here, mother, is a letter to you, from dear Aunt Fannie,’’ said Minnie, handing it to her. ‘*Do read it aloud! Why,” she continued, a moment after, ‘‘ what is the matter ?’’ ‘*Your Aunt Fannie writes that she will be here in July, to spend several months with us.”’ Various exclamations of ‘‘ Splendid !’’ ‘‘ De- lightful !”’ ‘*Oh, I’m so glad!’’ answered this announcement. ‘‘ But,” said Mrs. Melville, ‘‘there is not a place to put her into.” ‘‘ Why, there are plenty of rooms,’’ said Mr. Melville. ‘‘ But nothing to put in them. There is not aspare bedstead, bureau, washstand, or chair, in the house.”’ ‘* Write to her not to come,’’ suggested Harry. A chorus of indignant voices silenced him. ‘* Why don’t you make the furniture ?’’ said Aunt Lorrie. ** How ?”” ‘“Well,”’ said the old lady, ‘‘if you will all promise to follow my directions, I will engage to have the room prettily and neatly furnished before Fannie comes.”’ After some deliberation, the family promised to follow Aunt Lorrie’s directions. 13

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14 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. **To begin at the beginning, which room will you take ?’’ A large room in the second story back buildings was chosen. Mrs. Mel- ville said it was painted and white- washed, but she had no spare carpet. **You boys must paint the floor,’’ said Aunt Lorrie. ‘‘ To-morrow, you must drive to Dayton, Albert, pur- chase some pearl-colored paint, enough to put two coats on the floor, and some green, enough for a border. Take a sheet of tin, mark three large leaves in a group upon it, and take it to the tinman. Tell him tocut out the leaves like a stencil letter; and you can, by putting it down and painting over it, make a handsome border of green leaves for your carpet.”’ We must hasten on in our story four or five days. The four young men heartily enjoyed painting the floor a pretty peari color, under Aunt Lorrie’s directions. When it was thoroughly dry, the border of green leaves was painted, and a pretty group of leaves, painted by Harry, who had a love for drawing, in the centre. The next subject for discussion was the windows ; there were no blinds, no shut- ters, and, as there were three large windows, the glare of light was offensively bright. Aunt Lorrie had procured from Dayton seve- ral pieces of furniture chintz, pearl-colored, with pretty green leaves upon it, to match the boys’ carpet. ** We must make some roller curtains,” said Aunt Lorrie. ** But we have no cords, no rollers,’ said Minnie. ** Obey orders,”’ said Aunt Lorrie. ‘‘ Albert, can you nail a strip of wood across each window, a little below the top of the framework, leaving room for a cord to pass over ?”’ This was soon done. **Now drive a hook in the centre of the framework, at the top, and another at the right-hand side. Now, Minnie and Cora, cut off some of that chintz, enough to make a cur- tain for each window, allowing for a hem broad enough to pass a lath in.”’ When the curtains were made, the top part was nailed tothe strip at the top of the window, and a large cord was securely fastened to the same strip under the curtain. A lath was put into the hem, the cord was carried down, then THE WINDOW-CURTAILN. the side, and then fastened to a brass knob driven into the side of the framework, within reach of the band. When the cord was drawn the curtain rolled up, when it hung down the curtain hung over the window. Full white muslin curtains were then put across each win- dow, meeting in the middle, and looped up by bands of chintz, and the windows were ready. The next consideration was a bed, but Aunt Lorrie soon conquered this difficulty. ‘* Among the packing-boxes that brought our furniture from New York, see if you can find one six feet three inches long, three feet wide, and about eighteen inches high.’’ Fortunately, a packing-box, the right dimen- sions, was found with a cover which Albert put hinges to. ‘There is my bedstead,’’ said Aunt Lorrie. ‘* Now, girls, make a flounce of the chintz, and put it on full a)l round it, tacking it tothe edge of the box, but leaving the cover free.”’ ‘‘ But we have no mattress. Poor Aunt Fan- nie won’t like sleeping on the soft side of a board.”’ ‘* We must makeamattress. It can be made out of those large coarse bags which your father had for packing, and stuffed with that common packing cotton, fastened with threads as com- mon mattresses are. If it is covered with the —_— ao «ef we oh oc = carried up on the outside of the curtain, passed | chintz, all defects will be concealed ; then make over the hook at the top, then over the one at | two square cushions and the bed is finished.”’

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THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 15 ‘* Mamma, have you some pillows, blankets, and sheets for night ?’”’ inquired Cora. “Ton” ‘*Well,”? said Aunt Lorrie, ‘‘through the day these must be put in the box, and at night Fannie can convert her lounge into a bed.” When the box was put in its place, Minnie said it wanted curtains, and under her direc- tion a pole, about eight feet long, was driven into the wall above the bed. From this she hung full white muslin curtains, which touched the ground when carried over the head and foot of the lounge. They could be looped up, if desired, by bands of chintz, similar to those on the window. The end of the pole was concealed by a rosette of the chintz. ** Now for chairs,’’ said Aunt Lorrie. ‘‘ Wal- ter, did you soak those six barrels in the creek to season them, as I asked you to ?”’ ‘* Yes, auntie, I think they are highly sea- soned by this time; I took them out two or three days ago, and dried them in the sun.” ‘*Well, bring them in; they are for chairs.’’ ** Oh, auntie !”’ cried Pet, ‘‘ you are not going to make Aunt Fannie sit perched up on the top of an old flour barrel, are you?’’ The barrels were taken into the workshop, and under Aunt Lorrie’s direction some of the front boards were sawed in halves, and taken out; the staves were then secured at the end, and also sawed away, leaving a back to her chair; Harry Wilson, catching her idea, cut them away in avery pretty shape. When four were so cut, they were taken into the room for the girls to finish. A seat was made by fasten- ing webbing across the large hole in the barrel ; then the back and arms were covered with coarse bagging, put on loose, leaving the top of the back open. The bagging was then stuffed with bran, TT rn an Ge TABLE UNDRESBED, and closed at the top, and there stood a stuffed easy-chair. When covered with the prettv THE CHAIR. chintz, with a full flounce from the seat, down, and a cushion, nobody would have suspected that the foundation was a barrel. Four of these chairs were made, and then Aunt Lorrie ordered a fifth barrel to be brought into the room. This she placed before a window, and directed the young men to put enough heavy stones in it to prevent its tipping over. Then Harry was sent for a square board, large enough to cover the top, which was carefully nailed on. The top was covered with chintz and a full flounce, reaching from the top to the floor, nailed to the board. A pincushion and looking-glass, placed upon it by Mrs. Melville, explained its use; and a very neat toilet-table was made out of that old barrel. TABLE DRESSED,

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16 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Of course, all these arrangements had taken some weeks ; and the girls accepted an invita- tion to spend a few days in Dayton, to rest from their labors, intending to finish making the furniture of Aunt Fannie’s room when they returned. When the girls returned from Dayton, the work of furnishing the room for Aunt Fannie was recommenced. Three packing-boxes, about two and a half feet long, two feet wide, and six- teen inches high, were converted into ottomans, by this process: The lids were covered with bagging, nailed on loose; this was stuffed with straw, and nailed down, and then the bagging was covered with chintz; a full flounce of chintz was then tacked to the box, falling from the lid to the floor. ** Fannie will not need a bureau,” said Aunt Lorrie, ‘‘ for these will hold her underclothes. We can make another ottoman of her trunk, by covering it with chintz.”’ ‘* It will ruin her dresses to put them in these boxes,’’ said Cora. ‘We must make her a wardrobe,” said Aunt Lorrie. ‘‘ Harry, nail a long piece of board to SKELETON OF WORK-TABLE. tassel. Finish the top with a fall of fringe, or, if you have none, with a narrow ruffle of the chintz.”’ ‘* Now our room is ready !”’ cried Susie, clap- ping her hands. ‘‘ Ain’t it pretty ?”’ ‘Ts Aunt Fannie never expected to wash her face ?’’ inquired Minnie, gravely. ‘* Sure enough, there is no washstand! Aunt Lorrie, how shall we make one ?”’ Another packing-box was selected, and placed the wall here, about five feet from the floor, and put plenty of hooks in it, for hanging up dresses.”’ “They will lock very funny, hanging there on the wall,’’ said Susie. **We will cover them. A full curtain of chintz, nailed above Harry’s board, and made to open in the middle, can then fall tothe floor, covering the dresses, or be looped back like the curtains, if she wishes it. Now, we must make her an hour-glass table, for her work.’’ ** A what?” “‘A work-table. Take two large, round pieces of wood, about a foot in diameter, and make one of them very heavy; by taking a round box and filling it with old iron or stones, this can be done. Then run a long pole, about four feet high, from the middle of the box, standing up- right; to this pole, nail the other round piece of wood. Now tack a piece of furniture chintz smoothly over the top piece, and then tack another piece to the top, putting it on slightly full, and letting it be about six inches longer than the pole. Tack the other edge of the chintz to the bottom piece of wood, and then tie it in the middle of the pole with a cord and %, ew My Se rtccre ), VWAR avecey WORK-TABLE COMPLETE on eud; then covered with a flounce of chintz, reaching from the top to the floor, parting in the front, so as to allow a bucket for refuse water to stand in the box. ‘But, Aunt Lorrie,’ said Cora, ‘if Aunt Fannie spills any water on the top of the box, we cannot wipe it up on the chintz, and it will be very inconvenient to change it every day.”’ ‘¢T will make you a marble top,” said Harry *O you can’t!” “4aHSINI4d SIM KOOU 40 SONVUVaddV

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THE UNEXPECTED VISITOR. 17 **Can’t I?” | washstand. He had taken a square piece of For two days Harry was very busy in the | board and painted it in imitation of white mar- workshop; then he came gravely into the ble. It was very pretty, and could, if wet, be room, and placed the promised top on the easily cleaned with a damp cloth. | | } | | | HN ini lin Ahhh! ‘HN Mn iH mi nM HN G(aNSINId SIAM NHOOU 40 AONVUVAdIV »» ARR aera is 3 Re pee ST ays

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18 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. The room was now ready, and Aunt Fannie anxiously expected. Every day, mamma, Aunt Lorrie, or some of the young people strayed into the room to pull a fold straight, or alter some little afrangement. A wash-stand service of white china was procured from Dayton, and the toilet table was decorated with a pretty fancy pincushion, an ornamental watch-stand, and some other little articles made by the girls’ busy fingers. Susie had been very busy making a work- basket of the pretty chintz to stand on the hour- glass table. She took sixteen pieces of paste- board, cut into the shape of a half diamond, only not coming to a point, being three inches long across the top, one and a half across the bottom, and about three inches indepth. These pieces she covered with chintz, and stitched together, making two come against each other for the inside and outside of the basket, thus reducing the sixteen to eight, and then stitch- ing these together at the sides. Then she covered two eight-sided pieces of card for the bottom of the basket, and stitched them to- gether. This piece fitted the bottom of the pieces of card, each side being one and a half inches in width. When the pieces were sewed on, and some little spool bags and button boxes , placed inside, it was put upon Aunt Fannie’s hour-glass table. At length, Aunt Fannie arrived. One bright July morning, she was introduced to her pretty room. The curtains were lowered to keep out the hot sun, the white walls made a very pretty contrast to the bright chintz and painted floor, and Aunt Fannie was lavish of her praises. ** You made them all yourself,’ she said. ‘Oh, how much that adds to their value! I shall love my room better than if it was filled with the most expensive furniture from Paris.’ MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. BY MARY W. JANVRIN AUTHOR OF “‘ PEACE, OR THE STOLEN WILL,” ETC. CHAPTER I. ‘€O prar! such a dream, Priscy! I’m sure it forebodes something ill !’’ sighed Miss Sabrina Wells, raising herself on the pillow, and tuck- ing her thick hair away under a frilled night- cap. ‘Such a bad dream, sister!’’ addressing a hard-faced, angular woman, of forty, who stood before the mirror, pinning up her short, black curls, in the early dawn of a May morn- ing; ‘fall night long, I was riding horseback over hills and mountains, on a great red horse, till at last he dropped down under me, from sheer fatigue; and I declare I’m actually as tired as if I’d journeyed hundreds and hun- dreds of miles! Let’s see! to dream of red horses signifies news; tired horses, I wonder what that means. Hand me the dream-book, sister.”’ Miss Priscilla, the ten-year eldest of the twain, took a little black-covered volume, which bore the imprint of frequent usage, from the dressing-table, and passed it to her sister. How- ever intolerant to the weaknesses of others, how- ever unsparing to her own, was the prim, prac- tical, energetic ‘‘ Miss Priscy,’’ however crusty and curt to all with whom she came in contact, to her only sister, Sabrina, a fair, blonde-faced woman of.thirty, half invalid, half ‘‘ shiftless,’’ as Aunt Ophelia hath it, and certainly very **inefficient”’ in the eyes of the good dwellers of Pinkerton—to Her the elder sister was never thus. It was the soft point in Miss Priscy’s character, this affection for Sabrina; and over her she still exercised the same motherly care as when the two, respectively the woman of twenty and the child of ten, had been orphaned. Now, Miss Priscy passed the little volume to the occupant of the bed; then briskly finish- ing her hair-brushing and pinning her curls, smoothed down the scant plaits of her old- fashioned, but well-preserved wrapper, fastened a linen coliar with an ancient brooch, then say- ing, ‘‘ Come, sister, I wouldn’t worry about the dream. This is a beautiful morning to look into the garden,’’ stepped briskly in the pas- sage, and cried out, ‘‘ Demis !”’ There was a rush and scamper of girlish feet in the sitting-room below, followed quickly by the clatter of dishes, which assured the spinster that the individual called was already ‘‘ up and dressed,’’ and at her morning task. So Miss Priscy descended the old-fashioned, broad, carved staircase ; paused a moment in the front entry, to set the front door wide open, to admit the morning air, fragrant with budding lilacs on the lawn and new apple-blossoms ; then looking in a moment at the sitting-room, where a girl of some twelve or thirteen summers—a strange, outré-looking girl, with wonderful black eyes 2 oe eee eo. oe ot a um th reg for

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eT errlClCUr rh COC TSC MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. 19 and a mass of luxuriant hair of the same hue, shading a thin, tawny, almost elfin face, with- out a particle of color—was spreading the break- fast-table, she traversed the hall to the kitchen in the rear, whence came a noisy clatter of kettles and saucepans which betokened the operation of ‘‘ getting breakfast.’’ ** Horses, horses !’’ said Miss Sabrina, turning the leaves of the dream-book (her oracle) till she came to the letter H, then reading to herself, half sotto voce, ‘**‘To dream of this quadruped is a very good sign, inasmuch that if any one dream he saw, took, or mounted a horse, it is a happy omen to the dreamer. White horses betoken the sudden illness or death of a friend ; the red horse signifies news and the sudden accession of some good fortune.’ Ah! ’tisn’t as bad as I thought, after all; but la! nonsense !’’ And, as Miss Sabrina’s eye further followed the page, she actually blushed and bridled as though some one had accused her of an offence ; then, after a brief reverie, she rose, completed her toilet, lingering longer than was her wont before the mirror, and carefully scanning her image, from which pleasing occupation she was roused by the vigorous ringing of the breakfast-bell in the hall below. Scarcely had our dreamer gained the break- fast-room, where Miss Priscy, with a very glow- ing red on her high cheek-bones and the tip of her peaked nose, sat erect behind the silver coffee-urn, ere a light pair of feet bounded down the stairs, and, with a cheery smile and gay ‘‘Good-morning, ladies,’? young Allan Thaxter entered and seated himself opposite Miss Priscy, who acknowledged the salutation by a dignified inclination of her head, while Miss Sabrina smiled blandly. Mr. Allan Thaxter, be it known to the reader, was the Misses Wells’ ‘‘ boarder,” a young gen- tleman of nineteen or thereabouts, who daily studied the classics and conned Latin verbs and Greek roots in the venerable Pinkerton Aca- demy, and punctually paid the sum of four dollars and fifty cents weekly into the treasury of Miss Priscy, for the privilege of making one of her household. People did say, to be sure, that Miss Priscy was a close manager, and that the boys who boarded over at Pinkerton Block daily sat down to better and plentier fare than regaled our young gentleman ; but, then, silver forks, cut glass, and silver napkin-rings (for the Misses Wells were ‘‘ genteel’) proved very essentially, in the eyes of the city merchant, James Thaxter, Allan’s ‘‘ governor,”’ that ‘‘gen- tility’? must needs ask a higher price for board than the ‘‘commoners ;’”’ hence the necessity | | | that his only son must be installed in one of the most aristocratic ‘‘ genteel’’ households in Pinkerton, during his course at the Academy. Yet, unfortunately, the son and heir of James Thaxter saw things in a different light, and often sighed for less of show and more of sub- stance ; vide his expressive confession to a fel- low-student, Bob Ackerman: ‘‘One can’t eat silver forks, you know, Bob. Commend me to good juicy beef-steak instead.”’ ‘*But what makes you stay there, then, Allan ?”? asked Bob. **Oh, I hardly know. It must be because the old maids are so kind to me, particularly Miss Sabrina. We two get on famously together. I talk sentiment at her, and she relates her dreams to me, which I duly interpret gravely, as an oracle ; and then I wind her worsteds, and work in the garden with her, and talk botany like Linneus. Besides, they always ask my opinion on extraordinary occasions ; and it gives a fellow a sort of dignity—ahem !—to be the only man in the house.”? And Allan pulled up his dickey, stroked his incipient whiskers, and returned to his domestication with the Misses Wells. Now, on this particular morning, the young man took his seat at table, and, after carefully unrolling his damask napkin, and sipping his weak coffee with as much relish as if it were a strong decoction of prime old Java enriched with veritable cream, looked across the table, remark- ing, blandly, but with a mischievous twinkle of the eye, ‘‘ You look pale this morning, Miss Sabrina.” The lady addressed glanced up from a bit of toast she had been delicately nibbling, and affected a languid air as she caught the eye of the handsome student. ‘Sister has had one of her bad nights,” gravely replied Miss Priscilla. ‘* Ah! bad dreams, I suppose?’ interroga- tively continued Allan, again fixing his gaze on Miss Sabrina. ‘‘ Now J am the Joseph who can interpret them,” he added, gravely. ‘May I inquire what visions intruded upon your repose, Miss Sabrina ?”’ ‘*Oh, it is nothing! One ought not to re- peat their dreams. You will consider me very foolish ; and it is improper, perhaps,’ she said, languidly. ‘* Not improper, sister, but I venture to say it is not a good plan, since I well recollect that our mother used to chide me, in my youthful days, for telling my dreams, because she said their narration was sure to be followed by the recur- rence of cthers,’”’ suggested Miss Priscy. with

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20 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. quite as much opposition as she ever manifested towards Sabrina. ‘*Oh no, madam! call it neither an impro- priety nor a weakness,” exclaimed the student, deferentially bowing in the direction of the high coffee-urn, behind which the tall form of the spinster loomed up ‘‘like a lightning-rod”’ (as he confided to Bob Ackerman) ; then gallantly turning to Miss Sabrina: ‘‘ Permit me to become your champion, fair lady, and, in so doing, to express my own views on the subject of dreams. It is my fixed belief,” he continued, assuming a grave countenance, and nervously (?) thrust- ing the tines of his fork through his napkin, ‘*my fixed belief, confirmed by the perusal and study of various authors—De Quincy’s ‘Sus- piria de Profundis,’ ‘Zimmerman on Solitude,’ Don Quixote’s ‘ Dulcinea del Toboso,’ and ‘ Gil Blas,’ among others (Allan’s erudition always impressed the two ladies, who were neither adepts in book-lore nor conversant with the names of authors)—that, when bound in the thralls of the somnific god, intangible mes- sengers from the invisible world may be per- mitted to whisper to us signs and foreshadow- ings of events which afterwards transpire in our waking lives; and that no warning thus given, however humble, should be despised. Now, then, my dear Miss Sabrina, since I trust my elucidation of this theme may also coincide with your own views, you will not cruelly deny me the relation of that which last night ob- truded upon your repose ; for who knows but I may be so enabled to interpret, that you shall at once be prepared for the future? As Le Sage, a renowned French poet, philosopher, and critic, once remarked to a lady friend, upon the very point we are discussing, ‘My dear madame, coming events cast their shadows before,’ so J also most implicitly believe ; and, as is commonly the fact, that ‘dreams go con- trarywise,’ you need not hesitate to reveal the perhaps frightful visions which have thus robbed your fair cheeks of their bloom, that their elucidation may restore again your rosy hue.’”’ And winding up this long appeal with a generous mouthful of buttered toast, Allan lay his fork evenly over the china plate, and gravely awaited her answer. Miss Sabrina, evidently more than ordinarily impressed with the young gentleman’s wonder- ful erudition, yet not wholly divested of a dim consciousness that she might be foolish in thus betraying her dreams, trifled with the fringe of her napkin ; then, with a little blush and sim- per, said, ‘‘Oh, la, Mr. Allan, it is nothing! Sister is, no doubt, in the right, that it is a weakness to tell one’s dreams; and yet one, particularly if they are of nervous or delicate organization (Miss Sabrina prides herself on her ‘‘nerves’’ and on being “‘ delicate’’), can’t help thinking that, if they take long, long equestrian excursions o’er hill and dale, till their weary steed’’— ‘* Beg pardon for the interruption, but was it a red horse, Miss Sabrina?’”’ gravely queried Allan. ‘* How strange you should have guessed it! Yes, it was a red horse, Mr. Allan; and, as I was saying, if one dreams of riding and riding till their steed becomes—oh, so weary! and’”’— ‘Oh, I can interpret that, Aunt Sabrina! Your dream-book is very particular on that point, and I’ve read it a hundred times. ‘To dream of riding on a tired horse shows one shall fall desperately in love.’ Oh, I should like to see the man, and so would Dr. Pendle- ton, too, I guess! and’”’— ‘*Demis Wells!’ There was a look of ter- rible indignation on the severe visage of Miss Priscy, and Miss Sabrina’s face was scarlet, whether from embarrassment or anger was not quite plain; and even the black-eyed, strange, outré-looking girl who occupied the fourth seat at that breakfast-table sank away quite abashed from her momentary animation ; the arch, saucy, piquant curve of her thin red lips—and there was nothing red about her face save those thin, thread-like, scarlet lips—subsiding to a slight, tremulous quiver, her heavy eyelashes again fringing her sallow cheeks. ‘‘Miss Demis Wells, I am not astonished that, contrary to my commands, you should persist in reading everything you can lay your hands upon, but that you should so expose yourself here !’’ said Miss Priscy, sarcastically. ‘‘ How often have I told you never to peruse a book that has not passed through sister’s hands or mine, and met our sanction ?”’ she added, severely. **T’m sure, aunt,’”? ventured the girl, a look of mischievous wonder breaking up through the midnight of her momentarily uplifted great eyes, ‘‘I ve seen the book in Aunt Sabrina’s hands a thousand times, and I thought’’— ‘*No more!’’ said Miss Priscilla, sternly. *** You thought!’ Girls of your age have no right to express their thoughts. It was not so in my day. Then, children, and young ladies even, held the opinion of their elders in awe and respect. From this time henceforth, never let me hear of your reading a book that you have not first brought to me; and never, never again interrupt or speak so unbecomingly to your Aunt Sabrina.”

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MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. 21 ** Yes ’m.” For the life of Allan Thaxter, who had given vent to his extreme delight at Demis’s sudden interpretation of the dream by sundry vigorous thrusts of his fork through his napkin, he could scarce refrain from a shout of laughter at the girl’s demure face and meekly downcast eyes ; but, had he so indulged, he had forfeited for- ever the esteem of the Misses Wells. Hence, in a few moments, swallowing his risible pro- pensities with his last sip of coffee, pushing back his plate, and methodically folding the pierced napkin and thrusting it into its ring, he said, gravely, ‘‘ Permit me, madam, to ex- tenuate the offence of Miss Demis, who, it seems, has yielded to undue childish curiosity (a patronizing glance at the girl, who suddenly flashed the defiant gaze of her great black eyes full into his own), and to even express a hope that I do not offend when I say that her inter- pretation may be made acceptable and valid, to wit, that ‘to dream of riding on a tired horse shows one shall fall desperately in love.’ This, madam’’—and Allan complacently ran his fin- gers through his curly hair and settled his dickey—‘‘this must be so, on the ground of purely logical deduction, premises and conclu- sion. Here we have the proposition, based on the well-known literary reliability of the com- piler of the dream-book—and, by the way, my dear Miss Priscilla, it has lately been ascer- tain, vide ‘Excavations of Herculaneum and Pompeii,’ that all dream-books were originally written by the gifted author of the ancient ‘Delphic Oracle’—we have the proposition set forth, ‘One shall fall desperately in love.’ ‘One,’ mind you, ‘one,’ in the third person, spoken of, thus: ‘first person, J fall; second person, you fall; third person, he, or any one falls.’ Third person, singular, masculine, then, ‘he falls,’ which certainly proves that ‘some one’ shall exercise that feeling, and towards the dreamer. I take it, ergo, that some one (he) should fall desperately in love with—beg your pardon !—with Miss Sabrina. Thus you see how logically, grammatically, therefore cor- rectly, I have deduced the real conclusion and interpretation of the dream ; hence, I pray you remove the ban of displeasure from my peni- tent little friend here (another defiant flash of the black eyes). And, dear Miss Sabrina,’’ turning, with a gallant bow, to the mollified lady, ‘‘trusting your humble servant may share the invites, ‘Come, haste to the wed- ding,’ I now bid you a hearty au revoir,” hastening from the apartment. That morning, an hour later, Allan Thaxter, | | bounding down the staircase, with his cap set jauntily on his brown curls, and his Sophocles under his arm, while the bell from the tower of Pinkerton Academy was musically pealing its morning call, met Demis Wells face to face. ** Ah, Demis, wasn’t I gallant to come to your rescue with the old—beg pardon—with your lady aunts, I mean?’’ he said. ‘‘And do you know I wanted to set up a shout when you hit off Miss Sabrina’s dream-book and Dr. Pendle- ton? That was a good one, Demis !”’ ‘* Please spare your compliments, Mr. Allan Thaxter; I have no ‘undue childish curiosity’ to hear them!’’ the girl, coldly and haughtily, drawing up her petite figure. **Juno—I mean Jupiter—and all the other old heathen fellows! how like a ruffled queen you look, little one! On your dignity, eh? So the idea of being called ‘child’ didn’t suit my wise, matronly Demis? Hence no thanks for the gallant knight who shivered a lance in her defence. Par Cupidon; that’s Greek, Demis. I must take them, then!’’ and he snatched a kiss from her scarlet lips. ‘‘ But, zounds! who the deuce ’d a thought that little hand could have boxed a saucy fellow’s ears so soundly? Eh? You’reaTartar!’’ And vigor- ously rubbing his ear, which tingled smartly under the merited chastisement, Allan walked said ruefully away. ** He—he—he! sarved him right, Miss Demis! Declare! ’fore now, Miss Demis, it’s made my hair stand on e-end, and my very teeth shat- ter in my head, thinkin’ how dreadful sassy them ’Cademy fellers are gettin’! They don’t treat the Miss Wellses right, nuther, tween you’n I, Miss Demis! He—he! guess he got it!’”? And a strange, nondescript figure, with long, lean hands, holding a broom and duster, and clad in a lad’s suit and a wide calico apron, passed Demis on the stairs. CHAPTER II. **Sister, did Mr. Allan tell you about his letter from his father, and the new boarder ?”’ asked Miss Priscilla, that afternoon, as the two sat together in their quiet sitting-room, the former busy with her embroidery, the latter industriously darning a napkin laid out from the preceding week’s wash. ‘No! What! another boarder?’ asked the fair Sabrina, lifting her face, with a show of interest, from avery blue dog she was work- ing on a striped green and brown ground. ‘“* Yes,”’ said Priscilla, vigorously waxing her

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22 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. cotton, and knitting her brows. ‘‘ Yes, Mr. Allan’s father has written him that his nephew, Allan’s cousin, son of Mr. Thaxter’s sister, who married a Spaniard and lives in Cuba, has been sent to this country to be educated; and Mr. Thaxter thinks he’d better spend a year here before going to college, and wants us to take him into our family. To tell the truth, sister—and you know I’ve said it—I did think I never ’d take another boarder into the house, they make such a deal of work and worry. See here, sister! these napkins, almost new’’— and she held up one which seemed to be per- forated as by small shot-holes. ‘‘If I ain’t much mistaken, Mr. Allan must thrust his fork through them atthe table. I declare I’ll watch him! And that’s the way—they ruin more ’n they pay for! I shall rise another half dollar on his board next term, sister. Well, as I was saying, Mr. Thaxter wants us to take him.”’ ** Would two be a great deal more trouble than one, Priscy?”’ asked Sabrina, setting a stitch in the canvas. ‘‘ And it would pay, you know.”’ Miss Priscy looked upon her sister in admi- ration. Certainly, Sabrina was getting to be practical—a calculator—judging by this bril- liant suggestion. There was something in that, to be sure, Miss Priscy thought. The cousins could room together ; there would need be very little difference in the table. She hoped he hadn’t Allan’s unaccountable propensity for running doylies. In her mind, she had decided. “A Cuban, sister? How romantic! And he has a Spanish name, I suppose, and deep, dreamy Spanish eyes,’’ mused Sabrina. ‘‘It’s Michael, I believe, or something like it. Mr. Allan told me,’’ said the spinster, un- heeding the key this latter speech of her sister’s had furnished her. ‘‘ Well, I believe I shall conclude to take him, Sabrina. We might as well, for, if we don’t, somebody will ; and then, perhaps, Allan would want to go to room with his cousin. Ten dollars a week from both would leave us a fair profit and buy a new set of napkins. I’m sure Mr. Thaxter won’t object at all to my raising the board the half dollar, when everything ’s going up so dreadful high. He won’t come till the fall term, sister. Sabrina, what shall we do with Demis?’ she resumed, after a short pause, changing the napkin for a pair of hose, which she proceeded to darn very nicely. ‘Demis? Why, she is doing well enough, isn’t she, Priscilla?’’ asked Sabrina, counting the stitches in the dog’s right ear. ** Well, she’s getting to be a tall girl now, | most fourteen; and J suppose it’s time we were thinking something about sending her more to school. To be sure, I don’t see how we can spare her so well, now the new boarder is coming, for she is getting to be quite handy ; but yet, other people don’t forget she is my brother’s child, and I suppose we ought not to. I wish she did look more like Richard, sister. Poor Dick !’’—and the spinster sighed. ‘ Well, as I was saying, people don’t forget that she is our niece ; only yesterday, Mrs. Capt. Gilford asked me to let her take lessons of the new music-teacher, observing that she thought her talent ought to be cultivated. Demis really has a tolerable voice, Sabrina’’—and just then a fresh, clear alto came from the long kitchen and died away in the direction of the garden, by way of confirmation. ‘I’ve been thinking it over, and concluded it is best to send her to a steady school; she seems fond enough of her books, and perhaps it ’ll tame her down, and be the making of her. Poor Dick! it wiil be a deed of Christian charity to bring up his child in the way she should go. Sister, sometimes I’ve thought it a special act of Providence that her mother died first, off in that heathen land, so Dick might leave his orphan among his own people.”’ ** T suppose Demis got her fondness of music from her mother,” said Sabrina, dropping her work, and lying down on the sofa. ‘‘It was rather romantic—brother’s marriage there in India.”’ ** Yes, romantic enough, in all conscience !”’ bluntly said the practical Miss Priscilla, thrust- ing her hand down into the foot of the stocking. **It’ll do well enough to read of in novels; but, to my mind, if Richard had never gone to foreign parts, but staid at home and married some smart woman here, he’d be living this day. The climate broke his constitution all up; those hot countries wither and kill a man. But he would go. But there! I won’t blame the dead. Poor Dick !’’—and the elder sister sighed heavily—‘‘he was always so gay and handsome, and father and mother were so proud of him! It seems but a few days ago since he went away to college, and then sailed for Cal- cutta; and here he’s been dead and buried these ten years. Sabrina, we must be kind to Demis for his sake, though I do wish she did look more like her father. There isn’t a par- ticle of Wells about her; and when I look into her great black eyes, I can’t seem to realize she’s our kith and kin.”’ ‘Yes, I wish she resembled our family,” said Miss Sabrina; ‘‘ but she’s the image of on a —_— = —_

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MISS SABRINA’S DREAM, 23 the miniature Dick wore about his neck, and you know he said Demis had her mother’s eyes. Don’t you remember the dream I had the very night before Dick came home, sister, how you and I were all dressed in white and going to a wedding, and poor brother came back sick, and died in less than a fortnight? Dear me! I’m sure there is something in dreams, after all!’? And, unaccountably, Miss Sabrina slightly blushed, as her thoughts re- verted to her last and Allan Thaxter’s interpre- tation. ‘* Maybe, sister,’’ replied the elder, then, rub- bing hard her eyes with a corner of her kerchief, went on with her sewing. Then followed a long silence in the quiet sit- ting-room, that May afternoon, broken only by the tick, tick of the old clock in the front entry ; and the pleasant May sun slanted in at the western window on the old-fashioned carpet, the green-covered sofa, and moreen curtains, then flashed up on the panelled carvings of the chimney-piece, the two massive silver candle- sticks, and the two gilt-framed portraits on the wall. One of the portraits was a handsome, strong-featured, and somewhat stern-looking man, dressed in wig and robe, for Asher Wells was a lawyer of the olden time; and the other a sweet, gentle, fair-haired woman, in early youth, the maiden sisters’ mother, who, while still in her early womanhood, and before a thread of her soft, abundant hair was streaked with silver, had been lain away in the old graveyard. There was a trace of her likeness in the delicate, blonde-faced Sabrina on the sofa, who certainly looked fair and young as many five years her junior, as she lay there, with folded hands and care-free face ; and who, looking on Miss Priscy, as she sewed and sewed by the western window, would have failed to recognize, in the firm, set lips, the high Roman nose, and eagle eye, her father ? ‘*And now tell us about Dick,’ says the reader. Richard Wells was the one son of his parents ; the pet of his yielding mother, and the pride of the old Squire; the handsome, spendthrift youth, who played the prodigal while his elder sister was growing into mature womanhood and managing the household, whose cares she as- sumed at her mother’s death, with the most rigid economy, that Dick might make a hand- some appearance among his college classmates ; the ‘“‘suspended”’ student, who came to them from his temporary employment in the city, to be nursed and cared for as his health demanded ; and then, expelled at length from college, whither he was permitted to return, had written them a brief letter, stating that, in the employ of a firm, he was going to India ‘‘to seek his fortune.” There were those in Pinkerton who had heard, and reported to his grave elder sister, that Dick Wells led a life of irregularity and dissipation, that his pleasures were beyond the pale of virtue; but this Priscilla indignantly and sternly denied to others, however she may have admitted the truth to her own heart. For Miss Priscy had loved this wild, wayward, but handsome brother with a strong love, though it was not her way to manifest affection by outward token; and what sister will not love and strive to cover the errors of an only brother? But to India he went ; and, four years after, came to them, thin, emaciated, and consumptive —a wreck of a man—and so died, leaving to his elder sister a strange, frightened, little dusky- eyed girl, whose mother slumbered by the banks of the Ganges. had named her; and because of this old-fash- ioned name, and certainly not for her strange, startling eyes, ‘‘that looked one through and ‘* Demis, for my mother,” Dick through a hundred times a day,”’ Priscilla Wells promised her brother, on his dying bed, to re- ceive this child into her heart and home; and henceforth the elder sister fancied that the por- trait on the wall smiled down on the pale, dark- eyed grandchild called by her name. And then Richard Wells died ; and his wasted talents and faded beauty were laid away in the old bury- ing-ground, and another inscription was added to the flat tablet that marked the Wells’s family resting-place; and Miss Priscilla grew older, manifesting few outward tokens of tenderness for her little niece, yet, in reality, keeping a strong affection in an out-of-the-way corner of her heart for ‘‘ Dick’s child,” though yet she could not become reconciled to her ‘ great, strange-looking eyes.’’ And so the years passed, till Sabrina had unconsciously glided from her twenties to thirty, and Miss Priscy was full ten years older, and Demis was a tall girl of thirteen. There was one other member of the house- hold at the old Wells mansion whom, as yet, we have but briefly presented to the reader— a lad of eighteen or nineteen, whose mother had lived and died in the service of Squire Wells’s family—a tall, lank, flax-haired boy, who, from being constantly in the house and premises, and faithfully devoted to the interests of the family, had become a kind of nondescript, combining the qualities of Bridget, farmer, and gardener.

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24 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Joey Hilton was invaluable to the Misses Wells, for no other ‘“‘ help’”’ was required in the kitchen by the prudent Miss Priscilla. Joey cooked, and washed dishes, prepared vege- tables, rubbed knives, washed floors, swept rooms, tended the garden, and fattened the poultry which occasionally found its way to the spinster’s table; and while Miss Priscy was generalissimo of the kitchen, Joey was her most faithful adjutant. Indeed, I am in- clined to fancy that, as is often the case with a greater body in a larger field of action, Miss Priscy received the glory, while poor Joey did **the dirty work.”’ ** Miss Priscy !’’ Joey stood in the sitting-room door, his lank figure arrayed in a wide apron, his sleeves turned back, and his hands white with flour. ** Well, Joey ?’’—and the spinster dropped her thimble into her work-basket on the window- sill, folded her work, and followed him into the kitchen. ‘* Did you say resolve the saleratus in warm or cold warm water, ma’am?’’—and he held a spoonful of pearlash above a bowl of water. ** Somehow, I allers disremembers these things so, Miss Priscy,’’ he added, apologetically. ‘* Never mind, Joey,” said Miss Priscy, roll- ing up her sleeves, and taking the spoon from his hand, ‘‘I will mix the batter. The frying- pan is not hot enough ; blow the fire, Joey ; but first bring me that bowl of sour milk from the pantry. The saleratus should always be added to the milk; that dissolves it, of course. You must remember, Joey; I can’t tell you every day or two.”’ ‘* Yes, Miss Priscy ;’’ and Joey bustled about, blew the fire, dropped the lard into the heated pan, and so assisted his mistress in “ frying fritters’”’ for supper. ** Where is Demis, Joey ?’’ ‘*T see her, an hour or two ago, goin’ out to the corn-house chamber, with a book in her hand ; po’try, I suspects, Miss Priscy. I'll lay the table, ma’am.”’ ** Very well, Joey,’’ said the spinster, pursing up her lips. And when, a half hour later, the china plate of smoking cakes was transferred to the supper-table, and the bell summoned the student, who came in sniffing the savory odor with peculiar satisfaction, the girl came also, like one summoned reluctantly, with a flush on her cheek and a dreamy light in her eye, that told how the afternoon had been spent. ‘*Demis, what have you been reading this afternoon ?”’ asked Miss Priscy, almost sternly. *** Childe Harold,’ aunt,’’ with a little start, a fearful, almost defiant look usurping the dreaminess in her vyes. ‘** Byron, the prince of poets! I am delighted with Miss Demis’s appreciation of my favorite author,’* began Allan Thaxter, gravely and patronizingly, yet becoming slightly confused, as he caught the severe gaze of Miss Priscy bent upon him, in the act of stilettoing his napkin. ** And oh, aunt, it is so beautiful’ ‘The castled crag of Drachenfels Towers o'er the blue and winding Rhine!’” quoted Demis, with sparkling eyes. Something in the girl’s animated manner, perhaps something that made her look, for the moment, like ‘‘ brother Dick’s child,” stayed the customary rebuke that trembled on Miss Priscy’s tongue. Indeed, it had become so natural for her to chide Demis, that I scarce think the spinster knew the extent of the habit. ** Well, child, I’ve been thinking this after- noon—sister and I—that you live altogether too lawless a life, and that you ought to have the restraints other girls of your age are sub- ject to; so 1’ve concluded to send you to Miss Dowe’s school, and let you take a term or two of the new music-teacher, besides.’’ ‘Oh, dear aunt! Music?’ And a sparkle that fairly dazzled Miss Priscy shot up through those great, dusky eyes. ‘‘I thank you a thousand times.”’ ‘Then you are really goin’ to begin to ’tend school reg’lar, and will require an eddication ?”’ said Joey, delightedly, as his young mistress afterwards recounted this pleasing arrangement in the kitchen, where the lad sat eating his supper. ‘* Yes, Joey. I don’t care so much about the school; I never did or would sit up prim in a school-house, over books, when the birds were singing all day, and the brook danced and laughed, down in the hollow. If they ’d only let me have books of poetry, ’twould be easy enough ; but mathematics and history, I detest ’em! But Aunt Priscy says I may take music lessons, and I shall love that dearly; and be- cause she is so good, Ill get every other lesson they ask me, if it’s harder than Greek. Aunt Priscy sha’n’t have a word of fault to find this time.”’ ‘In course not,’’ said Joey, pompously, re- galing himself with the last remaining cake. ‘‘In duty bound, Miss Demis, you ’ll reprove every advantage, and become a ’complished singer and musican. I allers told ’em you had a first quality voice, and, bime-by, I s’pose . a Ft +. as oe

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7— = ew MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. 25 you ‘ll be leadin’ the quire. I s’pose Miss Priscy will get a pianner for you, too; I hate them seraphims, no harmony nor music in ’em. These flapjacks is nice, Miss Demis !’’ ** Yes ; did you make them, Joey ?”’ ‘Wall, I ’sisted Miss Priscy; we made ’em together. You see, my last riz bread was kind o’ heavy, clammy-like, and I s’pose she ’s afeard to trust me ag’in; but I’m allers learnin’; I reproves every day, Miss Demis. I’ve got the famousest cook-book out; see here! bought it with my own money, too.”? And Joey brought from the closet a treatise on cookery, whose various receipts he spelt out at his odd moments of leisure. ‘That is nice, Joey; you can learn a great deal from it,’’ said Demis ; *‘ but, Joey, I should think you ’d rather go to school and learn, than live out, and cook, and wash dishes, like a woman. Didn’t you tell me you’d had a for- tune left you—ever so much money? I should think you’d like to buy books—Byron and Shelley—and study them.”’ ‘Wall, you see, Miss Demis, it’s my pesky eyes as won’t ‘low of my studyin’. I thought, last winter, mabbe if I got a solar lamp like Mr. Allan’s, I could make out better, but ’twas no sort o’ use; couldn’t see a mite better; the words all run together; my eyes ached, and ached, till I had to give it up. Dr. Pendleton says he shouldn’t wonder if I’d got a precipice or something growing over ’em’’—and Joey squinted his dim orbs at Demis. ‘*You mean a cataract, Joey,” said Miss Priscy, who had just entered the kitchen. **Yes ’m; I allers disremembers the ’zact word,”’ replied Joey. ‘‘A cataract, ma’am. Don’t know but I shall go up to Bosting and insult an ocular about ’em. They say they cut ’em out like a wen.”’ **But you did have a fortune left you, didn’t you, Joey ?’’ asked Demis, after her aunt had retired. **Oh, not much of a fortin, only a few hun- dreds or so!’ said Joey, affecting the indiffer- ence of a man of estate, and gathering up his dishes. ‘‘ You see, last winter, some of my mother’s posterity died, *way up in Vermont, and as there wasn’t any other heirs, the pro- perty descended, in a nat’ral line, to me. They say there’s a piece of woodland, and some money in the bank. Squire Woodbury settled the ’state for me, and said I must choose a gardeen, to take care on’t for me till I’m of age. P’r’aps there is folks in Pinkerton as wonders why I prefers to live here now; but, you see, Miss Demis, it’s more from pure ’tach- VOL. LVII.—3 ment to the Miss Wellses than any other re- sentiment. There’s no place like home, arter all, as I told Squire Woodbury, when he says, sez he, ‘ Wall, Joey, now, I s’pose, you’re an heiress, you’ll be dashin’ ’round, and takin’ the girls to ride, and, jest as likely as not, pop- pin’ the question?’ Sez I, ‘Squire Woodbury, I ain’t one o’ them sort as a little money makes fools on. The Miss Wellses have allers been kind to me, and I sha’n’t be ungrateful.’ Nor I sha’n’t, Miss Demis; I shall allers endeavor to make myself useful while I live. But there’s one thing I’m not goin’ to postpone much longer, and that’s to make my will. They say old Capt. Gilford made his years ago; and now, if I should suddenly be snatched away, and they should find I died detested, somebody or ruther’d get the property—the lawyers, maybe—unless I’d willed it to them I wants to have it, afore. I must go and insult Squire Woodbury about it to-morrow.”’ ‘*Dear me! don’t talk about dying, Joey; I hope you’ll live a good many years, to make flapjacks and enjoy your property,’’ laughed Demis. An hour later, in the golden sunset, Miss Sabrina, in a buff dress and crimson shawl, slowly promenaded the garden-walks, stooping, now and then, to note a little flower-stalk just bursting above the soil ; and Dr. Pendleton rode lingeringly past, in his narrow gig, and lifted his hat gallantly; and Allan Thaxter came down from his chamber, and, joining her, said, jocosely, ‘‘ Now, Miss Sabrina, I verily believe that your dream of last night is destined to a speedy fulfilment, for the ‘red horse’ betokens news, and, certainly, that is verified in my reception of father’s letter this morning; and as, next term, my handsome, gallant young Cuban cousin is coming, I foretell that ‘some one shall fall desperately in love ;’ hence, I warn you not to trifle with the impressible Spaniard.”’ And, with a gallant bow, he has- tened away on his customary evening walk to that resort where the Pinkerton students and seminary girls ‘‘most do congregate’’—the vil- lage post-office. CHAPTER III. * Jory, now that the revolving wheel of For- tune has cast her golden treasures at your feet, and, as we read ‘it is not good for man to live alone,’ why don’t you take a partner, to weep over your joys and smile over your sorrows?

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26 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, I say, Joey, in other words, why don’t you get married ?”’ The speaker was Allan Thaxter; and, in his room, was set out his study-table, laden with various component edibles of a supper, to which he had bidden a quartette of particular friends boarding over at Pinkerton Block, in honor of the arrival of his Cuban cousin, Miguel Juvenal, who had entered the Pinkerton Academy at the sommencement of the September term. There was Noel Cameron, a tall young Southerner, who drove the fastest horses in Day’s livery stable, and wore his hair @ /a Byron; Paul Dickson, a slight fellow, with light hair, who wrote poetry and inserted ‘‘sonnets,’’ weekly, in the ‘‘ Pinkerton News,’ and, in summer, always wore a rose in his buttonhole, who now sat turning the leaves of Allan’s ‘‘ Byron;”’ Sylvester Thorpe, a pale, self-centred, lame student, with a mature look of gravity and wisdom on a young face, as he now soberly watched his host perspiring over the stove, in his self-imposed task of roasting a brace of fat chickens ; while the fourth guest, Bob Acker- man, with round, fat, genial face, had turned back his cuffs, and was ‘‘ seasoning’’ the gravy with a box of cachous he had drawn from his pocket. Besides these, there was the young Cuban stranger, with his handsome dark face, full red lips, and dusky eyes, now evidently very much at home in Allan’s great lounging-chair, and indolently watching operations. Joey Hil- ton, meanwhile, had been pressed into service by Allan, who overeame his fear lest ‘‘ the Miss Wellses” should get wind of the affair, by re- iterated promises of extraordinary quiet, and also by hanging up two or three overcoats and the bed-counterpane over the door, that the savory odors of the feast should not penetrate through the crevices into the passage or hall below. At length, the supper was pronounced ready. The brace of chickens occupied the centre; crackers, cheese, and a couple of pastries bought at the village confectioner’s, together with pickled limes, cocoa-nut cakes, and apples, contribnted by Noel Cameron as his share, were ranged around; a twain of ‘‘ bottled cider,’’? which Bob Ackerman had smuggled in, was prodnced ; and, with a suave bow, Allan flourished them to their seats, the Cuban oc- cupying the post of honor at his right, while Joey officiated in removing the different courses alamode, And so the moments sped. At first, in obedience to the command of their host to each, ‘‘Go in and win,”’ the chickens dis- appeared alarmingly soon ; then the other con- diments went round ; a jar of preserved ginger, which the Cuban had “laid in,’’ with a host of other goodies, in obedience,to a letter of dicta- tion Allan had written him, adding a wonderful zest, aided by draughts from the sparkling cider, which, somehow, got into the head of Paul Dickson, the poet, till he perpetrated sonnets ad infinitum, and became particularly uproarious, thus causing Joey and his aost no little anxiety. At length, they succeeded in restoring quiet, when the thread of conversation turned from the recital of school pranks and the quotation of Prof. Mott’s last joke to the present com- pany; while poor Joey, little imagining him- self the butt of their quizzing remarks, and withal quite delighted at being admitted to such familiarity with the students, replied with much spirit, till, at last, Allan, gravely wink- ing to the group, assumed a patronizing air, and, after drawing the lad out regarding his ‘legacy,’ of which Joey was never weary of descanting, wound up a long peroration con- cerning the benefits of riches, by the question which heads our chapter—‘‘I say, Joey, why don’t you get married ?”’ “Wall, I have thought some on it, Mr. Allan,”’ replied Joey, seating himself on the edge of the bed and cracking a pea-nut. ‘I tell you, I keeps my eye wide tight; but, in my ’pinion, it’s kind o’ risky business.”’ ‘““That’s right, Joey, don’t get taken in. These girls are terrible deceivers, and they ’re always after money,” said Bob Ackerman, draw- ing down his face. ‘* Between you and I, Joey, I wouldn’t be in a hurry to change my condition; age will bring experience,’’ gravely added calm Sylves- ter Thorpe, who, having imbibed copiously from the long-necked bottles (and Allan always vowed that ‘‘the more Thorpe drank, the wiser he grew’’), felt particularly in the mood for advising. ** Yes, that 's so! it’s no use to bein a hurry ; there’s enough on’em anytime. As I heard Miss Sabrina tell Miss Priscy, when she kept urgin’ her to have Dr. Pendleton—you see, young gentlemen, I s’pects the Doctor wants her orfully—Miss Sabrina, sez she, ‘Sister, Dr. Pendleton ain’t the only man in the world; there ’s jest as good fish in the sea as ever was caught,’ ’’ replied Joey. ‘¢ And yet, my dear fellow,’’ said poet Paul, affectionately, ‘‘ it is difficult to choose. As my friend Tom Moorse says, ” + When lovely woman stoops to folly, And charms a lone man’s melancholy,’ su] kn Ac! cat 7% B coz tha Onl scar did:

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MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. 27 how hard to resist the dear creatures !’’—and the poet warmed with his subject. ‘‘ Here ’s a toast,’’ raising his glass, but unfortunately discovering its vacuity, ‘‘to the /adies—‘ Our solacers in trouble, our partners in joy ; Heaven bless ’em!’”’ “‘That’s sol’? assented Joey, emphatically slapping his knee, for, alas! poor Joey also felt the cider mounting to his head, ‘‘ That’s so! Lord reward ’em !’’ ‘* But, Joey,’’ exclaimed Allan, assuming a grave air, ‘‘suffer a man who has seen some- thing of the world, and views these matters from a different stand-point, to give you a little fatherly advice, In the first place, my son, your health is delicate, and you need a kind hand to lead you sympathetically aleng life’s rough pathway, and scatter crumbs among the raging lions that infest your way, lest they turn and rend you. It is an oriental simile, in which the lover calls his mistress ‘the eyes of his soul ;’ now, Joey, you know your optics to be impaired, and, were you to make use of this figure and seek to realize it, in your case it would not only be pardonable, but commend- able. There’s little Maria Ellis; why don’t you ask her to become Mrs. Joey Hilton ?’’ ‘*Wall, you see, Mr. Allan,’ began Joey, with great volubility, ‘there ’s a ’scuse in that case. To tell the truth, I did think seriously, a little while ago, of asking Miss Mariar—nice girl, Mariar is!—if she would become bone o’ my bone and flesh o’ my flesh; but she was took sick of a tryphoid fever, and Dr. Pendle- ton says he’s afeard she’s a confirmed infidel for life. I shouldn’t want a sick wife, you know.”’ ‘That ’s right, Joey ; hardly any of us would want an infidel wife,”’ exclaimed Bob Acker- man, cramming his handkerchief into his mouth to prevent an explosion. ‘‘I admire your pru- dence,”’ he continued, at length; ‘‘ but here’s a nice little girl right here at home, the Miss Wellses’ Demis. Why don’t you look sweet in that quarter ?”’ Joey’s face flushed, for he dimly saw Bob’s suppressed laughter. ‘‘ You don’t seem to know what belongs to manners or sense, Mr. Ackerman. Miss Demis is a child—a ’sophisti- cated girl.’’ ‘*Good, Joey !’’ screamed Allan, with delight. ‘** But, Bob, you’d better be careful, or my tropic coz will get his Spanish blood up. Do you know that he admires this same little Indian girl? Only yesterday, he was prating of her beauty ; scarce keeps his eyes off her at table. There! didn’t I tell you so? How like a thunder-cloud he looks now! Pistols, daggers, revolvers! Bob, you ’d better look out for Mig, I tell you.” ‘* Ah, Juvenal, beg your pardon !’’ said Bob, bowing to the handsome Cuban, the momentary flash of whose eyes betrayed the tropic blood that ran under that indolent, sluggish exterior ; ‘* didn’t know that I was treading on anybody’s corns. So the wind sets in that quarter, does it? No matter; not a word—don’t apologize, my dear fellow; we’ll excuse you. Certainly, Miss Demis has grown wonderfully handsome, of late—splendid eyes !”’ “Eyes? Ah, yes! eyes that, ‘Throbbing through me, did undo me,’” quoted the poet Paul. ** Now, to my mind, I would recommend our friend Joey to choose the fair Miss Sabrina,”’ said Allan, soberly. ‘‘Haven’t I been loxg enough in this house to observe her kind inte- rest in him—her thousand little courtesies, all telling in his favor? and don’t I know how to construe them? Ah, Joey, it is only too evident that Miss Sabrina is deeply in love with you!” Poor Joey! if he was confused before, he certainly was mystified now. ‘Really, you don’t mean—yes, Miss Sabrina is very kind and good to me,’’ he stammered. ** «Kind !’ ‘ good !’—of course she is,’’ quoth Allan, with eyes brimming with fun, but elon- gated face; ‘‘that is her privilege. Being several years your senior, she may, without infringing beyond the grounds of maidenly propriety, betray her preference. Now, Joey, my advice is, seriously, that, as you are a man of property, and she cannot accuse you of mer- cenary motives, you straightway offer yourself, without delay. Delays are dangerous, my dear fellow. Dr. Pendleton, or some other, may win her; for you cannot expect her to keep her heart for you always. Stand up here, man, and I will instruct you in the modus operandi” —and Joey actually came forward. ‘‘ To-mor- row, you shall gather a nice bouquet of elegant sunflowers, from the garden—sunflowers, mind you, Joey, for the language of this beautiful flower is love—and, watching your opportunity of finding Miss Sabrina alone, you must steal softly into her presence, and, bending on one knee, gracefully present them, holding your other hand over your heart—so, Joey—saying, impressively—repeat it after me, Joey—saying, ‘Fairest and dearest of your sex !’—sez, not sect, you barbarian !—‘ fairest and dearest of your sex ! inspired by a profound sense of your beauty, your varied accomplishments, and charming condescension, I venture to assure you that your sentiments are reciprocated.

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28 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Indeed, I have only been awaiting the anfold- ing of circumstances, to betray my passion. I beseech you, then, to accept my heart, hand, and fortune, and thus render me the happiest of men!’ There, Joey! be sure you repeat that over twenty times, at least, that you won’t break down. Good! right, so far!’’ as Joey glibly recited the words Allan ‘‘ deaconed”’ off. ‘*Come to me to-morrow, and report yourself a prospective Benedick. Bob, fill me a bumper —ah, I forgot the cider’s out. Pull this chicken- bone with me, and wish a speedy wooing and handsome partner to our friend Joey. Sh!” The latter expletive was caused by a vigor- ous tap on the door—a tap repeated and accom- panied by the words ‘‘ Young gentlemen! Mr. Allan !”’ in a high feminine key. **Good Lord! it’s Miss Priscy!’’ whispered Allan. ‘‘Here, boys—Bob, Paul, and all of you—stuff this chicken carcass and the dishes under the bed—quick! no rattling! One mo- ment, ma’am!’’ inahighertone. ‘‘ And, Joey, under the bed with you, too—double your legs up; and Mig, run those long necks into that pair of boots there! Now, on with the books! spread this quilt on the bed quicker’n lightning —pull the edges down in front, there! It is astonishing how this key sticks,’’ he again cried to Miss Prisey. ‘‘ Ah, beg your pardon, ma’am,’’ as the door flew open, ‘‘ but when a parcel of fellows get to construing Greek—walk in, Miss Wells—only a few of my class—deuced hard—lesson for to-morrow—walk right in !’’ as Miss Priscy paused on the threshold, and beheld, not the scene her fancy (aided by certain sounds and savory odors which had reached her below) had conjured, but, instead, a half dozen demure- faced students, quietly and intently studying, around Allan’s table. ‘*Mr. Allan, I’m sure—could I be mistaken ?’’ said the mystified spinster, acknowledging, somewhat stiffly, the polite bows the five young gentlemen united in bestowing. ‘‘ But I thought —nay! I am very sure—I smelt’’— ‘*These candles, ma’am,’’ promptly inter- rupted Allan, as Miss Priscy’s high Roman nose sniffled the air. ‘‘They do emit a very peculiar, I might say a very savory, odor, Miss Wells. My friend Bob, here, soberly assured me, on his first entrance, that they actually smelt like roast poultry. Ha, ha! a very pleas- ing hallucination, ma’am; though I give you my word of honor that I purchased them for pure spermaceti. But do be seated, Miss Wells !’’ ‘*No, I thank you,” replied the spinster, looking alternately from a pair of tall candles on the table to Allan’s imperturbably grave face, with a sort of quiet wonder, then adding, apologetically, ‘‘I came up to say, young gen- tlemen, that sister is not quite well, this even- ing—has one of her bad headaches—and I[ must beg your friends for a little more quiet.’’ ‘Certainly, Miss Priscy ; glad you reminded us of it’’—and Allan bowed. ‘‘ We are always apt to get noisy, discussing the dead languages ; and then, my friend Mr. Acherman was endea- voring to instruct Mr. Juvenal in the idioms of our English. Please present my regreis to Miss Sabrina for her illness, in which I am sure the boys will join me. Good night, ma’am.’’ **Come forth, man!’’ exclaimed Allan, wait- ing till Miss Priscy had closed the sitting-room door below, then dragging poor Joey by the heels from under the bed. ‘‘ Man of the marble heart ! woman-killer! Moloch of the affections ! do you hear? Miss Sabrina is ill—pining— dying! Promise me that you offer yourself on the morrow, promptly, manfully, nobly, or, by all the gods, this shall be your fate!’’ And he brandished aloft a small, glittering dirk-knife, the property of lris Spanish cousin. ** Oh, Lordy! I will! I will, Mr. Allan! darnev. if I don’t!’’ heroically and hysterically cried poor Joey, burying his face in the bed-quilt. “Then go! be off! scoot! vamose! clear the kitchen! there ’s the door, sir!’’ exclaimed Allan, flourishing the weapon with tragic air, as the frightened lad crept away. ** Well, boys, how do you like my ‘doing’ the landlady ?’’ he added. **Capitally !’’ replied Cameron; “‘ but it’s getting late, and I have two pages of Greek to get out for to-morrow. Come, boys, let’s break up !”’ CHAPTER IV. ** Any how do you find yourself this morn- ing, Miss Sabrina ?’’ inquired Allan, in a sym- pathetic voice, as that fair lady took her place at table next morning with pale face and lan- guishing air. ‘*Oh, poorly, poorly, thank you, Mr. Allan !’’ was her reply, receiving her coffee from the hand of Miss Priscy. *“*T am very sorry, my dear Miss Sabrina. Did you rest well? I trust that Morpheus wooingly hovered over your pillow. Rest assured that we suffered intensely for our thoughtlessness last night, for we must have annoyed you extremely. Indeed, I thought that Miguel would never have ceased his self- reproaches—accusing himself of robbing you of

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MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. 29 needed rest and sleep. I gravely assure you that he never closed his eyes all night.’’ And Allan boldly met the surprised stare of his cousin, who could not beat down that look of cool, saucy self-possession and perforce dropped his eyes upon his plate again. **I would not have Mr. Juvenal suffer the least on my account. Sister feared the noise overhead ; but it was not that. I am the vic- tim of low spirits, the prey of a hopeless melan- choly, which wastes the body alike with the mind.’? And Miss Sabrina sighed deeply. “*I would inquire if the Senorita has con- sulted medical advice?’’ innocently asked Juvenal. Miss Sabrina colored, and Demis Wells coughed violently, while Allan trod on his foot under the table, telegraphing to the Cuban that he ‘“‘had put his foot into it,’’ as he told him afterwards. ‘*Medical aid seldom reaches depression of spirits,’’ said Miss Priscy. ‘J think sister does not take the air enough.”’ ‘*Would not a change of scene, a journey, be beneficial ?’? asked Allan, with solicitude. ‘*Miguel, you must invite Miss Sabrina to try the balmy climate of Cuba on your return.”’ ‘*T should only be too happy, lady,’ replied the Spaniard, bowing, but unaccountably turn- ing very red as he encountered the full, undis- guised glance of a pair of black eyes beside him. “Thanks! thanks! you are most kind!”’ blushingly murmured the fair spinster. Still that painful suffusion had not died from Miguel’s cheek, as he left the table when the meal was finished. Why was it, I wonder, that the young foreigner grew more embar- rassed daily ? and why, on this particular occa- sion, did Demis Wells’s black eyes flash angrily on Allan, then pityingly on his cousin, and almost contemptuously on her Aunt Sabrina? Was it that the young girl saw how mercilessly Allan was quizzing the Cuban? saw the weak- ness of her aunt, and determined to take this stranger under her protection? It must have been; for an hour afterwards, as she met him alone one moment in the broad front entry, she said quite firmly, yet with a little blush: ‘‘ Ex- cuse me, Mr. Juvenal, but I must tell you that I don’t think Mr. Allan treats you quite right in teazing you so. But it’s a way he has—he used to quiz me before you came—he quizzes Aunt Sabrina—you mustn’t mind him—he quizzes everybody.”’ ‘* And may I ask what the Senorita means by ‘quizzing ?’’’ inquired the youth, smilingly, 2% 3 for, as yet, he was not fully posted in those idioms of the English language wherein Allan had represented Bob Ackerman as his tutor. “Why, it is to make fun of you, to say— well, to make you feel uncomfortable, as you were at breakfast, were n’t you ?’’ said Demis. ** Si, Senorita—yes,’’ answered the Cuban, frankly, the smile deepening, *‘I understand you now. I thank you, too. You are very kind to me.’’ And he looked deep into her dusky eyes. The girl half blushed, and, dropping her long lashes, was turning away. ‘** But stay !—I must have one good friend in this strange land—and keep me to look out for quizzers. Willit be you? Will you not stay, my friend, Senorita ?’’ he asked, detaining her. It was impossible to resist that frank appeal. Why need Demis when her own heart seconded it? So, frankly as he had asked, she put her little hand in his, looked him fully in the face, and said: ‘‘ Yes, I will be your friend, if you wish it, Mr. Juvenal.’’ ** Yes, I do so wish,’’ said the youth, charmed anew by her serious grace of manner and her sweet words. ‘‘ And you will not let my wild cousin quiz me more? You will learn me Eng- lish; and I will teach you the tongue of my own island, Spanish, and the guitar, too, for I have heard you in the evening singing ?”’ ** Yes, oh yes !”’ “Itis good! we are friends—amigos—Demis, ’’ he added, holding her hand a moment ere he released it, and looking after her a moment when she had gone. Thus was sealed, ere Miguel Juvenal had been two weeks installed in the Misses Wells’s household, the compact of friendship between the generous-hearted Cuban youth and the art- less, child-like Demis, a friendship which the flitting of time mayhap will ripen into a warmer sentiment. ‘Mig, I say, the fair-haired is dead in love with you. Didn’t you see how she crimsoned up at table when I told her you hadn’t slept a wink all night on her account, when it all came of a surplus of chicken? But hey! what’s the row? You look deep in the sulks. What ’s come over you, boy ?’’ “It is only that mia amigo, the little Demis, has very kindly informed me of my good cou- sin’s propensity for quizzing; that’s all. And I am considering why it is not best to reveal the same to’‘the Senorita Sabrina.”’ ‘Oh, ho! no you won’t, either, my straight- forward, valiant Don Quixote!’ laughed Allan ; ‘“‘and, by the way, coz, do come down from

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80 GODEY 8S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, your stilted ‘Senoritas,’ for we use plain ‘Miss’ here. And so that little black-eyed Indian has been telling tales out of school? Ah, I see! secret leagues, to be followed by openly avowed Mutual Admiration Societies! and all this at my expense. Well, I’m con- tent to suffer martyrdom. ‘Saint Allan Thax- ter’ wouldn’t sound bad in the calendar. But come, Mig, don’t look daggers at me! I’m a harmless sort of fellow, after all. Shake hands with me, and I’ll introduce you to the pret- tiest girl this evening.’’ But, evidently, the Cuban youth was quite satisfied with the one ‘pretty girl’? who had figured in that day’s experience ; for, though he gave his hand to Allan, he declined the proffered ‘‘ introduction.”’ ** Does my heart deceive me, or are its voices true ?’? mused the fair Sabrina, pausing over her embroidery. ‘‘Is it, as I feel, that my fate has come? It must be; for never man before, not even Doctor Pendleton, so thrilled my being. True, he is young; but where hearts are con- genial, the difference of a few years matters not. ‘There is no age to the heart.’ And if it be, as Mr. Allan hinted, that he has thus early yielded a victim to my charms ; if it be, as all my dreams have pointed—’’ And the fair damsel sunk into a long reverie in which a dark, blushing Spanish face, a train of slaves, and a Cuban plantation, blended promiscu- ously. ** Miss Priscy !’? Joey Hilton rushed into the kitchen, where the elder sister was preparing a pudding for dinner, with eyes protruding, and astonishment on his features. ‘* What is it, Joey? Where’s the eggs?” ** Miss Priscy, I misses two of the fattest pul- lets. I’ve clucked and called ’em, but they don’t come. They’re gone.” ** Gone, Joey ?” ‘Yes, ma’am. That’s the blessed truth! Not a track or feather on ’em left!’’ And so it proved upon the prolonged search of both Miss Priscy and Joey in both barn and henery. “It is downright shameful, Sabrina!’’ said the elder sister, coming into the sitting-room in indignation, her Roman nose very red. “‘Shameful! I knew it! my nose couldn’t have deceived me! Here Joey has missed two of our fattest, plumpest chickens; and don’t you suppose I know where they went to? Them boys cooked and ate ’em up-stairs, last night. I almost knew then—I couldn’t have been mistaken !’’ “Oh, sister! you don’t suppose he could be so mean, so treacherous—Miguel ?”’ sighed Sa- brina, shading her face with her hands. ** No, it was that Allan Thaxter! that smooth, oilyscamp! But ‘the receiver ’s as bad as the thief ;’ he helped eat them, Sabrina! I'll see if such doings are carried on right under my face and eyes, and I put up with them |” “Sister, I think I wouldn’t say anything about it. I daresay it was Allan—and perhaps the others didn’t know,”’ mildly suggested Miss Sabrina, who feared a scene. ‘* Nonsense ! birds of a feather flock together. But I’ll learn them; I won’t say anything to them about it, but I’ll charge a pair of chickens a piece to each of their board bills. See it they ll deny paying!”’ And, with excitement somewhat abated, she returned to her pudding, leaving Sabrina to invent excuses for freeing the hero of her imagination from the petty charge of robbing a hen-roost ! ‘Good Lordy! I nigh about cotched it, Mr. Allan !’’ exclaimed Joey, bursting into the stu- dents’ room on their return from morning reci- tation. ‘S’posin’ she’d a said, ‘Joey, who do you s’pose stole them pullets ?’ my conscious- ness wouldn’t allowed any ’varication; but I should a up and answered, ‘I guess it might be Mr. Allan, ma’am!’ You see, Miss Priscy’s found it out; and it’s mighty lucky she didn’t *terrogate me.’’ “And do you dare impute such sin and in- iquity to my charge? dare suspect a gentleman in the Senior Class of Pinkerton Academy to descend from the heights of the abstruse clas- sics to the vile deed of committing felonious assault on two lone, unprotected females’ hen- roost? Begone, base tradncer! contemptible blackguard ! lest I turn and grind you under my heel!’? And, suiting the action to the word, he lifted an iron heel which daily clat- tered up and down Miss Priscy’s front stairs. ‘You needn’t goto getting mad, Mr. Allan,” said Joey, deprecatingly, but prudently re- treating. ‘‘ To tell the truth, I had my s’picions all along ; they smelt mighty nat’ral when they sizzled on the stove there, last night. But, anyhow, that ain’t saying I should a turned State’s Confidence, and forged myself. Any how, Miss Priscy’s mad as a hornet; and said she shouldn’t express her ’pinion in words to ye; but she called ye mean, contemptuous scamps, and said she should credit ’em on both your bills when the term ’s ap.’’ “Oh, ho! she did, did she?’’ said Allan, giving vent to his annoyance at the discovery, | and his consequent fall in the Miss Wells’s es-

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MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. 81 timation, by a prolonged whistle as Joey re- treated. ‘* Well, the governor’s pocket is deep, and a brace of chickens won’t break him. I must play the injured innocent in the fair- haired’s eyes; as for Miss Priscy, we can’t come it round her so easy. I can see her now, looking daggers at me behind that tall coffee- pot. It was rather hard work, wringing their necks without their squawking, wa’n’t it, Mig? the pullets, I mean.” After tea, while Miss Sabrina and Demis were walking in the garden, Allan gallantly joined the former, positively assuring her of the bash- fulness of his cousin—who, meantime, had somewhat timidly joined his new amigo—thus striving wickedly to deepen the impression which had now taken firm hold of the spinster’s mind, that the impressible Cuban was in reality her devoted admirer. And so, ingratiating him- self into her favor, till the incident of the stolen chickens was forgottea, he politely walked by her side; while Miguel’s timidity gradually vanished in the presence of his artless com- panion, and it was astonishing how quickly the twain grew to converse on various matters— music, Childe Harold, Demis’s studies, and lastly, in his somewhat broken English, Mig- uel’s description of his beautiful Cuban home. And then the wicked Allan contrived very innocently (?) to distract ‘‘ Mig’s’’ attention, in the most interesting part of his conversation, by an appeal concerning a flower he and Miss Sa- brina had plucked, which the former gravely asserted was of tropic origin, from which opinion the fair florist dissented ; and so he contrived further to exchange places with his cousin, and, leaving Miguel to make the required explana- tion, provokingly hurried Demis away to a dis- tant walk, yet not so far but they might note plainly Miss Sabrina hanging fondly on the arm of her escort, while, certainly, the animated conversation concerning flowers which sprung up between them seemed to warrant the appa- rently careless remark of Allan, ‘‘Do look at Mig, Demis! I verily believe he’s making love to your aunt. All these Spaniards are desperate flirts—talk sentiment to every lady they ’re with. Demis, pity you’re no older!” Demis drew in her breath, and a little pang shot through her heart. Perhaps he had only been ‘‘ talking sentiment’’ to her, that morning. Joey, meanwhile watching them from the garden gate, where he stood, rapidly repeating something over and over again to himself, stole up to the deserted Demis, whom Allan shortly left for a walk “‘ down town,’’ as she remained looking very sad by the garden fence—too proud to join her aunt and her false friend. ** Seems to me, Miss Demis, that Mr. Allan’s a‘desperate coque '* I hope you won’t think nothin’ of his ’tentions; ‘cause I know he’s desperately smitten with Helen Ford. I’ve seen ’em out walking together every moonlight night, this ever so long. But don’t you think Mr. Juvenal’s terribly taken with Miss Sa- brina ~”’ ‘*Go away, Joey! you’re almost a fool to- night !’’ exclaimed Demis, tartly. Poor Joey ! you were not alone in your jeal- ousy of the couple that promenaded the garden walks a half hour longer, that fair September eve, for a pair of eager, jealous eyes, larger and blacker than your own, followed them every step they turned. An hour later, while the youth sat in his room over his books, and Demis resolutely practised her music in the sitting-room below, and Miss Priscy had gone out for a walk, and Miss Sabrina lingered in the mild evening air on the front door threshold, while the golden September moon climbed up the sky, the wit- ling, Joey, came and knelt before her, and, holding at arm’s length an enormous bunch of shut sun-flowers, recited, in set phrase and elo- quent diction, the address that wicked Allan Thaxter had taught him; in other words, ao- tually ‘‘ offered himself’’ to the astonished Miss Sabrina |! Later still, while Allan himself, with pretty Helen Ford on his arm, walked slowly down the moonlit, elm-shaded sidewalk of Pinkerton, a tall, lank form brushed by, then stopped, and, all unheeding the girl’s presence, Joey burst forth— ** Wall, I’ve done it, Mr. Allan!’’ Something in the witling’s excited air be- trayed the ‘‘ it’? which he had thus breathlessly announced to Allan, and yet the student ner- vously endeavored to pass on. But Joey had no intention of being thus slighted. ‘‘ Wait a bit! you see, I don’t ’zactly understand it, Mr. Allan ; it’s too pesky bad!’’ removing his hat and scratching his head. ‘‘I watched my chance, when she was all alone in the front door, and went up to her with the biggest bunch of flowers I could hold, and got down on my knees, and said it right off, with- out stoppin’ to take breath, word for word, jest as you told me ; and I sort o’ think Miss Sabrina meant to ’curridge me, for she kinder smiled, but jest then up comes Miss Priscy, up the walk, and sez she, ‘Joey,’ sez she, ‘what are you down there on all-fours for, jest like.a toad?

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Jest get up off o’ that cold doorstone, and go rite off to the post-office, and inquire for the Miss Wellses!’ You see, that kinder put a stop to it for to-night; but I shall jest watch my chance some other time.’’ And Joey hurried away. ‘What does it mean, Allan ?’’ asked Helen Ford, laughing. **Oh, one of Joey’s capers !’’ answered Allan, evasively. **One of yours, you mean,’’ was the reply. But, alas! that “‘chance’’ to which the dis- appointed Joey looked forward never came ; for, next morning, Miss Sabrina herself came into the kitchen, and said, gravely, almost severely: ** Joey, I am astonished at your conduct of last evening—perfectly astonished! Not that I lay up anger against you, but I fear, if sister Priscy had overheard you, she would be very, very much offended.’’ **I beg your pardon, ma’am! I’m sure I didn’t mean anything; not a darned word of it; darned if I did!’’? humbly entreated poor Joey, realizing suddenly the height of his pre- sumption, and that the usually mild Miss Sa- brina was displeased. ‘‘I’ll never do it again —no, never!”’ ‘Of course you won’t, Joey; you are gra- ciously forgiven,’’ replied the lady, with a be- nignant air, benevolently according her pity to this new victim of her charms. ‘I believe you are fully sensible of your error. I cherish no ill-will towards you, Joey.”’ ‘‘In course you don’t; so Mr. Allan said. Oh, Lordy! it kinder slipped out,’’ exclaimed the thoroughly penitent youth. ‘‘I didn’t *zactly mean to tell that ; but now I’m in for it, I might as well ’fess to you, Miss Sabrina, that I never should a thought on’t in the world, never, if Mr. Allan hadn’t a put me up to it; and he larnt me the ’dress, and told me how to say it, and all. There! I’m glad I ’sposed them ’Cademy students; they ain’t no better’n they should be, one on ’em; and ’twas them that stole the pullets and all, Miss Sabrina. I’m goin’ to make a clean bosom on’t; ain’t a-goin’ to hold back a single thing, this time.’’ And Joey paused, quite out of breath. ** Joey, tell me ; did he—Mr. Juvenal—did he know of this cruel, cruel deed ?’’ gasped Miss Sabrina, lifting her handkerchief to her eyes. ‘* Wall, I s’pose so; anyhow, I see him with a chicken-wing in his hand. Oh, Lordy! I didn’t mean that, ’zactly ; I mean, I reckon, I guess he ate as much chicken as any on ’em, *cause I heard Mr. Allan tell him he guessed he wouldn't sleep a wink that night on account on’t. There! it slipped out again; but darned if IJcare. There ain’t much to choose ’tween these ’Cademy students, any way.’’ It all rushed over Miss Sabrina. ‘‘ You are right, Joey,’’ she said, very calmly, removing her handkerchief from her eyes, and turning away. ‘Lord! Miss Sabrina’s mighty dull this morning. Now, if it’d a been Miss Priscy, she’d a took me right up, when I nigh about let out that J was with ’em last night; but Miss Sabrina never sees nothin’,’’ chuckled Joey, in joy at his escape. CHAPTER V. Four years later. A bright July sun shed its afternoon rays into the cool, pleasant sitting-room of the Misses Wells, where Miss Priscy sits as of old, with her thimble on, and her work-basket on the window-sill beside her. There are few wrinkles added to Miss Priscy’s face ; indeed, her figure seems a trifle less spare; her short curls are pinned up primly as ever; her keen gray eyes and high Roman nose still keep faithful watch and ward over the firm mouth; and yet we fancy a softer curve has unloosened somewhat the rigid expression of her lips. Miss Sabrina sits now, as of old, on the green sofa, but she does not lounge there often, as formerly, nor is she so subject to ‘‘those dis- tressing headaches,’’ nor has she frequent re- currence to her vinaigrette, nor look pale and ‘‘delicate,’? as of yore; and, if we mistake not, her figure has gained somewhat of embon- point, in these four years, and she wears a hap- pier expression on her blonde face. Besides, Miss Sabrina has forgotten, latterly, to recount her dreams, and the dream-book is quite unused, and she sleeps soundly of nights ; and often the early dawn finds her astir, arranging and dust- ing the furniture, and then spreading the break- fast-table for two, in the cool sitting-room, for Miss Priscy keeps no boarders now, and Demis has been three years away at boarding-school. Now, in the cool July afternoon, Miss Sabrina sits and sews rapidly, her feet resting on the blue dog wrought on the striped green and brown ground, which remarkable piece of em- broidery covers a stool, while the remnant of the worsted-work fashioned by her fair fingers is kept free from dust, under linen towels, in the dark parlor; and, while Miss Sabrina sews and hums a little air, the slightest possible breath of wind rustles the vine-leaves over the

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MISS SABRINA’S DREAM. 83 window, and gently lifts her abundant blonde hair, and presently a step is heard coming up the gravelled walk and in the hall, for the front door always stands open all the long summer days, and Dr. Pendleton enters, and bows smil- ingly to both ladies, and draws the rocking-chair near Miss Sabrina’s sofa. And by and by, Miss Priscy rises, and folds her work, and, saying, ‘* We expect them to-night, Doctor,’’ goes out into the long kitchen, where Joey Hilton, look- ing scarce a day older, and wearing a twin to the identical wide apron in which we first saw him arrayed, is busily kindling a fire, prepara- tory to “‘ frying fritters,’’ his chef d’auvre of cook- ery, for supper. And so the Doctor talked and talked, and put up one foot on the blue dog be- side Miss Sabrina’s black satin lasting slippers, and related the village news and gossip—who was sick, who recovering, who married, and who ‘*engaged’’—while Miss Sabrina replied cheer- fully, and actually laughed; yes, ‘‘ the victim of depression of spirits, of a hopeless melan- choly,’’ actually laughed and joked with Dr. Pendleton! For the Doctor, through much tribulation and exemplary patience, had gained his reward; Miss Sabrina and himself were really ‘“‘engaged,’’ and the ensuing fall they were to be married! Happy Dr. Pendleton! So the afternoon sun declined; and Miss Priscy, after lending a helping hand to Joey, spread the tea-table with her finest damask cover, and garnished it with her delicate, old- fashioned porcelain ‘‘set’’ and silver-ware, brought out her nicest preserves, and golden sponge-cake, and custards, and then, after look- ing once more into the kitchen, where Joey stood with a towel over his arm, ready to turn the last browned cake, with the dexterity of a Parisian maitre de cuisine, seated herself at the front window, to watch the highway wind- ing through its margin of dusty green. The sun travelled slowly down the west; and great dusty bars of gold shimmered all over the vine-leaves at the western windows ; and then the panes blazed crimson, as though each was stained with blood. A light breeze swept through the garden, and bent the stately sunflower and the royal prince’s feather, and whispered something to the tall pink and white hollyhocks, for they nodded their heads close together, and, after a brief consultation, whis- pered it over again to the other flowers, till the words dropped down, and were gathered up by the little wonder-eyed pansies below. The gray cat came and sprang up on the window-sill beside Miss Priscy’s arm, and, after looking a moment out into the road her mis- _ tress watched so intently, drowsily snuggled her head down on her folded fore-paws, and purred herself to sleep; and still Miss Priscy watched; and Dr. Pendleton removed his spec- tacles, and lolled lazily in the easy-chair ; and Miss Sabrina laid aside her sewing, but still talked unweariedly with the Doctor; while the savory odors of Joey’s fried cakes floated in from the kitchen. A cloud of dust came down the highway ; a driver’s loud ‘‘Whoa!’’ was heard at the gate, and exclaiming, ‘‘They’ve come, sister!’’ Miss Prisey sprang up, disturbing Tabby’s slumbers. The trio hastened to the hall; and the two visitors hurried up the walk—one a tall, beautiful girl, with wondrously splendid eyes and a cloud of black curls that quite over- shadowed Aunt Priscy’s shoulders, as she sprang forward to embrace her; and the other a handsome, dark, foreign-looking young man, in whose face, though these four years have matured it wonderfully, we still trace a like- ness of Miguel Juvenal. And now comes Miss Sabrina’s turn to re- ceive embraces; and she does not blush, and have recourse to her vinaigrette, as the hand- some Cuban warmly takes her hand, and im- prints a gallant kiss upon its fair, plump surface; and then Dr. Pendleton is heartily greeted by both new-comers; and lastly, as they gain the sitting-room, Joey comes in with a towel on his arm, but a flush of pleasure on his perspiring face, to welcome ‘Miss Demis’ home again. And then, after Demis has re- moved her brown linen travelling-wrapper, and the bath in the cool, pure water Joey has car- ried up into both the front chambers, the tra- vellers return to the sitting-room, and they all sit down at table; and Miss Priscy draws tea into the transparent pink china cups from the massive, antique silver tea-urn, an heirloom in the Wells family; and, while Joey’s deli- cious cakes are discussed, conversation does not lag, for Demis has so much to say concern- ing boarding-school and ‘“‘ graduation day ;’’ and Juvenal, ‘‘Senor Miguel Juvenal,’’ as Demis protests she introduced him to het principal, recounts, with a mischievous glance at his companion, his excessive admiratién of the entire class of graduating young ladies at B—— Seminary. And later in the evening another twain came up the gravelled front-yard walk; and Allan Thaxter—whom the same coach that brought Demis and Juvenal had set down at Helen Ford’s father’s—came in with Miss Helen her- self to welcome home “ her dear friend Demis.”*

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84 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. And the evening wore away happily; and, when they all stood together in the front door while the clock on the Pinkerton Church tower struck ten, Allan Thaxter, with an expression of his quondam sauciness flitting over his fea- tures, glanced from Demis and Juvenal, who stood in close and lover-like juxtaposition, to Miss Sabrina and Dr. Pendleton, and said, mis- chievously: ‘* Miss Sabrina, in the same kindly spirit that you once forgave some of my boyish pranks, won’t you now please acknowledge the truth of that dream I once interpreted for you, viz., that ‘somebody shall fall desperately in love’? Good-night, all.’’ And the victim of the passion he had often ridiculed in others drew a little hand closer in his arm, and hastened down the gravelled walk. And, in due course of time, it came to pass that little, blue-eyed Helen Ford became merged in ‘‘ Mrs. Allan Thaxter ;’’ and Miss Sabrina was lost, to be found again, in ‘‘Mrs. Dr. Pendleton ;’’ and, while tears fell without restraint down over Miss Priscy’s hard features, and poor Joey shrank away in the kitchen to wipe his eyes on the corner of his wide calico apron, ** brother Dick’s child,’’ Demis Wells no longer, but ‘‘ Demis Juvenal,’’ went out from her girl- hood home in the old mansion to sail away over the blue sea to that fair isle which sleeps and smiles where the Atlantic and Caribbean waters kiss each other—the ‘‘Queen of the Antilles’’— beautiful Cuba. And thus was literally fulfilled ‘‘ Miss Sabrina’s Dream.”’ A SABBATH IN THE FOREST. BY MINT. There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore. —Brrow. Ir has been a bright and glorious day for January. The sun, that months ago sought his magnolia home, looked down upon the deep, desolate forest as if anxious once more to look upon the liveried forests and flowery land- scapes of his northern home. I could not bear the city’s hum and crowding business air, that is not wholly lost even upon the Sabbath, and so at once to free myself from annoyance, and to be alone with nature, I strolled along the bold bluffs that skirt the majestic Mississippi. Months ago I stood on the same spot, and every tree was a sublime orchestra. The deep moss that displayed its fantastic groupings of rustic carpeting was only relieved by the bright-eyed violet, and laughing blue forget-me-not. Upon this moss-covered bank I sat down and listened to the glorious anthems coming, swelling full and harmonious, from every tree and bush. The robin that comes so often to gather the crumbs about your door, that builds her nest and rears her young in the willow that over- hangs your window, and that so often arouses you in the morning with her mellow note, was there; there, too, was that roguish chattern, 30b O’ Lincoln, swaying himself upon a waving limb, as if in cadence to his saucy song. The meadow-lark, that comes so early in spring, was gathering his family there, and all were joining one glorious chorus before quitting the scenes of their summer revels for the wild rice- fields of a sunnier clime. The autumn wind moaned a graceful interlude among the varie- gated foliage ; the old forest herself had donned her gayest attire of green, and blood, and gold, as if decking herself for a gala day, and every- thing was ‘‘very good,”’ as when ‘‘God dawned first on chaos.’’ The ‘‘ Father of Waters,’’ with- in a pebble’s throw from us, lifts up his hoarser note and glides on—on, still on, till the bright waters of the Itasca are mingled with the bois- terous surges of the great Gulf. Broad prairies, grand old forests, and splendid bluffs on every side are mingled in the landscape. It is a gorgeous picture which neither painter nor poet may attempt, but where the soul of man goes out to his God in pure devotion. But how different is the scene to-day! What have not a few months done? The many-tinted bow of Indian summer no longer spans the sky. The autumn livery of the forest has winnowed leaf by leaf down to the ground, and lies sad and sear like a russet pall upon the grave of the flowers. No bird note is now heard in the land save the querulous voice of the quail. That orchestra of unwritten, untaught music, that was made when the world was, no longer rolls along the forest vistas and solemn soli- tudes of that old forest. Ah, no! only silence and melancholy are tenants there now. Winter, white with age, sleeps upon the landscape, while old Time, with his hourglass erect, stands by, counting the fast dying pulsations of his heart. The wind sighs through the naked branches a sad and homesick wail, as if over the last departed glory of the forest. The forest

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A SABBATH IN THE FOREST. 85 is as if stripped of all life and muscle ; it stood out against the dark and lowering sky the skeleton of departed grandeur. Can a greater change ever come upon its present desolation? Ay, yes! But a few more years shall pass over its varied existence before the hand of man shall have despoiled it of its beauties. Its patriarchs, that have braved storm, and tempest, and age, and still stretch their protecting arms over their families, shall have fallen before the desolation of progress. The monarch, that no storm could uproot, and no winter kill, must fall before the march of civilization. The tall pine, that overtopped its fellows, and waved its proud head in a most con- descending grandeur, untouched by frost, and unchanged by sun or storm, shall bow down to the rough woodman and give up its soil to the farmer. The little birds, that sang their sweet melodies in its branches, will seek other haunts, and their voices will be heard no more. The huge eagle, that had its eyrie there, and sailed about it like a huge air ship, will return and find its home desolate, and its realm usurped by a hurrying and powerful people. Where silence is now sole mistress, the bustling city shall spring up, but its incessant hum, the shrieks of its rail-car whistles, its clanging bells, its lofty steeples, and sounding streets, will be but a poor return for the bird notes, the lofty, majestic trees, and mossy retreats of former years, and for songs that then rang through the ancient aisles of the magnificent forest that covered its site. So is a nation’s greatness purchased! The beautiful gives place to the useful, and the solemn and holy silence of nature to the cease- less bustle of mammon life. The ornamental and ennobling is buried under the dust of trade and speculation, so that wealth sits in the capi- tal and luxury lies upon the land till imbecility creeps like a canker worm to the heart and piles the splendid fabric among the ruins of the past. Such is the sermon the forest will and does preach upon each succeeding Sabbath, and there is sound doctrine in it for high and low to ponder on. There is yet another lesson which the forest teaches to him who sits down in its solitudes and listens to its teachings. In the spring, when the buds are just bursting into life—in full summer-tide, when the earth and forest are one bright, immaculate green—or, later, when the chill frosts are clipping the leaves from the - parent stem, always the mutability of human hopes is mirrored in its changing glory. Stand alone in that old forest at any time, and if you have a humane and holy feeling in your heart it will bubble forth there. The ties of friendship and love grow stronger, and the hu- man pulse keeps time to the throb of nature’s heart. For grief there is no surer retreat, for despair no surer antidote. An angel will sit beside you there, and, laying her hand upon your shoulder, will plead with you for holy thoughts, and if you go not thence ‘‘a wiser and a better man”’ thereafter, doubt the purity of thine own heart. Out there in the solitude, no church bell will clang upon your ear, or awaken the echoes of the forest, but memory will ring again the bells that sounded in your ears when yet a child, and when you knelt with father and mother in the little chapel, near which now stands a simple marble slab, which you erected, and which bears these touching words: ‘‘In memory of my father and mother.”’ What a tide of human sorrow floods your soul at the very thought! How many new resolves are made! how many old ones, many times violated, are renewed at such a time! Ay, the forest is an eloquent preacher, and its teach- ings sink deep into the soul; and he who can with delight go back on the track of thought to the scenes through which she leads him can never be a bad man. Sermons to him may be senseless things, but these holy memories are the ‘‘ leaven that shall leaven the whole lump.”’ In due season they shall spring up, and when the harvest comes they will yield “‘ some fifty, and some an hundred fold.’”? God have merey on the man who has no such memories on which to ponder in his leisure and his lonely hours! ———_+«eeer —- —Man, when secluded from society, is not a more solitary being than the woman who leaves the duties of her own sex to invade the privi- leges of othdrs. She seems, in such circum- stances, like one in banishment; she appears like a neutral being between the sexes: and though she may have the admiration of both, she finds true happiness from neither. —Tue mind of man being very narrow, and so slow in making acquaintance with things, and taking in new truths, that no one man is capable, in a much longer life than ours, to know all truths; it becomes our prudence, in our search after knowledge, to employ our thoughts about fundamental and material ques- tions, carefully avoiding those that are trifling, and not suffering ourselves to be diverted from our main even purpose by those that are merely individual.

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NEGLECTED FLOWERS. BY ANNIE FRAUST. (See plate.) **You are certain that you will return to- night, and pay me ?” ‘Oh yes, sir, indeed we will !’’ said a sweet voice ; and the speaker raised a pair of dark eyes with a look of wounded surprise at the implied doubt. ** Now, I wonder,” said Jake Hopkins, fold- ing his hands, and looking after the two girls, as they walked away—‘‘I wonder, Jake, if you ain’t an old fool to trust them gals? You'was born with a soft place in your heart.” * And your head too,” said a good-natured voice behind him. ‘*What’s the matter that I find you here talking to yourself like an-old lunatic ?”’ **Why, you see, Mr. Larkins, the poor lady I told you about that was sick, next door to us, died last week, and left them two gals, you mind I spoke of, to look arter them- selves. They're rale beauties. The bigger one is about fifteen; and she’s been well edi- cated by her mother; and the little one’s jest turnin’ seven. Well, they took on awful about their ma; and I jest took them in here fora spell till they’d look around, and find some- thin’ to do. To-day, the older one, Hester, said, if I was willin’, she’d make some bou- quets of some flowers, and try to sell ’em; so I let her do it. We will share the profits. She’s to pay me to-night.”’ ** Poor children! About seven you said one was, Just the age! just the age!” he said, sadly. ‘But come!” he added,-more briskly, **F called to see about the camellias. Are they in blossom, yet?’ ‘*Opened this merning, sir. Will you walk in?” And the florist led the way to his green- house. We will fillow the orphans, who sadly and slowly wend»d their way to an old church in the central part of New York. Here they found a seat, and offered their beautiful flowers to the passers-by. Lola, the youngest, was soon ab- sorbed in watching the busy scene; but Hes-— ter’s face never lost its sad, wistful expression. Neither was aware of the admiration her beauty excited, until an elderly gentleman suddenly stopped in front of Lola, scanning her face eagerly; while his fine eyes were moist with 36 tears. ‘‘What is your name, little girl?’ he asked. **Lola Crawford, sir.’’ He turned to Hester, saying, in a voice that trembled with emotion: *‘ Your sister is won- derfully like a little girl I lost .some four months ago. Would you object to walking home with me, so that my wife can see her? I think it would comfort her. I will buy all your flowers.”’ ‘Certainly we can go,” said Hester, rising. They soon reached the house. The gentle- man left them in the parlor, whilst he went to call his wife. In a few moments, a tall, hand- some lady, in deep mourning, came in. As soon as she saw Lola, she sprang towards her, clasped her in her arms, and burst into tears. Hester’s eyes filled, as the lady sobbed out: “Oh, my child! my child!” When she grew more composed, she ques- tioned Hester; and the girl told her simple history. Her father had been a clerk in a wholesale house in Philadelphia, and, dying two years before, left them penniless. Her mother was the daughter of a wealthy merchant, whose family cast her off. when she married. After her father’s death, her mother came to New York, and took in sewing. Consumption claimed her for his victim, and she died a week ago, leaving them orphans. ‘* Where are you living now ?” ** At Mr. Hopkins’s, the florist’s, who allowed us to offer these flowers fcr sale.’’ “The very children he was telling me about this morning,” said Mr. Larkins. Mrs. Larkins still held Lola clasped close in her arms, as if she never would let her go. * Will you let ygur little sister stay with me to-day ?”’ she asked, turning to Hester. ‘‘ You ean call for her to-night, after you have sold all your flowers.”’ ; ‘*These are mine,” said Mr. Larkins, empty- ing the basket, and placing a gold piece ‘in Hester’s hand. ‘‘ You will have to goto Mr. Hopkins for more.”’ When Hester returned in the evening, a- most startling proposition met her. Mrs. Lar- kins wished to adopt Lola, and separate her

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Mit” Pr. lf iy NW” y yy 4, A Y Nf 4 , Gi MLL) ys +b Wij”

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NEGLECIED FLOWERS. 37 entirely from her sister. She wished her to be as her own child, ‘‘with,’’ she told her hus- band, ‘‘no low connections.”’ Hester was stunned. Lola, her little sister, the only thing left for her to love, to be taken from her entirely! She asked for a day to think about it, and, taking her sister by the hand, left the house. In her own little room, she thought more calmly of the proposal. Her sister was very young, and promised to be very beautiful. If she staid with her, what was there before her but poverty and ignorance ? If she went to the wealthy merchant to be as his only child, there was a certainty of educa- tion and comfort. Bitterly rose before her the eondition of these advantages. She must never see her, never clasp her in her arms, and call her sister; she must not watch the unfolding of her mind. The only one who must not share in the triumph of her beauty and accom- plishments must be herown sister. The strug- gle was a hard one; but true love triumphed ; and, putting aside all selfish considerations, she decided for her sister’s good. Lola went to Mr. Larkins, where, for the present, we will leave her. Jake Hopkins, an old man, with only a moderate income, a widower and childless, was only too glad to have Hester remain with him. Her gentle manners, her low, sweet voice, and her touching gratitude for his kindness, all had their charm for the old man. His bouquets never met so ready a sale as when her taste arranged them. The vases sent to him to be filled for great parties were never so loudly applauded as when Hester grouped the sweet flowers. Then, after work was over, there was no hand like Hester’s to give him his tea, no voice like hers to read the evening paper. His pipe was filled by dainty white fingers; and, when the news was read, that clear, sweet voice could warble songs without number. Putting aside and bravely crushing down her grief for her mother’s death, her longing for her sister, the noble girl devoted all her thoughts to showing her gratitude to her old friend. One earnest wish dwelt in her heart. It was to finish her education. Through her father’s life, she had attended the best schools ; and, thanks to her mother, she was no mean musician. In her present home, there were no books, no piano; and she determined to have both. But how? The sale of flowers was not enough. All she made there would hardly clothe her. One morning, an advertisement in the paper VOL. LVi1.—4 attracted her attention, and she determined to answer it. ‘“‘Heigh-ho!’’ said Mr. Lawrence Holmes, throwing aside his book and rising, ‘‘ this is stupid work ; my brains are all in a maze.” Mr. Holmes bit a cigar (probably to clear his brains) and sat down again, with a yawn. He was a lawyer, a man about thirty-five, and one of the most talented men at the New York bar. He was handsome, and wealthy, and unmarried. **Quite a dangerous individual,’’ the mothers **Quite a catch,’? the young ladies whispered. A knock at his office door made him look up. ‘“‘Comein! By Jove!’’ was his thought, ‘‘ what a beautiful girl! what radiant eyes! what a complexion! what hair! Will you be seated ?”’ he added, handing a chair. ‘* You advertised for a copyist,’’ said Heste Crawford, timidly, ‘‘and I called to see if I could not do what you require.”’ ‘¢ Will you write something for me ?”’ he said, decided. placing paper, pen, and ink before her. ‘‘ Any- thing—yourname. Venus! whata perfect little hand !’’ was the aside in his mind. ‘* Hester Crawford” was written, in a distinct, clear hand, upon the paper. ** That will do!” Hester found the terms were liberal, and she went home happy, with a roll of writing and blank paper under her arm, while Mr. Holmes resumed his cigar, and mused thus: ‘‘ ‘ Hester Crawford !’ what a pretty name, and how beau- tiful she is! Hester!’ And he took up the paper upon which the name was written. ‘An orphan, she says, and living with an old florist, who was kind to her when her mother died. So young, beautiful, and lovely. She must not come here; it will set the fellows about this street to talking. I will be her friend.”’ In the evening, Hester received a little note, stating that, as it was inconvenient for Mr. Holmes to be interrupted at his office, a boy would call for the writing and bring her any further orders. Patiently the noble girl toiled, day after day. Always at the florist’s service, she yet con- trived, by early rising, to write much; and as her hand grew more accustomed to the work, it was astonishing with what rapidity she copied the stiff papers. Three months gave her enough to hire a poor piano and buy a second-hand book of old music. The old florist’s delight was almost ludicrous. He insisted upon certain hours being devoted to practice and study, and allowed. her Poor girl! she is friendiess-;

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38 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. yet more time for the writing duties. Mr. Holmes called occasionally, to give some directions about the law papers, and when he heard her desire to improve herself, insisted upon sending her some books. He was very kind. Hester’s mind dwelt upon each little token of interest with deep gratitude. Unacknowledged, hardly con- fessed to herself, the one aim of her life was to be worthy, at some time, to associate with her sister. Lola little dreamed that, many nights when she was fast asleep, Hester was under her window, praying for her. With the happy forgetfulness of childhood, she was soon per- fectly contented inher new home. Mrs. Larkins lavished upon her all the love she had felt for her own little one, and no indulgence was spared to make her happy. For a little time she grieved for her sister, but her new mother soon filled her place, and, as time rolled on, she almost forgot her. Two years passed; and, if we look into the florist’s little sitting-room, we shall see Hesier and Mr. Holmes. ‘‘ Miss Crawford,’ said he, taking from his pocket a newspaper, ‘‘I want to read to you a little gem I discovered here to-day ; it is called ‘ Neglected Flowers.’ ”’ With beautiful modulation and expression, he read a piece of poetry, one of the heart wailings which genius sometimes pours forth. As he ceased, he looked up for her approval. Her cheek was flushed, and her eyes lit with a deep joy. ‘** Are they not beautiful ?”’ ‘*J—I think I know the author.” ‘*What! Lola? She writes most beautifully. There is, in her prose articles, a depth of feeling and a pure, holy spirit rarely met with ; I have preserved them all.” ** You !’’—and the flush deepened. ‘Yes; do you know her? I wish I could say as much. I should be proud to claim her for a friend.”’ ** You have been the kindest friend to her for two years,’’ said Hester, ina low tone. ‘She is here beside you.” ‘You the author of ‘Neglected Flowers ?’ You! And yet I might have guessed it! Let me congratulate you. You are making a sensa- tion in all the fashionable world, and people are very curious about the hidden genius.”’ ‘*Come, Mr. Holmes, you are too kind; your flattery makes me blush.” **No flattery. I ought to thank you, too, for being so kind as to continue to copy my stupid papers, when you are, of course, much better paid for these gems.”’ ‘Paid! I never received a cent for them. They would come into my mind while my hand travelled over your papers, and I wrote them down. One day I ventured to send one to the editor of the paper you hold in your hand. I told him neither my name nor address. The next day I saw myself in print. Since then I have sent many more, but, as he never saw me nor heard my name, of course he never paid me forthem. They cost me nothing but a few hours of time, and I never fancied or flattered myself that they were worth anything.” ‘* This explains why G was so mysterious when I inquired of him who Lola was. Have you any more f”’ “Oh, yes! many.’’ ‘*May I see them?” A portfolio was taken from a table-drawer, and Mr. Holmes coolly placed it under his arm. ‘May I do what I please with them ?’’ he asked. ‘* Certainly.” ‘*Good-evening, then; I am going to spend the evening with Lola.” Weeks passed away, and Hester heard no- thing from Mr. Holmes. The boy still brought the law papers, and she continued to devote some hours each day to her more congenial writing and studies. One evening, she was seated at the piano, singing to Mr. Hopkins, who, half asleep, list- ened to the pure, fresh voice pouring forth his favorite ballads, when Mr. Holmes came in. She started up with delight, then stood still, blushing at her own eagerness. ‘*Miss Crawford,’’ he said, gravely, ‘‘I have called upon business. Will you sign some papers for me, without knowing what they are ?”’ **Certainly. Am I signing away all my pro- perty ?’’ she asked, laughingly, as she complied with his request. ** Yes, for a fair equivalent.”’ No more was said about the papers. The evening passed pleasantly, with music and con- versation ; and then there came another long lapse of time before Hester saw Mr. Holmes. At last, he came again. She had missed him sorely, grieving over his silence, and wondering whether he could be offended with her. It was in the morning that he called. Hester was at a little table in the green-house, arranging bouquets for a large party to be given at Mrs. Green’s, when a book was laid before her. The title, in large gilt letters, ‘‘ Neglected Flowers, by Lola,’’? made her open it, to find all her fugitive stories, sketches, and poetry collected together, and tastefully embellished with en- geravings. se aft th: m™m m«¢ us. of He hu

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NEGLECTED FLOWERS. 39 ‘“*You are surprised,” said a well-known voice, ‘‘ but, ] trust, not offended.” ‘*Offended! Oh, Mr. Holmes, this is your work! How kind, how very kind you are!”’ ‘*Not at all. I am, to-day, the bearer of many commissions—the book, the contract you signed last month, and five hundred dollars from the publisher.” ‘* Five hundred dollars !”? ** Yes, here it is, in gold, as you see. You must give up law, Miss Crawford, and practise literature ; but’’—and his voice was lowered— ‘*when you forsake the law, may I hope you will not forget the lawyer ?”’ She stood silent, nervously fingering the bag of money on the table, while the hot blood A look of proud joy came into Lawrence Holmes’s eyes. ‘* Hester,” he said, gently, ‘‘you cannot be mantled over cheek and brow. surprised when I say I love you; you must have seen it before this. Will you not speak to me? may I call you mine?” ‘“‘T am so unworthy,’? she stammered, “I, poor and obscure.”’ ‘*Poor!’? he said, gayly, pointing to the money. ‘‘Obscure! here are five papers that eame to-day, with notices of ‘ Neglected Flow- ers.’ Poorand obscure? No! Yet, were you both, I love you. Will you be my wife?” And he opened his arms to fold her to his bosom. She did not speak, and it was not needed. Two months later, there was a great party given at Mrs. Larkins’s. Many of the guests were already assembled; and Lola, beautiful as a picture, and exquisitely dressed, was flit- ting from group to group, the darling of the evening. ‘*T expect the bride, Mrs. Holmes, will honor us this evening,’’ said Mrs. Larkins to a lady who stood beside her. ‘‘Did you know she was the author of that gem of literature, ‘ Neg- lected Flowers’ ?”’ **T heard of it. **T don’t know. secretly under the signature of ‘Lola,’ until after her marriage, and then she burst upon the world with her name already in every one’s mouth. I have not yet seen her; but her mother-in-law promised to persuade her to join Who was she ?’’ Nobody knows. She wrote "> us. Ah, there she is! Radiantly beautiful, with an exquisite dress of soft white lace, and glittering with diamonds, Hester came across the room, leaning on her husband’s arm. ‘*How beautiful!’ whispered all. ‘Surely I have seen that face before,’’ mut- tered Mrs. Larkins, as she advanced to meet her guest. Hester gracefully acknowledged Mrs. Lar- kins’s cordial welcome; but her eye roved about the room. Suddenly, it lighted. A little girl, whose white dress was pure and lovely as her own, was coming to meet her. She came slowly and timidly, with her eyes fixed upon Hester’s face; while her own wore a puzzled Hester smiled; and then, with a sister Hester!’’ Lola expression. glad cry of ‘‘ Hester! sprang into her arms. Hester held her there tightly, and, turning to Mrs. Larkins, said, inalow tone that reached only her ear: ‘‘ You will let me see her sometimes ?”’ **T shall be only too glad, if you will let her still be mine,’’ was the reply. ‘‘ Forgive me,’’ she added, frankly, holding out her hand, ‘‘ for having separated you for so long.”’ One little scene, and we close the story. The room is a luxuriously furnished library, open- At a table, we see Near him, Hester They are talking of the events of the time when they ing into a conservatory. Lawrence Holmes writing. is seated on a sofa, with Lola beside her. never saw each other. Beyond, in the conser- vatory, busy amongst his beloved flowers, is the guest of the house, who, too humble to claim the place Hester wishes him to fill, insists upon calling himself Lawyer Holmes’s head gardener, Old Jake Hopkins. — —~2.eeer- — Kinp Worps.—They never blister the tongue And we have never heard of one men- Though or lips. tal trouble arising from this quarter. they do not cost much, yet they accomplish much. They help one’s own good nature and good will. Soft words soften our own soul. Angry words are fuel to the flame of wrath, and Kind words make Cold words freeze make the blaze more fierce. other people good-natured. people, and hot words scorch them, and bitter words make them bitter, and wrathful words make them wrathful. There is such a rush of all other kinds of words in our days, that it seems desirable to give kind words a chance among them. There are vain words, and idle words, and hasty words, and spiteful words, and empty words, and profane words, and warlike Kind words also produce their own image on men’s souls. And a beautiful image They soothe, and quiet, and comfort the They shame him out of his sour, mo- We have not yet begun words. it is. hearer. rose, unkind feelings. to use kind words in such abundance as they ought to be used.

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MISS BY THE AUTHOR OF [Wuen Miss Slimmens first hung out her sign as Fashionable Milliner, it was adorned with a bonnet after the following pattern :— SLIMMEN S’S WINDOW. “THE TALLOW FAMILY.’’ their prospects is not so bad as they might be ; perhaps they’re soon agoing to have somebody to look after ’em who never had the name of taking the advantage of any- body, let alone stepchildren. ZI] \ _— ~~ ——_—|}\§{ \CEASHIONABLED— iL Do you know why Stebbins had his house painted straw- color, instid of white, and that sweet little portcullis put over the front door? If you don’t, somebody does. It was only the day before he had the men to work, he says to me, *‘ Alvi- ra’’—Stebbins has called me by my given name ever since his Y wife died—‘‘ supposing you was — a going to have a house painted, The patterns inside of the shop-window have changed very frequently since then; but the sign remains as it was, except that its pristine glory is nearly obliterated by the wear and tear of the weather. But, if the bright yellow of the bonnet is faded, and its sky-blue bows are -arcely discernible, so have the roses faded that once bloomed in the cheeks of Miss Slim- mens; and she has been compelled, for the last ten years at least, to resort to “ artificials.”’ She bleaches and trims to perfection—herself, as well as her bonnets; despite which, some of her neighbors have been heard to insinuate that the smell of brimstone about her premises did not proceed entirely from the covered barrel which sets in the back yard, and in which there are usually two or three wrecks of Leghorn hanging, as slimp and melancholy as the pros- pects of Miss Slimmens herself. ] CHAPTER I. YOU CAN’T CATCH OLD BIRDS WITH CHAFF. Tuere’s Stebbins’s house been shut up three days, not a sign of life about it. I wonder where he’s sent the children to? I suppose to their grandmother’s. Poor little things! it’s cruel to think of their being orphans, and no telling what kind of a stepmother they’ll get to knook ’em and beat ’em around, and schinch ’em in clothes and vittals. However, maybe 40 what color would you prefer ?”’ ‘La, now!” said I, ‘*people’s tastes differs ; and, sence the house isn’t mine, and nobody has ever said it was going to be mine, what do you care what color I like best?’ ‘* Well,” said he, ‘‘I knew you was considered the tas- tiest person in the village, used to all sorts of pretty colors in ribbons and trimmin’s, and, as I don’t purfess to have much knowledge of such things myself, I thought I’d ask you.”’ Wasn’t that a delicate way, now, of managing the matter, and letting the person most inte- rested know that he’d like her opinion? | declare, my respect for Stebbins riz considera- bly! though I’d always thought well of him as a good man to his family, and a stidy, indus- trious person, not bad-looking, either, though rather old for a girl in her twenties. Let’s see! he must be full forty year old; and that would be fourteen years difference. So then I told him I was sick of these everlasting white- houses, and that JZ thought peach-bloom or straw-color would look sweetly, and he thanked me, and asked if I could suggest any other improvement; and I fairly blushed at having him putting such questions to me, and I said: “Oh, Mr. Stebbins, if you’d really like my ideas on the subject, I think a handsome port- cullis over the front door would make your house almost equal to Squire Higgins’s.’’ ‘‘The very thing!’’ said he; ‘‘ and, if it don’t cost too much, I shall have one right away.”’ What’s that you say, Clara Brown? ‘‘Steb- he ths Dik We cor It’ Loe cou ten

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MISS SLIMMEN s’S WINDOW. 41 bins is apt to look at the cost of a thing before he gets it.”” Supposing he is, then; so is any prudent man; they’d bea fool notto. I guess there ’s some as have to work in this shop for seventy-five cents a week and their board would be glad of a chance to help spend what he’s been so prudential as to lay up. Mind that sher you’re running. You’re getting it as crooked as one of Tim Button’s stories; and that bunnit is for Mrs. Martingall, the particu- lerest of all my customers. What has Stebbins gone out of town for? I hav’n’t insinuated that I knew, have I? He may be gone to Boston to get a new set of hair- bottom chairs and a carpet for the front room before a certain ceremony comes off; but that’s not saying that he Aas, nor that I know any- thing about his business. I may be going to make a wedding-bunnit for somebody not far away from this chair, out of this piece of white satin; but that’s not saying that I am going to. Look here, Dora Adams, if you don’t quit that everlasting giggling and snorting out a laughing, you’ll quit my shop. How much work do you suppose you get done in a day, between looking at them red danglers that you set up half the night to put in papers, and snickering at goodness knows what every five minutes? ‘Your hair isn’t red; it’s orborn, and curls naturally’’? Humph! perhaps you’ll get some fine young man to believe that, but not immejetly. Just see that little, stuck-up Laura Griggs trotting along to school in her all-wool de laine dress, plenty good enough for Sundays. Her mother just does it to spite better people ; but, if what report says is true, she’ll soon be in the fix of the man that bit off his nose to spite his face. It’s no matter what I mean. I’m never the first to spread bad news; and I don’t intend to be now. People that live beyond their means must expect to be brought up with a short turn some time. When folks gets to sending to Boston and Lowell for their bunnits, because there’s nothing in their own village good enough for ’em, it’s time— Wonder whose dog that can be? Girls, run here, and look, before he gets past the corner ; that one, with the crimpy tale, black and white. Did either of you ever see it before? ‘‘No’’? Well, neither did I; and now somebody’s got company, or somebody’s been buying him. It’s curious his master wasn’t with him ; being a strange dog, so, he’d be apt to have some- body with him to keep watch of him. He couldn’t be a stray dog; he run along too con- tented for that. He’s a beautiful fellow; such 4* long, silky hair, such intelligent eyes, and such a curly—gracious! here he comes! not the dog, but his master! Yes, that must be him, for he’s a stranger, and now he’s a whistling to him; and he’s got on one of them new-fangled overcoats, and is so stylish! Dear me! I wish I knew who he was visiting, and what brought him to Pennyville, and how long he was going to stay. Goodness! he looked right straight in the window; and he must have seen some- thing to admire, for he kept on looking full a Girls, what are you peaking over my shoulder for? Get back to your work, you lazy, giggling things! I declare, I shall go crazy long before I’m thirty years old, if I have to keep track of two such idle snips! He’s gone round the corner, now, towards If Sabina Higgins caught minute. Squire Higgins’s. that fish when she was away to her uncle’s, she did more than I gave her credit for. Hand me that Leghorn flat. It’s to be called for at sun- down, and I’ve not made the first bow yet, nor put in thelining. If there wasn’t so much gab going on in this shop, there ’d be more work. I don’t see what they wanted the flat so par- ticularly to-night for. There’s no picnic nor nothing going off that I’ve heard of, and it’s three days to Sunday. Maybe Celestia’s going to town with her father when he takes his grain tomarket. It’s always hurry! hurry! hurry! Everybody hurries the milliner, just for the fun of it, I believe. There’s one thing, Alvira Slimmens don’t intend to be their slave much longer. She sighs for the repose of a straw- colored house, with a white portcullis to shade it, like the satin cape of a Leghorn bunnit. What’s that? ‘getting poetical’’ ? Young people mostly are occasionally ; Supposing I am? and I don’t see what’s to prevent. but few in the interesting situation of an en- gagement but feels inclined, at times, to ex- There was some There are press their feelings in verse. lines by somebody to somebody in the last % nnyville Eagle, signed ‘‘J. 8. ;”” ’ don’t stand for Joshua Steb- number of the and, if ‘J. 8.’ bins, what does it stand for? them already, and shall send the verses over to the printer’s to-night; but I wouldn’t have anybody know for the world that I was an au- thoress. I wouldn’t read ’em to anybody if I was asked; but Ill recite the last verse, be- cause I know you’d like to hear it— I’ve answered ‘Long as there's water in the sea, Or planets in the heavens, My heart shall only beat for thee, My voice shall murmur *****###,"" I’ve left the last word stars, so that the publie

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42 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. might not perceive too much of what is too | o’clock in the mornin’; I won’t pay girls for sacred to betray. That blue ribbon, Clara! Blue is a sweet color. The language of blue is constancy. It’s so romantic to have the virgin affections true to one— For the land’s sake! as true as I’m alive, if there isn’t Stebbins come home—in a buggy, too—and a woman with him, that ain’t his mother! She’s got white ribbin on her bunnit and a white veil; and he’s helping her out as if he was treading on eggs. ‘‘She looks like a bride,” hey? was that what you said? She does, that’s a fact; and I’ll bet that heartless Stebbins has been up and getting married, with- out letting anybody know it, and his first wife scarcely cold in her grave. It’s just ten months Tuesday since the funeral, when he took on so hard, the old hypocrite! I declare it makes me faint and sick to think of it; but I’m sure I need not be surprised, for he asked me long ago to take her place, but I refused him, with the uttermost indignation. I told him he ought to be ashamed of himself, and he a widower such a brief length o’ time. Joshua Stebbins must a took me for a bigger fool than I am, to expect I was going to take up with a crooked stick at last, and two freckle-faced, quarrelsome, hateful little brats besides. I guess his new wife didn’t know what she was coming home to; them children is the pest of the neighbor- hood. Humph! he helps her up the steps under that portcullis mighty pleasant now, and I suppose she’s admiring things; but if she don’t wait many a month before the stingy cretur gets anything more, and if she doesn’t have to wear faded finery after a while, then I ** You thought I approved Mr. Stebbins’s prudence?’ So I do approve of a lose my guess. proper degree of prudence in anybody; but nobody ever heard me say I upheld the right- up-and-down meanness of that man—his stingi- ness. Why, he’d steal the cents off of a dead man’s eyes, for all I knew! and I don’t wish you to say again that I approve of him. She ’s minced into the house, now, and he’s tied his horse and gone in with her. I hope you ’ll be able to keep your eyes on your work, now there’s no more to be seen. It seems as if my window was made for nothing in the world but for my apprentices to gap out at everything and everybody. There never was a woman tormented with two such idle minxes as you girls. Clara Brown, you’re doing that all wrong! no, I didn’t tell you to do it that way, neither. What do you mean by contra- dicting me? You will finish that jeb, now, before you go to bed, if it takes you till three whispering, and talking, and looking out the window ; I don’t do it myself, and I don’t allow it in others. I can just tell you what it is, I sha’n’t try to get this flat trimmed for that high- flyer of a young miss; if she’s disappointed, it’s good enough for her. My head aches, and I ain’t a-going to take another stitch to-day. Dora !—do you hear me ?—go and put over the kettle ; I want a good strong cup o’ tea. Don’t bother me with questions ; I ain’t going to speak again this evening. I’m tired of your gabble, and I want silence for once in my life; and now, because you can’t talk, talk, talk, I sup- pose you’re wondering and wondering who the bride is, and what her name was, and how she looks, and where she come from, and how old she is, and what they’re a-getting for supper, and whether you ’ll have a piece of the wedding- cake, and how he happened to get acquainted with her; but I’d jest advise you to mind your own business, and let other people’s alone. I won’t have it; so just quit it. You needn’t be setting that tea to steeping just yet. I’m going to throw on my bunnit, and run over and call. I want to be the first to congratulate ’em, just to show Joshua Stebbins that I don’t care a pin for him ; though if somebody was a mind to sew him for a brich of promise, she might kick upa pretty muss in Pennyville ; but you can’t catch old birds with chaff, nor Alvira Slimmens with a widower. CHAPTER Il. MISS SLIMMENS HAS HOPES. Isx’r that old Dr. Greene—yes, it is—coming out of Peters’s? Of course, Sarah Peters’s got another baby! She and Quegn Victory have run about an equal match, though I believe she’s beat the Queen by this last one; yes, this is her ninth. Well, I never thought she ’d come to that when she and I used to be girls together—that is, she was a great big, and I was a very little, girl. It used to make her as mad as fire when she had to tend any of her own little sisters and brothers; she often said she hated young ones, and I hope she’s got enough of ’em now. That comes of her not following my example, and jest saying ‘‘ No!” right out, every time a simpleton of a male cretur, in pantaloons, come a sugaring around and wanting to send for the minister. The pertinasty of some men is surprisin’! If I hadn’t fit and fit against it, I might have been seduced into matrimony myself, and been in me a -~ en ot oe Ge

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MISS SLIMMENS’S WINDOW. 48 the same fix she is this blessed minit. Good Lord! I ought to be thankful for my delivery ; it’s bad enough bleaching, and trimming, and making up bunnits for a living, but it’s not quite so bad as nine squalling, eating, teazing, worrying plagues to cook and mend for. The more I think on it, the more I thank my stars that I give Stebbins the mitten as flat as I did. Yes, it’s another baby, sure enough ; do hear the little panther yell! I wish they’d keep their windows shet, distracting decent people with their hullabaloo. If there ’s anything on airth I hate and despise, it’s a little squirming, kicking, piny-faced, screeching baby. If I had that little red thing over here, I’d use it for a pincushion. What’s that, Clara Brown? ‘“*You love the innocent things, and hope you’ll get married some of these days, and have one of your own?’? Ugh! I’ve a notion to turn you out of my shop, you indelicate, immodest young woman, you! What is the females of the preseut day coming to, when a chit of seventeen can confess that she ever even thought of such a thing? If I ever should be so overcome by persuasion as to consent to share the home of some being of the opposite sex, I trust that our affections will be of too spirituous a character to fulminate in a cradle and a bundle of squalling red flannel. Hey? I heard that whisper, Dora Adams. You said —and you needn’t deny it--that if I waited much longer, you guessed there wouldn’t be What did you mean by that? If you think your any danger. say! what did you mean? red curls and your sassy ways is going to ex- cuse impudence to them that employs you, you’re mistaken; and you’ve got to tell what you meant by that speech. ‘‘ You meant that my beaux would become discouraged, and be obleeged to court somebody else??? Oh, that’s not so bad as it might have been if you’d been saying what doesn’t become you. I suppose you’re looking for’ard to a chance, and maybe you'll get one when you grow out of looking so dowdy and fat. Your cheeks are like two poppies, and your waist is almost as big again as it ought to be; if I were in your place, I’d drink vinegar. There! you needn’t roll them great eyes of yourn over to Clara, as much as to say there is plenty of vinegar about. What did Celestia say because she didn’t get her leghorn last night? ‘ Almost cried,’ hey, and you ‘felt so sorry for her that you went to work and finished it?’ Another one of your liberties, when you knew that I left it on pur- pose to disappoint her. It makes these chits altogether too selfish and conceited to have all their whims humored ; a little vexation of spirit is good for ’em, once in a while. How did I like Stebbins’s new wife? I’veno doubt he’s done as well as an old widower with two young ones could expect to. I shouldn’t think she was over thirty, and some folks might think she was good-looking, but her eyes is too black and sparkly, and her nose is pug, and she’s too plump to have a particle of style about her. She’s dreadful blushing and smil- ing now, but if them children don’t see hard times before a year’s gone by, then Alvira Slimmens isn’t good at guessing. Stebbins looked as if he’d like to crawl through an auger-hole when he seen it was me, and he colored up like a beet when he introduced Mrs. Stebbins. I expect he saw I was eyeing her mighty sharp, for he kept hitching about, as uneasy as a fish out of water; but I catched them smiling in their sleeves when they thought I didn’t take notice. body, that couldn’t do any better, for her bunnit was as much as three months behind the fash- ion, and her silk gown was a kind of a slimsy thing. Did I leave that poetry I was speaking of at the printing-office, on my way home? Mercy sake alive! you’re ruining that piece of satin, you careless thing! Lay it down, and go and bring me them satins, and hand me that ruche, and pick up them scraps off the carpet. La! Miss Peters’s got another baby. As soon ’s I get my work done, I must drop in and The poor cretur I guess she was some poor see how she’s getting along. can’t have much life left in her; and as for him, I don’t see how he contrives to find bread and butter for so many mouths. I’ve a good notion to take her over some of my quince-jelly and one of them young chickens. No I won’t, neither; I’m so provoked at her for being such a fool! She’ll expect me to hold the young one, and kiss it, and make a fuss over it, when I’d rather choke the little rat. If ever there was a torment sent upon earth, it’s children. They ’re worse than the seven plagues of Egypt —no peace, no quiet, no order where they are —greasing you up, and falling down and bump- ing themselves, scratching each other, litter- ing up the floors, taking the measles, and the chickenpox, and the scarlet fever, wearing out their clothes, telling tales, stealing your sugar and preserves, crying with the stomach-ache, taking fits in the night, falling in the creek and getting drowned, they make a perfect panorama; and I only wonder their mothers don’t go crazy with insanity. When there’s any prospects of my having any, the Lord deliver me! Miss Peters’s got Mother Lummis to nuss

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44 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. her; I see her pass through the hall just now. There ’s one of the children out in the street ; 1 ll jest call her over, and find out whether it’s So! you’ve got a little sister, have you? oh, a brother? Nice little fellow, isn’t he? Here! take this piece of pretty red silk for your patchwork, and run home, now. Tell your ma I’ll be over to see her before night. to cheer her up, though I don’t pity her one bit. If there’s anything that I’m continually and everlastingly thankful about, it is that I’ve kept out of sech scrapes. Did you ever! if there ain’t Miss Person coming across the road, with that bunnit of hers in a newspaper, as usual. I’ve altered that bunnit once a year, and trimmed it twice a year, for the last—well, time out of mind! a girl or a boy. I s’pose I ought to take her something 1 do wish she’d get a new one; I’m tired of that Leghorn bunnit; it’s like some people’s tongues—there’s no end toit. The first time she brought it, it was trimmed with plum- colored satin-ribbin and gold artificials, and I bleached it for her, and put the same trimmin’s back on. I’ve sewed braid on to make it larger, and I’ve took braid off to make it smaller; it’s been on the block more times ’an |’ve got fin- gers. I did hope she’d patternize me, and open her heart far enough to buy a new one out-and- out, this fall. straw’s got so rotten it won’t bear no more pressin’. Oh, Miss Purson! Fine day! S’pose you’ve come to look at the new style of bunnits. Most all the gentility of Pennyville has been in to take a look and I’ve a notion to tell her the good-morning, make their choices; but there’s some left, that ll suit you, I guess, for all you’re so in- siduous. What? Thought you’d have your Tuscan bleached over and fixed up a little? Thought I told you, the last time, ’twould never stand another doin’ over. I’d a great mind to charge you two shillin’s extra, last fall, I had so much bother to keep it stuck together. If you want that thing teched again, you ’d better take it to Miss Bungleby’s shop; she ’ll be able to do it justice; and then she’s so fashionable—gets her patterns after she has a good chance to steal mine, and puts sech an air on things! I think she’d make your old Tusean look egregious. You’d like a new bun- nit, if Mr. Purson could spare the money? Jest tell him, from me, that if he can’t afford his wife a bunnit once in eight years, he’d better quit carpentering, and go to sawing wood ; that he needn’t aspire to the respectability of Penny- ville any longer. Now, look here! here’s a sweet thing—a Florence braid, with a lovely ruche, and all this bugle lace around the cape and brim, besides the feather. I showed it to Miss Grant, and she pronounced it superfluous. She said maybe she’d conclude to take it the next time she wasin; but I hinted to her that it was spoken for, because I knew it would jest suit your style and complexion, and I like to obleege my old customers. I asked her six and a half for it, but you may have it for six, seeing it’s you, but I sha’n’t make a cent on it. Good Lord! if there ain’t a buggy running away! do see how he kicks! he will certingly be thrown out! he’s making straight for that pile of brick as he can go! I do wonder who it can be! It’s a horse from the liberty-stable, and yes! goodness gracious! it’s that hand- some stranger that had that curly dog with the—oh, hevings! there he goes, smash-bang, right into the bricks! He’s killed now, I do believe! I’m so scart, I don’t know what I’m asaying. He’s certainly killed! see him tear- ing down the streets, and the spooks a flying. and the poor young gentleman picking himself up. I must go to his assistance this minute. It shall never be said that Alvira Slimmens turned an unfortunate young man out of doors. Oh, sir! how do you feel? Are you faint-like ? Lean upon me, upon my bo—shoulder. Dear me! I’m so flustered, I don’t know what I’m Is it your head, or your arm, Ain’t a bit hurt? only a trifle Well, walk in, t’s all brick- doing or saying. or your—limb ? bruised? Thank the Lord! and let me brush your coat. dust. Can walk without assistance? Oh,I’m so glad of it! But don’t over-exert yourself— don’t! Clara, Dora, get the brush! hand it to me. There, now, you look a little more like your pre- sent self. What a circumstantial escape you’ve had! Ishall never cease to congratulate my- self that the shop of Alvira Slimmens stood where it could afford a place of refuge to a ship- wracked stranger. Take a chair, won’t you? My, your coat’s tore out at the arm! Dora, bring a needle and some black silk. No, you needn’t be afraid of making trouble. I’d rather mend it ’an not. Stopping long in Pen- nyville? visiting! or stopping at the tavern? Oh, the tavern! On business, I suppose? Any acquaintances? Ours is a very pedantic vil- lage, considered very rural on the outskirts, great deal of scenery and land around it. Per- haps you’re an author, or an artist, come to rustify. read sO many sweet stories about such things; and I declare, when you I’ve

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ARRANGEMENT OF THE HAIR 45 was throwed out in that terrible manner, I felt like flying to you, stranger as you was, and exclaiming, with that dear Moore— **Come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer; Though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here.” Clara Browne, go in the other room this minute, and stay there till I recall you. What? must you go? Well, cali again. I shall feel extremely solicitary about your health. Oh, no thanks at all, sir! I’ve only done my duty as one of my sex should do it. He’s gone. ‘*Thou’rt gone from my sight, like a beautiful dream!’? How earnestly he kept looking back, as if he couldn’t endure to tear himself away; but he must go to the liberty-stable, and let Smith know that his baulky horse has run away. If there ain’t that sassy Clara, standing at the door, looking out after him, when I sent her in there because she kept making eyes at him, and laughing in her sleeve. My hand trimbles so, I can hardly baste this silk on. It’s come at last. I knew it would. I knew Alvira Slimmens was destined to see the hero of whom she has dreamed, about whom she has had many a ponderous fancy— that he would come in some unusual way; and now a circumstantial Providence has thrown him into that pile of brick, at her very feet, as it were. Dora Adams, go over to Springle’s, and get me a dozen of them new-fangled curling- clasps and a bottle of lavender-water; and let me tell you, once for all, that, if you and Clara don’t quit a winking at each other, and making them secret signs, you’ll repentit. [Murmurs, sotto voce ] :— “Oh, there are tones and looks that dart ” An instant sunshine through the heart and that was the way I felt. What a splendid subjeck for a poem for the Eagle, to be called “The Runaway Buggy’! no! that’s not ro- mantic enough; ‘‘The Fearful Risk!” “The Stranger’s Escape !’’ that’s better; or, the Leap for Lif Tradegy,” and ‘‘ Alvira SS.’ ‘* A, S.”,—and send it to him. I’ll do it this very night—write it while I’m putting my hair [Sings, in an undertone] :— no! e—a “The Castaway; or, sign it >—no ! in papers. *““Oh, Alvira Slimmens, You ’ll soon quit bunnits and trimmin’s, Bunnits and trimmin’s, T-r-i-m-m-i-n’s ” ARRANGEMENT In the arrangement cf the hair, the greatest regard ought to be paid to the style of the fea- tures, as well as to the general appearance of the wearer. It is thus only that we can hope to avoid such errors of taste as we frequently see committed by those who, regardless of the unfitness of a particular mode of arrangement— to which they may have taken a fancy—to their own style of countenance, adopt it at once with- out due consideration. The mode which they admire may perhaps have been adapted by the dictates of the nicest taste to the features of the wearer, while to their own it is completely unsuited; but, pleased with its effect in those in whom they admire it, and yet ignorant of the source of the charm, they blindly adopt it, and, instead of rendering themselves more at- tractive, become merely ridiculous. When the features are large, or strongly marked, the hair should be arranged in masses, in large curls, or well-defined bows, so as to harmonize with the general caste of the coun- tenance. If, on the contrary, the features are | small and delicate, the greatest care should be | OF THE HAIR. taken not to render too striking the contrast be- tween them and magnitude of the headdress. Small and delicately formed curls or ringlets, braids, or light and airy bows, are the most pleasing varieties for this style. The features of the greater number of young ladies, however, may be classed under neither of these extremes. When such is the case, the fancy of the individual is of course allowed greater latitude, but ought to be no less subject to the dictates of taste. There are what may be called four distinct styles of arrangement, under one or other of which the various modes of dressing the hair may be classed—in bows, in braids, in twist, or incurls. To the latter class may be also re- ferred ringlets, since they are only a modifiea- tion to suit the features of particular indi- viduals. Bows will be found particularly suitable where the face is round, as they tend to lengthen the countenance, and make its peculiarities less apparent. The longer they can be made with- out extravagance, the more pleasing will be

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46 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the effect. If, on the contrary, the countenance is narrow and lengthened, low swelling bows should be adopted. In arranging bows, care should be taken to avoid an eract uniformity on each side.. Such an arrangement gives an air of stiffness, which it is at all times well to be free from. To braids, the above observations are, in general, equally applicable. Curls no less than bows require to be care- fully adapted in size to the features. If the face is long, and deficient in breadth, care should be taken that the great mass should cluster near the temples, and fall gracefully over the cheek, taking care, however, not to conceal the latter, and thus to render the length still more apparent. From the ease with which curls are adapted to every style of feature— and there are few, indeed, to which they are not becoming—and from the facility which they afford to display a beauty, or conceal a defect, this has always been a favorite style of arrange- ment. Ringlets, as has been already remarked, are merely a modification of curls. They require, however, to be more cautiously adopted, as, though extremely fascinating when suited to the style of the wearer, they give an air of ridi- cule to one to which they are unsuited. Ladies who are petite, either in stature or in feature, should avoid anything approaching to exuberance in their headdress. Flowers form decidedly the most becoming articles for ornamenting the hair; but the greatest care is necessary in suiting them to the complexion of the wearer and the style of the headdress. They must, on the one hand, be neither numerous, nor large enough to appear to encumber the head; nor, on the other hand, so few in quantity and insignificant as entirely to lose their individuality of charac- ter among the tresses by which they are sur- rounded. The hair, arranged according to the dictates of taste, is, without dispute, the most attractive of all headdresses; and it should be borne in mind that the addition of all ornament ought to be for the purpose of heightening its effect, not of overshadowing or concealing it. When worn in wreaths, flowers ought not to be placed so low as to fall down upon and conceal the forehead. An air of stiffness is the certain accompaniment of an ill-arranged wreath, however suitable the materials of which itiscomposed. It ought not, therefore, to cross the head in a straight line, or be exactly uni- form on both sides, but, on the contrary, tra- verse the head in a slightly slanting direction, with here and there a bud or a blossom peeping through amongst a cluster of ringlets, or nestling amid a group of curls. There are few styles of beauty to which a judiciously assorted wreath of flowers will not lend a charm. Wreaths ought not to be worn unless when the hair is arranged in what may be called the ornate style ; ornate, we mean in opposition to simplicity. We cannot conclude our observations on this branch of our subject better than in the words of a writer, who remarks, generally: ‘‘ What- ever be the reigning mode, and however beau- tiful a fine head of hair may be generally esteemed, those who are short in stature, or small in features, should never indulge in a profuse display of their tresses, if they would, in the one case, avoid the appearance of dwarf- ishness and unnatural size of the head, and, in the other, of making the face seem less than it actually is, and thus causing what is merely petite to appear insignificant. If the hair be closely dressed by others, those who have round or broad faces should nevertheless continue to wear drooping clusters of curls; and, although it be customary to part the hair in the centre, the division should be made on one side, if it grow low on the forehead, and beautifully high on the temples; but, if the hair be too distant from the eyebrows, it should be parted only in the middle, where it is generaliy lower than at the sides, whatever temptation fashion may offer to the contrary. We might multiply instances ad libitum; but the foregoing cases will, we doubt not, satisfactorily elucidate our proposition. It is our object to press on our readers the propriety of complying with the ordinances of fashion, when their observance is not forbidden by individual peculiarities, and the necessity of fearlessly setting them at defi- ance, or offering only a partial obedience, when a compliance with them would be positively detrimental to personal grace.” - oo Manners.— ‘‘ Manners,”’ says Burke, ‘are of more importance than laws. Upon them, in a great measure, the laws depend. The law touches us but here and there, now and then; manners are what vex or soothe, corrupt or pu- rify, exalt or debase, barbarize or refine us, by a constant, steady, uniform, insensible opera- tion like that of the air we breathe in. They give their whole form and color to our lives. According to their quality, they aid morals, they supply them, or they totally destroy them.” eee Go ot a

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BROAD LINE DRAWING LESSONS. WeE commence, this month, a series of ele- mentary drawing lessons on the broad line principle, which is particularly adapted to be- ginners. The importance of drawing, as a part of education, is now universally conceded. There is no pursuit in life, in which its utility will not be apparent to any one who will give a few moments’ reflection tothe subject. To the artisan or mechanic, it is almost indispensable. The traveller feels the want of this accomplish- ment at every step of his course. The trader can use it, in giving an idea of objects which he wishes to have made, or may desire to buy or sell. The housekeeper has frequent occasion to draw objects, which may be wanted in her domestic arrangements, or in planning out her needle-work. In short, wherever the mind is to be informed, with respect to material objects, a direct appeal to the eye by means of a draw- ing is always preferable to a verbal descvip- | i tion. So much, by way of preface to our little drawing lessons. For the course we now propose, some paper and a common lead-pencil is all the pupil re- quires, in the way of materials, to begin with. Every young person who has learned the art of writing has acquired a habit of making lines lean a little to the right. This is to be over come, at the outset, by drawing perpendicular lines, parallel to each other. First, an inch and a half long; then longer ones; and this simple exercise should be continued until the habit alluded to is overcome, and the eye and the hand can be relied on for accuracy in this particular. This exercise should be followed by a similar one on horizontal lines of various lengths. The pupil is thus prepared for the following simple exercises on the square figure, the triangle, and the cube :— L- Square. Right-angled Triangle Equilateral Triangle. Cube in Perspective. Cube in Perspective. 47

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A DAY’S HISTORY. BY ALICE B. HAVES. Self-possession is much more a science which is to be acquired than any endowment of preternatural strength of mind. God has given to every one, I suppose, the sense and dispositions necessary to act his part well; but, owing to some want of self-knowledge of what circum- stances are calculated to influence their feelings, people rarely seem to have the guidance of their own conduct. Every one who wishes to act uniformly must not only understand the duties of man, but also the construction of his own peculiar mind, in the same manner as the musician must not only have a knowledge of music, but also of his mstrument. All those who have lived to any purpose in the world have lived methodically. Mrs. SCHIMMELPENNINCK. **T nore I hav’n’t disturbed you now,”’ said Mrs. Graves, rising, as the friend on whom she had made a sociable evening call came into the room. ** Oh, no !’”?—and Mrs. Archer really meant it —‘‘Tam very glad to see you, we have both been so much occupied with visitors all summer.”’ ‘Don’t speak of it!”? Mrs. Graves threw up her hands with a gesture of dismay. ‘I am fairly worn out. And you! Why, I should have taken leave of my senses with people coming and going as they have been here! I often tell Mr. Graves that Highbank is more like a hotel than a private family.’’ ‘Oh, itis not that! I have enjoyed seeing them all; and most of them came by ‘ special invitation.’’’ The ladies moved towards an inviting bay-window lighted by the earliest flush of sunset. ‘‘ You have come to take tea with us, Ihope. Is Mr. Graves with you ?’’ *‘T wish I could. Yes; he found Mr. Archer as we drove in. I’ve got to go to town to- morrow ; and, of course, there ’s five and forty things to dowhen I get home. I hate going to town. It’s next to having a house full of people. How lovely your place is looking! No, I wish I could stay.”’ ‘*T have to go in to-morrow, too. though,’’ said Mrs. Saturday is a very inconvenient day, Archer. avoid it.’’ **Oh, for that matter it ’s as I tell people when they ‘* But to-morrow it is impossible to all the same to me, ask me when they shall come out to see us. I’m sure to have a house full one week, and not a soul the next. Do let us go out and find the gentlemen. It’s too lovely to stay in doors to-night. How do you contrive to have such a quantity of fuch- 48 | sias so late? Only think! my famous Japan lily is quite dead !”’ Mrs. Archer took a garden-hat from the stand as they passed through the hall and out upon the broad sweep that brought them to the very edge of the cliff from which this charming house had its name. ‘* As for going to town’’—and Mrs. Graves’s voice took a doleful tone—"‘I go just when the fancy seizes me—sometimes every few days, and then I put it off to the last moment. Where one has such a family to shop for, it’s a perfect toil. I always come home worn out and cross, and leave the very most important things undone. Mr. Graves says he always dreads my going in. It’s a signal for a three days’ storm. But men hav’n’t the least idea of shopping.’’ And here they came upon the gentlemen, who were inspecting some very promising young fruit-trees in the nursery that bordered the lawn. ‘*Stay to supper,’’ Mr. Archer was saying, just as they came up, ‘‘ and we ’ll try some of Julia, the Sicily sweetings I just happened to dis- Oh, you those new melons. are ripening very fast. cover two quite ready for the table. must stay and try them!’’ Mrs. Graves made a faint show of dissent. Mrs. Archer did not urge their visitors to re- main. She knew from experience what ‘five and forty’’ things on hand before going to town meant. Her husband wondered at her unusual lack of hospitality—which Mr. Graves did not notice, however—and redoubled his own entrea- ties. Mr. Graves saw nothing to prevent; and the horse was ordered to the stabie. *“‘T really ought not to stay. The fact is, I ought not to be out at all this evening,’’ said Mrs. Graves, as she laid aside her bonnet, and gave her hair a little brush before the dressing- bureau in Mrs. Archer’s room. ‘‘ But it was such a delightful afternoon; and Mr. Graves so seldom gets an opportunity to drive me him- self. And you are going in too! Won’t it put you out now to have us stay ?”’ **Oh, not at all! I kept you waiting a mo- ment to finish up everything. I am quite ready for my trip, and shall enjoy your risit very much.’’

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A DAY’S HISTORY. 49 All the little party seemed to be of Mrs. Archer’s mind. Mrs. Graves was naturally very elastic in dispositién ; and she threw off all care of home and the morrow’s business. The gentlemen had many mutual themes of interest, .and doubtless smoked more cigars than would have been recommended by ‘* Hall’s Journal of Health;’’ so that it was half past ten before the carriage was brought round again. ‘*Good-night !’’ called Mrs. Graves, as they drove off. ‘‘I shall see you at the depot in the morning.”’ But Mrs. Archer began to think her friend was not going to keep the appointment, as the far-off echo of the train grew into a shrill whis- tle and rumbling jar that shook the platform. She had watched every carriage from the time of their own arrival in ample season ; still the iron gray driven by Mr. Graves had not made its appearance. The gentlemen clustering on the platform ceased to shake hands with each other, and threw away such cigars as were approaching an end, buttoned their dusters closer about the throat, and, forming into a solid phalanx, began to measure the probable distance from their position to the rear car, which they were destined to fill, by the head- way of the approaching train, preparing them- selves for a rush and a spring for the shady side. Mrs. Archer had joined her husband, and stood on the alert quiet and collected, her little satchel on her arm, and her brown travelling- cloak thrown over the lighter mantle she wished to wear in town. ‘* All ready ?’’ asked Mr. Archer, pleasantly. He always enjoyed having his wife go with him, and would have waited an hour later, had it been necessary, at any time, for the pleasure of her companionship. ‘All ready,’’ she returned, with a bright glance and smile; and, as he looked at her unwrinkled brow, from which the hair was so smoothly parted and put aside under her bon- net-cap, he thought that twelve years of mar- ried life had by no means destroyed the loveliness which had attracted him in early youth. Mrs. Archer was not beautiful. She had no brilliancy of complexion, or classic grace of feature; neither was she pretty or piquant. She was too tall and womanly for petting or pet names; but her husband trusted her love and her judgment; and her children believed her to be their best friend. Beside Mrs. Graves, her manner would have been thought cold; but it was not that she lacked VOL. LVII—5 the impulsiveness that distinguished her friend, only that impulse was controlled by forethought and principle. Just as the conductor touched the platform, there was a laugh and clapping among the gentlemen, and Mr. Graves, urging his horse to its utmost speed, appeared at the brow of the hill. ‘‘Go it, Graves !’’ ‘‘ Who bets on the gray !’’ ‘‘Two forty won’t save them !’’ sounded from the group, separating, the next instant, for their own hurried transit to the cars. There was an accidental delay of a moment, and the rockaway drew up covered with splashes of mud, while the horse panted from the hot race of the last half mile. Mr. Graves lifted his wife from the carriage in the most unceremoni- ous way, assisted her into the cars after they were put in motion, having just time to spring on himself, amid the uncomplimentary remarks Mr. Archer rose to give their It was the only one of bystanders. friend a seat by his wife. to be had in their immediate vicinity, and some distance was passed before he secured any ; but Mrs. Graves was too much occupied in bewailing her own mischances to notice the trouble she was giving. ‘*Henry jerked me out in such a hurry, that I declare my arm must be black and blue! I dropped my basket in the carriage, and he would not let me stop a second to pick it up. What in the world I’m going to do I can’t tell, for there was one of Anne’s shoes for a measure, and the cape of the baby’s cloak, that I want button-ball fringe for, and didn’t get the length, so I stuffed it in to let them calculate it at Mor- rison’s, and not a thread of a pocket-handker- chief! I declare it is too bad!’’ The lack of a pocket-handkerchief Mrs. Archer could supply. ‘‘ But why not put the size or number of the shoe and the length of the trim- ming on your list?’’ she asked. “It would have been a great deal of trouble to carry those things around all day.’’ **Oh, I never can be bothered with a list— I never was in the least old-maid- I declare I’m such a fuss! ish. I’ve had such a morning! tired out before I commence, and not a particle of breakfast ; I tried to get down a cup of coffee was putting on his boots, but it How cool and comfortable Anybody that How in the while Henry was scalding hot! you look, and I’m melting! likes may go to town, for all me. world do you manage to get off so early ?’’ **T am always ready the night before. I make out my list when I am putting down the marketing, in the morning. Mr. Graves is try- ing to speak to you.’’

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50 He was leaning forward from a seat behind them, on the opposite side of the car. Mrs. Archer had no desire to listen, but she could not help hearing— ‘*How much money do you want to-day, Anne ?”’ ‘* All you can spare,’’ said his wife, with a little laugh. ** But that ’s no answer. I want you to have enough.’’ ‘*T haven't the faintest idea ; fifteen or twenty dollars.’’ **Here is twenty-five, then: Mind and get all you want, so as not to be no bills, now. going down again on Monday.”’ Mrs. Graves folded the fresh, crisp-looking bills, and thrust them into her porte-monnaie, **It’s too bad in me to bother Henry so, when he’s always so thoughtful,’’ she said, turning to Mrs. Archer. **{ did mean to get up in good season this with evident satisfaction. morning, and give him his breakfast decently ; but, being out last night, I was so tired and sleepy; and then I had such a time getting dressed, cook coming to see what was for din- ner, and Bridget bothering me, at the last moment, about glass-towels and new pillow- oases, when I was charging the nurse about keeping the children in sight. Of course, my gaiter-lace broke, and there wasn’t another in the house, so that it took me five times as long to lace it, with Henry calling out, from the foot of the stairs, that I hadn’t a minute to spare. Distracting, wasn’t it???’ Mrs. Archer smiled at the graphic description of the confused house- hold and belated mistress. She could look back to just such days in her own early experience. ‘Then I knew we should have a hot day, and I made up my mind to wear my flounced barége ; but there was a great tear in the upper flounce, and the sleeves were ripped out of my foulard to alter them; so here I am, in this roasting challie, and of course I came off without my veil.”’ This last was a real misfortune. so intensely warm, late as it was in the season, that to keep the windows closed was impossible ; and the cinders and dust were already soiling the pretty crape bonnet, with its white ribbon and fresh border. ‘“Where are you going first?’’ inquired Mr. Archer, who had finished the ‘‘ telegraphic news’’ in the morning paper, and rejoined the ladies, just before they reached town. ‘“‘T have scarcely decided; that is, I don’t know whether it would be better to call on The day was GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Eleanor on my way down town, or this after- noon,’’ said his wife. **If you want your packages to come out to- day, you had better do your shopping first.’’ ‘*T must have mine,’’ said Mrs. Graves, join- ing in the conversation, ‘‘ to-morrow being Sun- day, and Monday the dressmaker comes for Ella.’’ **Charley’s cap is all of real importance to-day. My packages from Stewart’s can wait until Monday, and Eleanor may be out this afternoon.’’ Don’t you find them dreadfully impertinent and inattentive ?’’ inquired Mrs. Graves, as Mrs. Archer turned to speak to her husband. ‘*No, I never have done so; I always go there, for the last twelve years.’’ ‘*T like variety, besides,’’ said Mrs. Graves; **Do you go to Stewart's? ‘‘and then, you know, it’s not near as fashion- able as My cousin, Mrs. Bradford, always knows, and she says that everybody it was. goes to Holmes’s for house linen, and Hearn’s for dresses and mantles. She gets her gloves at Maison Violet’s, and her embroideries at Richmond’s. I must look at carpets to-day, too; I think I shall go to Hyatt’s.”’ **But those places are all so far apart. It will do for Mrs. Bradford, who lives in town, and has no children to occupy her at home; she can go out every morning, if she likes. We country people have to make a business of shopping. If I can get all of those things, at reasonable prices, in one establishment—say Arnold’s, if you don’t like Stewart’s—I save just so much time and strength, and omnibus fare, too,’ ‘Oh, I walk, and look as I go along.”’ **That runs away with a great deal of time, ’ she added. and I have to save all my strength, too.”’ ‘*T’m sure I’m going to have a headache to-day !’? Mrs. Graves returned to personal discomforts. ‘‘I feel it coming on already; I shall get home just fit to go in bed.” ‘*A good breakfast might have saved you from it. Why not go into Thompson’s, and get acup of tea? It may ward it off.”’ ‘Oh, I never have a minute’s time, even for lunch !”’ ‘*It’s no wonder she has headaches, is it, Mrs. Archer ?’’ said Mr. Graves, as he came up at that moment to take the seat behind them, vacated by some one passing into a forward ‘*T wish you could teach her to take care It was said pleasantly ; yet his No car. of herself.’’ face betrayed a past feeling of irritation.

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A DAY’S HISTORY. 51 wonder, poor man, with a ‘‘three days’ storm’’ in prospect too ! ‘*You had better meet me at one, at Thomp- son’s, at all events,’’ said Mrs. Archer. ** Dear knows where I shall be at one! can’t think how much I have to do.”’ ‘“‘Show her your list, Martha,’’ said Mr. Archer. ‘‘ There, look at that, Graves! Isn’t that a day’s work for one head and pair of feet ?’’ Mr. Archer was evidently proud of his wife’s talent for business, for he took the list and unfolded it himself. It was neatly made out on the blank leaf of some note of ceremony, torn off, and paged by the folds already creas- Each little page had a separate head- ing. ‘* Morrison’s, Stewart’s, Haughwought’s, Brooks’s,’’ read Mr. Archer, and under each heading a formidable list of commissions. **You don’t shop very often, I imagine,’’ said Mr. Graves, as he noticed, besides these, various miscellaneous memorandums. ** No oftener than I can help. I wait until I am obliged to come in, and then try to think of everything, not only wanted at once, but You ing it. likely to be required soon.”’ ‘*That ’s the way, Anne,’’ said her husband ; but very naturally Mrs. Graves did not like having Mrs. Archer set up as a model; and Mrs. Archer, though offence or self-praise had been very far from her thoughts, regretted the ehance conversation that had clouded the pretty face at her side. When they met ‘again, the day was already wearing to afternoon ; the ill humor had passed away; but there was unmistakable evidence of suffering and fatigue in its place. It was at the mousseline counter at Stewart’s; and Mrs. Archer had nearly completed her purchases. ‘*T want an all-wool mousseline,’’ she heard a familiar voice say. It was rather an ambigu- ous demand, as the shelves and counter were devoted entirely to that fabric. ‘*Light or dark?’ said the clerk in attend- ance. ** Really I don’t know—light, I guess’’—two pieces were reached down to her—‘‘ no, me- dium, rather dark, something that will do for fall wear. No, not that style! no, no! blue! no, no!’? And there was a repeated negative shake of the head, as the man unfolded one and another. ‘* What colors would you like?’’ asked the clerk, making an embarrassed but perfectly respectful pause. **T can’t tell till I see them.” Graves’ voice took an injured tone. And Mrs. ‘* Show | Those are all horrid! such No, stripes are too old for a me some more. immense figures ! child ; something like a chintz pattern; no, a polka spot, I guess. Let me see some polka spots on a plain ground.”’ Mrs. Archer had just made a similar choice ; but when she came to the counter she had said: ‘‘ Will you show me something for a child’s dress? medium colors for fall wear, a polka spot, or very small chintz figure on a plain ground ;’’ and neither the patience of herself or her attendant was wearied ; besides, not a moment of time was lost. She hesitated for an instant whether she should turn and recognize her friend, thinking that both might be delayed by it. There was but half an hour to finish the day’s business, if she left herself time to get comfortably to the cars. But, as she waited for change, she heard Mrs. Graves say: ‘‘ Really I don’t know. I always forget. How much do you generally sell for a child’s dress ?”’ Mrs. Archer did not wonder that the clerks were complained of as stupid and impertinent, if this was her friend’s usual style of proceed- She had made her selection at last, but Mrs. ing. entirely forgotten the necessary quantity. Archer turned to her relief. ‘*How do you do once more? If it is for Annie, you want two yards and a half.”’ *O dear! is that you? Ain’t you tired to death? I hav’n’t begun to get through; and my head is splitting,’? moaned Mrs. Graves, unheeding the man’s evident impatience, for it was opening-day, and the counter crowded. **How can you remember?”’ “Did you say two yards and a half?’ said the man, recalling her attention in no very pleasant way. Mrs. Graves nodded to him, and whispered: ‘“‘There! I told you so! I declare he ought to be complained of! I never will come here again! What train are you going out in?” ‘*Four thirty; and I have just time to get through. It is three o’clock now. Good-by. Don’t tire yourself out.’ ‘*An hour and a half! dance of time!’? And Mrs. self back contentedly to look at some cashmere for a dressing-gown, which she did not want for another month, and had no intention of purchasing that day. ‘*Some white flannel, if you please, ranging from sixty-two cents to a dollar.” They were ‘‘short-handed,’”’ as some one near Mrs. Archer remarked at the flannel counter that afternoon; and the clerk ad- Oh, that’s abun- traves settled her-

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52 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, — dressed by her was waiting on two ladies at once; but he recognized his old customer with a bow, as pleasant as her voice, and asked if she would wait one minute. ‘*T will come back again. I want some linen opposite.”’ The man looked relieved. Mrs. Archer made the next purchase on her list, deciding as to price, qualits,-etc., with such a quick and prac- tised eye that she was back again just as he was at leisure. Mrs. Graves reached the counter at the same moment, and called out to him, as he lifted the heavy rolls of flannel: ‘‘I must be waited on right away. I am in a great hurry to get to the cars. Show me some colored flannels.”’ ‘‘In one moment, madam.”’ And he turned back to say to Mrs. Archer: ‘‘Seventy-five, eighty-seven, ninety cents—will any of these answer ?”’ ‘*Why, I declare, here we are again! I want something for baby’s sacques. I don’t intend to put her in long-sleeved aprons this winter ; it makes a child look so old. What do you think?’ Meanwhile, the man was kept at bay, with his hand on the pile of colored flan- nels. ‘‘I don’t see how you get along; but I declare I’ve had nothing but waiting and rude- ness ever eince I came intothe doors. I thought I would try once more, as you seemed to manage so well here. Do you make the boys’ under- vests, or get merino ones? Why, there’s that man gone off to attend to some one else! That’s just the way. Now, you can see for yourself.”’ Mrs. Archer had seen all that was needed to help her to an understanding of ber neighbor’s difficulties. Even when the clerk returned, she had him take down a dozen colors before she found one that she liked, though each shade was plainly to be distinguished while on the shelf. ‘That is too dark a red, and I don’t think that blue washes well. Do you think blue will wash, Mrs. Archer? How do you like that shade of rose? Are there any buffs or corn- eolors? You don’t say you are all through? Why, I didn’t think any one was waiting on you. Are you going to the cars now?’’ ‘*Not quite yet; I want to choose an oil- cloth, down stairs. If you have finished by that time, we will go up together.’’ And Mrs. Archer disappeared down the side entrance to the carpet-rooms, which were close at hand, in- stead of going back through the rotunda, as Mrs. Graves would probably have done. She had made her choice, giving up a predilection in favor of a delicate white ground, with bouquets, fora darker pattern, because of its superior service- ableness, before Mrs. Graves had selected all the five shades for as many little sacques, Now, then, she was sure of her quantity, or imagined she was, as she confidently ordered a half yard of each. “Oh, you will spoil them! wait a moment !”’ And Mrs. Archer motioned to the shopman. **Three-quarters is the very least it will take.’’ Mrs. Graves considered a moment, and came to the conclusion that she had really forgotten. ‘* But it is so long since I have bought any—two years or more—and I always forget.’’ Save for this timely interference, she would have found herself the possessor of five useless scraps of flannel, each color being different, with a waste of two dollars. ‘‘If you don’t mind stopping at Genin’s about Ella’s bonnet, and at Jeffries’s for those shoes, we’ll go, now,”’ she said, en- tirely unconscious that she was returning the change from her last bill to her purse, and had scarcely enough to pay her fare out. The ladies compared watches. Mrs. Graves had a full quarter of an hour more than her friend to dispose of. ‘*T always set mine by Mr. Archer’s, who has railroad time, when I am coming in. I like to give myself every moment I am entitled to,’’ she said, ‘‘ and this will not allow us any leisure for calls.’’ **Oh, you are fast, depend upon it! it must be so. I’m obliged to get those shoes; the child has his feet kicked through his last pair. Do come! it will be so stupid, riding all that way alone, when one might have company just as well as not. Any stage will do.’’ And she signaled the first one passing. ‘*That turns off at Grand Street; it will not take you even to Genin’s. I’m sorry, but I know you will not be able to get to the depot in this train, and it is absolutely necessary for me to go out in it.’’ **So it is for me. I promised Mr. Graves faithfully, for Dick is lame, and it won’t do to have him come all that way to the depot twice ; Mr. Graves had to drive so fast this morning, too. It won’t take three minutes longer.”’ But Mrs. Archer felt that she had no right to risk the engagement with her husband, to bring the horses twice to the depot, as Mrs. Graves had suggested ; to hinder the cook, by having dinner put back an hour; to send her youngest child to bed without a kiss, and keep the rest up beyond their usual hour. All this would be sure to follow if she missed the train. So the two friends parted on Stewart’s steps, Mrs. Graves having no time to wait for a Four-

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A DAY’S HISTORY. 53 teenth Street stage, which was made necessary to Mrs. Archer, as her most direct conveyance. Poor Mrs. Graves found herself in a host of difficulties. Her head ached so that she could scarcely choose between the bonnets shown to her; and when she had settled upon one, which, by the way, agreed with nothing else the child was likely to have, in color, found that she had no money left to pay for it, after expressly pro- mising to have no bill sent in. There was change enough for the shoes, and her fare out, she thought, but the bonnet must be had. Oh, there were the trimmings for Ella’s dress, which she had entirely forgotten, and the neck-hand- kerchief for Mr. Graves! Was there ever a poor wife and mother so harassed before! The bonnet was charged ; the trimmings must be had, be- cause of the dressmaker on Monday ; the shoes, the neck-handkerchief, and some household articles she had promised the cook for the last two months, must go till next time. Forgetfal of her late mistake, Mrs. Graves, encumbered by two heavy parcels, got into a Twenty-third Street omnibus, seeing Broadway on the side, and was obliged to walk five long squares at the end of her route, by way of improving her headache. The cars had been gone ten minutes or more, when she reached the depot; and worse still, Mr. Graves had gone in them, thinking he might have overlooked his wife in once passing through the train. She was too sick and dizzy to think of moving, when she had once sunk on a sofa, and watched the door of the gentlemen’s room witb straining eyes and an unquiet heart. The passengers were all crowding into the next train, before it flashed upon her that she was left alone. And her ticket! she had depended on her husband for that. Now she hurriedly turned the few pennies and bits of silver from her purse, and counted them. Five cents want- ing; and of course the clerk could not be sup- posed to know her, or remit the strict rules of the office. **O dear, to be in so much trouble for only five cents !”’ ** All on board !’”’ shouted the conductor. The porter at the door gave one last look around the reception-room, before closing it. She started up with a cry of joy; never had a dime been of so much consequence before, and she had just discovered one at the bottom of her pocket. Not a seat was left on the shady side, when she entered the train, and faint, exhausted by fatigue, want of food, and mental distraction, she was forced to subject herself to the burn- ing rays of the afternoon sun. She was off at 5* last, and had only to sit still and endure pas- sively until she reached home. But where were her packages? Mindful of Mr. Archer’s warning that nothing would get out that night, if sent after noon from Stewart’s, she had bur- dened herself with her own dress and Ella’s, only to leave them on the sofa where she had been sitting. They had her address in full, and she should probably get them in a day or two; but, meanwhile, the dressmaker! and it was im- possible to say when she should get her again. Mr. Graves, vexed at this second tardiness, was not at the depot to meet her; and her quick temper rose, added to her previous irritability, strengthened with every foot of the road home- ward. Her children came clamoring to the door, to be pushed aside, and sent off fretting to the nurse. Mr. Graves, ill at ease with him- self for his neglect, had come to the conclusion that the detention might, after all, have been unavoidable, and offered, by his kiss of wel- come, a treaty of peace between them; but its sullen rejection drove him out of doors again, without an inquiry for her health and comfort. ‘*A lady has been waiting in the parlor to see you, ma’am,’’ said the waiter, appearing from the dining-room, as she set foot upon the stairs. **T couldn’t see the Queen of England to- night, Ann.’’ ‘* But it’s about some poor body, that is in great trouble, she says,’’ urged the girl, with the kindly feelings of her class aroused. Mrs. Graves was penniless, and the probable demand upon her purse recalled it disagreeably. ‘Just tell her I’ve neither the time nor the money ; that’s sufficient !’’ she added, angrily, as she turned away to toil up the stairs. She reached her own room, throwing herself upon the bed, with throbbing temples and an aching heart, to hear the children quarrelling and screaming in the nursery, and her husband come in to his solitary dinner, giving orders in a tone that she knew only too well. Such was ‘the evening of preparation’’ for the holy still- ness of the Sabbath to come. Mrs. Archer was by no means well, and, de- spite her care, felt exhausted and inclined to irritability, when she reached home; but she acknowledged her husband’s kind attentions gratefully, and allowed him to establish her on the sofa in the parlor, for a half hour’s rest, instead of journeying up-stairs before dinner was brought in. The coolness and quiet were refreshing, but not long enjoyed ; the children, attracted from their play by the arrival of the carriage, trooped in from the sandy beach telow

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54 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, the cliff, and encircled her with demonstrations of joy and affection, more sincere than welcome at that moment. Charlie clambered up over her feet, Emma smothered her with her arms and her kisses, while the larger boys, with noisy steps and clamorous tongues, began a history of the day’s rowing and fishing. It is not to be denied that Mrs. Archer’s first impulse was to drive them all away; but in an instant she remembered how impossible it would be for children to understand her fatigue, and how unjust and unkind her irritation would be to them. So she managed matters more quietly, submitting to the suffocating squeezes, until the little ones could have their attention turned by an errand improvised to the nurse, who had thoughtfulness enough to keep them by her. Fred and Aleck soon fol- lowed their father to the stables; and Mrs. Archer once more composed herself on the pil- low her thoughtful husbard had brought her. ‘*There’s a lady, if you please, ma’am. She’s been here before to-day; and she says it’s important.”’ The noise of the opening door jarred upon every nerve. Surely she was excusable in sending a message that she was not well, and would see the visitor some other day. But who could tell what disappointment she might be giving? So Mrs. Archer sat up and arranged her hair hastily, as a stranger was shown in. The timid, hesitating manner betrayed the fear of intrusion, that might readily have caused wounded feeling, had her first thought been acted upon; and, when she came to hear the errand, she was only too thankful that she had not done so. The stranger had come on a self-appointed mission for a poor neighbor, one who was suf- fering from loss of property, children, and her husband’s health. ‘‘She is an American, ma’am, and never needed help before. She would not ask it now herself; but, when I came to find out that she hadn’t a cent or a garment, not so much as a petticoat, and the baby expected daily, it came into my mind that some of the ladies might be glad to help her.’’ Mrs. Archer thought of the delicate lawns and cambrics, the soft snow-white flannels she had purchased that day for her own looked-for little one, and the comforts that wealth and affection had gathered around her. She too had spent all that had been allowe? her in the morning ; but she ever set aside ‘‘a portion for the needy ;’’ and the purse appropriated to it years before had never beenempty. Fatigue was lost in the consciousness of being able to relieve one for whom she could feel so keenly ; and many times that evening grateful thoughts arose, not only that the means were in her power, but that she had exerted the moment- ary self-denial which doubtless had made it an acceptable offering. —— 9-9-9 HISTORY. BY SAMUEL Norwitustanpina the importunate demands of the present, man is continually compelled to recur to the past. In this retrospection, he perceives a real identity with himself in all the generations that have preceded him, dispersed, as they may have been, in every part of the universe and every period of time; but, as he looks abroad upon the advanced stage of society in which he lives, he is inclined to forget his relations to the past; he looks upon the insti- tutions amid which he lives, and whose fruits he enjoys, as coeval with time, a part of the primordial creation. For a full and adequate appreciation of the blessings of political and religious liberty, he must take a view of the land of bondage, and see the degraded and miserable situation of the slave in former times. In order to form a just estimate of the value of social equality, he must JOHNSONes have seen the badge of imperial dignity upon the brow of the tyrant, and the glitter of royal paraphernalia upon the breast that has never felt a noble emotion. Then, and not till then, will he have a proper conception of the worth of these privileges. But, with such a view, he only beholds the two extremes; he does not see the intervening links by which they are connected ; he does not behold the compli- cated mechanism of events which has produced the present. To him, the causes which dis- organize society and corrode the foundations of social happiness are all unknown. But, in order to keep and transmit to pos- terity this inheritance in safety, every source of evil must be well understood ; and how can they be better ascertained than by an intimate acquaintance with history? Itis its task toshow what causes have conspired to raise society from

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HISTORY. 55 its original degradation to its present eminence ; it places man on an elevation whence he may view society in all its stages during the myste- rious cycles of time, rolling and unfolding them- selves to his view. It draws aside the veil which separates the past from the present, and affords a panoramic view of all nations. By it, every people is revivified, all nations reanimated, and the bearing of every measure manifested. No scheme can be invented, nor enterprise pro- posed, the workings of which have not been fully demonstrated in its pages. It is to this touchstone the politician applies all his theo- rizings ; and in this crucible the philosopher tries his hypotheses. But history will appear of still greater im- portance, if the operations of the mind are con- templated. Though, in itself considered, the mind may be perfect, yet the medium through which it acts is so imperfect as to wholly modify its actions. Human nature is so blinded by her own independence and self-confidence that when she is interested, it is impossible for the mind to disarm her of her predilections ; so that our opinions upon most subjects are mere local and educational prejudices. But history leads us into other scenes and among strange person- ages; and here, amid foreign circumstances, elicits a faithful and honest decision. In this way, nature is stripped of her preconceived notions and prejudices, instead of being con- firmed in them by bigoted and dogmatic con- tradictions. But there is still a more important use of history. It has a more noble office to fulfil. In it, we discover the great counterpart of revelation. Without this, revelation would be an inexplicable mystery; and, by it, not only is it divested of all intricacy, but proven. Events which, at their occurrence, appear the most unmeaning, and fraught with the most disastrous consequences, when beheld with the light of Revelation, in connection with history, all display an overruling Power. What if the Roman soldiers did demolish the schools of Grecian learning? The genius and wisdom of her late days were rapidly corrupt- ing and becoming dangerous in the hands of her miserable, wrangling sophists. Can we not now see why the northern tribes were allowed to overrun the empire of the Casars, and overthrow their ancient monuments? Was it not that the then existing vice and corrup- tion might be swept into oblivion, while the flood might bear peacefully and securely on its bosom the knowledge and virtue of her better days? Nor in later times have England and France been free from the fires of civil wars; yet by them they were purified ; a better order of things has succeeded the ancient regime ; and from the remains of this combustion have sprung up the living and eternal principles of liberty and justice. So that, in the checkered history of mankind, every change synchronizes with prediction, and every note beats in unison with it. Every revolution constitutes an addi- tional note in the page of history, which, although at first may be found discordant, yet is finally found harmonious ; while its apparent dissonance the more fully displays the power of the Maker. In this way, we make a proper use of history ; and thus we may see everything that has be- fallen our ancestors is an object of interest to ourselves, either as it helped to produce or casts light upon our present condition. Thus we discover that other nations and countries besides our own claim our admiration, and that our privileges are not solely the result of our own experience, but that they have been at- tained by the slow and steady progress of many ages. Here, too, we have indubitable proof of the truth of revelation. Then let him who would look into the future, and know the des- tiny of his race, read and ponder well her pages. ————_ + weer — Formation oF Dew.—Our countryman, Dr. Wells, of South Carolina, was the first man to explain the beautiful theory of the formation of dew. It is like the collection of vapor on a pitcher of cold water on a hot day, or the breath on a window-glass in a hot room in cold weather. The diffusion of heat is upon the principle of what may be termed “ give and take.’’ The human body is sending off heat as truly as a coal of fire, and a living plant as truly as either, but of course in a lesser degree. If the plant receives heat from another body equal to that it throws off, it maintains its warmth. Clouds even reflect back heat; hence there is no dew in cloudy nights. Absence of dew is therefore said to portend a storm. It only indicates the presence of clouds. But, if the heat of plants is sent into space, as it is when the sky is clear, they become cooled, and dew gathers onthem. Dewnever gathers on bodies of man or animals; and it is not strictly correct to say that the dew is inhaled. What we in- hale of a damp evening is water in the shape of vapor. Dew is water in the shape of vapor. The dew-drop on the petal of the lily or the rose is the tear of maiden innocence weeping in un- requited love.

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WHO IS THE WIDOW POLLY LEE? A SKETCH. BY PATIENCE PERKINS (LATE PRICB). Wuen I see a twinkle of fun in my dear old husband’s eye, I humor the mood he is in, though, sometimes, it does try my endurance a little, I confess. When a man keeps up a mystification for a whoie year, it is enough to test the amiability even of the step-mother of ten children, and the mother, in her own right, of one. I wish, Mr. Godey, you could see my Theodosius Price Perkins now! fright, and that is all you can say for him. His legs have outrun his pantaloons, and his wrists are stretching out of his sleeves; his jackets all split in the back, his elbows peep out of the cloth, and the worn knees of his trowsers are retreating up to his body; the visor of his cap hangs, by a single thread, over his ear; and in this audacious guise, he is con- tinually running the streets. I almost ashamed of my fee-simple in such a shame- less specimen of Young America. But what can Ido? If I think he is not fit to go out, and catch him and put him a little in order, all I make by it is, that he is soon in a condition not fit to come in. Mrs. Sowerby—oh, by the way, I have never told you how our amiable friend buried the hatchet, and returned to her allegiance to St. Timothy’s. Of course you remember the ghost she raised, and how Mr. Perkins laid it more effectually than ever a ghost was laid in the Red Sea itself.* Well, she lost all comfort with her new friends, after that. She had made all the ghost-seers in town perfectly ridiculous ; there was not one of them who did am not turn square around, and declare that he or she never had believed in any such nonsense. It was all Mrs. Sowerby, and nobody else Rev. Barnabas Grace paid her a timely and judicious visit, and Mrs. Sowerby was back in her pew the very Sunday after. She never left the church, she says, and never had any idea of such a thing—not she, indeed ; and she often wonders how any such idle story ever could get about. Well, Mrs. Sowerby says I might keep Theo- dosius better dressed, and more tidy. She has forgotten what wandering Arabs her own chil- * See Lady's Book for January, 1858. 56 He is just a’ dren were, and are now, for that matter. One of them is in Australia, and another in Cali- fornia, and the dear knows where the rest are! But it is a satisfaction, she says, to know that they are all doing well, wherever they may be ; Jshould want more proof of that than she seems to have. But Widow Sowerby’s children are none of my concern; I only wish she would not take so much upon her in regard to mine, and those of everybody else. She was not spon- sor for Theodosius, and that is one drop of com- fort in my cup, at any rate. In plumped Theodosius, one morning, at breakfast-time, head first, as usual. I did not know the creature was even out of bed; but he had circulated all over the village already. ‘Two more wagon-loads of goods at our other house, father.’’ ‘Who has taken that house, Mr. Perkins ?’’ I asked, as I pulled off Theo’s cap, and flung it in a corner, rubbed his hair back, and stopped his mouth with a poultice of buckwheat and honey. ‘¢*The Widow Lee.” ‘Who is the Widow Lee?’ ‘* We will step over presently and inquire’’— ‘*Gracious, Mr. Perkins! ask the woman her- self’’— ‘*If we can be of any service to her.”’ Theodosius choked with laughter and a mouthful of coffee and hot cakes. The young rogue can catch a joke as quick as his father. Between that worthy man and his first crop of Perkinses, my Theodosius Price bids fair to be spoiled entirely ; but it can’t be helped now, | suppose. Heigh-ho! Mrs. Lee we found a nice person enough—say five-and-twenty—the manners of a lady, and the self-possession of a mother. She had one child with her, the image of herself in person, and a perfect treasure. I speak by the card here, for, imp as Theodosius is growing, I know there is nothing like a child to bring a woman out, and give her courage of heart and ease of manners. No woman knows what she can do till she is married; and those who are married and widowed have the utmost opportunity. They say men always like widows: I don’t wonder.

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WHO IS THE WIDOW POLLY LEE? 57 I like them myself; and if ever I feel proud of my sex, it is when I see what a bereaved woman can actually accomplish, with love for her motive and faith for her strength. I do like widows, then, though Mrs. Sowerby does put my theory to the trial. I have always to pretend indifference when Mr. Perkins takes it into his head to mystify the gossips ; though, certainly, I have my share of the curiosity that belongs to the daughters of Eve, and the sons, too. I know it is wiser to leave my quaint, dear consort to take his own way; yet, on this occasion, I really could hardly contain myself. I tried an artifice which women usually find infallible. Throwing into my eyes the ‘‘light of other days,” when I was Patience Price, and Perkins was a widower bewitched, I leaned most confidingly upon his arm, as we walked home, and, bowing forward, directed an affectionate battery full in Perkins’s face. No widow could have excelled that glance, not even the Widow Wadman herself; and I intimated, in the most careless, yet conciliating way, in the most earnest mood, yet hypocriti- cally cool manner, that I did not want to know, but really wished he would tell me, ‘‘ Who is this Widow Lee ?”’ Perkins was almost conquered. I saw the faintest gleam of the satisfaction which beamed in his face, when, long ago, I could not bring myself to say I hated him, and he guessed all the rest, and persevered till he hooped my wedding-finger. I felt sure the victory was mine, for there is a great deal that can be done with husbands, if you will. I believe the fool- ish creatures always would be lovers, if the women would only permit them. Perkins was visibly softening. Now for it, I thought. No, he did not, he would not tell. He dropped his voice to that gentle tone which repels contra- diction, and shows that a man is in earnest— gentle in manner, but firm in spirit. He said it was quite enough for him to be vexed with her secret, without putting me to the same daily trouble. ‘‘ How,’ he asked, ‘‘ how could you parry the questioning of Madame Sowerby— * Look where she comes, Radiant from double chin through flabby cheeks, Up to the very frontlet of her wig, With mantling wonder!’” ** You wretch !’’ I cried, dealing him a hearty blow as high as I could reach, upon his long, broad back. He had scarce recovered from the shock, or I from my laughter, when the Widow Sowerby came up, and forced us into assumed com- posure. I don’t think she could have seen our byplay on the highway, or we should since have heard of it, with variations. Disdaining all comments on the weather, and all morning compliments, she came directly to the question —‘* Who is the Widow Polly Lee ?”’ ‘* How do you know she is a widow ?”’ ** Because,’”’ said Mrs. Sowerby, ‘‘ Amanda Jones’s girl met a man with a load of house- hold goods, and he asked her which house was the Widow Lee’s.”’ ** But how,”’ persisted Perkins, ‘‘ how do you know she is Polly Lee ?”’ Anybody but a person bursting with small curiosity might have suspected that Perkins was making game of her. As for me, I had a violent cough; it was the only cover I could contrive for my cachinnatory impulses. But Mrs. Sowerby proceeded as correctly in her answer, and as circumstantially, as if she had been a witness under oath: ‘‘ Why, I saw her daughter at the gate—a sweet young thing, but her city shoes won’t do for our dews and damps —and I asked the child what was her mother’s name, and she said, Aunt Polly.’’ ** Aunt Polly !’’ cried Perkins. ‘‘ Well, that is too funny!’’ And we both laughed heartily, and were glad of the chance. Little did Mrs. Sowerby suspect that she was the subject of the mirth, in which, for wonder, she could not join. **Indeed, everything is strange about the woman,’’ Mrs. Sowerby continued. ‘‘She is nobody knows who, and comes here from no- body knows where; brings people with her, who set up her furniture; directly, no thanks to anybody here, she is ‘quite well, I thank you,’ as if she had lived in Fairview all her days. Do tell me, Mr. Perkins, if you know the tenant of your own house! Who is the Widow Polly Lee ?’’ ** Certainly, Mrs. Sowerby, I will give you all the information that appears to be in evidenoe before the committee. Widow Polly Lee is’’— Mrs. Sowerby took, unconsciously, the attitude of an intensely interested listener—‘‘ aunt to her own child.”’ ‘You are an old plague, Perkins, and always were !|’’ exclaimed Mrs. Sowerby, pettishly, as she moved away to repeat the question—‘‘ Who is the Widow Polly Lee?’’ Everybody was making the same inquiry, and the very church-bells, on Sunday morning, seemed— As the fool thinks, So the bell tinks— to troll out—‘‘ Who is the Widow Polly Lee ?”’ She was handsome, certainly—the neatest dress,

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58 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the most graceful manners, the prettiest child! If she could have taken a seat in every pew in the house, every pew-holder would have been only too much obliged to her. The men were delighted, the women puzzled, and the widow herself affectedly as unconscious of the sensa- tion she caused as a proud beauty in a drawing- room, The excitement of curiosity flourished in the spring, with the vernal growth; it aided summer’s heats in exhausting the panting pub- lic; autumn, which brought its kindly fruits, brought no answer to the question—‘‘ Who is the Widow Polly Lee?’ She was not fashion- able, and she was not unfashionable ; she was not penurious, and she was not lavish. Women usually like to hunt in couples, when they go shopping ; but nobody was ever admitted thus to her confidence. Nobody ever knew whether she shopped at all, or when; nobody was con- sulted about her wardrobe. Duly, in its season, the dress appropriate came out, as if, somewhere in the Widow Lee’s house, there was a fountain of dry-goods and trimmings ready made. The post-office was watched; but a Philadelphia post-mark is very indefinite; and it fixed no- thing of her possible identity that she, also, took the Lady’s Book. Every lady subscribes to that. Widow Sowerby called on the Widow Lee; Widow Lee made a note of it; Widow Lee re- turned Widow Sowerby’s call ; Widow Sowerby re-returned the call, and asked Widow Lee to tea; Widow Lee accepted, and reciprocated the compliment. So the Widow Lee was made free of the corporation of widows in Fairview ; then we fortunates, who have not yet lost our help- mates, took our turn in tea and toasting. The village never was livelier than during the rou- tine of eating Widow Lee into its social circle and privileges; yet nobody could answer the question, ‘‘Who is the Widow Lee?’ The fortress of her secrecy was attacked in all direc- tions, by mine and countermine, by storm and siege; but to all approaches, however made, Widow Lee was impregnable. So was Perkins ; he was her voucher, and everybody was fain to take her upon his recommendation, and to ad- mire her upon her own merits. The men were perfect fools. I know that she was obliged to refuse three matrimonial offers, and that there came near happening more than one quarrel in relation to the Widow Polly Lee. I have often observed that the praise and favor of the men bestowed upon any lady in particular are not always the warrant of honor to the said particular lady, from her own over- particular sex. The women began to pick holes in the Widow Lee. Mystery is delightful up to a certain point ; beyond that, people get out of patience. Widow Lee first subsided into nobody, and then, from the zero of indifference, was fast rising to the fever heat of, not slander outright, but innuendo, when a diversion hap- pily oceurred—happily, I mean, for the Widow Lee. She would not have had character enough left to take to the next place, in another month. The Widow Sowerby was awful. Christmas comes but once a year; and there were great preparations made, last year, for the embellishment of St. Timothy’s. The gentle- men took a wonderful interest in the matter, for the Widow Lee lent her fine taste to the decorations. It was provoking, as Mrs. Sowerby said. Year after year, we had found it the greatest trouble to obtain a handful of ever- greens; the gentlemen would hardly move ; but now that the Widow Lee was in the work, you might have fancied that ‘‘ Birnam-wood had come to Dunsinane,”’ such piles of verdure were brought from the forests to the church. The occasion, except that low murmuring about Widow Lee, was one of very pleasant excite- ment. Perkins was in it with all his heart; and as to Theodosius Price, who will tag every step after his father, he fretted out three suits of old clothes, as good as new, which I had constructed for the winter every-day’s wear. He is a terror on clothes, that boy! The main point of decoration was yet undeter- mined. It was the device to be placed over the table—no, I mean the altar. Not all the troublesome questions which disturbed the Council of Trent were half so vexatious. The Council took ever so many years to settle their difficulties. We had ever so few days. Christ- mas, as I just said, comes but once a year; but, when it does come, it is upon you suddenly. What with the pies and the presents, the re- hearsals of the choir, and the Dorcas Society, Christmas never finds you ready. Here it was, with us, the twenty-fourth in the afternoon, and the great point was still to settle, the device over the altar—no, I mean the table. So many were the words upon words, and words about words, with never a word of charity or forbearance in the whole, that I for once was quite distracted. I can’t tell now what heresy I may utter in damask, or set forth in moreen, predicate in tables, or map out in an altar cloth. All I can tell is that, according to Widow Angelina Sowerby, it makes all the difference in the world whether you call the table an altar, or whether you call the altar a table, the same identical piece of chancel _~~. @h ao ok 4a2aen5e axseerr”e@Fe nA f we = ot

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WHO IS THE WIDOW POLLY LEE? 59 furniture remaining untouched all the while. I don’t know which is right; and Perkins only laughs at me. But Mrs. Sowerby was deter- mined to bring the Widow Polly Lee to the test of soundness on the question. She proposed, with a sly purpose, that they should leave the disputed decoration to the discretion of the Widow Polly Lee. If it came from her hands high church, then the Widow Sowerby would lead the low church to the attack, and, if low church, she would head the other division. Any how, the Widow Lee was to be extinguished at once, and forever. Of course, there wera very deep principles involved in this mode of polemical warfare. Well, the Widow Polly Lee did not shrink from the ordeal. The church was finished, all but the test tablet. A few of us were waiting, in the dim light of a couple of candles, for the Widow Polly Lee. Her servant came instead, and brought the device. Widow Sowerby pricked her fingers with impatience as she opened. She was on the pivot, ready to de- clare against the ornament, on the one side or the other, as the case might be. Oh, Angelina Sowerby, relict of a doctor of divinity, how in thee were then concentrated all the motives and impulses of those who quarrel about words, and forget principles, who delight in contro- versy, and know nothing of charity, who dis- pute about trifles, and forget the weightier matters ! The device was beautiful—simple and appro- priate. There was not a vestige or hint of party feeling in it. Mrs. Sowerby would have rejoiced to say either that the Widow Polly Lee was a Puseyite and a Sacramentarian, or a Puritan and no church-woman. Either would have served her purpose equally well; but neither could be based on that beautiful star, the memorial of Bethlehem. But her pent-up hate could hold in no longer. As one praised the work, and another admired it, Widow Sowerby broke out: ‘‘ Mrs. Lee, indeed! Who is the Widow Polly Lee? J for one do not be- lieve she is a widow at all.” ‘*Neither do I, mother,’”? said the manly voice of a hirsute individual, who now came forward out of the shadows. ‘‘ Allow me to present my wife to you.” **Clement Chrysostom Sowerby, my darling boy!’ cried the Widow, surprised and delighted out of her acerbity for once, ‘‘ when did you come from Australia? or was it from California, or Panama, or—’”’ ‘From all three, mother, in their turn.”’ ** And is this dear woman, whom we all love so much, and J more thansall—is she your wife? And how then a widow?’ and why Widow Lee? and how is her child her niece? and—tell me quick, for I am dying to know. Oh, but I am too glad to see you! and so well married, too !’’ ‘Come!’ interrupted Perkins, “let us ad- journ to our house, and put this couple there on their purgation.’”’ And so we did. I’ve often observed that Mr. Perkins, who makes no boast of his opinions, shows more quiet respect for things sacred than many who make much more noise. Who is the Widow Polly Lee? can be better answered without Ma’am Sowerby than with her. It seems that hér son married a lady much too good for him then, though we His wife, tired of his vagabond life, returned to her friends. But, uneasy in her awkward position, she came, at The question hope he has improved. Mr. Perkins’s suggestion, to Fairview, and, by the same worthy individual’s advice, for obvi- ous reasons, resumed her maiden-name, with the ‘‘ Widow” prefixed. The child remained long enough with her cousins to make an aunt of her mother. The heroine of the year in Fairview belonged toa class now—thanks to increased travelling facili- Such was the mystery. ties—becoming extinct, but once known as CaALiIFoRNIA Wipows. Mrs. Sowerby, Jr., still remains in Fairview. The Widow Sowerby has more than once hinted at the folly of keeping up two houses ; but the Widow Polly Lee is deaf to all over- tures, and would rather wander houseless than submit to such an inmate. The returned Cali- fornian, who made for us a pleasant Christanas Tale, proves a very acceptable addition to the circle of our country side. 7 oor PRAYER. BY @. R. CALVERT. "Lis prayer that lifts the portals of the heart, And pours a flood of beauty o'er the soul ; No tyrant’s chain can force it to depart, No frown can smother, and no threat control When pause the powers of blood-drunk war, to see Frail bodies crouching to each threat'ning nod, The soul, triumphant, soars high, proud, and free, O’er all the realms of nature—to her God. The things of time! ah, how they melt or flee Before its influence, gentle and serene— As soft as moonlight on a sleeping sea, Strong as the faith which moves it all unseen! Were we to search the armory of heaven, Amid trath's weapons, that are gathered there, We'd find none better than to us is given— The Christian’s earnest, fervent, heartfelt prayer.

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60 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. RHYMINGS FOR THE NIGHT. BY FANNIE STEVENS BRUCE. Tue young June day hath rolled its round, And sober-footed night Hath trodden out each sunset glow, Each gleam of crystal light ; The pine-groves chant a sadder tale, The brooks a sweeter strain, And daintily the errant wind Roves mountain, wood, and plain I fling each folding shutter back, And from the casement high Lean forth, to catch earth’s dewy breath, And watch the arching sky— The arching sky, inlaid with stars, Which God himself hath given All-glorious might! yet this is but The lower floor of Heaveu! The woodbine sprays wave soft and cool Around my fevered brow ; With now a pitying caress, And then a murmur low ; While honeysuckles shake their cups With chimings sweet and clear As ever wooed the dreamy night, Or gladdened mortal ear. Such hours as this would once have lulleu Each thougit-storm into calm, Have fallen on my troubled soul Like drops of Gilead balm ; But now they bring a strange unrest, A weary sense of pain, Which deepens as the moments speed, Which Death alone may tame! One little hour ago, I moved Amid a festive throng, With joy-light quivering in my eye And on my lip a song; And as I watched each sunny .ace, Each fairy form glide by, I gayly smiled—bethinking none Were half as glad as I. But while the air was dense with mirth, °' And cheeks with bloom were bright, There came a vision, wondrous rare Between me and the light. A youthful form, an earnest face, With forehead lily fair, And rippling o’er it, wave by wave, A mass of night-black hair. I sought to read those brown, dove eyes, Veiled by each drooping lid, And could but deem some spirit pure Within their depth was hid; { met their glance—my heart was stilled! 1 hushed my careless breath! For, living counterpart, he stood Of her, the Bride of Death! Of her, who, many a year agone, Roved earth a care-free child— Sister of love, and truth, and faith, Spirit all undefiled! Whose tiny drop of being swelled As time’s swift changes rung, Until, from childhood’s tender germ, A radiant maid up-sprung. Of her, to whom this summons came— Across @ surging sea— ** Blood-purified, thy Saviour calls! Redeemed, Heaven waits for thee!" Of her, whose mouldering body rests Within a church-yard lone, A marble cross above her head— Her feet with vines o’ergrown. Mignonne, beloved, white-robed, white-wing’d, Safe on the eternal shore, Gathered unto a Father's breast, To sorrow nevermore. Why should these grief-clouds sweep life's sky? Why should these fierce tears flow ? An earthly angel while with us, Thou art a heavenly now! THE WILD ROSE. (To my Mother.) BY HARWOOD G@. ROBERTSON Accept this young, wild rose For its simplicity, What loveliness it shows In sweetest purity ! It wears no showy dress, It is content to bless The lonely wilderness. I’ve shaken off the dew That on its bosom lay And sent it fresh to you, Sweet mother, far away! Though age will touch its breast And spoil its gracefulness, Oh, do not love it less! For it is sweet as when, In morning bright and blessed, I plucked it from the stem Of its parental breast. Thus truthful love will last, When youthful bloom is past; Though time may beauty blight, Love, love is ever bright. MEMORY. (Inseribed to W1LL1AM CARROLL.) BY MARIAN GWYNN. On, rarer far than jewels from the mine, Or gems beneath the sea, Long lost and buried treasures all are thine, Oh, fond, bright memory! From thy dim treasure cells the joy, now fled, As a faint sunset gleams, And thine are all the shining hopes that shed A lustre o’er my dreams. And faded hopes and dreams are all thine own, In their unquiet grave, Which by all but thee unwrecked, unknown, Flow’d as a hidden wave. Affection poured as perfume from the flowers Upon the summer earth ; The deep devotion through long silent hours To an ideal worth.

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Thine are the still and unseen ties that bind The spirit to the earth, And thrill the heart—the whisp’ring of the wind, Like voices round a hearth. The lulling hum of happy, summer bees, The lone streams blue with light, The bursting of the leaves from forest trees, The still, pale stars of night. ‘Thy voices, like the tones of dear ones dead, Breathe o'er my soul again, And on my heart their faint, sweet music sled Like some forgotten strain ; Or songs from shore to sailors on the seas, Upon the sweet wind’s breath ; These are thine, and stronger thou art iu these, Far mightier than death. A VOICE FROM A STOVE IN A LADY’S SITTING-ROOM. (Addressed to the sisterhood who daily gathered round it BY SWERDNA. A sTove! a stove! a queer, a grim-looking stove Am I, fair ladies! yet worthy your love. For, plain as in truth are my figure and form, Yet bright glows my heart while I'm keeping you wari ; And in this, each and all will surely agree, That I am the life of your gay company. At eight in the morning, my slumbers to waken, A hand grasps me roughly, and then, when well shaken, My breakfast I’m fed ; and though you may question, A coal-bite, in truth, best suits my digestion. Through the day I am present, your work to speed on First an iron I warm, my heart laid upon, To smooth out your silks, or whatever it be Which your fair hands are sewing, with skill good to see; Then some water I bear on my black, flattened her’, To lave those fair hands when their labor is sped ; Or moisten the brow, as in plaiting her bair, Sweet Annie her toilet is making with care. So, too, when you ‘ve suffered the cold, winter air, Through corridor passing, ascending the stair, Or heard the keen winds as they moan through the trees, Or the wintery blast does your blood almost freeze! Ah, how at such moments you rush to my side, Aad over me hover with hands open wide! While faces grow brighter, and happy appear, As they heartily cry, ‘‘ How good to be here!” Whene’er you discourse in your hours of leisure Of events that are passing, and then without measure Form plans for the future of bu«iness or pleasure— Though silent I am, yet in heart sympathizing, I burn in my cheeks with the color uprising; Which marks how I feel with enthusiast’s glow, Though I cannot express it, in speech high or low. Thus, cheering and helping, the days pass away Of winter, dear winter, so cheerful and gay The happiest time (I say with good reason) To me, of my life, is this favorite season ; For what can be pleasant in summer to me, Since exiled I am—uo society see ? Confined in a dark, subterranean cave, Without food, without light, only shelter I have VoL. LVI.—6 POETRY. | 61 Say, who would endure such a summer as this, If he had not before him a winter of bliss ! Such a winter is mine. In parting, I pray, May each one and all have a gay Christmas Day! “TOO LATE THE VOW.”’ BY NILLA. Too late the vow, there was no need Of deadlier device, Suspense hath chilled her till she seem» A statue carved in ice. Too long the swollen heart hath borne The pent-up tide of feeling: Too long hath masked itself in pride, Unhonored love concealing. Too long hath trained the lip to smile Hath checked the sudden tear, Hath bidden back the rising blush, Impelled by constant fear. Too late the vow, no glance of love Lights up the silent eye, The heart hath wasted drop by drop Till all its founts are dry. Semblance of life, a cheating show, From which all life is fled, Better by fur to die at once, Than thus to live when dead! SERAPHINA. BY W. H. DRAKE AN angel descended yesternight, Swiftly from the realms of light, And caught a sister spirit home, Through the balmy bowers of bliss to roam, Where spring is eternal, and blossoms of love Bloom ever, nor fade in that region above Oh sadly sweet are the tears we shed! As softly the dead in the shroud we lay, Yet scarcely seems the spirit fled, For beams of heavenly brightness stray O’er the beauteous form of breathless clay : As rosy the gleam on the mountain's brow, When the night clouds brood, and the sun is low With fairest flowers of earth we deck Thy snowy brow, and twine thy neck With purest pearls from the Indian Sea ; Yet purer the tribute of love we bring, And fairer the flowers of hope that spring From the bitter tears that drop for thee. Though faded the star from my weary night, Yet her bright rays glow in the courts of light When autumn zephyrs shall eddy round Leafy trophies o’er the ground, And fading roses droop and sigh Sweetly on the sacred mound, And warbling songsters haste to fly, Ere the breath of the ice-king sweep the «ky ; Oh, then will I pray for the spring to come, nd my prisoned spirit be wafted home!

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. CORA. BY MRS. J. D. L. One year ago, two hazel eyes Were gazing into mine, "Neath chestnut curls that clustered round Like tendrils of the vine; Two dimpled arms with fond caress Around my neck were thrown, A little rosy, velvet cheek Was pressing ’gainst mine own One year ago, a practling voice Like music, low and clear, Shaping itself in lisping words, Fell on my listening ear ; And little pattering feet were heard Upon my chamber floor ; Oh! can it be that I shall hear That fairy step no more? No more! alas, that I no more May see her dark eyes shine, Nor feel her rosy, dimpled check Rest swimmingly on mine ; No more to hear her gentle voice, Like music, low and sweet ; No more to hear upon the floor Her little restless feet. No more! for just one year ago, Across her quiet breast, We folded those soft, dimpled hands, And laid her down to rest. No more! yet, oh, my grieving heart, Let all thy murmurings cease, In the Good Shepherd's sheltering arms, She rests in perfect peace ; So safely nestling from the touch Of sorrow, sin, and care; O Lord! that I at last may see, And clasp my darling there WHEN FIRST I GAZED. BY FINLEY JOHNSON Waewn first I gazed upon thy face, So free from signs of pride, I failed to see the beauties which Thy modesty did hide; But one by one they came to view From out thy sunny eyes, Until at last I thought of thee As one from heaven's skies ; And, as I on thy virtues dwelt, Thy modesty and worth, I wondered if, from courts above, Thou hadst not strayed to earth I know thy thoughts sport through thy mind Like children ‘midst the flowers, And that thy deeds of goodness fal! Like summer's gentle showers ; I know full well that in thy heart Are treasures rich and rare, The preciousness of which no gems Or jewels can compare; And love canst ne'er from thy soul By envious thoughts be driven, For, like the rainbow seen through tears, Thou seemest part of heaven. Enigmas, ANSWERS TO CHARADES AND ENIGMAS IN DECEMBER NUMBER. 17. Snow-drop. 18. A book. ANSWER TO PUZZLE IN DECEMBER NUMBER. Mrs. Sarah M. Post, Yonkers, New York CHARADES. 1. My first is used to give a light On every dark aad wintry night; My neat the schoolmaster may say He's forced to use, but not in play: My whole is on the table put, On purpose that my first should suit. 2. My frst is an animal youth thinks a prize, My neat walks erect, and looks up to the skies ; My whole, when my first it bestrides, is best seen. Now see if the neaning from this you can glean. ENIGMAS. 3. In things of note I’m plainly seen, But yet in Nothing am I found ; In water, fire, eurth, or air, I'm not—yet still I’m in the ground At night I always stay at home, But from the day I'm known to roam. RIDDLE, BY SIR ISAAC NEWTON Tue following is ascribed to Sir Isaac Newton, on the authority of Horace Walpole :— Four persons sat down at a table to play, They played all that night and part of next day It must be observed that when they were seated, Nobody played with them, and nobody betted ; When they rose from the place, each was winner a guinea: Now tell me this riddle, and prove you're no ninny ACROSTICAL ENIGMA. I am composed of twelve letters. My 1, 8, 5, 12, is a beast of burden. My 2, 9, 4, 5, is applied in contradistinction to “ writ- ten.” My 3, 7, 1, 12, was once the metropolis of the world My 4, 8, 11, 12, 9, is an instrument used in boring. My 5, 10, 6, 12, is a trimming worn by ladies. My 6, 10, 11, 12, denotes a place of imprisonment. My 7, 3, 4, 6, 5, 12, was formerly appealed to for infor- mation concerning the future. My 8, 3, 10, 5, is a range of mountains in eastern Europe My 9, 2, 8, 11, 12, is an article used by ladies for fresh ening their complexion. My 10, 9, 4, 5, is a large salt lake in Asia. My 11, 3, 7, 6, 12, 9, is a man engaged in selling certain commodities. My 12, 5, 1, is a tree of noble dimensions, the pride of New Haven My whole is a bravery that all should possess. —_——-

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TUDOR COTTAGE. 63 GROUND-PLAN. A. Breakfast-room. B. Kitchen. C. Water-closet. D. Larder. E. Store-closet. F. Pantry. G. Drawing-room. H. Dining-room. [. Greenhouse. J. Porch.

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64 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. NOVELTIES FOR JANUARY. Pig. 1. ued {ry ro. @ oe Fig. 1.—Fichu of black guipure, a very deli- eate point; the insertion is set upon black Brussels net, pointwise ; the lappets are long, and cross at the waist. Fig. 2.—Undersleeve of muslin, with band and cuff of embroidery ; the band runs length- wise, to fill up the interval formed by the opening of the sleeve on the forearm, now so much the fashion. The cuff has a delicate blue ribbon drawn through it. Fig. 3.—This sleeve is also closed at the wrist for winter, and has the trimming continued up the forearm, which is the peculiarity of all the new undersleeves. (See Fashion Chitchat.) Figs. 4 and 5.—Styles of headdresses for evening wear. Fig. 4 is composed of cerise velvet ribbon, mingled with bullion beads ; two hands wrought with the bullion cross the head ; 2} loops of ribbon mingled with the same, and | H finished by flowing ends, are placed behind and |

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MOVELTIES FOR JANUARY. 65 above the ear, on each side. Fig. 5 is still newer, and very becoming to some faces. The hair is turned completely back from the fore- Fig. 5. nead, and gathered into a net of rose-colored chenille, with grelots behind. A cordon of che- nille to correspond, passes over the head, and is terminated on each side of the face by bou- quets of biack roses, with buds and foliage. Fig. 6.—Cape or fichu, intended for dinner or evening-dress for those who do not care to have the neck and arms entirely exposed. It may be made of alternate folds of thulle and tarleton, fastened by bands of rich ribbon set on as quilles. Fig. 6. Fig. 7.—Hood for evening wear, of cashmere, any color that is preferred. It is drawn out to its full width at the back, to show the construc- tion. The pieces are cut separately, embroi- dered in a rich braid pattern, and set together with narrow velvet ribbon. It has a nicely quilted silk lining, and a ruche of ribbon inside the brim.

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06 GODEY’S LADY S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. A NEW DOUBLE BODY. See Tnagram, page 74.) lr is intended for silk, but can be made in many other different materials. This body has a peculiar style, which is advantageous to the fizure, and especially suitable to the season. The facings, which turn back in the front, showing the fulness between, give an air of novelty, which is much improved by the dis- py of the handsome cord and tassel which appear between. The sleeves are new and be- coming, as well as being more consistent with the weather which change of season makes it most natural to expect. This dress looks re- markably well made in brown silk, the trim- mings being in black velvet; the buttons are of gold, which adds greatly to the effect. — --wweer HOME-MANUFACTURED PICTURE-FRAME. (See engraving, page 10. Directions.—Take a piece of japanned tin, such as signs are made of; have it cut rather longer than it is wide ; then cut (with the scis- sors) an oval piece from the centre, leaving a broad margin to ornament; have tlis neatly tacked to a board the same size and shape, and about a quarter of an inch thick. It is now > & 2 th @& ae ae a & 22 oe oe ee, ~ mal pen

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e WORK DEPARTMENT. 67 ready for ornamenting. Take some thin pearl, | In cutting the pearl, care is necessary, as it and cut with scissors, and file the size and | is apt to fly off, and spoil the work; trace with shape you want (say a rose and two or three a pencil the flower (round is easiest for begin- small flowers round it); stitch it upon the ners) on the pearl; then cut it carefully round ; japanned frame with a little Japan varnish or then notch it with scissors or file. Pearl cut- glue; when this is dry and firm, commence ting seems difficult at first ; but a little practice gilding the lines and stamens on the pearl will make it easy. It must, however, be thin. flowers, and the stems and leaves round it, To those who do not know how to gild, take also small flowers in gilt; then gild the edge of a camel’s-hair brush, very small, and with gol the frame, also round oval place, and it is done. size trace over the parts you wish to gild; then Looking-glass frames are handsome done in lay on the gold leaf, and press it down with a this way ; but the frame for this should be the little cotton ; then rub it off in a moment with same width all the way round, about four or cotton. Should you wish to remove any part five inches wide, according, however, to its of the gilding, you can do so by rubbing it with size ; both edges should be gilded, and bunches a little cotton dipped in spirits of turpentine. of flowers, either in pearl, or gilt alone, about This requires a little practice ; but it is easy six or eight inches apart, with checkered, or and a little pains taking will insure success. chain-work, or figures between. 1 —_——..__« » ee » —_ NEEDLE-BOOK. Tus little article is simple and useful, and | cloth, or silk, the first of these being very much makes a pretty present without any great ex- | the most handsome. The color is quite op- penditure of time. It may be made of velvet, | tional, but scarlet brings out the ornamental

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68 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. part the most effectively. The bead-work is in white crystal and gold. The shape of the needle-book is to be cut in card-board, accord- ing to our design. The two sides are in one piece, being only folded at the back. The cen- tral ornament must first be worked in. The chain work which forms the border should be strung before it is fastened down. When the cover has been well stretched over the card- | | board shape, and the lining put in, being neatly sewn all round the edge, a little loop of small gold beads is to be added, taking care that these do not project too much. A few leaves of fine cloth or cashmere are to be fastened inside with a ribbon, which passes through and comes out with a bow in the centre of the back. Ribbon strings to match complete the needle-book. MARIE ANTOINETTE FICHU. (See Diagram, page 69.) Wr have this month selected for illustration an article of dress which is at present in the highest fashion at Paris, and will, most proba- bly, soon enjoy an equal degree of favor here. We speak of the Marie Antoinette Fichu. This elegant article has peculiar advantages. It can be worn with any dress, the plainer the better, and at once converts it into a dress costume ; and is easily taken on and off. The shape is first to bé cut out in rather stiff net, over which puffings of thulle are to be laid at regular distances. Between each division either a narrow black ribbon or a pink satin ribbon is to be laid. The border is formed of a blonde, about three inches wide, very slightly frilled. Atthe end of each of the ribbons which divide the puffings a bow is placed; from the part where the ends cross each other, these

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 69 bows have their ends downwards. A quilling of ribbon is carried round the neck. FANCY PINCUSHIONS, IN IMITATION OF ANIMALS. Pixcusuions are now being made in imitation of animals, and with a singular fidelity. Mice of the natural size, guinea-pigs, and miniature rabbits are produced by very simple means, and look very much like nature. A cushion is first formed with as much closeness to the general outline of form as possible, and stuffed with bran ; this is covered with plush, the ears are attached, and beads are the substitutes of eyes. The joins, being all brought underneath the body, are quite concealed, as the animal is laid on a bed of green moss formed of knitted wool. Of course, the legs are not attempted. The mice are usually of white plush, having the ears of gray plush, but they are sometimes of gray, with black ears. When these are well done, the deception is admirable. oo —_— DIAGRAM OF MARIE ANTOINETTE FICHU. (See engraving, page 68.)

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, oe * coosaticiy ” a ec “pes t AA pA a ee Tue advantage of these pins is, that with them dampness has not the usual effect of dis- arranging the hair. If the pins are properly arranged, the curl will not come out, no matter how long the hairis. Not only are they adapted to long curls, but the hair can be arranged with them in a vast number of styles, such as puffs, short curls, the Jmpératrice style, and others. BROCHES FRISETTES: OR, CURLING PINS. Mlle! i i GODEY’S GOLD DOLLAR PURSES. (See colored plate in front af Book.) Tues little purses or bagatelles, for the New- Year, are all exceedingly simple; the thick part being only tight crochet, and the open part the long crochet stitch. Any colors can be sub- stituted. Gold thread, or gold-colored silk adds greatly to the beauty of the purses.

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fae | a eS +++ Sabueeen NREN es ‘ii ieee i LS _D WS Y SPUS a 7 ¥ = Whi BEd =, . am. bee ee Se ~~, . — vast ii | as | -|~> | + - ae om 0 -|-\-\4 | - " a +4 ++ . - ++ ase aae - =

Page 76

Page 77

WORK DEPARTMENT. 71 KNITTED SOCK, ADAPTED FOR A CHILD THREE YEARS OLD. Commence the pattern, observing to knit the alternate rows plain. lst pattern round*. Zi,Fs K 2+. Tf,K 2+. K1,K2},T£,K 2t, Tf, K 2. Repeat. 3d.—K 1, Tf, K2t. K1, Tf, K 3t. Tf, K6,K 2+. Tf, K2. Re- peat. 5th.—_K 1, Tf, K 37. K1,Tf, K 1TfK1,K 3}. T£ ER Be peat. 7th.—K 1, Tf, K3t. Tf, K3,T f, K 3}. Tf, K2. Repeat. Now repeat from * 8 times more, which will make the leg the proper length. Now divide the stitches for the heel by knitting 25 stitches on to the first from the second pin. Knit and pearl alternately 36 rows, but in each of the knitted rows pecrl the 25th stitch, which makes the seam stitch at the back of the heel. K 2t on each side of this seam stitch in 6 alternate rows. K 24 stitches, double the heel, and cast off the two sides together. Take up the 24 stitches on the right side of the heel; continue the pattern with the stitches left on the two pins. Take up 42 stitches on the left side the heel (these will form the foot). Knit the stitches taken up, with the exception of the last stitch on the right, and the first on the left side; which stitches pearl in the alternate rounds, and in 7 alternate rounds K 2} before the first and reduced to the same number as those for the after the last pearl stitch for the back. Now back of the foot. continue the pattern for the front of the foot for Knit 2¢ on each side of the pearl stitch in 9 66 rounds. alternate rounds. Knit 12 rounds (with the pearl stitch on each Knit 2+ before and after each pear! stitch, side in the alternate rounds). K 2} after the | until only 30 stitches remain on the pins, then first and before the last pearl stitch in the alter- | cast off as at the heel. nate rounds, until the stitches for the front are —_—__—~~weoee - EMBROIDERY FOR AN INFANT’S SHIRT. ° oy ry “20 ° ° OCT ° ARS. of ok 200, 009° Te Pads coo / t= , CPI? Ve Yak SAD & 4 jin -

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oJ bo GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. INSERTION FOR WHITE MUSLIN OR BLACK NET SLEEVES FOR MOURNING. SLEEVE, WITH NETTED INSERTION. Materials.—Cotton, scarlet, No. 20; No. 4 hook; one and a half narrow black sarsnet ribbon, or ribbon velvet three quarters of an inch in width; three-quarters of a yard of book maslin, one yard and a half in width. This scarlet cotton will wash equally as well as the white. Make 30 ch (or chain); unite in a circle u (or under) this circle work 5 de (or double cro- chet); 5 ch; 20 more de; 5 ch; 5 more de: 5 ch: 20 more de; now dec on the Ist de stitch of the 5; 5 ch T (or turn on reverse side) ; work 20 dc on de (taking the back loops ; that is, those that are nearest the finger, not the edge ones) ; Acht; 20moredc; 5cht; 20 more de; 5cht; 20 more de; 5cht; 20 more de (there will be 3 chs of 5 on each side, reckoning the 5 ch by the 5 dc) ; 20 ch tdeu 5 ch at farther end of dc; 5 ch t 20 de»: 20 ch; 5 ch, 5 more de u same; de u next 5 ch; 7 ch dc u each of next for three times ; (a) 9ch11lon 10 de; 4ch11 in same stitch; 6 ch 11 in same; 4 ch 11]in same; 9 ch de u 5 ch at end of dc; 7 cht11 in 5th loop of the 9ch; 3ch 11 in same loop; 7ch 4lu4ch; 7l1u6ch; 4lu4 ch; 7 ch 1 1 in 5th loop of 9 ch; 3ch 1lin same loop; 7 ch 11 on the de stitch, which is in the 5 ch; (b) 5 ch 1 1 uw next chs for three times; 9 ch de u 5 ch at end of dc; repeat from (a to b only); then 5 ch de u next chs; 5 ch de u same; 5 ch de u each of next chs for 4 pl an ple

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 73 times; 5ch 1 lu3ch; 5ch 11usame; 5ch de u next chs; 5 ch, 3 dc on 3 of the 1 stitches; 3 ch, 3 more de; repeat till there are 4 chs of 3, and 15 de; 5 ch de u next chs; 5 ch 11lu3ch; 5 ch 11 u same (c); 5 ch de u next chs; 5 ch de u 5 ch already worked into; 5 ch de u next chs for twice ; 5 ch deu chs already worked into ; 5 ch de into next chs already worked into; 5 ch tdeu5ich; 5ch deuw5 chs for 3 times; 2 ch Liu nextchs; 5 ch de u next chs; 5chtllu 2ch; 3 ch 1145 chs for four times; 5 ch deu 3 ch 1 1u next chs; 5 ch de usame; 5 ch 11u 3 ch between the 21; 5 ch same chs as last dc; 1 1 uw same; 5 ch de u next chs; 5 ch repeat over the | stitches, as on the other side, and to (c); then 7 ch de u next chs; 5 ch de u every ch of 5 for 7 times, then 5 ch de on Istl. Fasten off. Make a second piece. Do not fasten off, but proceed to join thus: Lay the first com- pleted piece to the back of the second, but so that the pattern shall run alternately ; 7 ch de u 5 ch (between the 21) of b (or back piece); 7 ch de u corresponding 5 ch in f (or front piece) ; 5 ch de u next chs at b; 5 ch de u chs in f; 5 ch de u chs atb; 2chdeu3chin/f; 2chdceu 2ch at b. Continue this latter for as many 3 chs as there are. Then 5 ch de u 5 ch at db; 5 ch de u5d chin f; 5ch lluchs ath; 3ch1l uchs in f; 3 ch 11 u chs at b (between the l stitches); 6 ch de u corresponding chs in ft Fasten off. Twelve patterns will be required for each sleeve, to be joined into four strips, of three patterns in each; three strips for each sleeve, and one for each wrist. When these are com- plete, work as many de stitches u each of the SRO \\ WIP Wa ehynnnett INSERTION FOR A SLEEVE. chs at the side as will fill up the chs without either drawing them in or rendering them too full. At the ends, make 5 ch de u every 5 and 3 ch. To make up the Sleeves.—Split the muslin in half, and divide each strip into three divisions, reckoning the edge or selvage as one; run a colored thread along each division; now mea- sure in each division double the length of a piece of insertion ; cut a strip of the muslin out to about a third of the width of insertion ; whip both edges of muslin, and sew it on the wrong side to the former. Where the sleeves are usu- ally sewed up, the insertion must come in the same way. When the wrist is sewed on, run in the ribbon. INSERTION FOR EMBROIDERY. VoL. LvmI—7

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74 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

DIAGRAM OF DOUBLE BODY. (See engraving, page 66.) FRONT

15 TOP OF SLEEVE \4

EMBROIDERY FOR A CHEMISE. SS X Lobel bcos cchevaktcoli ee HHHYVIOOCS) FOR AN INFANT’S SKIRT. 2) . re, . oO rH ~O ae fe) ; Cc o We <oS oo 2 03 2 0 WS 2 oy ¢ oe

fror of t kine afte: bell witl half the pres clotl expe are are | thro ing close to le then tark rem< the § dese ande skev and skin asm oper bone wav

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RECEIPTS. 75 Receipts, &e. TRUSSING POULTRY FOR ROASTING. Trussine FoR Roastine is managed in a different way from that for boiling, described herein. The following list of the methods adopted for roasting include the various kinds of poultry and game. It should be carefully re- marked, that all skewers and strings should be removed after roasting, except the fine thread used in sewing up the belly of a hare or rabbit. (a) Turkeys, Fowis, AND Pigeons are trussed alike, with very slight variations. The legs are first broken ialf-way between the feet and the next joint, then fixing the feet in a door-joint, or a table-drawer, or in a screw- press, the sinews are torn out. Next, place a doubled-up cloth on the breast, and press or beat the bone till it gives way. After this, the wings have a slit cut in their thin expansion of skin, and through this the gizzard and liver are passed, one on each side; next to which the pinions are turned over the back, and a wooden skewer is passed through the flesh of each wing close to the bone, transfix- ing the body, and also each thigh. The head is cut off close to the body, first drawing the skin well back, so as to leave a long covering for the end. This piece of skin is then passed under the ends of the pinions, or, if in a stuffed tarkey, it is tied with a piece of coarse string, which is removed after roasting. In stuffiig, be careful not to fill the skin too full, or it will burst in roasting. All is now described but the legs, which should have been pushed up ander the skin of the breast, and secured there by the skewer transfixing them and the wings through the body, and passing through them close to the joints. The horny skin is scaled and peeled, after which a piece of string, or a small skewer, at the small end of the legs, completes the operation. If the skewer is used, it transfixes the side- bone. (See Figs. 1, 2, and 3.) Fig. 1. ee ee Wey Ww y () Geese anp Ducks have their heads cut off in the same way as described at (a) ; but the legs are cut off at the first Fig. 4. | | joint above the feet, and the wings are also removed at the first joint. Sometimes, however, the legs of ducks are left on as in fowls. Next, introduce the stuffing and tie the skin, as described at (a). After this, the wings are tran-- fixed by a skewer through the body, and the legs the same, keeping them down by the side of the side-bones. The giblets, including the pinions, legs, liver, heart, gizzard, head, and neck, are separately cooked. (See Figs. 4 and 5.) (ec) Wixp Fowt are trussed as described at ()), except that their Jegs are left on, and twisted each at the knuckle, so as to rest the claws on each side the back, where they are secured by transfixing them with a skewer, which alse tacks the end of the pinion. The legs are scalded, te get off the outside skin. (See Fig. 6.) Fig. 6. (dq) Fowis anv PARTRIDGES are now often trussed ao as to conceal the legs under the skin, and to dispense with skewers altogether. This is done by first rolling the skin backwards and forwards over the rocts 9 then pushing these joints completely under the skin of the breast. Next, take a long, straight trussing-needle, and pass it through the end of the first pinion across the body, and into that of the opposite side, bringing it back through the joint of the thigh, while thus under the skin, then carry it across and transfix the opposite thigh in the same way, f the thighs, and Fig. 7. and tie it to the other end of the string tight enongh te After this, the legs only re- There is, how maintain the proper shape. quire to be tied to complete the trussing. ever, no advantage in this plan over the skewers, and the string is more difficult to withdraw. (See Fig. 7.) VEGETABLES. ANGELICA.—When the stalks are tender, cut them in lengths of three or four inches, and boil them well ina very little water, keeping them covered; then take them up and peel them, and boil again until a nice green, when take the stalks up ona cloth to dry; lay them in an earth- enware pan, adding to every pound of stalks a pound of sifted sugar; let, it lie several days, and then boil the angelica until very green, when take it up on your sieve to drain, and siit well over it some fine-pounded sngar ; lay it in the sun, or in your hot closet, to dry, if for candying.

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76 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. CHARTREUSE OF VEGETABIES.—Line a plain mould with bacen ; have ready some half-done carrots, turnips, French beans cut long with a French cutter, all the same length ; place them prettily round the mould uatil you get to the top, nd fill in the middle with mashed potatoes, cauliflower, spinach, or some veal forcemeat ; put it on to steam, turn it out, and put asparagus or mushroom sauce round it. Asparacus.—Let the stalks be lightly but well scraped, and, as they are done, be thrown into cold water; when ill are finished, fasten them into bundles of equal size; put them into boiling water, throw in a handful of salt, boll until the end of the stalk becomes tender, which will be about half an hour; cut a round of bread, and toast it a clear brown, moisten it with the water in which the aspa- ragus was boiled, and arrange the stalks with the white ends outwards. A good melted butter must accompany it to table. Asparagus should be dressed as soon after it has been cut as practicable. Articnokes.—Cut away the outside leaves, and make the stalk as even as possible; then put them into boiling water with some salt; if they are very young, they will be tender in halfan hour; if rather old, they will require an hour before they are thoroughly tender; drain and trim the points of the leaves, and serve with melted butter. They are better for being kept for two or three days. Articnoke Satap (French Receipt).—The artichokes should be very young, the choke having scarcely formed ; clean them, and let them soak thoroughly; drain them, take off the stalks close and even, and send them to table with the vegetables to form the salad. This is a favorite mode in Paris of dressing them. Frevcn Beansa.—When very young, the ends and stalks only should be removed, and, as they are done, thrown into cold spring-water; when to be dressed, put them in boiling water which has been salted with a small quantity of common salt; in a quarter of an hour, they will be done, the criterion for which is when they become tender ; the saucepan should be left uncovered ; there should not be too much water, and they should be kept boiling rapidly. When they are at their fall growth, the ends and strings should be taken off, and the bean divided lengthwise and across, or, according to the present fashion, slit diagonally or aslant. A small piece of soda a little larger than a good-sized pea, if pat into the boiling water with the beans, or with any vegetables, will preserve that beautiful green which is so desirable for them to possess when placed upon tbe table. Wixpsor Beans.—They should be young, and shelled only just previous to cooking; salt the water in which they are to be cooked, and, when boiling, throw in the beans; when tender, drain in a enllender, and send to table with plain melted butter, or parsley and butter, rhey usually accompany bacon or boiled pork to table, Haricot Beans.—Take two handfuls of the white beans, ind let them lie in boiling water until the skins come off; putting them in cold water as you do them, then take them ont, and put them into a stewpan with some good stock, and boil them until nearly toa glaze; then add some good brown sauce to them, shaking them about; season with sugar, salt, and pepper. Canpages, Rep.—They are mostly stewed to eat with ham, bacon, or smoked sausages, though sometimes with- out any meat. They are very strong eating, and should be first scalded, then stewed with butter, pepper, salt, and cloves, and vinegar added to it just before serving. They are considered wholesome in veal broth for consumption, but are most proper for pickling SICK-ROOM AND NURSERY. [From a work published by James Munroe & Co., Boston, entitled ‘‘The Sick Chamber.) QUIET. Wuen I mention perfect quiet as absolutely necessary in a sick-room, I shall not be fully understood by any one who has not gone through severe illness herself; for no other can form a correct idea of the irritability of the nerves which it produces, demanding, above all things, freedom from noise, and a composed manner in the attend- ant. It is, I know, difficult to attain these; but let it be your constant thought and aim, and you cannot fuil of con- siderable success. Speak in a gentle but clear voice. Let there be no laughter; there may be cheerful talk without Whispering is particularly annoying to a sick per- son, All conversation in which the patient does not take a part should be avoided; for this reason, it is better, in most cases, for only one person to be in the room at a time. Let your step be light, and wher you pass the bed, be care- ful not to touch and shake it. To prevent untimely intrusion, put a quill or a small piece of stick through the key-hole of the door, to show that no one can comein. Let the hinges of the door and lock be well oiled, that they may move as easily as pos- sible. If the raps at the house-door are heard in the sick- room, unscrew the under part of the knocker, to deaden the sound; or, better still, screw down the knocker, and Knockers are a horrid this. make every comer ring the bell. invention of the enemy of all peace. medical men are often miserably incantious in this respect. Their knocks are, frequently, to the last degree distressing to their patients. One of my greatest troubles in illness has been when my maid or nurse has shown up a friend to see me, and one of them has taken hold of the handle of the door, un- consciously making a noise with it, while they have con- tinued to talk from five to ten minutes, which have seemed They were, perhaps, conversing about Strange to say, an hour to me. me, not considering that while they were taking interest in me, they were torturing me with their double noise, when one noise would have been too much. The fire is always a troublesome affair to manage. It must be carefully watched, to keep it from going out or becoming too flerce. Besides other reasons for its not being suffered to go out, the crackling of the wood in lighting it again is very disturbing. The fire-irons had better be re- moved, for there must be no scraping together and putting up of cinders. Deaden the noise of the falling cinders by placing under ‘the grate a large pan, or a tin made to the shape of the place under the fire, and thickly strewn with This may be quietly removed and emptied when the room is put in order. Instead of the poker use a stick, a broom-handle, or, if you have not one at hand, one of the short pieces of wood used in lighting the fire. Anything is better than the harsh noise made by the iron poker grating upon the bars. The coals should be brought up wrapped in pieces of paper, and should be carefully placed on the fire with the hand. Keep a screen or towel- horse before the fire, to defend the patient from its scorch- ing or flashing. Another noise, very disturbing and often distressing to a sick person, is the knocking of the housemaid’s brush against the stove, when she is cleaning it. As it is only the point of the brush that causes this, a piece of soft leather (an old glove) nailed on will put a stop to it. The fender must be taken ont of the room to be cleaned. It you have a kettle of water in the room, be careft: not te sund or ashes.

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RECEIPTS. 77

let it sing its melancholy song upon the hob. A news- paper is often a most unwelcome intruder into a sick-room —the crackling is very troublesome; so, also, is the turn- ing over of the leaves of a book; nor less so, the rustling of the silk gown worn by the patient's friend, sister, or aunt, kindly come to stay with her. WEDDING BREAKFAST FOR FORTY, IN JANUARY.

Z Bg s . . a a © = Chicken-pie (raised). a 2 ° 3 es 3 T 8 : . 4 s 2 r 4 (Flowers. ) E | ™ Py 2 3 > ’ 8 8 a s 3 Fancy bread. 2 ms e 3 (Vase of Flowers.) S : = = - oa = e 2 ra) = Kidneys in wine. = a x rsa) ‘s zy ss $ : : a § 2 > xs © 3s = = - 3 c a Ee 4 he _ is) h r 2 4 A - 2 b : 2 & Ca re. © = be &§ — =a «4 = ot S 3 7a ui s rs | & FS Charlotte russe. , . et Ss 2 = ° e @ (Vase of flowers.) 5 = Pi Ss \ _ © = 2 ~ ad Em , Calfs foot jelly. es € 0 = “ 2 g SPONGE CAKE - £ M $ (in shape). 3 r s 8 — am] 3 ° 2 | Marmalade. = a = - 3 =} be Ham, ornamented. = 4 ; 3 KC 3 a foo) -- Tea, coffee, and chocolate handed round. MISCELLANEOUS. To Po.isH SHeits FoR ORNAMENTS.—Many shells natu- rally possess so fine a polish, that no preparation is con- sidered necessary for placing them in the cabinet. In general, however, it happens that when shells become dry, they lose much of their natural lustre. This may be easily restored by washing them with a little water in which a small portion of gum Arabic has been dissolved, or with the whfte of an egg. This is the simplest of those processes which are employed, and is used not only by the mere collector, but by the scientific arranger. ‘here are many shells of a very plain appearance on the outside, by

reason of a dull epidermis or skin with which they are This is removed by steeping the shell in warm When the covered. water, and then rubbing it off with a brush. epidermis is thick, it will be found necessary to mi with the water a small portion of nitric acid, which, ’ ’ dissolving part of the shell, destroys the adhesion. This last agent must be employed with great caution, since it destroys the lustre on every part exposed to its influence. The new surface must be polished with leather, assisted with tripoli; but in many cases where even these are in- effectual, the file and pumice-stone may be employed te rub off the coarse external layers, that the concealed beau- ties may be disclosed. When this is done, the labor and care, though’ great, have a reward proportionate ExceLueyt Seep-Cake.—Work one pound of butter toa cream with the hand; add the whites of ten eggs beaten to a froth, and the yolks of four, three-quarters of a pound of good sugar, a little mace, pounded nutmeg grated, one pound of flour, one ounce of caraway seeds, and a glass of brandy. Ornanae Tart.—Squeeze, pulp, and boil four Seville oranges, and double their weight in sugar, and beat them thoroughly together; then add an ounce of fresh butter Line a shallow dish with a fine puff crust, and lay in the orange jam. Saco Pupprxya.—Boil one pint of new milk with three spoonfuls of sago (well-cleaned and picked), lemon, nutmeg, and sugar, according Lay a puff paste round the edge of the dish, cinnamon, to taste, and mix in ibree eggs. and bake the whole slowly. This pudding is excellent for invalids, Liauip Broom or Roses.—Crimson lake, in powder, thirty grains; strong solution of ammoniac, thirty drops ; esprit de rose, half an ounce; rose-water, one ounce and a half; otto of roses, two drops. The crimson lake is first put ingo the bottle, then the solution of ammoniac, then the esprit de rose, then the rose-water, and, lastly, the otto of roses. Posset.—A pint of cream, a gill of white wine, a glass of brandy, three lemons, the peel grated, and three ounces of sugar; beat all together with whiskey, till it becomes a solid froth, then put into jelly-glasses, CONTRIBUTED Boston Cream-Cakes—Crust.—One pound of flour, one RECEIPTS. half pound of butter, one pint of water, ten eggs; boil the water and butter together; stir in the flour while it is boiling ; when cold, add the eggs well beaten and then the flour. Custard.—One quart of milk, four eggs, two cups of sugar, and one cup of flour; boil the milk, and, while it is boiling, add the sugar, eggs, and flour, and flavor it with lemon; drop the crust on tins, and bake them ina quick oven fifteen or twenty minutes; when done, open them at the sides, and put in as much custard as possible It improves the appearance of the crust to rub it over with the white of an egg before it is baked. Apres.—Rub a pound of fresh butter into two pounds of sifted flour, and mix in a pound of powdered white sugar, a grated nutmreg, a tablespoonful of cinnamon, and four large tablespoonfuls of caraway-seed ; add a wineglass of rose-water, and mix the whole with sufficient cold water to maké it a stiff dough ; roll it out into a large sheet about a third of @ inch in thickness, and cut it into round cakes with the edge of a tin-cutter or of a tumbler; lay them in buttered pans, and bake them in a quick oven till they are of a very pale brown.

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78 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Devictovs Lemon Pres.—The juice and rind of one lemon, one cup of sugar, the yolks of two eggs, three tablespoon- fals of flour, milk to fill the plate; line the plate with paste; pour in this custard, and bake till it is done; beat an of two eggs, add four tablespoonfuls of pow- dered sugar, spread over the pie, and brown lightly in the oven. To MAK& Grape Preserve.—Squeeze each grape between the thumb and finger, so as to remove the pulp; put these into one dish, and the skins into another; then place the pulps thas separated into a preserving-kettle, and scald them; as soon as they melt, strain them through a fine cullender or sieve in order to separate the seeds; place the liquid thus obtained, together with the skins, and a pound of sugar to each pound of fruit, in the kettle, and boil them twenty minutes. To keep Lemon-Jvice.—Powder a pound of the best loaf- sugar; put it into a bowl, and strain over it a pint of lemon-juice, stirring it well with a silver spoou till the sugar has entirely melted; boil and skim it; then bottle it, sealing the corks, and keep it in a dry place. Pea Sovp.—Soak two quarts of dried or split peas over night ; in the morning, take three pounds of the lean of fresh beef, and a pound of bacon or pickled pork; cut them into pieces, and put them into a large soup pot with the peas (which must first be well drained), and a tablespoon- ful of dried mint rubbed to powder; add five quarts of water, and boil the soup gently for three hours, skimming it well, and then put in four heads of celery cut small, or two tablespoonfuls of powdered celery-seed. It must be boiled until the peas are dissolved. Serve with toast. ~ , Chemistry for the Voung. Yy tad Y WD LESSON XI.—(Concluded.) 206. This protochloride of tin is a substance very greedy ef chlorine, and indirectly of oxygen, both of which it takes away from combinations of mercury with these ele- ments, leaving the mercury in a metallic state. 207. Pourseme protochloride of tin upon a little solution of the bichloride of mercury in a test-tube, and remark the change which ensues. At first, a white powder falls, which is the bichloride, minus one-half of its chlorine. It is the protochloride, or calomel, in point of fact. But, if sufficient protochiloride ef tin have been added, a second change presently supervenes—from white, the precipitate changes to dark, a change which is facilitated by a little boiling. The black powder is metallic quicksilver in a finely divided state, as may be proved by decanting the supernatant liquid, washing the powder with water, and drying by the cautious application of a spirit-lamp flame \beiling with hydrochloric acid is more correct; but the plan here indicated causes the mercurial particles to ag- glomerate more easily), vapor beiag blowa out as it col- leets by meaus ofatube(31). Presently, the black powder will change to metallic globules, which may be recognized as those of the metal quicksilver. Protochloride of tin will separate mercury from both proto and per combina- tions of that metal; hence its great utility as an analytical agent. 208. Having demonstrated the effect of protochloride of tin upon a solution of bichloride of mereary, repeat the experiment with (1) solution of protonitrate, and (2), with the insoluble protochloride, remarking that in either case metallic mercury results. 209. Various other means exist of throwing down metal- lic mercury, one only we shall describe. Pour a drop of any soluble compound of mercury, proto or per, upon a plate of gold, say a sovereign, and touch both the drop and the plate with a bit of iron, saya key. By virtue o1 a galvanic action set up, the mercury will be deposited upon the gold, and will form anamalgam. The sovereign will lose its yellow tint, and seem like a silver coin. By holding it for a few instants, however, in the flame of a spirit-lamp, all the quicksilver may be driven off; or, by immersing it in nitric acid, the quicksilver may be dis- solved, leaving the gold untouched. Thus the fact will have beca casually imparted that gold is incapable of solu- tion in nitric acid. Probably the reader may be aware of the common plan had recourse to by jewellers for testing the genuineness of bracelets, rings, &c., supposed to be gold. A drop of nitric acid, aquafortis, is let fall upon the article, and, if no action result, the article is presumed to be gold. The test, however, is, practically speaking, falla- cious, articles of jewellery being frequently made of copper or brass inclosed in a sheathing of gold. Such articles are technically known to the jewellery trade by the name of * duffers.”” 210. The facility with which mercury is thrown down from its soluble salts by the combined galvanic action of iron and gold is of great use in cases of investigation for the bichloride which may have been given as a poison, inasmuch as the test not only acts in a pure aquevus solu- tion of bichloride of mercury, but in mixtures of that sub- stance with animal and vegetable matters. Now, the chief difficulty experienced in the chemistry of poisons is that of getting rid of these organic matters, which, by their pre- sence, embarrass the operations of tests. When, therefore, we meet with a substance capable of not only acting asa test, but as a precipitant, even in a compound solution, the reagent becomes of peculiar value. The reader will, how- ever, recognize the fact that, in the case under considera- tion, the poison to be sought for was not quicksilver, but a specific combination of quicksilver with chlorine. The result of our operation, however, yields quicksilver in its metallic state. Hence the train of reasoning is inferential, but it is nevertheless satisfactory. Im the first place, it is quite evident that the key and sovereign test could not have been acting on an insoluble compound such as calo- mel; neither is calomel a poison. It therefore follows that, mercury being deposited, a soluble form of mercury must have existed in the solation; and all soluble salts of mercury are poisonous. More than this the test does not indicate, the further steps of evidence being inferential. 211. A very ready and very elegant method of demon- strating the presence of bichloride of mercury, in a simple or complex solution, consists in making use of the quality of its solubility in ether; for the purpose of demonstrating which quality, perform the following experiment :— 212. To the remaining portion of aqueous solution of bichloride, add ether, and agitate in the Florence flask. Now pour the mixed fluids into a long test-tube, which, having corked, to prevent evaporation of the ether, place it to stand upright and at rest in the test-tube stand. Pre- sently the ether will be seen to have risen above the water, forming a definite layer; and this layer, being carefully decanted off, or drawn away by suction into a glass tube, made to end in a tapering point, will be found, on evapo- ration, to yield the bichloride, tangibly, bodily. A wateh- giass is probably the best instrument in which to perform this evaporation. No artificial heat is required, the natural volatility of the ether being sufficient to insure evaporation. 213. For the purpose of avoiding accidents, pour all the solutions of bichloride into a basin; stir the mixture up with white of egg, and throw it away. oiwAnh G@ ea a SO — N th ou ce in! fer col img an ha’ nic hot thr ex] the hat bel ha jad tior add con

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Evitors’ Gable. A mappr New Year to all our friends, and a warm wel- come to our “‘ Table,” be the weather ever so cold, or the company ever so numerous. Our last year’s greeting was under the gloomy circumstances of commercial troubles. Providence has kindly enabled us to pass through the crisis with success, and the return of “‘ better times” gives a still brighter prospect for the coming twelve months, Yet we do not count these checks to outward prosperity as subjects of deep regret; if the heart is rich in goodness, the way of happiness is never closed to those who faith- fully perform their duties. How many kindly feelings ex- panded, how many charities were originated during the past year of commercial distress! Hearts, that might have remained torpid in the sunshine of prosperity, awakened at the cry of waut and desolation, and, in helping to relieve the distress, enjoyed the luxury of benevolence, which, once tasted, is never, we believe, entirely laid aside. A general diffusion of good-will from the rich to the poor took place, and its softening influence, in a great country like our own, does more national good than could be coun- terbalanced even by much greater pecuniary losses than those of the last season. So we hope that the sweet spirit of benevolence will still strive to mitigate the sufferings that may await any portion of our people during the coming year, and that all our friends will enjoy the luxury of doing good. “It is more blessed to give than to re- ceive ;” and a kind heart will always find or make the New Year happy. OUR PRESENTATION PLATE FOR 1859—SEVEN AGES OF WOMAN. We feel sure our half million of readers will look with pleasure at this picture, which illustrates so graphically the different epochs of woman’s existence. It has been our untiring aim, during the many years—a quarter of a century and more—of our editorial labors, to amuse and inform, embellish and cultivate each of these ‘‘ages”’ of feminine life. counsel and precept, founded on experience and knowledge, by which the health, the comfort, and the improvement of To advance the education In our pages, the young mother has found her infant might be maintained. of the school-girl, and to control the momentous period when girlhood merges into womanhood, we have given our patient and earnest attention. To our advice concern- ing the formation of character, we have added suggestions and illustrations for the employment of leisure hours. We have shown that it is woman’s province, by many inge- nious and elegant arts and occupations, to embellish her home, as well as adorn her person, We have shown that thrift, industry, neatness, and good taste may supply the expenditure of money, and give comfort, even elegance, to the homes of our people. For woman in her matured or more advanced age, we we confidently believe, yielded both enjoyment and improvement. We have shown her that whatever the duties of her position may demand of personal exertion, a conscientious and have given moral and mental food that bas, judicious arrangement of her time will allow seme atten- tion, perhaps much attainment to beautify her life, and add to the comfort, respectability, and improvement of all connected with her. The woman who has elevated her mind beyond the mere routine of every day's circle of trifles may inspire her son with noble aims and pure principles of conduct and taste, which will abide by him through life, and prompt him to the struggle that shall lift him up to all the sublimities of knowledge and virtue, and keep him from the wasting and vulgar contaminations of vice and sin. No woman, no mother can lay the foundation of a great character in her child, if she be absorbed in frivolous amusements ; nor can she inspire son or daughter with high and holy aims, when a long course of trifling has destroyed the talents with which Nature had endowed her. Our American women must live by the pattern the Gospel has presented—must love the good and do good, or true greatness, always founded on goodness, will perish from our land. All these things we have taught in our Lady's Book. Happy the woman whose temper has been usefully re- strained in infancy—whose childhood has been guided to diligence and truthfalness—w hose youth has been guarded from indiscretion. She will, asa mother, be the honor and glory of a family, and, when surrounded by the third gene- ration, truly ‘‘ her children rise up and call her blessed ; her husband also, and he praiseth her.”” The poet Words- worth has most feelingly described this ‘‘ perfect woman”’ which it bas been our aim to develop and inspire:— ‘She was a phantom of delight, When first she gleamed upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment's ornament. Her eyes as stars of twilight fair, Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn, From May-time and the cheerful dawn ; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay. “T saw her on a nearer view— A spirit, yet a woman, too! Her household motions light and free. And steps of virgin liberty; A countenance in which did meet Sweet records, promises as sweet ; A creature not too bright and good For human nature's daily food ; For transient sorrows, simple wiles, Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles, ** And now I see, with eye serene, The very pulse of the machine— A being breathing thoughtful breath, A traveller betwixt life and death ; The reason firm, the temperate will, Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill A perfect woman, nobly planned, To warn, to comfort, and command ; And yet, a spirit still and bright, With something of an angel light.” Have we not many, many such friends among our lovely and cultivated countrywomen? We are sure of this, be cause our efforts have met their approval; and so, for the coming year, we shall continue steadfast in the aim of keeping our work, what it has ever been, the true and only Lady’s Book ever published in the world. 79

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80 GODEY’'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

WHAT COURSE OF READING IS BEST FOR A WOMAN? A tapy has written to us asking our advice as to a course of reading, and particularly for information as to the studies pursued both by Mrs. Hemans and ourself, to which a!lusion is made in ‘‘ Woman's Record.""* Without entering into detail on these points, we would aay that it wonld hardly be well for one person to make another her exemplar in her intellectual culture. Minds differ so much that what would be a subject full of interest There are two con- One is to one ix dry and tedious to another.

Bl the peculiar bias of our own minds, which, if we notice tions which should guide us in our studies. carefully, will show us the way by which we may hope to attain the highest degree of eminence in our power. The other is the developing those powers in which we This is the more difficult course by far. It will tax the patience, and courage, and hope of all who are deficient. enter upon it. The result will sometimes appear so inade- quate to the effort required, that we would advise no one who had not the perseverance and faith of a Cyrus W. Field to undertake it. Yet in the end it will bring its reward. Mrs. Hemans loved knowledge for its own sake, and songht it from every source that came within her reach. The languages seem to have been her especial forte. But she read very miscellaneously—history, travels, meta- physics, and all kindred subjects. She pursued no regular course. Method and system were diametrically opposed to her nature. Her manner of study was not so well for mental discipline; but it gave a breadth and general cul- ture to her intellect, every where perceptible in her writings. The beauty and aptness of her illustrations, her power in moulding langaage into barmony, the occasional depth of her thoughts, her knowledge of history, and the correct- ness with which she describes the scenery of foreign lands, all show her varied reading, as well as the retentiveness of her memory Our own course of study was reculated very much by the one with whom we pursued it. The natural sciences, French, and the art of composition being that to which we especially devoted our attention. The one important thing in mental culture is to have some studies or course of reading, and pursue it regularly If doubtfal as to a choice, it is very well to begin with hixtory, which, treating of men and women and their acts, should be interesting to all the human race. General his- tory <hould always be read in connectien with the biogra- phy of the individual. Then the natural sciences come next, showing as they do the marvellous powers of nature, and the infinite wisdom and love of God. The languages are a very fescinating study to some; but as, in the acqui- sition of them, ordinary minds are apt to rest satisfied with the mere knowledge of the words, we would not recommend the study of more than one or two of them at « time, and that in connection with other things. OUR EDITORIAL CORRESPONDENTS. We have friends everywhere. Yes, in every home where worm :n dwells in our broad land, there we have a friend. It ix pleasant to feel that, on this New-Year's day, thou- sands on thousands of warm hearts remember us, and that * A Dictionary of Distinguished Women, from the Crea- tion to &5t, with Selections from Female Writers of every Ave. By Surah Josepha Hale. With two hundred and thirty portraits. New York: Harper & Brothers. Second edition: price reduced,

good wishes for our happiness and prosperity are wafted on the winds that blow from the frozen North, or breathe from the sunny South. We have correspondents, too, wherever the eye of our eagle watches, and the stars of our sisterhood of States shine: in truth, the letters sent to our Book are like the stars of the sky in one respect—innu- merable. Nor are these confined to the wide range of our country; our correspondents are scattered through the world. Here isa contribution from one who dates from Calcutta, in the Indian Empire of Queen Victoria. It is beautiful to have these flowers at New Year. MY INDIAN GARDEN. BY E. L. Moryina from her urn is strewing Dewy blossoms on the earth ; Spirits bright are with me viewing Buds just springing to the birth. Yes! upon my garden floral, Down I gaze with raptured eye, Decked with beauties soft, auroral, Borrowed from the bending sky. Graceful Salix! with thy tresses, Gently stirred by morning's breath, Stooping to the vine’s caresses, Heedless they may cause thy death. Roses red and white unnumbered, Queen-like resting on your stems; Kristo choora, that has slum bered,* Wakes and shows his branching gems. Pretty Tulsi! aromatic,t Strangely so to me thou art, Although I be deemed fanatic, Still I clasp thee to my heart: For so like a much loved flowert Of my far New England home, Art thou, blessing my lone bower, Fancy tells a friend has come! Modest Bela! thee arraying, Nature chose the purest white, Leaves the greenest, cluster saying, Happy are we in thy light. And my lowly, sweet Poodina !§ Bright you sparkle, though so near Earth’s brown pillow. Blae Verbena, Speak ! I have a listening ear. Gundh'raj! with thy velvet robing, Ah, yes! when I gaze on thee (Though thy heart has felt a probing), ‘Tis a living Purity! Let me join your glad thanksgiving, While upon this dew-sprent sod: Hear our praises, Ever-Living! Mother Nature! Father-God! Catcortta, India.

* This tree, whose botanical name is poinceand pub cherrima, closes its leaves at nightfall. This is what has been termed by Linnzus ‘the sleep of plants.” + A beautiful and fragrant shrub, esteemed sacred by the Hindus. t Lemon-Balm, exceedingly odoriferous, and, in cases of fever, its medicinal properties are deemed highly valuable, § Bengali for peppermint. | A worm has pierced its root, and, alas, it must die!

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EDITORS’ TABLE. Sl A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE “FASHIONS.” WE must take the privilege of an old friend and counsel- lor, on this New-Year’s Day, and throw out a few hints for the benefit of our young lady readers. Generally speaking, young ladies are now presenting a very formidable appear- ance ofamplitude. The wand of Fashion has transferred the most slender girls into the appearance of haystacks. Miss Edgeworth very pithily says that, “if you shut up all the outlets of juvenile folly, it will burst with a dangerous explosion.” We agree with her, and are quite satisfied that Folly should have his cap and bells, and amuse him- self harmlessly. We do not, by any means, then, ask our young ladies, in defiance of fashion and foolishness, to grow ‘beautifully less; but we would suggest to them to let these expansions become intellectual as well as su- perficial. It surely would be ridiculous to carry a narrow mind aud contracted heart under that monstrous outward show. Try, then, my dear young friends, to cultivate your talents to bear a good proportion to your skeletons. Ex- pand your kindly feelings and warm affections in the family circle and the widest social range; invite good humor and benevolence to become permanent guests in the inner chamber of your hearts; then be assured you will be lovely and beloved, whatever externals Fashion may require you to assume. La Bruyére says, very prettily :— **Virtue has the good luck to suffice to herself. She ean do without admirers, partisans, and patrons. The want of assistance and praise not only does ber no harm, but it preserves her, improves her, and renders her more perfect. *Let her be in fashion or out of fashion, she is still virtue.” AMERICAN SCHOOLS AND COLLEGES FOR YOUNG LADIES. Unper this head we propose to give a catalogue, or synopsis, rather, of these institutions that now cover the length and breadth of our land. The efforts to provide publicly and liberally for the education of girls and young women is a marked feature in the character of our people, which has no parallel gow in the Old World, nor in the history of the past. We have made it our careful task to notice, from time to time, these schools in our Book. What we now wish is to record the names and location of all in vur country, the number of scholars, names of Principals, ete., So that a tabular view of the system and its success may be accessible. Should any institution offer peculiar mivantages, or a new feature deserving distinct notice, we shall give it. Will the managers of these Schools and Colleges, and of all the Normal Schools where female teachers are trained, send us reports or circulars? Battrwore Youre Lapres’ Coiiear, at Baltimore City, Maryland. President, Nathan C. Brooks, A. M., assisted by seven professors and five ladies as teachers. The scholars, during 1858, numbered one hundred and forty- eight. We are happy to add that this is an institution which promises to exert a most beneficial influence on the cause of woman's education. The course of study is tho- rough and extensive. Theonly point in it which does not strike us favorably is the time that must be devoted to the dead languages; while those spoken now, and in which the present work of the world must be performed, are comparatively neglected. English composition, however, receives the attention it merits, and is placed, as it should be, in the first rank. The unusual proficiency of the young ladies is shown by the Parthenian, » magazine published quarterly by them. We have never read any- thing written by school-girls that would surpass the essays in this periodical, and seldom anything equal to these. Some of these essays would do honor, both in thought and expression, to a mature mind. The arrangements of the College are such as to conduce in the highest degree to the moral and intellectual culture of its students. We fully expect to see it take its stand among our most prosperous literary institutions. This College is under the patronage of the Baltimore Annual Conference. Oxrorp Youna Lapres’ Cotieer, at Oxford, Ohio. Rev. John W. Scott, D. D., President, assisted by two professors and fourteen ladies as teachers. The scholars, during 1847-8, numbered one hundred and eighty-seven. This school is designed to promote the Missionary cause. Ontario Young Lapres’ Seminary, at Canandaigua, New York. Benjamin Richards, A. M., and Mrs. Chris- tina P. Richards, Principals, assisted by three professors and eight ladies as teachers. The scholars, during 1847-8, numbered fwo hundred and forty-one. This Seminary has been in operation thirty-three years. The course of study is collegiate. PHILADELPHIA ScHoo. FoR Youne Lapirs.—We would again call the attention of our readers to Miss 8. J. Hale’s Boarding and Day School for Young Ladies, 922 Spruce Street. This school combines, in an unusual degree, the comforts of a home with the discipline and regularity of a school. The health and deportment, as well as the intel- lectual advancement of the scholars, have careful attention. The course of English study is thorough and liberal. A superior French teacher resides in the family, to aid in conversation in that language. The musical department is under the care of those qualified in the highest degree to improve the pupils intrusted to them ; and all the other accomplishments are well and carefully taught. SUBSCRIBERS FOR THE WASHINGTON PORTRAIT. Club sent by Mrs. 8. Latapie, Petatuma, California.— Mrs. W. P. Ewing, Mrs. F. W. Shattuck, Mrs. Emma R. Anderson, Mrs. Emma Stewart, Mrs. J. D. Cross, Mrs. H. P. Evans, Mrs. Brodt, Mrs. Dodge, Airs. E. Gaston, Mrs. M. R. Bond, Mrs. 8. Latapie, Mr. R. D. Duncan, Mr. 8. D. Towne, $1 each. Club from Hamilton, N. Y.—Mrs. C. Cramphin, Mrs. W. Fairchild, Mrs. H. Powers, Miss M. Mott, Mrs. A. Cram- phin, $1 each. Mrs. 8. W. Sperry, $1, Stockton, California. Movuyrt VerRNon Association.—We have a few more names to add to the list of members. Mrs. S. Belden Hyatt, $1; Mrs. Lucy Fountain, $1, Peekskill, N. Y. Mrs. Samuel Wilt, $1, New Brighton, Pa. Mrs. D. P. Whittington, $1, Evergreen, La. To ovr CorresponpEeNts.—The following articles are accepted, and will appear as soon as we have room; ‘‘Two Epitaphs”—*‘ Beauty"’—‘‘ Has Summer Filed ?’'—* Lines to ——"—"‘The Three Pictures”—‘“*The Old Home”—~— “Jonathan Grimes’”—‘‘On the Recovery of My Infant,” ete.—‘‘The Farewell”—‘' The Davidsons”—‘* Thou and I” —‘Ellen Galt Martin” —‘‘The Aurora Borealis’ —and “Young Brecken’s Wooing.” The following articles are not needed, though several of

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, them are worthy of publication, if we had room: “‘ Jeph- thah’s Daughter” —*‘Life is Naught but a Dream” — “* Love”—“ Dear Friend," ete.—‘* I Consent,” ete.—*‘ Vive la Magazine” (pretty, but we are crowded) —“ Anna's Visit’’—** My Castie’’—*‘ A Dream of Death”—‘*We May not Feel,’’ etc.—‘* When I was Alone’’—‘“I Wish I was a Child again”—‘‘Slow and Sure”—‘* The Great Ocean”— “Come Home, my Brother’’—and other poems by the same writer. We have other articles on hand, which we hope to be able to examine next month. Our correspondents will please accept our sincere thanks for their interest in the Book, and our warmest wishes for their happiness through the coming year. r= H calth Department, = BY JNO. STAINBACK WILSON, M.D. SHALL we vse Tea AND Corres ?—It was our intention to devote a whole article to this subject ; but we have con- cluded to give greater variety to our health department, and to disclose our views on tea and coffee gradually, in broken doses, as our readers may be able to bear them. Abd-el-Kadir says that ‘God has deprived fools of coffee, and the truth is not known except to the wise, who drink it from the foaming coffee-cup.” The uitra-hydropaths, who look on sage-tea and mint-water as poisons, of course roundly denounce both tea and coffee even as medicines. Dr. Hall, a very popuiar writer, endeavors very cautiously to steer between extremes. He says, in his “‘ Journal of Health:” ‘Considering oar habits of life, coffee, as a beverage for breakfast, is nutritious and healthful, and may be taken in moderation, for a lifetime, without failing of its advantageous effects. A single cup, moderately strong, never increased in strength, frequency, or quantity, fs a positive good, and is far better than as much cold water at any meal, especially to invalids or persons of feeble digestion.”’ All these restrictions and qualifications show very plainly that the writer considers himself on very ticklish ground; and when this defence is analyzed, what does it amount to? A compromise with our bad habits—the admission of one evil to counteract others, and a prescription for invalids. This mode of treating the question is very objectionable ; instead of making dietetic prescriptions to suit bad habits, the cause of truth requires that these habits should be boldly attacked, and the neces- aity for a doubtful and dangerous remedy be thus avoided. And even admitting that tea and coffee could be safely used after Dr. Hall’s cautious manner, no one at all acquainted with human nature can believe, for a moment, that the drinking would be confined to a single cup, at breakfast, moderately strong, and never increased in strength, fre- quency, or quantity. It would be about as easy to believe in the literal truth of Abd-el-Kadif'’s encomium, and to come to the conclusion that all coffee-drinkers were exceed- ingly wise. Waxmixne Rooms.—When rooms are heated by a fire, special care should be taken not to raise the temperature too high ; too much heat relaxes the skin and enfeebles the nervous system. The body is thus rendered extremely sensitive to cold, so much so that persons who are in the habit of living in warm rooms, on going out, will shiver and feel exceedingly uncomfortabie in a temperature quite agreeable to others of different habits. But more than comfort is involved. People cannot remain shut up all the time; and the great difference of temperature on going out is the fruitful source of colds, pleurisies, rheumatisms, neuralgias, &c. &c. Rooms should be just warm enough to be comfortable, and no warmer ; and it is safer for them to be a little too cold than too warm. The body, in health, can bear, without injury, almost any degree of uniform cold short of freezing; and as our sensitiveness to cold de- pends very much on habit, we should accustom ourselves to as low a temperature as circumstances will permit. For the removal of any morbid sensitiveness to cold, there is nothing better than a daily washing with cold water. Waat Want or Exercise Dors.—It weakens and disor- ders the stomach, and thus all healthful supplies are cut off ; it reduces the capacity of the chest, and thus the blood is not properly vitalized ; it prevents free circulation in the minute vessels, and thus assimilation and all the vital changes affected in the capillaries are imperfectly per- formed or suspended; the muscles wither, and lose their strength ; the bloodvessels become solid cords, and cease to convey the vital fluid; the brain is torpid, the nerves are unstrung, the breathing is feeble, the stomach is sluggish, and universal derangement of the whole animal economy ensues, ending in stagnation or cessation of motion, which is only another name for death itself. Life is motion, con- stant, ceaseless motion. Exercise promotes all the vital movements, and stands in direct antagonism to disease, and that torpor which merges **Tn the deep stillness of that dreamless state Of sleep that knows no waking joys again.” Trwe For SLEEP.— “This dead of night, this silent hour of darkness, Nature for rest ordained and soft repose.” When night spreads her sable curtain, the din of busi- ness is hushed ; the lower animals, obedient to the signal, retire to their grassy couch; a refreshing coolness pervades the air, and a dreamy stillness rests upon the earth, all, all inviting to repose. How strange, then, that human beings should be deaf to this eloquent language! How strange that they should pervert the order ofmature by converting day into night, and night intoday! And yet it isso. With multitudes, night is not a season of rest for invigorating the mental and bodily powers, but a time for soul and body-destroying dissipations, and teeming mischiefs. This is the time for fashionable parties, where, in addition to want of rest, the system is poisoned by impure air, and oppressed by excessive and improper food and drinks; while the mind and all the moral feelings ars worked up into a feverish state of excitement, which reacts with ter- rible effect on the poor, abused, and over-burdened physi- cal frame. Can any one believe for a moment that the laws of nature can be thus violated with impunity? As soon might a feeble woman expect to have the foaming Cataract of Niagara poured on her head without injury. No! as surely as God exists, so surely will every violation of physical law be visited with its legitimate punishment. These laws are written in our frame by the hand of the Almighty himself; and they are as fixed and as immutable in their nature and consequences as the Author of them. One of these laws is that night was ordained for sleep. And let not those who avoid scenes of excitement and die sipation, and who yet keep late hours, flatter themselves that they incur no risk. In one respect, at least, they sub- vert the order of nature, and must suffer accordingly. Day sleep will not answer as a substitute fur night sleep. Cir- cumstances may sometimes render it necessary to make up in the day for unavoidable loss of rest; yet this necessity should, as far as possible, beavoided. The rule is, ‘‘ Early to bed, and early to rise,"’ &c, SaBBATH Feasts.—In many parts of the country, it is

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LITERARY NOTICES. 83 quite common to have a big dinner, and to entertain much company on the Sabbath. Now, to say nothing of the morality of this custom, the interference with tho religious privileges of servants, &c., it is very objectionable on the score of health. There should be a due relation between the amount of food and exercise. A heavy meal may not injure when counteracted by exercise; while a lighter one may produce much disturbance under opposite circum- stances. Therefore, the Sabbath being a day of rest, a day on which labor is suspended, the diet should be more re- stricted than on any other. Cotumses, Ga. Hiterarp Motices. Booxs BY Mait.—Now that the postage on printed mat- ter is so low, we offer our services to procure for our subscribers or others any of the books that we notice. In- formation touching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing a stamp to pay return postage. When ordering a book, please mention the name of the publisher. NEW JUVENILES.—Among the many charming books for the little people with which the holidays are bright- ened, we find a welcome package from the ProrestaNnT EpiscopaL Scnpay-Scnoo, Usion. Time was when Sun- day-school books were duller than week-day lessons; but, since pure and simple fiction has been found the best vehicle for conveying not only moral but religious truth, many admirable writers for the young have risen up among us; and the publishers have done their part by brightening the volumes with excellent illustrations, print- ing them on fine, clear paper, and making thei: covers as attractive as the once rare and costly annuals, attainable only by the children of the rich. All of which will apply to the recent publications of this excellent society, which seems to flourish in the orderly, enterprising, and business- like hands of its present manager, a fact that we note with especial pleasure. We select, for the present month, such books as are par- ticularly suited for holiday gifts. SIDNEY GREY, by the author of ‘‘ Mia and Charlie,’ is the largest of these vol- umes, and especially intended as a boy's book, though the sisters are, in their way, fully as attractive and admirable a@ the hero of the story, which is full of incidents, and ends happily, as all story-books ought to do. Its chief lesson is the beauty of unswerving rectitude of conduct, and trust- fal dependence on God's care and protection, even when all things seem against us. We class it with “ Louis’s School Days," one of the very best boy's books that ever was written. MIA AND CHARLIE, by the same author, is equally attractive, and intended for younger children. The illus- trations are by Birket Foster. All the children in this, as in “‘Sidney Grey,” are lifelike in action and conversation ; and the excellent home education of Mia and Charlie bears abundant fruit in their lives, and fits them to be ever charming and excellent companions for the little people who may be so fortunate as to make their acquaintance. BESSIE MELVILLE is in size and outward style a com- panion to the first-mentioned volume. Its aim, however, is more direct ; and, its object being to explain and enforce the doctrines of the prayer-book, more argument is found in its pages. It is written by a Southern lady, whose initals are ‘‘M. A. C.,"’ aud who dates her pleasant preface from Huntsville, Alabama. The incidents of the tale are very romantic; and the whole book will have its chief interest for ‘older sisters,’’ rather than for the younger members of the family. LOSING THE WAY, by Jenny Marsh Parker, is per- haps the most vivid, natural, and admirable volume we have taken up thus far. Boy life and its temptations are thoroughly understood and well portrayed by the author of ** The Boy Missionary,” which we had occasion to com- mend the past summer. Duties neglected, the avenue for the entrance of temptation, the rapidly increasing force of evil in the downward path, and its inevitable end, is the moral of the history we have of Charlie Hale's temptation and fall. ‘He that covereth his sins shall not prosper; but whoso confesseth and forsaketh them shall have mercy.” Of HEART AND HAND, we scarcely need to say more than that it is by the author of “Timid Lucy,” a favorite story with all gentle little children. It is just the book for the present generation of school-girls, from ten to fifteen, exciting them to commence in earnest the duty of self-dis- cipline, that they may be useful to those around them, the best and highest aims being urged as directing and con- trolling influences. The story has its own varied and touching interest ; and the different characters of the three friends are happily contrasted. NANCY THORN; or, the Mouse in the Pantry, and THE TORTOISE-SHELL COMB, are two smaller volumes, intended for smaller people. ‘‘ Nancy Thorn” is a bright, cheerful story, “‘ the mouse in the pantry”’ being the “little sins that nibble away the good from the pantry of the heart, and watchfulness the trap, baited with good resola- tions and firmness, which must be set for them.”’ “The Tortoise-Shell Comb,” like ‘‘ Losing the Way,” points especially to the consequences of the first wrong- doing when covered and concealed, and the ready forgive- ness which awaits those who frankly confess the error. The story is naturally and attractively told. From Parry & McMrIiuay, Philadelphia :— INQUIRIES AND SUGGESTIONS IN REGARD TO THE FOUNDATION OF FAITH IN THE WORD OF GOD. By Albert Barnes. As it might justly be construed into an exhibition of egotism on our part, we shall not attempt to criticize this little volume, which, being from the pen of a gentleman whose talents and learning have won for him a world-wide reputation, neither stands in want of our praise, nor can fear our censure. We may be permitted to say, however, that, for clearness of statement and force of argument, it has no superior among the numerous essays which have from time to time past been composed in regard to the topic of which it treats. Omitting any discussion as to the actual evidences of a Revelation, or as to what would be proper external evidences of it, the learned author, in his first chapter, inquires into the sub- ject of maxims, or settled principles, as bearing on a reve- lation from God. In his second chapter, he makes appli- cation of these principles in judging of a revelation; and, in the third, he examines them in connection with the statements of the Bible. His fourth and final chapter dis cusses the question, “‘ What is the foundation of faith in the Word of God?” His inquiries into the Scriptures, as they relate to the real and assumed discoveries of modern science, form a section of exceeding interest, and should receive the attention of all sincere seekers after the truth, who are unmoved by the promptings of human pride, and the arrogant assumptions of human reason. Price 60 cents.

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84 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. From Caartes Scripyer, New York, through Parry & McMu..tan, Philadelphia :— BITTER-SWEET. A Poem. By J. G. Holland, author of ‘The Bay Path,” ‘‘Titcomb’s Letters,"’ etc. We have already expressed our approving estimation of the ripe and discriminating judgment of Mr. Holland, as displayed in the letters of Timothy Titcomb. In the present volame, a demand, to which we cheerfully respond, is made upon our admiration in behalf of his performances as a poet. Though in its general structure, and occasionally in some of its descriptive passages, ‘‘ Bitter-Sweet"’ forcibly re- minds us of the “ Life Drama’ of Alexander Smith, we nevertheless feel compelled to acknowledge the originality of the genius displayed in its language and imagery. De- scriptive of New England life, the scene of the poem is laid in the mansion of an old Puritan farmer, on Thanksgiving evening ; and the action consists of the sayings and doings of the persons therein assembled in family reunion. The moral of ‘‘ Bitter-Sweet,’’ which the title suggests, is, that from apparent evils often results the greatest good, and that it is through trials and afflictions the soul is oftenest and most effectually purified. Its descriptive portions are exquisitely beautiful, and are distinguished by those pecu- liarities with which the imagination of the true poet alone can invest the commonest scenes. In fine, ‘‘ Bitter-Sweet” is a production which we can cordially recommend to the perusal of all lovers of true poetry and refined and elevated sentiment. Price 75 cents. From J. B. Lippixcorr & Co., Philadelphia :— VIOLET; or, the Times We Live in. This is one of the most entertaining novels, in which, without being of a strictly religious character, religious truths and the neces- sity of Christian faith are inculeated, that we bave recently had the pleasure of perusing. Though the story is neither intricate in its plot nor replete with startling incidents, it presents to our view many quiet, lifelike pictures of the men, women, and children of the age in which we live. The author is evidently a person of cultivated taste and enlarged and charitable views, and seems in no way dis- posed to regard a long face as the best evidence of piety, of to place the indulgence of innocent humor in the cata- logte of sins. Price $1 00. THE DEMI-MONDE: A Satire on Society. From the French of Alexandre Dumas, Jr. By Mrs. E. G. Squier. This is a satiric comedy, in five acts, from the pen of the anthor of ‘“‘La Dame Acx Camelias."’ It is a production of unquestionable merit, sparkling and pungent in wit, graceful in language, end as correct in sentiment ae we could expect a comedy of French origin to be. Having no knowledge of the original, we can say nothing with respect to the translation, except that, judging from its general ease and freedom, it may be a faithful and spirited one. Price 75 cents. ZENAIDA. By Florence Anderson. This is the first work of a young and confessedly inexperienced writer. Though the youth and inexperience of its author are readily discernible in its somewhat florid style, ‘‘Zenaida” ia, nevertheless, an attractive and entertaining work of fiction, giving abundant evidence of imaginative and de scriptive talents of no common order. Price 75 cents. From Perersow & Brotners, Philadelphia:— WEBSTER AND HAYNE’'S CELEBRATED SPEECHES IN THE UNITED STATES SENATE, ON MR. FOOT’S RESOLUTION OF JANUARY, 1830. Also, Dania Web- ster’s Speech in the Senate of the United States, May 7, 1850, on the Slavery Compromise. Politicians will find here, in a cheap and compact form, the sum and substance of almost all that has been, or can be, said, in regard toa prominent topic of political debate. Price 25 cents. JUDGE HALIBURTON’S YANKEE STORIES. With illustrations. Two volumes complete in one. Of their kind, Judge Haliburton’s stories have been long, and are still, acknowledged to be the most perfect. In their pecu- liar dialect, they are classic; and new editions of them are called for as often and as regularly as for those of any other English classic. The humor, the witty sarcasm, the shrewd observations, and the plain, common-sense, every- day philosophy of that inimitable creation, Sam Slick, the clockmaker, take a hold upon the fancy that is but strength- ened by time. Of the enduring popularity of the stories alluded to, we need no other evidence than the numerous editions of them demanded by the public. To satisfy a recent call for them, the Messrs. Peterson have issued the present volume, which is gotten up in their usual ueat and cheap style. Price $1 25. From Harper & Brotmers, New York, throuch Persa- sox & Brorners, Philadelphia :— SELF-MADE MEN. By Charles B. Seymour. In this very attractive-looking volume will be found the lives of sixty-two persons, most of whem attained eminence in spite of adverse circumstances of birth and fortune. These biographies are of necessity brief. Nevertheless, present- ing, as it does, the most striking and important events in the lives of the distinguished persons of whom it treats, and depicting, with considerable freshness and originality, the prominent traits of their characters, the work will prove acceptable to a numerous class of readers, who, from various circumstances, are unable to obtain access to larger and completer volumes. Some of Mr. Seymour's statements of fact, however, are not presented with that correctness which veracious history demands, and which a more critical and less prejudiced examination of his authorities might have insured. In regard to the nume- rous portraits illustrating these biographic sketches, all that we can truthfully say is that, while excellent as specimens of wood-engraving, they are execrable as like nesses. Price $1 25. MY LADY LUDLOW. A Novel. By Mrs. Gaskell, an- thor of ‘“‘ Mary Barton,” “ North and South,” ete. ete. No. 200 of Harper’s “Library of Select Novels."’ This is a quietly told and unpretending story, depending more for its interest upon the faithfal depiction of character, than upon the intricacy of its plot or the startling nature of its incidents. It has already attained reputation through the pages of Dickens’s “‘ Household Words,” in which it origin ally appeared. This fact alone seems to us a sufficient recommendation. Price 12 cents. From D. Appieros & Co., New York, throngh Prrer- son & Broruers, Philadelphia :— LEGENDS AND LYRICS: A Book of Verses. By Ade laide Anne Proctor. A volume of sweet, touching, and naturally written poems, eminently worthy of perusal. Price 75 cents. FROM NEW YORK TO DELHAI, by Way of Rio de Janeiro, Australia, and China. By Robert B. Minturn, Jr. This work, which will prove an exceedingly interest- ing one at the present time, has grown, we are informed, out of asix months’ tour in India just before the outbreak of the mutiny. The materials were principally derived from letters intended only for the author's family. The book is consequently written in a free and familiar style, in whieh the author states his impressions without much regard for preconceived opinions, or for the conclusions of more philo- sophie inquiry. Nevertheless, the work is one which

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LITERARY NOTICES

should be read by every student of East Indian history, - not only upon account of its novel views, but also for its facts and figures. Price $1 25. AFTER DARK: A Novel. By Wilkie Collins, author of “The Dead Secret,’’ ‘‘Hide and Seek,”’ Most of the stories in this volume have already won popularity, as they appeared in the pages of Dickens’ ‘“‘ Household Words.” As a story writer, Wilkie Collins stands, at the present day, without a rival; and the tales in this collection are Price 50 cents. ete. fair specimens of his most genial mood. From H. Dayrox, New York, through G. G. Evans & Co., 439 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia. NEW ENGLAND'S CHATTELS; or, Life in the North- ern Poor-House. Never having been a reader of what may be termed sectional novels, no matter what side of a certain vexed question it has been their design to advocate, either in the way of recrimination or otherwise, we shall not make an exception of the present work. From the glance we have taken of its pages, however, we may safely conjecture that it will prove interesting to a large class of readers, and, at the same time be productive of good. Price $1 25. From Dick & Fitza@ERaALpr, New York, through Perer- son & Broruers, Philadelphia:— THE SAYINGS AND DOINGS OF SAMUEL SLICK, ESQ., together with his Opinion By Judge Haliburton, author of ‘Sam Slick in Search of a The popularity on Matrimony. Wife,” *‘Sam Slick in England,” etc. ete. of our wise, witty, and humorous friend, Mr. Samuel Slick, if we are to judge from the numerous editions of his works which the public has recently called for, ix by no means on the decline. His appearance, ia the present instance, is highly creditable to the taste of Messrs. Dick & Fitzgerald, to whose enterprise we owe his introduction, at this time, to American readers. It will be difficult to find a volume so fuil of fun and good sense as this, which em- bodies the latest experiences of the Clockmaker. Sent free of postage. It con- Price 75 cents, in muslin, in paper, 50 cents. THE SOCIABLES. A glorious Holiday Book. tains one thousand and one Home Amusements, combining Acting Proverbs, Charades, Drawing-Room Pantomimes, Tableaux Vivants, Parlor Magic and Puzzles, Games of Acting, Forfeits, Science in Sport; in fact, it is a source of never ending entertainment. Three hundred engravings and diagrams. Four hundred pages, and price only $1 00. From Repp & CARLETON, through Hazarp & BRoTHErs, Philadelphia :— VERNON GROVE; or, Hearts as They Are. A Novel. This novel, the prodaction of an already eminent American authoress—Mrs. Caroline H Glover, of Charle<ton, South Carolina—truly deserves to be ranked with the highest of our works of sentimental fiction. Whatever the story may lack in those characteristics which seem essential to what are called “sensation novels’’—novels wherein the actors become involved in almost inextricable labyrinths of plot, and encounter the strangest vicissitudes of good and evil fortune—is much more than compensated for by the grace, ease, and chusteness of its style, the depth and tenderness of its genuine and natural pathos, and the purity and nobleness of the lessons it inculcates. Love is its prin- cipal theme—not love the guilty passion, but that love which, however ardent it may be, elevates and refines the heart, and finds, even amid the torments of self-sacrifice, those pleasures and those rewards which ever attend upon the consciousness of duties fulfilled. Price #1 00, VOL. LVII.—8

From J. E. Tinton & Co., Boston :-- HOWITT'S PICTURES FOR THE YOUNG. A delightfal little holiday present for children, full of good reading and admirable engravings, of which latter there are eighteen well-executed plates, far better than those usually intro- duced into juvenile books. Mary and John Howitt’s pames are good guarantees for the propriety of the read- ing. Price $1 00. From Sraxyrorp & De.isser, 608 Broadway, New York :— BUDS FROM THE CHRISTMAS BOUGHS. This is the graceful title of another juvenile book by Miss Townsend, which we hope will find its way into the heart of every child able to read. Those who have perused Miss Town- send’s contributions to the Children’s Department can understand her peculiar power, in this vein of writing, and the “charm of her sweet persuasions’ and high moral teachings. Parents could not select a better or more appropriate holiday gift for their children; and as Miss Townsend has a direct pecuniary interest in the sale of these works, we hope that all her friends will not only procure them, but interest themselves to see that others do so. 16mo. Price 63 cents. BYEAND BYE. This is the suggestive title of a volume now in press, by Virginia F. Townsend. The volume is designed as a gift for the holidays, and is especially in- tended for young persons; and we can promise our readers a rare treat in this book, made up, as it is, of the author's finest stories, with their true, touching pictures of haman life, and joy, and sorrow, and, above all, with their teach- ings of love, and truth, and right. We especially recom- mend this book as a holiday gift, sure that its pictures and its lessons will have a mission for all whe read them. 16mo. cloth. Price 63 cents, From SHeipox, Brakeman, & Co., New York, through E. H. Brrier & Co., Philadelphia:— SPURGEON’S GEMS; being Brilliant Passages from the Discourses of the Rev. C. H. Spurgeon. In this volume we have presented to us the most striking portions of the sermons of a gentleman who, in England, has won an al- most unexampled popularity. Without wishing in the least to detract from the merit of these ‘*‘ brilliant passages,” we feel bound to say that many, very many, of our own preachers, of all denominations, have given utterance to sentiments far less objectionable in style, and equally as Price $1 00. POEMS. By D. Hardy, Jr. With a Biographical Sketch. To the readers of this magazine, the name of the aathor of these little poems was at one time familiar, as being ap- pended to poetic contributions for its pages not unworthy of more famous aspirants. Of the sweetness and amiability of his disposition, as reflected in those contributions, it ix also probable that our friends are not ignorant, though many of them, perhaps, are as yet unacquainted with the fact of his departure from among us, in the bright spring- time of his promising genius, and in the very dawn of his life of purity and benevolent effort. As a fitting tribute to his memory, his friends have published the elegant volume good in sentiment. under notice, with no otherexpectation than that its cireu- lation should be among those who, by personal intercourse, or through the medium of his poetic productions, have learned to admire and love him. A copy of the work will be mailed, post-paid, to any address in the United States, upon the receipt of $1, directed to D. Hardy, Sr., Homer, Cortland Co., N. Y. The publishers are A. B. Burdick & Co., New York.

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86 From Ticknor & Fieuns, Boston, through Hazarp & Broruers, 724 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia :— A JOURNEY DUE NORTH ; being Notes of a Residence in Russia. By George Augustus Sala. This is a racy and entertainingly written book, descriptive of Russia and the The author's proclivity for humor, however, verges so closely Russian people, and abounding in incidents of travel. upon caricature, that, notwithstanding the amusement he affords the reader, one will find it difficult to place implicit reliance upon his facts, or to separate the plain from the ex- aggerated truths which he imparts. Nevertheless, whether we believe him or not, we must confess that Mr. Sala is an exceedingly pleasant and vivacious travelling companion Price €1 00. From Dersy & Jackson, 119 Nassau Street, New York :— WHILE IT WAS MORNING This is a rare and beautiful story— The pathos and beanty of its incidents cannot fail to charm the By Virginia F. Townsend. One handsome 12mo. a story of trial, and endurance, and final triumph. reader, while it has pure and blessed teachings for all The volume is elegantly gotten up, and will be a beautiful holiday gift. It will be sent to any part of the Union, on receipt of the price by the publisher. $1 25. lives. Price From Carrer & Broruers, New York :— MEMORIES OF GENNESARET. tev. John R. Macduff, author of ‘“‘ Morning and Night Watches,”’ By the etc. In this deeply interesting work, the writer has set forth with both power and tenderness the most striking scenes in the public life of our Saviour; he has given life and re- ality to them by setting them as it were in accurate and graphic descriptions of the country in which they oceurred. The style is simple and direct, but full of pathos and deep meaning. Any one familiar with the former works of the same writer will need only his name as a recommenda- tion. Price 75 cents. MINISTERING CHILDREN. A Tule, dedicated to Childhood. A beautiful and instructive story, showing the good that even a child may do, if their mind is seriously bent on finding some way of benefiting their less fortunate fellow beings. Itis a story that will not only interest but improve all who attentively read it. Price $1 00. THE VOICE OF CHRISTIAN LIFE IN SONG: Hymns and Hymn-writers of many Lands and Ages. This is a work valuable to all who love the sacred hymns or, and chants, consecrated by time, which link our age with It xives an ac- count of the hymns of the Bible, of the Te Deum, and al! those glorious old Latin hymns, the lips of whose unknown the earliest ages of the Christian church. authors seem to have been tonched with a live coal from God’s altar ; of St. Ambrose and his songs; of Gregory; of St. Bernard; of Luther and his German contemporaries and followers, whose poems are so full of deep spiritual meaning; down to Wesley and the hymn-writers of our own time. The selections from their works, as well as the account of the writers, show great discernment and re- search. Price 75 cents. MEMOIRS OF MRS. JUKES. of one whose chief claim to eminence lay in the simplicity, This isa simple memorial truthfulness, and fervor of her religions faith. She re- strained her natural impulsiveness until she saw the path of duty clearly defined before her; and then, however difficult it might be, she walked in it with an unfaltering step and an unfearing heart. Her simple story is best told by her own letters and journal. Hers was a life that all might imitate, and in that lies its chief charm and source of usefulness. GODEY'’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Godeps Arm-C hatr. Jancary Once More.—For twenty-nine years have we regularly greeted our friends with the compliments of the season; and never did we do it with more pleasure than now. Having passed through an unprecedented season of panic (fortunately not felt by the Lady’s Book), business has again revived, and everything around us Jooks smil- ing. Again does the industrious citizen take down bis shutters, expecting business to keep him employed during the day. The merchant now looks which way the wind is, either that it may favor the going out or coming in of his ship; for a while, the wind might blow where it list- eth, it was nothing to him. Even the undertakers are looking up, not down, as was their wont, for people can afford to have a funeral. Magazine publishers, many of them, are looking about for new contributors; we, being well supplied, have not that care. Our office is put in order for a great winter business; any quantity of steel pens, reams of paper, bundles of envelops, are now ready. Our clerks have slept ten hours a night up to this time, We are now ready, and a great year we are to have, if we may expecting very little sleep hereafter until spring. judge by the commencement. On no former occasion have we received half the subscribers that we have now booked atthis time. We thank our friends for their long-continued patronage of the Book, and we promise them a glorious series of numbers for 1859. Neoiecrep Flowers, a& beautiful plate, and a title-page, “The Seven Ages of Woman,"’ commence the new year, and we are proud of both engravings, designed expressly Two steel plates in December, and lour for the Lady's Book. two in January; it would take any other magazine months to give this many plates. Gotp-DoLLaR Purses, richly in colora, is an- printed other of the beautiful illustrations peculiar only to the Lady's Book. EXPRESsLY FoR Us.— This is the style we mean to give Ovr Fasuion-Piatr, Desienep *““What a likeness!” our plates of fashion this year; not unmeaning stand-up figures, like the heads in a milliner’s shop, but pictures colored and fashions that can be used. Let that be remem- bered ; fashions that may be seen every day in Chestnut Street or Broadway. It is too much the rule with otber magazines to select figures without any reference to seasou or use, but merely those that will look most gaudy ; or, as the old lady said of her bonnet, ‘‘I don’t care what color it is, so it is red.” We ask attention to our advertisement for 1859, pub- lished in this number. It is buta faint outlineof what we will do, but will give some general idea of what the Lady's Book will be. In fact, it is hardly necessary for us to pub- lish any advertisement. Our subscribers end the public know that we will publish the best lady's book in the world; and they have known us so long that they arg, willing to trust us, even without any promises on our’ part. Weare thankful, very thankful, for the patronage we have received for the last twenty-nine years; and we can only add that, having found that fulfilling every pro- mise made has been the best policy, that plan we shall still continue to pursue.

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GODEY’'S CALDWeLL's Patace.—The handsomest store in the world is, now, that of Caldwell & Co., Chestnut Street, next door to the new Hotel. The store itself is three It is beautifully frescoed, and filled with the choicest articles of stories high, receiving its light directly from above. ‘welry and silverware, ornamental bronzes, clocks, and au infinite variety of fancy goods. For the last four or five years we have mentioned this store as one of the places trom which we will supply goods in their line; for we cuow Messrs. Caldwell & Co., and can recommend them. Let every person visiting the city call and look at this splendid establishment; whether you purchase or not, you will be made-welcome. We have inquired of many ‘rsons who have visited the most celebrated European cities, whether any such establishment can be found abroad. The invariable answer is—‘‘ No; it is the hand- sumest store in the world.” MAKE UP youR CLuBs.—Remember that the Lady’s Book We to s the best work for ladies published in this country. have more than one thousand privaie letters testi this fact, and the press throughout the country is unani- mous in saying that the Lady's Book is the best magazine The difference in f its kind in this or any other country. the club price of the Lady's Book and that of other maga- zines is only a few cents, and for these few cents you get iearly one-third more reading and engravings, besides ther more expensive embellishments that a low-priced magazine cannot afford to give. Clubs must be for the Lady’s Book alone, with one exception, and that is “ Ar- thar’s Home Magazine.” One or more of that work can be introduced in a club in place of the Lady’s Book, if desired. Any person, with a very little trouble, can get up a club for the Book; we have frequently been su informed by ladies—the work is so popular. It is but to call and get a subscription. Clubs are always in time, as we are able to supply numbers from the beginning of the year; yet we like them sent in soon, to know how many we shall print Remember, that a work with 100,000 sabscribers can give t number, five times as much as a work with only half tl and the embellishments can also be made of a very supe- rior character. Our terms are made plain and explicit, so that they may be easily understood. We are often asked to throw in an In no instance can this be done, as our terms aff A shop- ar extra copy. are so low to clubs that it cannot be yrded. keeper woula look amazed, if a purchaser should ask him to throw in an extra yard because she had purchased And yet we are asked to add an extra copy be- It cannot be done. twelve. cause twelve have been ordered. Hoaxtne A Parts1ax.—A Mr. Clavigny has lately put forth a book in Paris upon the history of the press in Eng- land and the United States. Amoug many ludicrous errors is the following: The Lady’s Book has 30,000 readers, whilst Godey’s Magazine has from 15,000 to 20,000. We think it would be hard to separate the two works, but Mr. Clavigny bas done it. Take his two estimates and unite them, and it would not amount to more than half of the subscribers, while the readers may be counted at about 1,000,000. Wantep.—A lady desires a situation as resident govern- ess in a family, or assistant teacher in a school. She is competent to teach the usual English branchies, French, drawing in pencil and crayon, and rudiments of Latin. Satisfactory references given. Sonthern States preferred. Ad ss x No. 26, Peun Yan, Yates Co., N a b A RM-CHAIR. Beware OF ImITATIons.—The press very generally have spoken out on the subject of the vile imitations of Godey’s Lady’s Book that are offered to the public: It is truly the Lady’s Book of America, which others imitate, but none can equal.—Brunswicker, Brunswick. Many publications are gotten up at the present day under the head of Lady’s Books, but all are mere imitations of Godey. the standard whereby : Windsor. Other periodicals try to imitate Godey, but as soon as they come near his mark he raises his standard of Godey’s is l others are guided.—Herald, New excellence and leaves them far behind.—Herui/, Hagers- This is the best magazine in the country, and other magazines only derive their excellence by imitating. —Ez- We fully indorse the opinion of the town. celsior, Hightstown 7 McConnellsburg Democrat, that all our periodicals seem to imitate Godey’s Lady's Book. It appears to be the model beyond which they desire not to reach.—Gazette, it is the great exemplar It still maintains its decided superiority over all other imita- Glen Cove. Inimitable itself, which all publications of the kind strive to imitate. Tarboro. Godey leads, appears to be the of other for they well know they We must say, tive publications.—Southerner, It magazines to equal Godey alone, and others follow. aim cannot surpass him.—Jerald, Leaveaworth. could fill two pages with similar notices, but again we take the real Lady’s Book, and beware of imitators Rupens.—See the great picture of the “‘ Repentant Mag- dalen,’”’ by Rubens, at Earle’s celebrated gallery , Chestuut Street, above Eighth. How to Remrr.—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 moncy is in your letter. If you send gold dollars, secure them care- fally in the letter ; the envelop. Notes Be careful and pay the postage on yuur letter, and di- rect it to L. A. Godey, Philadelphi otherwise, they are apt to work out of on aH solvent banks taken at par. a. .— He kissed her, and promised. Man’s usual fate—he was lost upon PRom A BrxpInG Such beautiful lips. the coral reefs. Ovk numerous exchanges sugvest that the Lady's Book is the best Christmas or New Years gift that a gentleman could possibly make to a lady, as she will monthly be re- minded of the donor. hat we ida ArTicLes Por Fancy Fairs.—In addition to w have promised in our advertisement, we have yet to a new feature—Articles for Fancy Fairs—with engravings and descriptions that any lady will be able to make up. “THe Fiy-Lear.’’—Another excellent number of this interesting journal, the contents of which ar the scholars of the ‘‘ College Temple,” at Newnan, Ga » written by Ow another page will be found a new circular of Messrs J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston, of prints and engravings suit- able for Grecian pa , and other inf Mr. J. E. Tilton, of Salem, finding his business in this line so much enlarged, has, in connection with his brother, made their principal house at 161 Washington Street, Boston, for the better accommodation of their customers and them- nting, ete rmation. The old honse at Salem at present continues as a I selves branch of the same.

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&S GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. We give extracts from a few out of the many thonsand setters received, commendatory of the Book. As this is the first number of the year, we want our uew subscribers to see in what estimation the work is held by those who have known it for vears. Kentocky, November 2d, 1858. Havriye been for eight years a subscriber to your Lady's Book, I would not be without it for any consideration. Your aseful receipts in every department, your beautifal embroidery patterns, and exquisite taste in the monthly chit-chat, more than repay, in one number, the amount of the year’s subscription. Let me add that I think, with many others, that your Book is the cheapest and most useful of any in the country. T. Missovrt. Dear Goper: Your household treasure has come to us monthly, in its mission of dispensing light and giadness into all hearts; and we can truly say that you have far surpassed our expectations and your promises. We have perused your beautiful stories, and we feel that the high- toned sentiment running through its many rills of truth have made as better and happier than we were when we first welcomed you. Ww. Tennessee, October 25th, 1358. Dear Sin: I have made up a club, for which I inclose $20. I received all my Books last year safely, and found each one a perfect treat, for which I retura sincere thanks. You have certainly done all you promised and a good deal over; you have done your whole duty, and left nothing andone. Your Lady’s Book is indispensable; no family should be without it, for indeed it is an entertaining com- T. Lovrstana, October 25th, 1858. I wave been a subscriber to your Book for three years, and think it is the best Lady’s Book in the world; for there is a little of everything in it, to gratify every taste. 8. Inursots, October 29th, 1858. Dear Sir: For nine years, your valuable Book has been my annual New Year present from my husband. I com- mend his taste, and praise it as his gift. I fiud it useful, ornamental, and entertaining. Ido not think I could well do without it. May the sun of its prosperity never go a. panion. down! From the Lady of a distinguished Judge in Virginia. October 13th, 1858. We have been taking your Book for several years; but this year, thinking perhaps it was an useless expense, we determined to try and do without it, which, on trial, we find almost impossible. Scarcely a day has passed that we have not felt its absence. In a household of ladies, it is as essential as sewing materials. Lapres! ladies! why do you not date your letters, town, county, and State? And do not put, instead of these very necessary things, the name of your place, such as Tulip Grove, Rose Hill, Magnolia Retreat, Dahlia Heath, &e. You would save us a great deal of trouble by stick- ing to plain common sense. 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 ——!" and no doubt intrusted it to that person to mail. Again we say, let no one know that there is money in your letter. For Grecian Parntine.—J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston, and Salem, Mass., publish the following fine and desirable en- gravings, which they send by mail, post paid, on receipt of price. Size of Plate. Price. Hiawatha's Wooing, 14 by 18, 1 50 The Farm-Yard, 13 by 19, 1 53 The Happy Family, 13 by 17, 123 Les Orphelines, 9 by 11, 1 00 The Jewsharp Lesson, 9 by 11, 60 The Little Bird, 9 by 11, 60 Age and Infancy, 16 by 22, 2 00 Evangeline (Longfellow's), 1 H& Beatrice Cenci, 1H The first seven are intended for Grecian and Antique painting, and have separate directions for each object, how to paint, the colors used, and how to mix. They also continue to publish desirable things in this line, of which they send notice to their customers. Seminaries, teachers, and dealers furnished, at liberal discount, with the above, and all Artists’ materials. Sets of the best English Oil Colors in tubes, varnishes, oils, brushes, and other needful materials for the arts of Grecian and Antique Oil Painting, furnished for$3. Sinall trial pictures for use at thirteen cents each. Improvements made from time to time in these and other arts will be communicated to our customers without extra char ge. Directions in our new style of Grecian and Antique Painting on Glass, Oriental and Potichimanie, furnished, full and complete (so that any child may learn without other instruction), for one dollar, postpaid, with rules for varnishes, etc. Purchasers of our goods to the amount of five dollars are entitled to the directions free. Persons ordering them for one dollar, and after buying the materials to the amount of five dollars, may deduct the one dollar paid for directions. Address J. E. Trrrow & Co., Publishers and Dealers in Artists’ Goods, Boston, where they have established their principal house for the better accommodation of a large and increasing business. 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. La Prerre Hovsr, Broap Strest.—Our attention was attracted by an article in a Southern paper, eulogizing this house and its worthy proprietors—the Brothers Ward. The praise there bestowed was all deserved, for there is not such another hotel in the country. Itis patronized by the most respectable and worthy people of the land, is always well filled, and well liked. The Messrs. Ward, as caterers, have not their equals, and their cook is an artist. The situation of the hotel is the best in the city—on the highest ground, on the widest street, and in the centre of fashion. ParticvLar Noticr.—If money is not sent direct to the publisher, L. A. Godey, Philadelphia, do not write to us to supply you with the Book. If you choose to subscribe to any association, or in any other way than direct to us, you must take the consequences; and we are also determined not to waste post-office stamps in answering letters upon this subject.

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GODEY’S AI 2M-CHAIR. 89 Tart Srarr-Case.—At Archer, Warner, & Miskey’s, they have had on exhibition a section of the splendid bronze balustrade for the stairway of the new capitol at Wash- ngton. It is one of the most finished pieces of art ever produced in this country, and we do not think any other sountry could surpassit. The design is unique, embracing figures of boys, eagles, deer, butterflies, serpents, flowers, nd all the staple productions of the country. These are modelled original, that the warmest admiration is excited in every from nature, and the design is so elegant and beholder. Scsscrrpers do not seem to understand that, when we receive money for any other publication, we pay the money ver to that publication, and they, not we, are then respon- ible If they miss a number of Harper, Arthur, or Graham, they We only act as the agent to pay over the money. aust address the publisher of the publication they miss. We have nothing to do with it. $3 50.—For this very trifling sum you can obtain the two best magazines—Godey’s Lady’s Book and Arthur's tlome Magazine—both one year. In these two publica- tions, you will receive twenty-six of the finest steel en- “ravings, teoenty-four beautiful colored fashion - plates. Arthur’s Magazine is pronounced by the whole press of the United States the best two dollar magazine published ; and the various notices that we have published on our cover proclaim what the Lady's Book is. Arthur's Magazine, as far as a high rank of literature is concerned, is decidedly the best two dollar magazine.— Middletown Rainbow. Arthur's Lady's Home Magazine.—The best of the two dol ar monthlies.—Richmond Religious Herald. 4rthur’s Home Magazine.—This still gives new additional proof of being the very best of the two dollar magazines.—Rushville Times Home Magazine.—This is the best two dollar magazine - published.—Henopin Tribune. Fully maintains the wide reputation of being the best two dollar magazine published.—Cuntun Ledger We could fill pages with notices to the same effect. Miss S. J. Hare’s School, we think, superior advantages to all who wish to obtain now in its third year, offers, for their daughters a thorough and liberal education, and, at the same time, to place them where their comfort, their manners, and their moral training will be carefully at- Her school combines, in a peculiar degree, the tended to. pleasures of a home with the discipline and order of a school. For particulars, as to terms, ete., we refer you to the October number of this “* Book.” into necklaces, or Harr ORNAMENTS.— Ladies wishing hair made bracelets, pins (which are very beautif 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- ful articles: Breastpins, from &4 to $12 Ear-rings, from 84 50 to $10. Bracelets, from $3 to #15. Rings, from $1 50 to &'. Necklaces, from $6 to $15 Fob-chains, from 86 to $12. The Charms of Faith, Hope, and Charity, $4 50. Hair Studs from $5 50 to $11 the set. Sleeve Buttons from $6 59 to $11 the set. g* Tortet Curt CLasps.—A new article, to take the place A most ingenious and useful article; one that will entirely supersede the ungraceful paper. These clasps are manufactured by the celebrated firm of Gibbud, Ivins, & Co. of shaw! and scarf pins; also hair pins, belt clasps, fancy of curl papers. They also make thirty-four different styles dress buttons, etc.; but the toilet curl clasp is a new in- vention. We will give the directions how to produce a most luxuriant set of curls :— Directions for using the Toilet Curl Clasps.—Moisien the hair with cold water, comb and part it; then unhook Roll the hair around them tight and smoothly, with the large end of the Hook them, and let them remain so for a few the clasps and commence a@the small end. clasp up. hours; then unhook them, and place the thumb and fore- finger on the curl and draw out the clasp without unwind- ing it im the least, and your ringlet will be smooth and perfect. They will form curls in less time if the clasps are heated in the oven of the stove just so warm that they can be han- There are three dled, before the hair is rolled on to them sizes, Nos. 1, 2,3. No. 3 being the largest. Let it be distinctly understood that we have no agents for whose acts we are responsible, and we are only account- able to those who remit directly to us. We have no agents that solicit subscribers. Money must be sent to the pub- lisher, L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. COSMOPOLITAN ART JOURNAL, QUARTERLY, FOR DEcrM- Ber. C. L. Derby, New York, Publisher.—Ther plates in this number that are really beautiful—“ e two leopatra Applying the Asp” and “The First Pair of Boots’’—gems The showing a great progress in this department of illustra- of art wood engravings are also very superior, tion. —a story by Alice Carey; “‘Body and Soul,” We particularly call attention to the reading matter by Mrs. Metta V. Victor, our own gifted contributor; and “ High Life Tragedy,’’ a humorous poem, which has generally been accredited to the author of *‘ Nothing to Wear.” The other literary matter is also especially good. Mr. C. L. Derby, New York, makes the following very handsome offers: Every ted sygeel engraving, ‘‘The Village Blacksmith” subscriber of three dollars is entitled to the celebra (and a superb affair it is), a copy of the elegantly illustrated Cosmopolitan Art Journal, and a free season admission to the Eastern and Western Galleries of Art; in addition to which, the large and valuable collection of works of art, painting, and sculpture will be distributed amongst the subscribers. Subscriptions must be sent to him before the first of January, on which day the distribution takes place. Peart Carp-Cases, manufactured for Godey’s Lady's Book. Beautifally inlaid with various colored shells, #3 00 2 00 Second mourning card-cases, Country Press, CLuBs, AND BokRowers.—Why do you not have a club-list hung up in your office, and ask every one that wishes to borrow, to subscribe, and show them how cheaply they can procure it? Orr Neepurs.—There may, perhaps, be a very few families in the Union not yet supplied with these celebrated Twenty- needles; if so, we advise them to apply soon. five cents for one hundred, done up in a neat case. So_vent Banxs.—We take the notes of all solvent banks in payment for the Lady's Book.

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90 GODEY S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZ NE. We feel we deserve the following notice from the York Advocate. We think that twenty-nine years devoted to a work for the improvement, amusement, and instruction Tue following good-hamored verses are in answer to the very pretty article we published in the August number— '* How to Dry Currants.” TO MR. GODEY ON THE DRIED CURRANT SUBJECT Deak Mr. Godey, how can you (Benevolent and wise!) Use brass or copper for a stew, Or others so advise? For, in these days of chemist lore, Tis easy to be seen, Fruit could not boil 4a brass before, It would be turning green! A knowledge how the chemics act By most has been acquired, And eating poisons is a fact Not much to be desired. Safe use of brass or copper kettle Por acid fruit is vain ; By all means use a harder metal, Well lined with porcelain. If such a one you can’t procure, Then use a butter pot That's made of stone, for then, be sure, No verdigris you ‘ve got. This you may in brass kettle boil— Let water round it bubble— And if it does increase the toil, "Tis nicer for the trouble. After your currants boil up well, For goodnese’ sake, my friend, Use no tin pans, for, truth to tell, The matter you ll not mend. For, acid acting on the tin, j The lead will decompose, And drying, will absorb it in, As everybody knows. But use, instead, a dinner-plate, Or larger earthen platter ; | Then dry them on an oven grate, Or elsewhere, ‘tis no matter. And drying, whether high or low, | Is all they will require, Uatil you ask to tea Widow Bedott and Aunt Maguire. | Then, you must soak them soft and nice, Add sugar if they need— And, if you follow my advice, Be sure you will succeed. I’m sorry that I cannot say I am a noted writer— Yet, truth to tell, I see no way *Twould make my verses brighter. But maybe you will not refuse My unpretending letter— And for its facts its faults excuse— I'll try the next to better. And so, dear friend, I'll say good-by ; I’ve known you long as clever Accept my best regards, while I, Most traly am yours, ever. I add a postscript, just, you see, To designate my sex: Should I for gent mistaken be, It greatly would me vex. of woman, entitle us to it:— ‘The success which attends the enterprising publisher of this magazine is a positive reward of merit—a com- pensation for years spent in efforts to promote the interests of those for whom the work is designed. It is cheering to find such efforts meet their due reward, and it is calculated to encourage all who, by perseverance, punctuality, and honest, indefatigable endeavor, strive to press forward into public notice, and win public confidence and esteem. The *Lady’s Book’ and ‘The Advocate’ will each be furnished ” one year for three dollars To those subscribers to the Mount Vernon fund who receive the picture of Washington, we respectfully mention that we are not responsible for the engravings. We simply receive the money, and hand it over to the publisher of the Mount Vernon Record. “CATHARINE,” OF RicnMonD.—Remember, you have never yet favored us with your name. How, then, can we answer your letter? Would do sv with great pleasure, if we knew how to address you. 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. *“ B. G.”"—Sent hair vest chain October 16th. “Mrs. McA.’’—Sent patterns 16th. “Mrs. T. C. W."’—Seventy-five cents per dozen. “Miss M. L. R.""—Sent patterns 19th. “Mrs. J. A. MeD.""—Sent Marseilles collars 19th. “Mrs. L. G.”"— Sent patterns 19th. “G. S. H.”—Sent two hair rings 20th. “Miss M. W.”"—Sent patterns 20th. “Mrs. D. E. R.”—Sent two of Douglas & Sherwood Skirts by Adams's express 20th. “Mrs. L. G.*’—Sent patterns 21st. “S. A. J.""—Sent package by Adams's express 22d. * W. H. R.""—Sent child's patterns, 22d. **Mrs. M. E. F.’’—Sent bonnet by Harnden’s express 23d. **Miss J. A. F."’—Sent bonnet by Harnden's express 23d. “J. H. S."'—Sent Douglas & Sherwood's Skirt by express 23d. ‘*Mrs. E. E. MeL."’—Sent pattern for child's hood 23d. **Mrs. M. C. H.”"—Sent velvet flowers, &c. by Adams's express 25th. “HH. T. H."’—Sent stamped collars, toil ciré, &c. 2th. **Mrs. C. L.”"—Sent patterns 25th. **Mrs. A. V. D. B.""—Sent patterns 25th. “Mrs. C. A. H.”"—Delivered goods as ordered 26th. ** Miss A. M."’—Sent box by Adams's express 26th. ‘Mrs. A. V. D. B.”—Sent dress patterns by Harnden’s express 27th. ‘*Mrs. M. A. F.”—Sent veil and ribbon 27th. “J. C."—Sent hair ear-rings 27th. “Mrs. F. N.’’—Sent merino 27th. “Miss H. W.”—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Skirt and collar by Adams's express 28th. “J. C. M."—Sent pattern 28th. “Miss J. A. A.”—Sent pattern and tidy 28th

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. “Mrs. F. A. G.”—Sent pattern, &c. 28th. ** Superfluous Hair."-—We have answered this question, by letter and otherwise, over one hundred times. There is nothing that will remove the hair effectually without also removing the skin. If you want to get rid of one, you must consent to part with the other. “J. A. B.”"—Sent drygoods by Adams’s express 30th. “Mrs. F. W. P.”’—Sent crewel, &c. 30th. “Mrs, A. V. D. B."’—Sent patterns 30th. **Mrs. M. B.”’—Sent patterns 30th. “Ww. P. W."’—Sent two hair rings 30th. **Miss M. 8. B.”"’—Sent three hair rings 30th. ** Miss P. D.’’—Sent hair fob-chain 30th. **Mrs. A. E. J.”’ **M. D."’—Sent colored flowers 30th. “a. G.N “E. T. D.""—Could you not see the working pattern on —Sent patterns, &c. 30th. *—Sent hair ring November Ist. the opposite page? You sent no stamp for an answer. “A. E. K.""—Sent colored cotton 3d. “Mrs. H. H. H.”"—Sent infant's wardrobe by Wells & Fargo’s express 3d. **Miss V. H.’’—Sent colored cotton, &c. 3d “Mrs. E. P.”"—Sent box of drygoods by Adams’s express 3d. “*Mrs. J. A. N.”—Sent orné ball by Adams’s express 3d “*Mrs. E. W.”—Sent patterns and thread 3d. **Miss M. A. W."’—Sent two pairs worked slippers 3d. “Mrs. D. A. E."’—Sent patterns for infant's wardrobe 3d. **Mrs. C. J. H.”—Sent fringe 4th. **Mrs. B. P. L.”—Sent boy’s patterns 5th. “ee. &. ‘*Mrs. J. E. H.’’—Sent apron pattern for girl 5th. “T. G. H.”’—Sent patterns for boy, &c. Sth. ‘Mrs. L.”"—Sent patterns 5th. ‘*Mrs. M.S. S.'’"—Sent patterns 5th. **Mrs. W. A. H.’’—Sent pattern for infant’s winter cloak 6th. ‘*Mrs. M. 8S. G.""—Sent pattern for boy’s cloak 6th. ‘E. N. C."—Sent silk embroidery patterns 6th. ** Mrs. J. S. M.""—Sent patterns 8th. ‘*Mrs. P.”"—Sent patterns 8th. ** Miss C. H. T."’"—Sent hair ear-rings and finger-ring 9th. * Mrs. C. T. H.”—Sent patterns 9th, ** Miss E. J. J."’"—Sent hair necklace 9th. ‘““Mrs. A. M. R.”"—Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Honiton Skirt by Adams’s express 9th. ** Miss W. W. P."’—-Sent Douglas & Sherwood’s Balmoral —Sent hair fob-chain Sth. Skirt by Adams’s express 9th. ** Miss J.”—Sent pattern and trimmings 10th. “Mrs. O. L.”’—Sent pattern of Lou Lura cloak 11th. **Miss M. C. R.” ‘Mrs. P.”—Sent pattern 13th. **Mrs. C. M. R."’—Sent pattern 13th. “Mrs. C. W. B.”—Sent infant’s shirts 13th. “E. W. C."—Sent hair ring 15th. “Mrs. W. A. J.’’—Sent slippers, hair breastpin, ear- ring, and charms 15th. “Mrs. L. A. D.”—Sent Shetland wool by Adams's ex- press 15th. Centre-Gable Gossip. HOUSE GARDENING—No. 1. BULBS IN POTS OR GLASSES. We have promised those of our lady friends who have gone with us through the past floral year more extended —Sent sleeve patterns 13th. 91 hints on the subject of house gardening, suited to the pre- sent winter months, for those who are able, at other times, to work in the bright borders we have assisted them to arrange, and, at all times, for the invalid, restricted to the limit of four walls and the windows of her room for inte- rest and occupation. There are few dwellings where some house-plants are not grown or attempted ; and some entirely unskilled lovers of their loveliness have doubtless more enjoyment of their monthly roses and oak-leaved gera- niums, than many a fine lady extracts from her green- houses and costly bouquets of exotics. There is, to us, more sentiment and feeling in the sprigs of mignonette, or roots of violets, grown in the window of a poor seamstress, or sickly child, though nursed into bloom with a broken bowl for a vase, than in the costliest conservatory that attracts the passer-by, with its mid-winter pleasures. We have arranged our articles from various sources, and chiefly we delight to honor the delicate and graceful pen of Caroline White, though she is a worker in English soil, and, therefore, we must of necessity be guided, in our adoption of her hints, by our own climate. Window gardening has received especial attention from her, and though our volume commences when her first flowers are blooming, we must go back to their arrangement in the autumn, which our readers may profit by for months to come. Next to the geraniums, monthly roses, and carnations, before mentioned, come stands of flower ng bulbs, either in glasses or pots; and now a new source of pleasure is opened to the house gardener, by the mixture of annuals with the first mentioned standards, to give fresh grace and variety to the house, brightened through the year by floral offerings. To commence with the bulbs, for this is the Jatest possible moment for planting, that they may blossom before early spring. Hyacinths, crocuses, jonquils, Per- sian cyclamens, are the bulbs usually cultivated for the parlor. Hyacinths may be grown in glasses, the rest in pots; though the double Roman narcissus may be grown in glasses also. The latter are considered scarcely inferior to the old established favorite, and are very easy of culture, besides affording a pleasant variety. If the fibres do not root easily, milk-warm water may be used. Bulbs intended for blooming this month and the next, if planted in pots, should be placed in them in October or November, and left exposed in the open air until the weather is freezing. They will need moderate occasional watering until they begin to grow, when they should have abundance of air in mild weather, and have water from the saucers. Single hyacinths usually bloom earlier than the double; they are richer in perfume, and more vividincolor. Bulbs grown in glasses should be prepared as early as the middle of October, the glasses being previously filled with pure water, so that the bottom of the bulb may just touch the water; then place them for the first ten days in a dark room, to promote the shooting of the roots, after which expose them to the sun and light as much as possible. They will blow, however, without any sun, but the color of the flowers will be inferior. The water should be changed as it becomes impure; draw the roots entirely out of the glasses, rinse off the fibres in clean water, and wash the inside of the glass well. Care should be taken that the water does not freeze, as it would not only burs; giass, but cause the fibres to decay. Whether the water be hard or soft, is not of much consequence—soft is pre- ferable—but must be perfectly clear, to show the fibres to advantage. It is said that a bit of charcoal or pinch of salt will preserve the water pure, and prevent the retarded growth, always caused by changes.

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PLAY-HOUSES. Time has been—but that was in the days wnen a thon- sand a year was an ample income—when children were thought to be provided for with a jointed doll or two, a tiny set of pine chairs and sofa, painted red and chintz- covered, and wooden teacups and saucers that might be contained in a good-sized pill-box. But let any house with any pretension to style be examined the present holiday season, and behold the varied accumulations of toys, at an expense that would have provided a year's lights, if not fuel, in the days of our grandmothers—the dolls’ houses farnished with damask, and brocatelle, and Shefiield plate, dolls with embroidered linen and ermine sets, rocking- horses costing scarcely less than a Shetland pony, and, as in one case coming to our knowledge, a doll's ¢:te-ci-tite set in gold, tray and ail. Since fathers and mothers do lavish so much upon the indulged little ones of the present day, the centre-table circle may have their invariable question, ‘‘ What shall we give the children this year, my love?” in part replied to by the very sensible suggestions which we find in a late number of the Horticulturist on the subject of play- lLouses :— “The best plaything for a child is not a splendid and complex rattle-trap, but some simple and rough thing which may be applied to various uses and purposes, and aid to stimulate invention and contrivance. The best of all such things for girls is a house. “My daughter, at six or eight years of age, took posses- sion of a tiny shed originally made to shelter a bee-hive. Sandry articles of furniture, of the most impromptu. style, some of them requiring a good dea! of imagination to supply their deficiencies of construction, were added by degrees— 2 board for a table, a box set on end for a cupboard, some blocks for chairs, a scrap of old carpeting, a broom with a broken handle, half a dozen cracked teacups, ete. By and by, the open side was boarded up, a hole being left fora window, and another for a door, which was a board hung up on two bits of leather. The pleasure derived from occu- pying this cabin was so great and enduring that, when next carpenters were busy about repairs of our own house, I had a little one built on purpose for our rising generation, the success of which has been so great that I here describe it as a hint for other parents, and for the benefit of little people in geygeral. “* Apple-tree Cottage,’ as it is named from the sheltering boughs which overhang it, stands on a cross-walk in the garden. It is built of pine-boards, without any timber frame, eight by ten on the ground, and six feet high at the eaves, neither celled nor plastered, but open within to its roof of planed boards. each a four light sash of seven by nine glass, hung on hinges for convenient ventilation, and a real batten door, five feet high, with a knob-catch, and genuine lock and It has, on each side, two windows, key to secure the property or privacy of its owner. “This was the contribution of pater familias to his daughter’s amusement ; and it was at once occupied with the intensest satisfaction. Little by little, as in the economical and thrifty progress of older housekeepers, articles of fur- niture were added. First, there came a present of a real tea-table, with leaves to let down, suited to the dimen- sions of the apartment, and three chairs large enough for small people. The next acquirement was a set of small teacups and saucers. A tin teapot, a set of knives and forks followed from one quarter, a small broom and dust- pan from another. Some window-curtains were put up by the united exertions of the proprietress and her friends ; and at last grandfather completed the whole thing by GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, sending an ‘old-maid cooking-stove,’ a little affair but fif- teen inches square, but perfectly capable of baking, and frying, and boiling, and competent to make the apartment as hot and happy as need be. In this small edifice, there palaces; and I doubt not that the young princesses at Windsor would find it a happy exchange for the stately halls in which they, poor little things, are doomed to dwell. Not and biscuits baked, and fish fried for hospitable entertain- ment within its wooden walls, but even the pains of ordi- only is tea drawn, and currant-jelly made, nary housekeeping are here converted into pleasures. Mopping and sweeping, dusting and window-washing are enjoyed exceedingly ; and half a dozen times a year there is a delightful general housecleaning, which recalls to mind Hopkinson’s famous description of that annual epi- demic, and realizes his recommerdation that a small, sepa- rate building should be provided near every homestead, where its subjects can spend the force of their excitement en” without disturbing the peace of the household itseif. NOTES AND QUERIES. 1. We must claim the indulgence of readers who are not mothers or devoted aunts, for the space given to the **play-house,’’ to the exclusion of topics of more interest to the younger part of our circle. Those who have chil- dren to think for will not ask for an apology, for we have rarely met with a more excellent suggestion. It will be noticed that the entire cost of the building is net great— not more than is often spent in a year or two on the most perishable toys—and the charm of ownership is not lost in We older housekeepers know how much more our acquisitions satiety, by having it completely furnished at once, are enjoyed, when they are gradual and achieved after patient waiting and self-denial. Do not spoil the happi- ness of the little ones by giving them too much at once. 2. The “‘ Lilium Lancifolium” is the Japan lily, and now considered the rarest and richest variety of all the family. Its varieties, though distinct, are almost equally hand- some, and are remarkable on account of the clear, deep rose color of the flowers, which are described by an enthu- siastic florist as ‘‘all rugged with rubies and garnets, and sparkling with crystal points.’’ There are white, rose, red, and spetted varieties, to be had by sending to some At present, they are the costing from forty well-known florist for the bulbs. most expensive of all the “‘lily tribe,” to seventy-five cents apiece, or, from four dollars and fifty cents to nine dollars a dozen. When once planted, like all their family, they require very little care, and should never be disturbed by removal. 3. “‘Can cup-cake—the old-fashioned tea-party cake of ication of soda 9” our mothers’ times—be made with the app! and cream of tartar, instead of their reliance, salwratus Yes, and improved by the exchange. We give an excellent receipt, with the proper quantities: One cup of butter, two of sugar, three of flour, four eggs, one small teaspoonful of soda, two of cream of tartar, one cup of sweet milk. 4. We have several new designs for night-caps, under- clothes, etc., in preparation. 5. New Books for the Centre-Table. admirable for family reading, we can confidently recom- mend “‘ The Ministry of Life,” by the author of ** Minister- ing Children,” so widely and favorably known. This, and a new tale by Miss McIntosh, considered one of her very best, are published by the Appletons. ‘‘The Life and Letters of Douglas Jerrold,” a new book by the author of ** School-Days at Rugby ;” “Thorndale, or the Conflicts of Among the most Opinions,’’ a new volume of De Quincey ; a fourth volume

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FASHIONS, 93 of “ Robertson's Sermons” (almost as much sought for as any fiction), and the poems of Percival and Mrs. Kemble, are announced by Ticknor & Fields. They have also a new book by Mrs. Gaskill, ‘‘ Around the Sofa,’’ which, with ‘*My Lady Ludlow,” makes two from her pen the present season. For the juveniles, the Church Book Society pub- lish a most attractive list, some of which will be noticed more fully in the proper department of our magazine. Among them we notice ten beautiful volumes by the author of ‘‘Claremont Tales,”’ called the “A. L. O. E. Library,’’ from the initials used by the authoress; and a new volume by Mrs. Baker (Miss Tuthill), Rev. H. C. Adams, Rev. E, Munroe, and Mrs. Parker. ‘Christmas at Oatland,” promised by Cousin Alice, is deferred until the next holiday season. Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Haviye had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, ete., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research required. Spring and autumn bonnets, materials for dresses, jewelry, envelops, hair-work, worsteds, children’s wardrobes, man- tillas, and mantelets, will be chosen with a view to econo- my, as well as taste; and boxes or packages forwarded by express to any part of the country. For the last, distinct directions must be given. Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expen- diture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq. No order will be attended to unless the money is first received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account- able for losses that may occur in remitting. Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goods from Levy's or Evans & Co.'s ; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from Brodie’s, 51 Canal Street, New York; bon- nets from T. White & Co.'s; jewelry from Warden's or Caldwell's, Philadelphia. When goods are ordered, the fashions that 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 JANUARY. Fig. 1.—Dinner-dress of peach blossom silk; the skirt double, and trimmed by a cordon of passementerie, mixed black and peach color, terminating in two rich tassels on the left side. Sleeve plain and wide, open on the forearm. Corsage in four points, plain, and eut square across the bust; trimming of cordon and tassels. Hair turned back from the forehead, with a cluster of pomegranates and a barbe of black lace arranged as a cache peigne. Fig. 2.—Walking-dress of fawn-colored silk ; the skirt in three deep flounces, trimmed by narrow ruche puffings of black silk. Bonnet of garnet velvet and black lace, with a black plume. Fig 3.—Evening-dress of rich groseille-colored silk, with a polka spot in black velvet. Thequillesare in plain silk, crossed by narrow black velvet ribbon. Corsage low, marking the evening-dress. Sleeve a very deep and wide jockey, with rich frill of lace. Cdche peigne of black and white lace, with gilt ornaments. Child's Walking- dress of lavender poplin, trimmed with black velvet ribbon and grelots. Pardessus, or street sacque, trimmed in the same way. Short cambric trow- sers, with lavender-colored gaiter-boots. THE LATEST FASHIONS—FOR MORNING, DINNER, AND WALKING-DRESS. (See engraving, pages 3, 6, 7, 8.) MORNING-WRAPPER. THE material is of plaid cashmere, silk, or poplin, the upper part fitting closely to the figure, though the trim- ming is continued from the open front breadths over the shoulder. It is of a broad embossed black velvet ribbon ; and the same surrounds the loose wide sleeves; plaited frill of cambric about the throat; wide cambrie under- sleeves gathered into a band at the wrist, from which a plaiting turns back ; cap of muslin and Valenciennes, with a torsade of ribbon; under-skirt of alternate tucks and embroidery. THR PICCOLOMINI ROBE DE CHAMBRE. A more elaborate morning-dress, suited for a home re- ception, or for a bridal wardrobe. The material is a rich silk of blue chiné with black. The front is richly quilted in a diamond pattern. Odalisque sleeve, with a small puff at the top, confined by cords and tassels of blue, black, and gold. The same ornament is repeated in the centre of the corsage; and a similar cordelier confines the waist. Morning-cap of Honiton, with black velvet ribbons. THE MARIONETTA. For dinner or evening-dress, a robe of lavender-colored silk, with a double skirt, the under one quite plain. The upper one has quilles of rich plaid velvet, in two bands, edged by black lace. An ornament of the lace nearly covers the centre of each quille, and is finished by a bow of cerise satin ribbon. The two colors predominating in the plaid being cerise, cherry-color, and a bright apple- green; corsage plain, with a single deep point; bretelles of the same, form a berthé on the shoulders, edged with black lace, and finished by a bow of ribbon, ae is also the square opening of the corsage, which is bound by the velvet. Headdress of cerise satin ribbon and black lace; bows of the same on the full-puffed undersleeves of delicate embroi- dery, which are finished by a puffing of ribbon at the wrist. THE DUCHESS. Walking-dress of dark brown reps silk. The quilles are of black velvet, edged by small tassels, instead of the uai- versal grelots or drop-buttons. Bonnet of black velvet nearly covered by a fall of rich black lace thrown back from the edge of the brim. Pardessus of black velvet, fitting well to the figure, and of ample fulness in the skirt. The border is of far. Sable is of course the richest and most desirabie; but Hudson's Bay or mink may be used with excellent effect. (See “‘Chitchat” for description of furs.) — CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADEL- PHIA FASHIONS FOR JANUARY. Sixce our admirable wood engravings naturally lead to the subject of morning-dresses, our winter notes on the subject will not be out of place. It is an established rule, that a morning-dress, if closed, should be plain ; for young

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94 people, there is nothing objectionable in a bright plaid or mousseline, as to material, but it should be made up with little ornament, high at the throat, and with long, full sleeves. Plain shades of mousseline and merino, or a medium black silk, are suitable tight dresses for any age. Over these, the long corridors of hotels and boarding- houses make a light wrap very acceptable; a black wadded wantle, a flannel sacque, fitting loosely to the figure, or, most graceful of all, one of those crocheted worsted shawls, known as Saratoga shawls the past year. The newest style have a coquettish little hood at the back, drawn up with aribbon the color of the border. The ground is usually white. They may be either pointed or circular in shape. The peignoir, or robe de chambre, which is better known by its old household title of “‘ wrapper,” has, of late years, been quite as fashionable for the young and gay as for the middle-aged and invalid, to whose comfort it was once especially appropriated. Inits presen form, it admits of more variety and elegance than the close house-dress, hence its popularity; in fact, it may be made the gayest and most dashing of costumes, and this is sanctioned, just now, by fashion. We give two designs the present month. The open robe is usually cut wide in the back at the waist (though fitting well on the shoulders), and drawn in slightly with shirrs and a silk lacing inside, the front plain, and the skirt open to the feet. This allows for the display of the rich needle-work now used upon cambric skirts. It is no longer uecessary to have the embroidery continued all around. The front breadth is tucked or worked above the knee, and often to the waist; this is called en tabdlier. Many ladies economize the labors of the seamstress and the laundress, by having separate front pieces, of one breadth, put on a band, and worn upon a neat, plain skirt. Where the morning-robe is always worn, and always open, this is a very sensible fashion, and there is no longer any excuse for the creased} untidy, though elegant, petticoat so often to be seen. The present fashion of loose, flowing sleeves, set into the arm, either by shut plaits or a jockey, is very suitable for a robe, where the chief idea is amplitude and ease. The trimming may be bands of plain silk, quilted in dia- monds, ribbon ruches, made by plaiting or drawing at each edge, or quilles, bands, etc. of velvet or plush. Plain colors are eulivened at present by the bright tartan silks, poplins, and even velvets, so much worn as trim- mings. Drop buttons, tassels, and rich cordelias or quilles, are used in profusion. If embroidery is worn with a morning-dress, it snould be on cambric, linen, pigué, or Marseilles; never lace or muslin sets. The plain linen sets, with ends of scarlet or blue embroidery, are very neat, the present season. The sleeve has a small cuff, turned back ; the collar is of medium size, and worn with or without a habit shirt, at pleasure. Morning-caps are sometimes of lace, usually a plain barbe or fouchon of Honiton or Valenciennes, caught on with Spanish hair-pins, or brightened by a few loops of ribbon. Of more elaborate breakfast-caps, we give designs from time to time. Speaking of lace and embroidery, we are often asked if “close or open sleeves are most fushionable.” For full dress, open sleeves are Worn as much as ever, for, as a favorite oracle declares, ‘‘ nothing can replace the elegance of a flowing drapery of lace or muslin frills about the hand and arm.” The newest sets have a narrow bright blue cerise, or purple satin ribbon, drawn through the open spaces formed by the pattern of the lace or embroidery, the loops which appear on the outside being so small as to have the effect of an embroidered silk centre to the medal- lion in which they appear. The same ornament is re- GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. peated on the collar. Bows of ribbon, both wide and narrow, are much used to ornament undersleeves, and for those intended to be worn with the odalisque sleeve, or any that are open on the forearm to the jockey, or even the shoulder, as is so much the style. Ribbons do much to relieve the plainness of the wide, long puff of muslin or lace. The undersleeve is joined oftentimes by a narrow puff, through which a ribbon is drawn, as in the Murion- etta (see engraving) of the present month ; or the lace ex- tends up the seam in the same manner, with a bow at top. A plaiting of ribbon, d la vieille, set on an elastic cord, is a frequent termination of the undersleeve around the wrist. We refer to this figure again as rendering one of the most charming styles for the making up of piain materials, es- pecially poplins or silks of any shade bordering on gray or lavender. The contrast is at once bright and delicate. The upper skirt gives us a model of quilles that may be applied to any dress; and the corsage is shaped so as to be uni- versally becoming With the square corsage—Raphael, or Vandyke, as it is called at pleasure—a lace tucker or point is usually adopted where the youth of the wearer will admit. The lace, a single row of plain footing oftentimes, about an inchand a half in width, is basted in plain around the opening, and drawn up with a thread—or often a fine silk cord or braid terminating in two small tassels—to fit to the bust. A straight chemisette of broader lace is effective, where the neck is the better for shading, placed above this. Habit skirts, cut and trimmed square at the throat, or nearly so, and demi high, come expressly for this style of dress; while, in many cases, a habit shirt and collar are worn quite close at the throat. Sleeves are almost universally wide and square. For dresses intended only for the house, two puffs, gathered into a band or cuff at the wrist, are made. The first puff serves as a cap; the other is long and full, reaching to the wrist. There is another close sleeve cut in a single piece, almost close to the arm at top and bottom, and very full over the elbow. A jockey at the top, and turned-up cuff at the bottom, take away from the extreme plainness. The small cloth jackets, or Zouave basques, as they are some- times called, are trimmed in military style, with bands of cord across the front, terminating in tassels on each side. The elongated points in front have tassels to correspond. Bodies of dresses are often cut high, the straight way of the cloth, round in froat, with a belt, and buckle placed a little at one side, or exactly in front, as may please the fancy. On black silk dresses, black chequered or embossed velvet is used in bands for quilles and the corsage; black velvet buttons and waistbands. Black silks, whether plain or in robes, are still considered the most ladylike walking- dresses for the street, and in fact the most serviceabie dresses for universal wear. Plain poplins, of dark brown and maroon, are favorites for the street. Furs are at the height of favor, and were never more universally worn. Ermine bands are used for trimming opera-cloaks, or sorties du bal; dark far, and sable, and mink for velvet cloaks, etc., intended for the street. A Victorine, or cape with lappets, or a round cloak, with cuffs and a smal! muff, are considered a full set. The Vic- torines are usually quite deep, coming half way to the waist behind—the cape to the waist and below it. The cloaks are as deep as ordinary talmas, and, with the capes, haveacollar. The muffs are still quitesmall. Furs are lined usually with quilted silk, and ornamented by rich cords and tassels. Sable, Hudson’s Bay, and mink are the favorites among the expensive furs—Siberian squirrel, and a mixture of the gray and white fur in stripes, are among the less expensive ones. Fasuroy.

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isso. Godey’s Lady’s Book in the Ascendant. GREAT LITERARY AND PICTORIAL YEAR. Fifty-cighth and Fifity-ninth Volumes, and the Twenty-ninih Year. WILL CONTAIN 1200 Pages of Reading Matter, 24 Pages of Music, 12 Colored Steel Plates, containing at least 50 figures, 14 Steel Engravings, 7220 Wood Engravings, 780 Articles by the best authors of America. And all these will be given in 1859, at prices for which see TP OUR EXTREMELY LOW CLUB RATES. “G8 THE OLDEST, THE BEST, AND THE CHEAPEST MAGAZINE. Useful, Ormameoental, and Instructive. THE ONLY LADY’S BOOK IN AMERICA. Sera The standard for twenty-nine years, and but one object in view, to please the ladies, who have so liberally patronized it from its first reception in 1830. All our periodicals seem to imitate Godey’s Lady’s Book. It appears to be the model beyond which they desire not to reach.— Democrat, McConnellsburg, Pa. Godey’s Lady's Book is the pattern from which all the successful of our magazines are endeavoring to copy. but the imi- tation scarcely equals the original. Asa magazine for the ladies, Godev stands as yet unrivalled.—Siaten Islander, Staple- ton, N. Y. And this is the report of thousands. Among the articles to be continued, and which have given so much satisfaction the past year, will be GARDENING FOR THE LADIES. To this will be added a monthly notice from H. A. Dreer, the most celebrated Horticulturist of the country. Mr. Dreer’s information, added to the excellent articles that we publish on the subject, will be of great interest to ladies who practice this most beautiful science. Our Wusical Department. Three dollars’ worth of Music is given every year; and if it were only for the music alone, the Lady’s Book would be cheap at the price we ask for it. . We give twelve pieces of very choice, and most of it original, music every year, the cost of which would be in the stores Three Dollars, and much of it cannot be procured there at any price. This department is solely under the direction of J. Starr Hotiaway, Ese., a gentleman whose tasteis undoubted. It is to him a matter of pleasure, as it is to us, to endeavor to please the fair patrons of the Book. We ask particular attention to the beauty and variety of our musical department during the past year, and we can promise as rich a treat for the year to come. Our Heatth Department. This is a feature peculiar to the Lady’s Book. We have engaged the entire attention of an emi- nent practitioner, Dr. Jonn 8. Witson, of Columbus, Georgia, for a set of articles peculiarly adapted to the readers of the Book, mothers, and the heads of families. There is no other work in the country that has a department for health entirely original, and furnished expressly for the work. We take great pleasure in saying that we have received various letters from all parts of the eout- try, commendatory of this series of articles. OUR LITERARY DEPARTMENT. Here we are perhaps stronger than any of our contemporaries ; but we do not wish to boast of our strength. We have MARION HARLAND, author of “ Alone,” “‘ Hidden Path,’’ and ‘‘ Moss Side,’’ and who writes for no other magazine. MRS. ALICE B. HAVEN, author of ‘‘ The Coopers,”’ “ Getting into Seciety,’’ ‘‘ The Gossips of Riverton,’’ ‘‘ Margaret’s Home,’’ &c., who will continue her tales of American life, a fair sample of which our readers have already had in the stories we have mentioned. MRS. LUCY N. GODFREY, author of * Aunt Sophie’s Visits,’’ a most beautiful series of tales. PAULINE FORSYTH, of whom an editor says: ‘* She is a sweet and graceful writer, and for clearness and correctness of expression is scarcely equalled by any of the most excellent contribu- tors of the Book. MISS VIRGINIA F. TOWNSEND, the universal favorite, and from her we can promise more stories than we have heretofore published. MRS. METTA VICTORIA VICTOR, author of “ Lucy in the City,’’ “‘ Lucy in the Country,’’ “The Tallow Family in America,” and of some other of the best stories we have published in the Book, will also contribute during the year. MRS. E. F. ELLET will also favor us with her articles during the vear. MISS VIRGINIA DE FORREST, whose illustrations of the different engravings we have pub- lished, and whose efforts have been so general.y complimented, will still continue her exceilent series. MRS. DAFFODIL, who has been perfectly astonished to find herself in print, says that she means to write now fora living. She had no idea before that she possessed the faculty. T. S. ARTHUR will still contribute his every-day and life-like stories—the admiration of every reader. The REV. H. HASTINGS WELD will be our illustrative writer for scriptural plates, and for various desultory articles.

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. MRS. ANN E. PORTER and MRS. S. J. HALE will enliven our pages from month to month with their most excellent articles _— the topics of the day. We are in treaty with several other authors of great eminence, but, constant to our usual rule, we promise nothing that we do not mean to perform. We can only say, in the words of a contem- porary ( Gazette cam Democrat, of Reading, Pa.), “ The literary contents are of a lively and enter- taining character, and entirely free from the moral blemishes which disfigure too much of the light literature of the day. Godey’s is emphatically a magazine for the virtuous, modest, and pure- minded women of America.’’ We shail publish one article during the year that will be worth the whole year’s subscription, which we have had in our possession for several years, but circumstances have vrevented our pub- lishing it until now. An article by the author of the “Widow Bedott” and “‘ Aunt Maguire’’ Stories, one of the best this talented lady ever wrote; and we shall copyright the article, that it may not be stolen from us. Those only who take the Lady’s Book will have an opportunity of seeiug it. Our Fashion Fiates. We promise next year—and with us to promise is to perform—an improvement in fashion-plates never contemplated by any but ourselves. Each fashion-plate shall be a picture. They will consist of four, five, or six figures, beautifully colored, and of such fashions that people can wear, not mere fancy pictures. See the various notices that we have published monthly that ‘ Godey’s fashions are suited to the people, not mere fancy pictures.’? Fashions that can be used. Compare ours with others that are published and see if any lady would like to make her appearance in a fashion published in any other magazine. Another matter we deem it necessary to mention. In every number of the Lady’s Book, the latest fashions are published up to the moment of publish- ing the Book, so that in the January and every succeeding number, you have the fashions up to one week previous to your receipt of the Book. This is one of our new features. HOW TO MAKE CHEAP FURNITURE.—See the articles on this subject that will be pub- lished, and you will never be at a loss to furnish a house for the reception of any guests that may be expected, however suddenly. This is really an ingenious set of articles. THE ART OF ORNAMENTAL HAIR-WORK.—With great difficulty we have obtained a series of articles upon this subject with diagrams—a subject that interests every lady of America, and one that we have often received letters upon. THE HOUSEWIFE ; or, How to Economize and Conduct a House.—This is another of our inte- resting series for the ensuing year. . THE HAIR—How to Promote, Preserve, and keep Lururiant, and THE TEETH—How to Preserve and Beautify.—More articles of utility for our lady patrons, and articles of use and value. None others will be published in the Book. We have also articles upon ‘‘ The Kitchen,” ‘‘ The Laun- dry,”’ “‘ Confectionery,’’ ‘‘ The Nursery,’’ &c. &c. This gives only a faint outline of what we intend to do for 1859, as it is impossible for us to tell what we will do, as new articles are constantly offering, of which we immediately avail ourselves and of course our subscribers reap the advantage. DRAWING IN ALL ITS VARIETY, useful to the beginner and the proficient. FASHIONS from the establishment of the celebrated ‘* Brodie’’ will be in every number. EVERY-DAY ACTUALITIES.—A new series of these illustrated articles will be given. POINT, BRUSSELS, AND VENETIAN LACE, of every variety. GODEYS SPLENDID ENGRAVINGS ON STEEL. Engagements have been made with London, New York, and Philadelphia artists for a series of plates that will surpass those for 1858. EMBROIDERY PATTERNS. MODEL COTTAGES. DRESSMAKING.—With Diagrams to cut by. DRESS PATTERNS.—Infants’ and children’s dresses, with descriptions how to make them. All kind of CROCHET and NETTING work. New patterns for CLOAKS, MANTELETsS, TALMAS, COLLARS, CHEMISETTES, UNDERSLEEVES—with full directions. Every new pattern, of any portion of a lady’s dress, appears first in the Lady’s Book as we receive consign- ments from Paris every two weeks, having a resident editor there. GODEY’S INVALUABLE RECEIPTS UPON EVERY SUBJECT. indispensable to every family, worth more than the whole cost of the book, and a great saving of expense to all those who take the Book. In the various numbers for 1859 will be found the newest designs for WINDOW CURTAINS, BRODERTE ANGLAISE, SLIPPERS, BONNETS, CAPS, CLCAKS, EVENING-DRESSES, FANCY ARTICLES, HEADDBRESSES, HAIR-DRESSING, ROBES DE CHAMBRE, CAR- RIAGE DRESSES, BRIDES’ DRESSES, WREATHS, MANTILLAS, WALKING-DRESSES, RIDING HABITS, and MORNING-DRESSES., CROCHET AND NETTING WORK IN COLORS. SLIPPERS IN COLORS. PATCHWORK. Send in your orders soon, as we expect our list for 1859 will reach 150,000 copies. The best plan of subscribing is to send your money direct to the publisher. . SUBSCRIBING TO ASSOCIATIONS.—We recognize no subscription that is not sent direct to ourselves. If you pay your money to any as3ociation you must look to them for your books. We will not supply a copy of the Lady’s Book unless the money is sent direct to us. We have no ents for whose acts we are responsible. HOW TO REMIT.—Procure a draft, if possible ; if not, send notes; but let it be a matter known only to yourself; the fewer you let into the secret, the more certainty there is of your money coming to hand. Do not register your letters, as this at once informs everybody that money is in your letter, If you send gold dullars, secure them carefully in the letter; otherwise, théey are apt to work out of the envelop. Notes on all solvent banks taken at par. Be careful and pay the postage on your letter, and direct it to L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. (For Terms and Clubbing, see page 2 of Cover.)

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iN, i/ A MM M4 4 hh Mf, 4 Ly , YY ’ Vy 4 7 C7) Wi M UW ! Wipipyyy fh Y, “iiiny j YY Y / WY coomapy ? AY, Wy Myf, Gq | é a } MM / wn Ys Wy ; ? Yi, pe YY y Y Y, Wl, iy yj y Wy THE VISITING DRESS. (See description, page 191.) 100

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“Wag A A i MORNING NEGLIGE. (See description, page 191.) 101 g*

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FOR THE MORNING CALL. (See description, page 191.) 102

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aa rd PR ~ RO 7s Reww e ATArgns . THE ALMEDA. (See description, page 191.) 10%

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EMBROIDERY FOR A CHEMISE. SII IC, THE VICTORIA PARDESSUS. (See Diagram, page 169.) Ir is distinguished for its style, combined with the ease and comfort with which it can be worn. The material is a gray or speckled cloth, of which it can be made entirely, although the French ladies have incorporated with it an amount of trimming that almost imparts to it the cha- racter of being composed of two materials. Thus, while the Pardessus is chiefly framed of cloth, it has a broad border, and large portion of the hanging sleeve, in either black velvet or black moire antique. Rows of narrow black ribbon velvet also head these border trimmings. 104

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THE MATHILDE MANTILLA. (See Diagram, page 170.) Tue Mathilde Mantilla is made of cloth, trimmed with plaid velvet. The prevailing colors are brown or chocolate. The velvet is of rich, dark, well-contrasting hues, the pattern being in me- dium size. It is closed in front with a double row of smoke mother-of-pearl buttons. Those ladies who do not wish to incur the expense of velvet will find that a good wool Scotch tartan will supply its place extremely well. We may also mention that the same mantilla is made in black silk, lined and wadded, with its trimmings sometimes in plaid, and sometimes in moire antique. This ‘ast-mentioned article is now much in vogue, as the trimming, both of mantles and dresses. 10

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EMBROIDERY FOR A PILLOW-CASE. FOR GENTLEMEN'S SHIRT BOSOMS. ‘SINTWUVS UAGNN AOA A GIRL’S CLOAK. NA (See description, page 191.) FOR CHILDREN’S CLOTHES. PONDOOYVOOOAO DG OEDBADAOCNOO COOU DOO NEOD CO? CO MCOOCOOOOOODDOON0O DDO COO C000 SOON cCocaDncOONAOSC ONO D000 O60000200 ? ¢o ° 8 ° SB Ene SPE / / 106