Godey's Lady's Book and Magazine 1861-01: Vol 62 Iss 1

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GODEY’S Vays Book and Lagu sine PHILADELPHIA, JANUARY, 1861. BY FANNIE SHADE ; OR, THE GOVERNESS. WARNER. [Eutered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1860, by Louts A. Gopry, in the clerk's office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsy!vania. } CHAPTER I. THE EVE OF DEPARTURE. ‘* Anp to-morrow you leave us for the ‘Sunny South?’ ”’ **Yes; and I hope it may prove as sunny as it is represented. De Bow says that ‘a more lovely heaven does not smile on the classic land of Italy than upon the favored inhabitants of Georgia ;’ and I fervently hope that those whom Destiny throws me among will smile as graciously upon me as heaven does upon them.” ‘*Well, I hope your lines will be cast in pleasant places, and that you wiil not have reason to regret your determination to adopt the vocation of a governess. I must bid you good-by this evening, as a business engagement will prevent my seeing you at the cars in the morning ; but accept my warmest wishes for your happiness, and in your sympathy for those abroad do not forget those at home who have been your willing slaves, and remember one in particular who would gladly have remained Farewell.” The door closed hurriedly. your slave for life. A quick step echoed along the gravelled walk as the young girl whom the speaker had addressed turned to the window, and, hastily snatching the cur- tain aside, strove to catch a last glimpse of that manly form. ‘Farewell, farewell is a lonely sound,’’ was murmured in a low voice, and then, as if to confirm the truth of the second line of the verse, she heaved a deep sigh. Turning to the piano, she commenced slowly to gather up some pieces of music which were scattered over the instrument, when the door oe opened, and an elderly lady entered the apart- ment. ‘* Who was that in here a few moments ago, my dear ?’’ said she. ‘*It was Mr. Howard, mother,’ replied the young lady. ‘*Mr. Howard!’’ repeated the mother, in surprise. ‘He did not remain long. Will he meet you at the cars in the morning?’ ~ ‘*He said that a business engagement would prevent him from seeing me again, and even compelled him to take a hasty leave this eve- ” ning; and,’’ she continued, in a tone of sad- ness, ‘I think I feel rather glad than otherwise, for I wish to devote every moment to you, and I don’t care to be obliged to talk to strangers.’’ ‘* You certainly do not consider Mr. Howard a stranger, Edith?’ ‘Not in the sense you mean, dear mother ; but he is not one of the family, and’’—she hesitated, ‘* And what, my child ?”’ Kdith colored, and turned away as if to avoid her mother’s searching look; then replied, in a tone of impatience, as if the subject was un pleasant to her—‘' Well, I do not wish any one to accompany me to the cars but those | love best—yourself, and George, and Grace,”’ There was a pause, Edith continued to ar- range her pieces of music and place them carefully in the music portfolio at her side, Her mother crossed the room, and seated her self on a sofa near an open window. It was a lovely September evening, and the garden was silvered over with the pale moonlight. She 17

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18 looked out upon the quiet scene, but not with the same calm, happy light in her eye with which she usually viewed it; tears dimmed her vision, and sadness weighed heavily in her heart as she thought of the separation on the morrow. The last piece of music was in its place; and, taking the portfolio in her hand, Edith turned to leave the room, when her steps were arrested by her mother’s voice desiring her to remain. ‘I wish to have some conversation with you this evening, my daughter, as this will be the last opportunity I shall have of seeing you alone ; to-morrow you leave your home to be absent two long years; before you go, will you Tell ine why you cannot accept Charles Howard's not make a confidante of your mother? offer of marriage. Did he renew his proposals this evening ?”’ ‘He certainly did not, mother; he merely alluded to the subject, and was gone before I could reply.’’ **And, had he given you an opportunity, what would your reply have been?” ‘The same as heretofore; I can never be Charles Howard's wife.’’ ‘*It is very strange, Edith. I know of no to he worthy of you, and I am convinced that you objection him ; seems in every way take more than an ordinary degree of interest in him; then why is it that you seem so de- cided in your rejection of his suit ?’’ Tears filled Edith’s eyes; but she replied, in “T will not try to conceal from you, dear mother, that I love him; but I have a calm voice: not confidence in him. I believe that he loves me now, but I know his fickle nature too well to believe that it would stand the test of a two years’ absence.”’ ‘* But why put him to that test, my child?” **T know that necessity does not oblige me to leave home ; but ‘there’s a Divinity shapes our ends,’ and you know I have always be- lieved that I was cut out fora governess; and, aside from that, if I were engaged to Charles, I should certainly postpone our warriage, doubt- ing as‘I do the genuineness of his love. More- over, I cannot forget poor May Webb; and when my heart beats fast and faster at his approach, her pale, sad face rises up in judg- ment against him, and I almost loathe myself for loving the one who entered that widow’s dwelling to woo her brightest jewel, and when No! I’d rather be poor Edith Stanford, the govern- won to cast it aside as a worthless bauble. ess, than the neglected wife of the rich Charles Howard.’ ’ | | GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ‘*But that was long ago, my child, and Charles was young, scarcely twenty. I know he has repented that youthful folly, for he seems so different now; he appears perfectly upright and honorable, and so manly and con- siderate.’’ . ‘It is useless to plead his cause, my dear mother; what you style a ‘folly’ I consider a crime. It was seven years ago, but it seems to me but yesterday that I culled the fairest flowers in my garden to lay beside the sick girl’s pillow. I was but twelve years old, and she was seventeen. Each day, as I passed from school, I stopped at the cottage, for I loved sweet May, but it made my heart ache to see her fading so rapidly from earth ; and when the autumn winds came, and I was told that they would hasten her death, I wept bitterly; but when I gazed upon her face a few weeks after, as she lay in that calm sleep which knows no waking, I shed not a tear; I knew that she had been a Christian, and I felt that I was gazing upon the face of an angel. She had told me, in a conversation we had together a few weeks previous to her death, that she freely forgave all who had in any way wronged her. I-did not know then how fearfully she had been wronged, and not until I had known Charles Howard nearly two years did I learn from Mrs. Webb that he visited her house as her son’s friend when May was sixteen. He and May were thrown much together, and from the first he seemed to take a deep interest in everything concerning his friend’s little sister, as he called her then. After a vacation of six weeks, May’s brother returned to the University of M to resume his studies, but Charles continued to visit the cottage, and made May frequent presents of books and flowers, and in a short time showed by every word and action that he loved her. He was rich, and you who plead his cause so well know how handsome his face, how fascinating his manner—just the person to captivate a young girl. And when his manly form bent over her to point out a particular passage in some favorite book, her telltale face revealed to him too plainly what was no longer a secret to those who had observed them together—that she returned his love and trusted him.”’ ‘* But, my dear,’’ interrupted Mrs. Stanford, ‘he never cominitted himself in words.”’ ; Do When,”’ she continued, ‘‘he found that he possessed ‘Committed himself in words, mother! not actions speak louder than words ? that ‘pearl of great price’—the first love of a pure-minded girl—he became cold and distant

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SUNSHINE AND SHADE; OR, THE GOVERNESS. in his manner, and his visits became less fre- quent, andatlengthceased altogether. Oneday, after an absence of several weeks, he called at Mrs. Webb's for the purpose, he said, of bidding them good-by, previous to travelling abroad. May asked him, in as calm a tone of voice as she could command, how long he would be ‘Not longer,’ he replied, ‘than two years.’ He left; and, after travelling through Europe the specified two years, he returned, to find May dead. He called on Mrs. Webb, but she received him coldly, and he did not repeat liis visit. May’s brother had finished his course at the University, and was established in busi- ness with a friend in St. Louis. ‘All that I have told you I learned from Mrs. Webb. Seeing the growing intimacy be- tween Mr. Howard and myself, she called upon me one day about a year ago, and, during the conversation, the subject of which was her absent. darling May, she gave me these facts, as I have related them to you. Her motive was a disin- terested one. She was not actuated by malice, for I do not believe there is a spark of that in her composition, She loved me, and could not bear to see my happiness wrecked as May’s had been. ‘*And now, dearest mother, I hope your mind is relieved. You know the reason why I will not marry Charles Howard, and I had in- tended to tell you had you not asked me, for I saw that you were completely in the dark ; but I am sorry that you thought I allowed my pre- judices to run away with my judgment.” ‘*T had heard something of this before, but was quite ignorant of many of the circumstances you have related,”’ replied her mother, ‘‘I re- member, at the time of May’s death, many per- sons censured Charles Howard’s conduct, but I always thought they were too severe upon him, and doubted not that there were palliating circumstances, which, if known, would at least clear him in part; and I must still think, dear Edith, that you wrong him. As I have said before, I think him to be a worthy person, and did you but possess the same confidence in him that I have, I would at this moment give my consent to your union, believing that he would be to you a devoted husband; but if you have not the most perfect faith in the durability of his love, and do not intend eventually to be- stow your hand upon him, I charge you to cast him from your thoughts altogether, and, as you have rejected his hand, do not leave home cherishing his image in your heart.’’ ‘* Never fear, mother ; the thought of Charles Howard is always followed too closely by the 19 sad face of May Webb, and though I cannot forget him, you may rest assured that I shall not treat his image with any more tenderness or affection than it deserves. But it is late, and I must go to my room and see how Grace progresses with the packing; so good-night, dearest mother, and pleasant dreams.’’ Edith left the room, and after loitering a mo- ment {n the hall to speak with her brother She found Grace seated on the floor in her room, George, she ran lightly up the stairs. beside a huge trunk, deliberating, with a grave face, whether she should put Edith’s writing portfolio and dressing-case in the top, or at the bottom of the trunk, which question her sister settled immediately by saying she should wish to use both articles on her journey, and there- fore they must go in the top where she could get easy access to them, She then commenced to assist Grace in packing, and while the sisters are thus engaged, we will take a look at them. Edith is tall and graceful, and though slight, her figure is well rounded and exquisitely pro- Her dark hair, of which she has a profusion, is dressed in plain bands covering her ears, and taken back is wound in heavy plaits around her small, finely formed head. portioned, No ornament, either of ribbon or tinsel, mars the effect of that ‘‘ crowning glory of woman.” Her eyes are large, dark, and soft, but in ani- mated conversation they light up with a bril- lianey that is perfectly bewildering. The form of her face is oval; her complexion dark, but clear, and the blood mantles to her cheeks, giving them acolor but a trifle less ruddy than that of her delicately formed lips. Her teeth are white and regular, but by the envious are said to look ‘‘ very false.’’ The expression of her lips baffles description. It is one of blended firmness and sweetness, and when she smiles, Edith is certainly beautiful ; but aside from the beauty renders her perfectly irresistible. of face and form, there is a nameless charm about her—a something in her manner and bearing that captivates one at once. Her en- tire unconsciousness of her own loveliness, and forgetfulness of self; her affectionate attention to those sho loves, and regardful care not to wound the feelings of any, have made her the darling of her home, and the favorite of her young companions. Grace is just sixteen, and in personal ap- pearance is exactly the opposite of her sister. Her light hair, blue eyes, and fair round face give her the appearance of being much younger than she really is. She is one of those innocent, winsome beings whom one cannot

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20 look upon without loving. The same peculiar smile which we have described in Edith belongs to Grace also, and is the only point of resem- blance between the sisters. But the last article has been placed in the trunk, and the packing is finished. Grace, who always occupies her mother’s room, has given the good-night kiss, and Edith is left.aione. It is a warm night, and throwing herself in a large easy chair beside the low windows, she fastens back the curtain which drapes it, and looks out upon the night. She thinks of the Past, and her eyes turn toward a slab of white the that good old man, her grandfather. remains of It is a marble, beneath which reat little to the north, just above the spring-house, Be- side it are two other graves, and above all and is quite perceptible in the moonlight. three waves a drooping willow. How well she remembers her grandfather's voice and manner as he used to bid her *‘ keep on the sunny side, my dear; the sunny side, for it is always damp thinks of the Present, and wonders if she is keeping on the in the shade;’’ and then she ‘sunny side’’ by leaving home and friends to go among strangers; or if she will be cast in the prepare shade at her southern home. Rising to for her couch, she murmurs, ‘1 will, bids, go forth to the shadowy Future without fear, and with a brave heart !’’ as Lonefellow meet CHAPTER II. RETROSPECTION. Epitn and Grace Stanford are the daughters of a widow; their father died when Grace was an infant; he had been wealthy but extrava- gant and improvident, and when his affairs were settled after his death, it was found that but a mere pittance was left for the support of the widow and orphans. Edith was three years of age, and George, the only son, but nine, when they were bereaved of a father’s care, Mrs. Stanford had been raised quite plainly, but during her married life had resided in the beautiful village of B——, in one of our most northern States, and had been surrounded by every luxury. She was a woman of good sense and strong religious principles, and when she learned that everything must be sold, and there was no alternative but for her to return to her father’s house, she did not murmur, but calmly agreed to the proposal, saying that she should not feel like an interloper, as, being the aunts or only child, there were no fidgety GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, bachelor uncles to be annoyed by her little ones. Mr. Allen, the father of Mrs. Stanford, was a plain farmer, residing in the country on a small farm about four miles from B— His wife, Mrs. Stanford's stepmother, had been dead a year, and he gladly welcomed to his lonely hearth his daughter, and gazed with pleasure on the bright faces of his grandchildren. Five years passed, during which time Mrs. Stanford taught Edith and George at home; at the end of that time she was persuaded to send them to a school in the village. They boarded at the house of a friend during the week, returning home every Friday evening, and remaining until Monday morning. From that time, Edith, although but eight years old, cherished the idea of becoming a teacher, and when asked often in sport by her companions when she in- tended to begin to teach, she would invariably reply ‘fas soon as ever I am eighteen.’’ Her mother encouraged the idea, thinking it would stimulate her in her studies, and, knowing the farm yielded but a small income, she thought it but right that her children should turn their talents to account. She did not dream, how- ever, that Edith’s hobby, to which she clung so pertinaciously, would carry her so far from home, and throw her, a pensioner, upon the kindness of strangers. At the of thirteen Edith seminary, and in four years finished the course, age entered the graduating with honor, the youngest in her class. The principal had been made aware of her intention to support herself by teaching, and offered her a vacancy in the school, saying that, if she preferred it at the end of the year, he would procure her a situation as governess in a family. She acquiesced, and entered upon her duties, discharging them faithfully. Grace, who was then fifteen, and a pupil in the insti- her out of Her grandfather had died during tution, was constant companion school hours. her last scholastic year at the seminary, leav- ing the farm to her brother George, and a life- annuity to her mother, Edith was not obliged to maintain herself by teaching, but it had been her favorite object so long that she could not abandon it, and when her brother would tell her long stories about shabbily treated governesses, and ask her why she wished to run the risk of being disagreeably situated, instead of being content to remain at the seminary, or of taking up with other offers at home, she would answer him laughingly, ‘Well, [am tired of the Yankees, and wish to

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SUNSHINE find out if governesses are really such a mal- treated class.”’ One afternoon, near the close of the summer term, Edith received a message from Mr. Rich- ards, the principal, requesting an interview with her in the parlor. He met her at the door, and inviting her in, desired her to be seated, ‘I have this morning received a letter from a gentleman in Georgia, applying to me for a governess,’’ said he, ‘and | know of no person so well qualified to fill the situation as yourself, The gentleman states that he has two daughters, and he wishes a person competent to teach music, both vocal and in- strumental, French, and the English branches usually taught in our schools. He offers a reasonable salary, and will defray the travelling expenses of the young lady. I will submit this to your consideration, desiring you to re- turn me an answer in the course of a week. I will merely add that, in the event of your re- fusing the situation, I shall be but too happy to retain your services in this institution.’’ The answer was returned that week as de- sired, and was an acceptance, and the evening on which Edith is introduced to the reader is that prior to her departure. CHAPTER III. THE DEPARTURE. Tusk sun was shining full on Edith’s pillow the next morning, when she was awakened by her sister exclaiming, wilh forced gayety, ‘Come, open your eyes, Edith, or has that sun shining right in your face made you blind?” and then giving her sister an affectionate kiss, she added, ‘‘ While you are dressing, I will run down and give Vagabond his seed.”’ Edith sprang out of bed, and kneeling down, repeated her morning prayer, adding from the Litany, ‘‘ We beseech thee to succor, help, and comfort all who are in danger, necessity, and tribulation ; and to preserve all who travel by land or water. We beseech thee to hear us, good Lord.’’ She then dressed herself for her journey, and descended to the breakfast-room, where she found her mother and George al- ready seated at the table, and Grace standing before a bird-cage scolding ‘‘Vag,’’ her pet canary, for not bathing himself preperly. The breakfast passed over quite cheerfully. Grace kept np a running conversation with her brother, asking questions, and answering her- self when not replied to, while Mrs. Stanford and Edith conversed on general subjects; all, AND SITADE; OR, THE GOVERNESS, however, seeming to avoid the one subject up- permost in their minds, Ndith's departure, But now the carriage is at the door, and the trunk securely strapped to the back of it. Edith has bidden the servant good-by, and patted old Nero’s head for the last time; and giving a last look at her grandfather's grave, as she seats herself in the carriage beside her mother, she observes that it is not in the shade of the old willow at all, and thinks, ‘* That is quite right; no sorrow ever drooped 80 low over his spirits as to make them gloomy, and that marble, so bright and sunny, is but typical of his life.’’ As they roll away from the gate, Grace, who occupies the front seat with her brother George, turns to Edith, and, with a tear in her eye, remarks: ‘‘ How lonely I shall be when I re sume my studies next term, and have to travel this road alone every Monday morning !’’ “You'll go George, ‘‘ unless, contrary to your usual cus- not alone, I aim sure,’’ said tom, you leave me at home, and drive the horse yourself.”’ “Oh, you'll go, of course; but you know, brother, that you are not Edith.’’ “T am fully sensible of that fact,’’ he re- plied, adding, with a spice of indignation in his tone, “If I were Edith, | don’t think I should leave a happy home and kind friends who are always willing and happy to take care of her, for the pleasure of going among strangers to teach a few stupid ideas how to shoot.”’ ‘‘If you were constituted like me, George, you would do exactly as I do,”’ said Edith, calmiy. ‘*Now, George,’’ interrupted Grace, “ you need not say anything disagreeable to sister Edith. in a cheerful light’’—here the tears streamed I, for my part, am viewing the matter down her cheeks, and a sob contradicted the but ‘*T will have finished school when she returns, and we will assertion ; she continued: be at home with you and mother, and I think it will be perfectly delightful to have her tell us all about Southern life; and then the let- ters! You will write every week, won’t you, sister? Your absence would be quite unen- durable if it were not for those long letters you are to write. But I intend to make you regret as much as possible that you ever left home, for [am going deliberately at work to steal the hearts of all your beaux, and I intend to make Charles Howard my first victim. It is sucha pity,’’ she continued, ‘‘that my hair has re- tained its ‘ pristine whiteness,’ for I once heard

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bo Lo him say that he could never fall in love with a ‘light-haired baby-face.’”’ that does not matter,’’ said Edith, vou ‘ Black like that you saw in Tant’s room’’—meaning “Oh, laughing; can use Pomatum,’ the French teacher at the seminary. ** Better buy a wig at once,’’ suggested George, looking affectionately on Grace’s bright face, which was now all smiles, and doubting in his own mind if ever Charles Howard could wish to change her vision-like style of beauty. 6 Yes,” at the next soiree at the seminary. returned Grace, ‘and appear in it That will be an amusing item in my first letter to you, Edith, and very interesting, no doubt; particu- larly if the bait takes—of which I entertain some doubts, however.”’ The conversation was kept up until they —, Mrs. in it, for she reached B Stanford, however, taking no part was very sad, and was not disposed to assume a gayety which she did not feel. As soon as they came in sight of the depot Grace’s smiles all vanished, and it was evident that she no longer viewed the matter in a cheerful light. “Oh, Edith, dear, I wish you were going home with us instead of in those ugly cars, There ! through my head like a knife.”’ I hear the whistle, and it goes straight ‘*You are nervous, Gracie,”’ said her sister to her, aside, after they had entered the depot. ** You must not give way to your feelings, but be cheerful, and not make mother more gloomy And when at home you must take my place and read to her, I left on the by your sad spirits. you are so that she will not miss me so much. the last work-table, and you will find the mark in it I left off. there, and always have some interesting book volume of Austin’s ‘ Goethe’ where Read on just as if I were on hand that you can take up at any moment, for you know that there is nothing dear mother likes somuch as listening to us read aloud. But, come! dry up your tears, and be introduced to Mrs. Richards’ brother. You know that he is going to Florida, and is to take charge of me as far as Augusta.”’ The introduction took place; and, leaving her sister and Mr. Acton together, Edith joined her mother and George, who stood in eonversa- Mr. Edith’s young friends came running in with flushed “Oh, Edith! were so afraid we would be too late, but are tion with Richards, Just then some faces, exclaiming: we just in time to say good-by.”’ And so it proved, for at that moment a voice sounded through the depot, ‘‘ All aboard for of GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Troy !’? Hasty good-byes were exchanged, and a fervent ‘‘God bless you, my daughter !’’ from Mrs. Stanford, as she embraced her child, and bade. her ‘‘ write soon.’’ Grace wept hysteri- cally, and elung to her sister's neck, while Edith, though very pale, maintained her calm- ness, and told Grace she must be ‘‘more of a woman.’’ George manifested considerable emotion at thus parting for the first time with his sister, whom he dearly loved, but strove to hide it in unnecessary anxiety about her bag- gage. How well Edith in after years her mother’s voice and manner at that remembered last parting! and she never forgot the strange, uncomfortable feeling which crept over her as, looking from the car window, she noticed that George and Grace stood full in the sunlight, while her mother, with her face veiled, was completely in the shade. And now our young traveller is fairly started ; and, bidding her “God speed,”’ we will leave her to pursue her journey, in the expectation of meeting her in the next chapter in different scenes, and surrounded by other faces. IV. BLUFF. CHAPTER BEECH BEAUTIFULLY situated on a high bluff over- looking the Savannah River, about twelve miles from Augusta, is a plantation known as ‘‘ Beech Bluff,’’ which takes its name from ten large beech trees standing in a parallel line in front of the owner’s residence. This property belongs to Mr. Jacob Ellis, and is considered one of the finest in that section of the country. After viewing those broad acres which every year yield an abundant harvest; those groves of chestnut and magnolia skirting the smooth green lawn the and stretches far down the bluff, the eye of the beholder rests awhile on the spacious garden which fronts mansion in the rear, which exhibits luxuriant foliage, shaded arbors, inviting one to linger in their cool retreat, and serpentine walks, bordered with those gorgeous southern flowers which, in the splendor of their vesture, Nature has made to outrival even the glory of Solomon. The breeze from the river parts the foliage, revealing in the distance beyond the garden a number of low, white-washed cabins, which indicate the locality of the negro quarter; and still further on can be seen the cotton gin which is so indispensable on a Southern plantation, and for which planters are so much indebted to the mechanical genius of Eli Whitney. Beside

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SUNSHINE it stands the cotton press, which receives the soft, downy substance, and sends it forth in bales, ready for transportation. “The house of Jacob hath indeed goodly possessions.’’ So thinks Edith Stanford, as, standing at an upper window which commands an extensive view of the Bluff, she listens to Mr. Ellis as he gives her a history of the place from the time of his grandfather. She gazes out and admires the arrangement of the lawn and garden, and Mr. Ellis remarks, with a gratified smile, that all else he leaves to the care of his overseer, but the pleasure-grounds are his own particular charge. ‘*Papa, can’t Uncle Anthony gear up, and take us to ride this morning ?’’ asked Martha, the elder daughter, who, with her sister Mary, was standing beside her father. ‘‘Not this morning, my dear; it is too warm, and besides I think Miss Edith would like to rest after her long journey. You can go down and show her the school-room and library. I dare say that Mary is anxious to introduce her to the books by this time: are you not, Mary?” said he, addressing a frail, delicate-looking girl, with large hazel eyes and short, thick brown curls. She blushing, drew closer to him, but made no smiled, and, reply. At that moment a black woolly head made its appearance above the staircase, and a voice in the negro dialect asked for ‘‘ Massa Jacob.”’ ‘Here, Josh,’ said his master. ‘*‘ What’s wanting ’’’ ‘Uncle Sigh am in de garden, and wants to know about dem garden chairs.”’ **Tell him I'll be there directly.” The head disappeared in a trice, and Mr. Ellis prepared to follow, first telling Edith that he hoped she would make herself at home and “You will find Mary quite companionable when she become domesticated as soon as possible. throws off her mantle of shyness and reserve in which she usually wraps herself in the said he; ‘‘ but Matty is a sad fly-away; too restless to be anything presence of strangers,”’ but a nuisance.” And, shaking his head as he said nuisance, with a smile, he, too, disap- peared, and a moment after was seen in the garden engaged in conversation with an old colored man. Left alone with the two girls, Edith soon set the ball of conversation in motion, and Mar- tha’s volubility kept it moving. Mary’s shy- ness gradually wore off, though she did not familiar, for she become in the least degree was naturally of a reserved disposition. They AND SHADE; OR, THE GOVERNESS. 238 to the library, and thence to the both apartments opening out upon a piazza over- Edith looked around the little room of which she was to be monarch for went down school-room, a small room adjoining, looking the garden. two years, and then glanced at her two sub- jects, one of whom, judging from appearances, she feared might prove rebellious, and offer open resistance to her authority if confined within bounds, or restrained of pleasure or It did not much discriminating wisdom to discover this, liberty against her will. require for ‘* Wilful’’ was written in legible characters on the broad brow and in the quick glance of the restless blue eye of the elder daughter, while ‘‘I will’ spoke as plainly from the erect, defiant position of the head as if the lips had uttered it. ‘* L hope we will get along amicably, ’’ thought Edith. And then, addressing the asked how they liked the idea of commencing their studies the following Monday. ‘Let me see,’”? said Mary. ‘ That four days.’’ And then, a pause, added: ‘*‘Why, I am very glad, for we are obliged to stay in the house during the warmest girls, she will be after she part of the day, and I would just as soon study as do nothing at all.”’ ‘‘Doing nothing at all is not your style, Mary,”’ rather drawling tone, ‘‘for you are always por- said Martha, mimicking her sister’s ing over some stupid book or other, instead of amusing yourself in a sensible manner, as I do. Why don’t you say that you shall like it very much? I am sure I shall’’—here Mary gave her sister such a look of astonishment that she colored slightly, and, after hesitating a moment, added—‘ with Miss Edith for our teacher; you know I Miss And then, turning to Edith, with a comical look of disgust at the remembrance, she continued : never could endure Hannah.’’ ‘She had the dyspepsia, and was always rush- ing up and down the room complaining of the ‘change of diet,’ and the acid in her stomach. if she had said the acid in her temper, I’d have liked it better, and believed her.”’ “You know, sister, that you used to tor- Miss the midst of your recitation,’’ interrupted Mary. “Yes; but how could I help it,” Martha, took persist in looking over my book instead of her ment Hannah by sneezing just in ’ replied ‘‘when she snuff, and would own, and then shake her handkerchief right in my face ?"’ that “She never annoyed me in way,” mil lly replied her sister, "")) ne: because you were a little saint; you

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GODEY'S 94 ahe but | looked flerce enough at you one day for laughing when know you were} Aim sure I aneesedd wo loud, that it made her Jump, and nhie tipaet the inkatand over that enuf) colored silk’? ‘You, Mina EMdlith,"’ more animation than she had before exhibited, exclaimed Mary, with ‘and her best dress, too, poor thing! It waa I was very sorry, but in help laughing, for Matty Miss Hannah kept the position she had jumped into as if she were comy letely ruined, deed I looked so frightened, and could not turned into stone; looking over her spectacles fivat at Matty, then at me, and then at the ink which was dripping off the table on to her dress, She did not often put that dress on, but that lay papa had some friends from Augusta, and she had dressed in the morning for dinner.’”’ ‘Which she had no business to do,” rupted Martha; inter- ‘*T am sure mamma offered to replace the dress, but Miss Hannah ‘ scorned the idea ;’ though she did not scorn the fifty dollars which papa gave her in addition to her salary when she went away.”’ ‘How long since she left here ?’’ Edith ven- tured to ask. ** Six months,’’ replied Martha. ‘‘ She stayed four months after mamma died, and then sud- denly discovered that it was not proper (she was always talking about propriety) to live here, because papa was a widower. the As if any widewer in known world would look at her !”’ ‘*Hush, Matty!’’ said Mary; ‘‘ papa would not like to hear you talk in that way.’ ‘It’s a fact, said Martha, elevating her eyebrows, and nodding her head nev ertheless,”’ significantly, ‘‘and you know Miss Hannah used to say that ‘facts were stubborn things ;’ looking at me all the time as if she were staring a stubborn fact in the face.’’ ** Well, you are stubborn sometimes, Matty ; and Miss Hannah told papa— ‘*Never you mind what that old dame told papa,’’ interrupted Martha, evidently not wish- ing Edith to know; * she did not want to be my stepmother, and be she went away because The idea of my handsome papa Well,’”’ ‘*poor papa is a sneezed at. going to church with her! ha, ha! she continued, looking serious, widower, and he misses dear mamma very much, but he'll not put any one else in her shoes very quick, 7 know.’’ Shrugging her shoulders, she looked at Edith as if to see what effect her words had upon her. Edith colored and turned towards the window. For the first time, the thought of there being LADY'S HOOK AND MAGAZINE, any impropriety in her position in the house, simply because the master of it was a widower, Wis suggested to hermind, but she immediately repelled it, As indiguantly, probably, as Miva Hannah had scorned the offer to r place her (vems, ‘' Perfectly absurd !'’ she sald to her- self; nobody would think of such a thing but anold maid; to be sure Lhave been here but ttle more thar twenty-four hours; but, jadging from what | have seen of Mr, Ellis, I think I am justified in believing that he would never draw any woman into any situation whatever that He toll we yesterday morning in the carriage, coming would compromise her in the least, from Augusta, that he regretted that there was no one to receive me and dispense the hos] i- thil- dren; but it never occurred to me, when he talities of his house but himself and the added that his wife had been dead ten months, that there was any impropriety in a young lady taking up her residence here as governess. My only feeling was that of compassion for the poor motherless girls. I am sorry that Miss Martha has received this notion into her head, for I can plainly see that she will use it to ad- vantage in case of provocation. Llowever, I will not make myself uncomfortable in mind about it, for here I am, and here I must re- With composure perfectly restored, she turned with main.’’ this wise conclusion, and her the intention of going into the library, and just in time, as it proved, to catch the last act of the pantomime which had been going on at her back while she was lost inthought. Mary, with an in- dignant expression of countenance, was holding up her finger threateningly, and nodding her headin a significant manner towards the garden, where Mr. Ellis’s voice could be heard in conver- sation with Uncle Sigh; while Martha, with an empty inkstand in her hand, was motioning as if in the act of throwing something on Edith’'s dress, her whole countenance lighted up with suppressed mirth, and her face contorted like a person’s in the act of sneezing. Edith, quite as much amused probably as Mary had been at a somewhat similar scene in the same room, be- tween Martha and Miss Hannah, moved toward the library, saying, with an ill-concealed sinile, ‘* Come, girls, let us look at the books.”’ They passed into the adjoining room, and taking down a volume, Edith asked Mary what were her favorites. ‘* Scott is my favorite author, and I like Mrs. Hemans, too,’’ she replied. ‘*And what books do you read?’’ she in- quired, turning to Martha. “Why, I think I like Robinson Crusoe as

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SUNSHINE AND SHADK; OR, THE GOVERNESS, well as any book there; it i* the only one I ever read, any way,'’ said she, flourishing a dust-brush, which Nelly the housemaid had carelonsly left on the sofa, ‘A contrast in taste, certainly!" thonght Edith, ‘Here is Mary, twelve years old, read- ing Scott and Hemana, while Misa Martha, two years her senior, Is giving her undivided atten- tion to Robinson Crusoe ;'’ and, looking at the alaters, she thought the contrast in thelr an- pearance quite as great, Mary was reclining against the window-sill, the very embodiment of girlish grace and beauty, her small white hand half buried in her clustering curls, and her large expressive eyes following her sister's movements, while an amused smile hovered around her lips, parting them and displaying a set of small pearly teeth, The fairness of her complexion was enhanced by her black dress, cut low, exposing neck and shoulders of dazzling whiteness. She blushed, as, looking up, she caught Edith’s eye fastened upon her, and, changing her position, took a book from the table and slowly turned over the leaves. Martha was standing in the centre of the room, looking threateningly at a huge fly on the ceiling, as if she meditated an application of the dust-brush, and Edith, as she looked at her, asked involuntarily, ‘‘How much do you weigh ?”’ ‘*One hundred and forty-seven ; I was weiched ’ was the reply in yesterday at the cotton-gin,’ an emphatic tone, as if the owner of so much flesh gloried in its possession. ** You weighed one hundred and fifty once,” said Mary. ‘* Yes, when Miss Hannah first came here ; but she shook three pounds off me.”’ ‘* Why, sister !’’ exclaimed Mary in surprise, ‘*Miss Hannah never shook you in her life.”’ “Shook her handkerchief in my face, and made me sneeze it off, which is all the same thing,’’ said Martha, laconically. The sisters still wore mourning for their mother, and Martha had on a black dress which was far too short for a girl of her size, and put on so care- lessly that her figure looked still more bulky. Her hair, of a reddish-brown color, was twisted up in a knot at the back of her head, and had evidently not been combed that day; her blue eyes were full of mischief, and her lips, always working restlessly, were large, though not badly shaped; her complexion was of that peculiar fairness which usually accompanies red or au- burn hair, but which freckles so easily, and her face and neck were covered with these un- sightly blemishes. Full of life and overflowing VOL. Lx11.—3 to x ~ spirits, she had a keen relish for fun, which often induewd her to play pranks on the ne groes; but she was a favorite on the plantation notwithstanding, and any one of them would inour his master’s displeasure rather than bring ‘young missus’ into disgrace with her papa, by telling him the author of the mischief, She waa naturally affectionate in disposition, and those whom she loved were never annoyed by her propensity to tease, when she found that it was really disagreeable; but she waa in- genious in contrivances to torment those whom she did not particularly fancy, to which fact poor Miss Hannah could testify, and also Aunt Cilla the housekeeper, Possessing great pene- tration, she could discover at once the most tender spot in another's feelings, and proceed to apply her caustic touches where they would burn most deeply. After her mother’s death, Miss Hannah's unguarded remarks about living in the house with a widower, and openly ex- pressed fears as to what the world would say, revealed to Martha her teacher’s most vulner- able point, and afforded a brilliant opportunity With a great assumption of indignation at Unele Anthony’s, for the exercise of her talent. Uncle Sigh’s, or some other eolored uncle's impudence, she would rush in upon Miss Han- nah when that good spinster was in one of her most quiet moods, and startle her with, ‘*Did you ever hear the like, Miss Hannah ? Uncle Sigh says that you need not set your last new black cap for papa, for it would not catch a crab, let alone a fine trout; and I just think I'll tell his master, for he oughtn’'t to be allowed to speak his mind so freely about the white folks.”’ At Miss Hannah’s earnest supplication not to mention it to her papa, she would yield, with apparent unwillingness, however, saying that ‘‘the blacks had better be picking at their cotton instead of at Miss Hannah’s yel- generally adding, by way of ’ low ribbons ;’ parenthesis, ‘‘ Papa would settle them if he knew it,” and then disappear as suddenly as she came, delighted at her success in ‘‘ ruffling the old lady.”’ These daily repeated provocations at length had, to Martha, the desired effect ; Miss Hannah could stand it no longer. In her credulity, be- lieving that she was looked upon with suspicion by the negroes, whose opinion she had a great respect for, that of the house servants particu- larly, and more than half suspecting that Mr. Ellis himself imputed to her a less disinterested motive for remaining after his wife’s death than solicitude for his children’s welfare, she one

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26 day, in a fit of desperation after iieatendia toa fresh bulletin from the negro quarter, burst into the library in a great state of excitement, and, much to Mr. Ellis’s astonishment, com- menced to vindicate herself, demanding at the same time ‘‘an explanation of the foul asper- sions on her character.”’ Mr. Ellis rose, and, requested her to be seated. sank into the seat and burst Mr. Ellis paced up and offering her a chair, Overcome by his kind manner, she into a flood of tears. down the room at a loss to know what the unusual scene meant; his visitor becoming calm, he seated himself on the attentively listened to the whole story, more sofa, and which was related with considerable stammer- ing and blushing on Miss Hannah’s part, whose suspicions as to Mr. Ellis’s opinion of her had given place to a womanly feeling of delicacy and considerable embarrassment on having to tell him that she was suspected by his servants of having designs upon him. Mr. Ellis could with difficulty refrain from laughing; but, and deferential manner, he assured her that it was nothing more than Martha’s nonsense, assuming the most respectful which, though certainly very reprehensible, he hoped she would overlook and forget. Calling Martha, who looked the least bit in the world abashed by her father’s stern look, he asked what she meant by disturbing Miss Hannah so often. ‘Tt was all meant in fun, Uncle An- thony tcld me one day when | was teazing him that he would on you up to marry Miss Han- I’d have a mother that would make me step around, and I just told Miss Hannah for fun, heoause she was always won- dering what people would say to her staying here after mamma died, and I thought I’d just let her know what the black people said, any ” way. papa. nah, and then Reprimanding Martha severely for her disre- spect to for which she acknowledged that she did in repeat- her father sent her to her teacher, and exaggerating, ing what had been said, her room in tears, for she loved him devotedly, and when she saw that he was really offended of a great if they had ted a marvellous her sorrow was deep, and prolific many resolutions to amend, which, been kept would have effec change in the wild, wilful girl. Miss Hannah soon after passed to her own room, and the subject was not again alluded to. Mr. Ellis showed neither by word nor look that he remem- bered the occurrence, but appeared not the least surprised when, the following week, Miss a |i E | | | | GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, announced at the dinner-table her intended departure. A few days after, the carriage was at the door, and she was conveyed to Augusta, much to Martha’s satisfaction, who complimented herself on her able generalship in getting rid of her enemy. She looked upon teachers in general, and governesses in par- ticular, as avowed enemies to youth, and, as ‘fall is fair in war,’’ she felt that she had fairly gotten rid of her adversary. The surprise of both the girls was very great when told by their father that another lady would soon arrive to take Miss Hannah’s place. The information was received with pleasure by Mary, and Martha received it with a better grace than her father expected, and also his admonitions in regard to her conduct towards her future teacher. On Edith’s arrival, Mar- tha gazed in astonishment at her beauty, for she had expected to see a person after the order of Miss Hannah, and if Edith had come in any other capacity than that of school-ma’am, Mar- tha, who had a taste for the beautiful, though she did not exercise it much in the arrange- ment of her toilet, would, without doubt, have fallen in love with her; as it was, she felt more friendly towards her, concluding that no one so pretty as Miss Edith could ever scold; of which fact she was convinced when Edith smiled se Hannah pleasantly at the pantomime scene instead af resenting the implied injury to her dress, ag Miss Hannah would have done. (To be continued.) ~-2eo or —_ DO YOU REMEMBER! BY @ T. Co. Do you remember—I remember— Well the day we, lingering, parted ? "Twas the shivering bleak December; I was nearly broken-hearted Do yon still cherish—I still cherish Sweet memories of the vows then given? Tho’ earth and time-born, Such foretastes of the bliss of heaven ne‘er can perish Are you regretting—I regret not— Our plighted faith in each forever? Are you forgetting—I forget not— That love's strong ties time cannot sever? Are you now dreaming—I am dreaming— Of brighter hopes that send their greeting From coming scenes, till almost seeming To give us many a welcome meeting? Is your heart gladden'd— mine is gladden‘d— While yearning for that fond reunion When life in life, We'll know forever love's communion? now absence-sadden‘d,

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A WHISPER TO A NEWLY-MARRIED PAIR. A WHISPER TO THE WIFE. INTRODUCTORY REMARKS. Gentie lady, my whisper to your husband is ended. From you a moment's attention is now claimed by a widowed wife, whose bridal morn- ing rose as bright as yours; whose youthful heart loved ‘‘ with all a woman’s love;’’ and who anxiously wishes to secure for her in- teresting sisters that first and most important of all a wife’s pursuits—the confidence and af- fection of her husband. You are now become a wife ; and sacred and important are the duties you have to fulfil. Your husband has bestowed on you the most flattering distinction: he has selected you from the world ; and the chain he has put on can be broken only by death! Be it your care never to let him feel this chain, and by your kindness and gentleness make him even forget he wears it. A bride, wherever she appears, is ever con- sidered an object of importance and a subject for remark. ‘‘ Have you seen the bride?’’ is the eager and general question; and what she does, what she says, what she wears, and how she looks, swell the insignificant chat of every gossip’s visit. Let the notice which you thus excite make you particularly observant of your manner and conduct ; and give the busy whis- perer no food for a new sarcasm in the next importation of tittle-tattle. A bride is generally (indeed, I think always) proud of the new character she has entered on; and, unless she is a woman of sense, fond of exhibiting the love she has inspired. Pursue a different course ; let your manner to your hus- band be kind and good-humored; but sacred to the hours of retirement be those expressions and that display of endearment, which, used in public, argue, in loud terms, a want of true delicacy, and are ever particularly disagreeable to the spectator. The first inquiry of a woman after marriage should be, ‘‘ How shall I continue the love I have inspired? how shall I preserve the heart I have won?’’ Gentle lady, at the present mo- ment your husband thinks you the loveliest, the gentlest of beings. Destroy not the illu- sion: be lovely still; be gentle still. The long and dreary road that lies through the wilder- ness of life is stretched before you; and by a chain, the links of which no human power can break, you are bound to a companion with whom, hand in hand, you must walk through this long, long road. For the sake then of peace, fur the sake of happiness, for the sake of self (that most powerful feeling), brighten the way by endeavoring to make yourself ami- able and pleasing to him. The great Dr. Johnson, with his usualstrength of expression, laments, in the following words, the contrasted manner which frequently occurs before and after marriage: ‘‘One would think the whole endeavor of both parties during the time of courtship is to hinder themselves from being known—to disguise their natural temper and real desires in hypocritical imitation, studied compliance, and continued affectation. From the time that their love is avowed, neither sees the other but in a mask; and the cheat is often managed on both sides with so much art, and discovered afterwards with so much abruptness, that each has reason to suspect that some transformation has happened on the wedding- night, and that by a strange imposture, as in the case of Jacob, one has been courted and another married. ‘*However discreet your choice has been, time and circumstances alone can sufficiently develop your husband’s character: by degrees the discovery will be made that you have mar- ried a mortal, and that the object of your af- fections is not entirely free from the infirmities of human nature. Then it is that, by an im- partial survey of your own character, your dis- appointment may be moderated ; and your love, 80 far from declining, may acquire additional tenderness, from the consciousness that there is room for mutual forbearance.” ON CONNUBIAL HAPPINESS. Arrer marriage, a man generally takes his wife to his home, where every object is endeared to him by local attachment and interesting re- membrances. With pride and pleasure does he walk out with his fair bride, to exhibit to her the beauties of his domain and the scenes of his youth. ‘‘Look,’”’ says he, ‘‘at that noble view down the river; see that boat, how softly it glides, and that little temple on the hill, where on a fine evening I used to sit with my excellent mother, and say my tasks by her 27

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28 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, side: she was, in truth, my Emily, an excellent mother; several years have elapsed since I lost her, and yet I cannot think of her but with the strongest feelings of affection and regret.” Endeavor, gentle lady, to enter into his feel- ings, and to admire, and to feel pleased with everything with which he is pleased, In those bridal moments, your smiles and approbation are delightful tohim: and although alterations and improvements may oceur to you, let him see it is for the sake of those improvements, not for the sake of finding fault, you point out the defect. Study your husband's temper and character ; and be it your pride and pleasure to conform to his wishes. Check at once the jirst advances to contradiction, even of the most trivial nature. I repeat the word (trivial, for it is really incon- ceivable the power which the veriest trifles have, at times, over the mind, either in irritating or pleasing. And the woman who, after a few years are gone by, can say, ‘‘ My husband and I have never yet had a loud or angry debate,’’ is, in my opinion, better entitled to a chaplet of laurels, than the hero who has fought on the plains of Waterloo. ‘There is one simple direction, which, if carefully regarded, might long preserve the tranquillity of the married life, and insure no inconsiderable portion of connubial happiness to the observers of it; it is, to beware of the rinst dispute.” An admired writer says, ‘‘ Let it pever be forgotten, that, during the whole of life, beauty must suffer no diminution from inelegance, but every charm must contribute to keep the heart which it has won. Whatever would have been concealed as a defect from the lover, must, with greater diligence, be concealed from the husband, The most intimate and tender fami- liarity cannot surely be supposed to exclude decorum; and there is naturally a delicacy in every mind, which is disgusted at the breach of it, though every mind is not sufficiently at- tentive to avoid at all times that mode of con- duct which it has often itself found offensive. That unwearied solicitude to please, which was once the effect of choice, is now become a duty, and should be considered as a pleasure. ‘ E’en in the happiest choice, where favoring Heaven Has equal love and easy fortune given, Think not, the husband gain'd, that all is done; The prize of happiness must still be won. When once you enter the matrimonial state, gentle lady, prepare for the various trials of temper which each day will produce. Your husband perhaps does, or says, something pro- voking ; your servants do, or say, something provoking ; or*some valuable article is injured by their negligence ; a handsome piece of China or glass is broken; a tiresome visitor comes in at a most mal-apropos moment, and breaks in on some matter of consequence, &c. Kc. But “He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty ; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh acity.’’ (Prov. xvi. 32.) By the expression ruleth his spirit, the inspired writer’s views on the subject are evidently wide and extensive, He alludes to those infirmities of temper and disposition which so often corrode our peace, and make us unamiable and uncomfortable to ourselves and those around us, When the risings of discontent, peevishness, envy, anger, resentment, or any evil passion, disturb or threaten to take possession of our hearts, then is the man that ruleth his spirit superior, in the eyes of the eastern monarch, to the hero return- ing from the battle or the siege, crowned with I cannot dis- remember the great Solomon’s words: laurels, and covered with glory |! miss this subject without remarking the very sweet and engaging point of view in which persons appear to me when I see them pliably yielding their own will to the will of another. A late writer makes the following excellent re- mark: ‘‘Great actions are so often performed from little motives of vanity, self-complacency, and the like, that I am apt to think more highly of the person whom I observe checking a reply to a petulant speech, or even submitting to the judgment of another in stirring the Jire, than of one who gives away thousands !’’ _— —2— eer - = LINES FOR AN ALBUM. BY 8. A. BLAKELEY. Dear Farenpd, what shall I ask for thee, Health, wealth, and all prosperity? Or shall I wish thee—rarest gift below-— The happiness the good alone may know? Methinks the last best suited to thy mind, With thy pure tastes and gentle air refined ; With heart by honor, love, and truth encrowned— Oh may true happiness by thee be found! Not the false glitter wealth calls happiness, That has no single power to charm or bless; Not the vain show where beauty takes delight, Whose fairest morning ends in darkest night, But the true bappiness the good enjoy, That earthly cares and ills cannot alloy; That lifts the soul from “ Nature up to Nature’s God, And gives, when chastened, strength to kiss the rod. That this sweet peace may to thy life be given, And shed o’er darkest hours some gleams of Heaven; May make the present bright, the future fair, And give thee endless joy shall be my prayer. fr di mK te lit he ye co las

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-— We eT MY WARD. BY MARIA I was only twenty-three years of age when I became that important personage, a guardian of the person and fortune of Miss Fannie Lee, and this was how it happened :— George Lee and | were classmates in college, and were not only class but room mates and friends. We were called the inseparables, Damon and Pythias, and numerous jokes went round the college about our friendship; yet it stood the test of four years’ companionship and the ridicule of our feilow-collegians, and we left Alma Mater firm, true friends. He was a splendid fellow, a man to love and be proud to call friend. We settled in the same city, he as a physician, I as a lawyer, and our intercourse was always pleasant. He was an orphan, and the sole guardian of one little sister fifteen years younger than himself. There was no other relations to wean the love these two felt one for the other away from them. Their father, an Englishman, had brought his wife from the ‘‘old country,’’ and when these two died the children stood alone. Mr. Lee was not wealthy, but he left a small sum, the in- terest of which was enough for the children to live upon with economy. As soon as George was fairly started in the practice of medicine, he settled this sum upon his sister. When I was but twenty-three, George two years older, my friend became a victim to our country’s chiefest scourge, consumption. In his last illness he implored me to accept the office of guardian to his little sister. She was then at boarding-school, and, George argued, would probably remain there until I was married and settled, or, if I desired it, until she was of age and able to take care of herself and her pro- perty. Glad to relieve my friend of any sad anxiety, I undertook the charge, and was legally intrusted with full power to guard Miss Fanny and her money for the next eleven years. George died. It was a sore blow to me, yet the certainty that his noble, self-sacrificing spirit was happy after many trials in this rough world was a consolation, and, in time, other interests and affections came to comfort me. Seven years passed away. I was still a bachelor, but keeping house, with Mrs. Dodd for the presiding genius of my establishment. Mrs. Dodd was a melancholy woman, coastantly wiping tears from very pale blue eyes with the 3% DUKE. corner of her apron, referring with a sniflle to Dodd defunct, or, as she termed him, ‘my dear Henery.’’ My days were passed in business, my evenings in practising on the violin or read- ing. I had tried the piano, and a grand piano in the parlor stood a silent witness of my failure, so I contented myself with buying a magnifi- cent cover for it, and returned to the violin, which Mrs. Dodd enthusiastically declared | ‘played in the most beautifullest manner.”’ In all these seven years my ward was at school. Regularly every year I paia her bills and forwarded the remainder of herincome to her teacher for Miss Fannie’s wardrobe and current expenses; and, this duty over, I thought no more about her, I had several precious docu- ments from the principal of the seminary, report- ing the progress made by Miss Lee in the vari- ous branches taught at that institute, and then another twelvemonth would roll by before the intercourse was renewed. I had come, under this state of things, to look upon my ward as a very well behaved young lady, thoroughly conversant with the ‘* English branches, music, and the modern languages,’’ who would in the course of time leave school, claim the capital of her property, and probably marry some re- spectable man, and live in peace, leaving me in the same enviable state. Fancy, then, the effect produced upon my taind hy the following epistle, which lay upon my desk one morning in January :— BRooKpDALe, Jan. 19, 18—., Dear Goarptan: The half yearly session of our school closes on Saturday next, and | finish my course. 1am, between ourselves, horribly tired of school, and so I am coming to live with you. That’s what all young ladies do who have guardians, ain’tit? I know your address, because Miss Screwem has it, and I will be with you ou Monday evening or Tuesday, I can’t say exactly which, because my new bonnet may not come home Saturday, in which case | must wait until the afternoon boat on Monday. I am quite well, and hope to find you in a flour- ishing state of health. I have no doubt you are a dear, clever old soul, who will not snub me as they do here, and if you are real good to me I am sure I shall love you like a house a fire. You need not answer this, because I 29

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80 shall leave here before your answer can reach Come or send to the boat to meet me, Yours, respectfully, Fannig Les. Ine. won't you? I was perfectly thunderstruck. Coming to A dear old soul! I looked over at the glass. I saw a tall, erect figure, a face upon which thirty summers had left a brown hue, not entirely worn away by the winters’ cold ; a heavy black moustache, and thick, wavy black hair; features so-so; eyes black and large. Then I glanced round my room, my office. All was neat there, for I had kept bachelor’s hall too My mind wandered my house! long to have it disorderly. over the house. The two third story rooms were vacant, and fitted up, one as a parlor, one as a bedroom, for I often entertained my friends for several days together; these rooms must be aired and arranged for Miss Lee. My imagina- tion pictured a raw school-girl thumping exer- cises on my grand piano, dragging school-books into my parlors, and practising dancing on my carpets, or, still worse, a young lady, finished, filling my parlors with her admirers, keeping me up till morning to go out in the cold and bring her home from parties (I savagely re- solved I would not take her to them). Then another idea flashed across me—somebody must be there to play propriety ; I was too young to have a lady of seventeen visiting me alone. Mrs. Dodd was not in her element out of the kitchen and pantry, I had no mother, no sis- ter, but I had an aunt. My blood seemed to run in little cold rills all through me as I thought of Aunt Janeg but I could see no other way to accommodate Mrs. Grundy, so I took down my hat, and went to Aunt Jane’s. Tall, stiff, frigid was Aunt Jane, as usual. Chilling was my greeting, withering was the glance cast at my muddy boots, but my errand was successful. Aunt Jane had always con- sidered foolish agreed to make my house her home whilst my Leaving her with carte me in living alone, and she ward waa with dlanche for the arrangementa, I went to court, My ward danced over my briefs, and | addressed the presiding judge once aa Misa Lee, once as Mina Fanule, 1 was released at last, and went home, What a aight awaited me! tage of my order to ‘do as whe thought proper,"’ Taking advan Aunt Jane had inatituted a regular house cleaning in the middle of January, Aa she had only one day to do it in, she had taken it all at once, From the garret to the cellar there was not a fire; the furnace fire had gone GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, out, and there was no one to make it up; every- body was too busy. There were women on step-ladders, women under tables, women on the stairs, women in the closets, women from the front door to the roof. Buckets of water, large cakes of soap, rags, brushes, towels, brooms, bottles empty and full, books, every- I was scene, thing in the most direful confusion. standing ruefully contemplating the when I heard a well-known sniffle at my elbow. ‘*T am so sorry, Mr. Holmes,’’ said Mrs. Dodd, ‘‘ that we couldn’t do the office ; but it was locked, and we could not find the key.” And at the same instant I felt a key slipped into my hand. Mentally promising Mrs. Dodd an extra V with her month’s wages, I said: ‘‘Oh, I’ve Aunt Jane, I expect Miss Lee at May I ask how | am to receive her in this mess ?”’ **Oh, it will all be done by that time. We did not take up the carpets ; only covered them, got the key. midnight; it is now five o’clock. and we will soon get through.” I went to the office. Dodd! Dodd! incom- parable Dodd! A fire burned brightly in the open grate, a cold collation was spread upon one of the tables, and not a book was out of place. I was scarcely seated when my melan- choly housekeeper entered with hot coffee and— ‘You see, sir, Miss Jane said there was no time to get your dinner, so I did the best I could with the cold tongue and chicken, and I did manage some oysters if you will have them.’’ And she left, to return with one of her most delicious stews. ‘Tf Miss Lee wants a maid, sir, my cousin has a handy girl about twenty who would be glad to come.’’ “‘Tlave her here to-night,’ And, with a grateful courtesy and sniffle, Mra, Dodd left me. Aunt Jane was as good as her word, When I left the house to go to the boat it was in its usual order, though a racking headache re- minded me of the noise and confusion that had ’ I said, prevailed until after ten o'clock, The boat came up to the wharf the moment after I arvived there, and I went on board te find my ward, I looked atall the young ladies, and instinetively I expected te see the blue eyes and fair hair of my old friend George, One after another, all those I singled out were car- ried off by fathers or brothers, or had an eacort with them, Concluding that Miss Lee had had to wait for her new bonnet, I was leaving the boat when a tall said:— elderly gentleman near me

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nt to ‘4, ie ne iT rt ad he MY WARD, 81 ‘Well, Miss Fannie, we must try to find Mr, | Holmes’s house.” I said, quickly, ‘‘ Miss Lee ?”’ ‘*The same, sir,’’ said the gentleman. ‘‘ Miss Screwem asked me to take charge of her. Are you a friend of Mr. Holmes? Miss Fannie, here is the gentleman your guardian has sent to meet you.”’ Could that tiny little figure beside him be my ward? She was muffled up in furs, wool- lens, shawls, till she was nearly as broad as she was long, and wore a heavy brown veil. She did manage, however, to get a tiny, neatly gloved hand out from her wrappings, and ex- tend to me. ‘Mr, Jones has my checks,’’ she said, in one of the clearest, sweetest vuices I ever heard. The gentleman handed me three checks, and then I offered my arm to Miss Lee. She first | thanked her escort for the care he had taken of her, bade him good-by, and then turned to me, The carriage taken and trunks secured, we left the wharf. ‘“Why didn’t Mr. Holmes come ?”’’ said Miss Fannie, as we drove through the streets ; ‘‘ was he afraid of the rheumatism this cold night? Oh, wasn’t it cold on the water ?’’ ‘* Were you sea-sick ?’’ I inquired. **Sea-sick! No, indeed! I never was sick, any kind of sick in my life! Is this the house ?’’ I opened the carriage door. Mrs. Dodd opened my front door, and Miss Lee ranin. I left her to Dodd, and turned my attention to the bag- gage. When I] went into the parlor, she was standing near the furnace register, talking to Mrs. Dodd, and did not notice me. She had thrown aside the wrappings, and stood there in a brown merino dress, which fitted a small, graceful figure, perfectly. Unlike her brother, she was a decided brunette. Her hair fell in short jetty curls on her shoulders, and her dark, clear complexion glowed crimson at the cheeks, with the recent exposure to the cold, Iler eyes, raised to Dodd's face, were large and vory dark, ‘Oh, never mind, Misa Jane, ing, aa | came in, ‘I don't care if she has gone to bed. Dut where's Mr, Holmes?" ‘He'll be here in a minute, I suppose!" ‘Tell me, la he awful old, and will he be corona and fussy?" Old! erona! fussy !'' sald Dodd; “why, you rode home with him !"’ ‘What! ia that my guardian? That young, handsome man! Mr, Holmes! Well, I never she was say waa 80 astonished— ‘And delighted, I hope!'’ I said, crossing the room to her side. She did not blush or look confused at my address, but looked at me a moment with her large brown eyes, and then burst into a hearty fit of girlish laughter. ‘*Do you know,’ she said, after she re- covered her gravity, ‘‘I thought you were as old as the hills? I don’t know why, except that all the girls at school who have guardians, have old ones. Ain’t it jolly? Wecan havea great deal nicer times now, as it is, can’t wef” **T sincerely hope you will find your new home pleasant,’’ I said, and I meant it. The large parlors seemed to have a new radiance cast over them by the presence of this tiny, merry girl. Mrs. Dodd went to find Lizzie, her cousin, to be inaugurated in her duties as Miss Lee’s maid, and we were alone. ‘‘T am sure it will be pleasant,” said my ward, ‘“‘if you won’t snub me. Iam so tired of being lectured and scolded, and it ain’t of any use either to be always at me. I can’t be quiet and ladylike, and all that sort of thing. I think —I think I ain’t one of the good kind.’’ I could not help smiling at this naive con- fession. She came a little closer to me. ‘‘You will be kind to me, won’t you? You know I have nobody else !”’ I held out both hands to her. ‘*Do you know,”’ I said, gently, “how much I loved your brother ?”’ ‘* Yes !’’ in a whisper. **T promised him to be kind to you. I have neglected the charge he left me, but I will make the future atone for it.’’ Dodd and Lizzie came in, and bidding my ward a cordial good-night, I saw her go up stairs, followed by Lizzie carrying the cloaks, shawls, and furs. Such a life as I led for the next six weeks! I don't think that any unoaged monkey was ever more filled with mischief and fun than Miss Fannie Lee, She nearly tormented the life out of Aunt Jane and me, She hid aunt's spectacles in my briefs, so that they fell out in court; and she put the old lady's snuflbox in my Walsteoat pocket, to be produced in the same place, Bhe chose the moments when I was absorbed in a knotty case to fly to the plano, end play the !lveliest jiga, and sing, ina clear seprano volce, the moat absurd carloa- tures of opera muale, rolling up her eyes, open. ing her mouth to its fullest extent, and scatter. ing the neat comical trills and crescendos upon the air, till there was no alternative for me, and the papers were laid aside, to be studied out after Miss Fannie retired, No sooner did

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she see me disengaged than she was at iny side. She pulled my moustache to make it grow, she said ; she pretended to find white hairs amongst my black ones, and made this pretence for jerking out a dozen at a time of the jetty ones. She took my newspaper when I was most in- terested in it, to make me a cocked hat, and burned the tip of my nose trying to light my cigar. She had a most splendid musical talent, and played upon the piano with wonderful execu- tion and expression. One of her favorite plans for tormenting me was to propose duets. I would get my violin, and the little witch would take her place at the piano with the gravity of a deacon. She would throw her whole soui into the music until she saw that I was interested and absorbed in it, and then she would slyly dash off the most negro melody, or dancing tune, absurd variations on some As soon as I stopped, she would look up with an affectation of grave surprise, and go on with her part of the music until I was again interested, when the jig or polka came in again, and so on till I threw gravely lecture me upon the bad example I was aside my violin, when she would setting my ward, by losing my temper, Yet I could not sincerely say that I wished With all her wild freaks, she was affectionate and kind, and I often saw her back at school. that her most daring pieces of mischief followed Aunt Jane’s severe lectures upon propriety. They could not live in peace. It was like fire and ice, and Aunt Jane’s severe, cold manner would have broken the child’s heart or spirit, had not I been there to shield, protect, and indulge her. I had never asked myself if I loved this wayward sunbeam ; I knew she made my home a home, not a mere dwelling-house, and I lis- tened but seemed to me such a child in her free, frank for her voice, as for wusic; she joyousness, that I never thought of love. One morning I was taken with a severe at- tack of nervous headache. I had been subject for years to such spells, and I threw myself upon the sofa in the parlor, certain that for hours there was nothing for me but quiet en- durance. Dodd came in to darken the windows, get me a pillow, and put the camphor bottle near me, and then I was alone. Soon I heard a merry laugh, and then a clear voice began to sing a verse of a gay song. It ceased suddenly, and Fannie said— of I will be I am so sorry!’ Sick! a headache! course, ’ quiet, Miss Jane, Light footsteps came over the stairs, the GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. parlor door opened and shut softly, and pre- sently two soft cool hands fell gently upon my forehead. ‘Can't I do anything for you?’’ she whis- pered. ** Nothing g, thank you. Don’t let me keep you here in the dark [”’ **Oh, please let me stay. I like to be where you are, better than anywhere.”’ The pain was too bad for me to talk, so she sat down and softly bathed my head with Co- logne water, parting the hair with her light fingers, and mesmerizing me with those soft cool hands till I fell asleep, pondering over her last words, I awoke, free from pain, but languid, and I heard Aunt Jane’s voice in the parlor, at some distance from my sofa. ‘*You will find that he really disapproves of your conduct, It is not proper, and any young laiy who allows herself to take such liberties with a gentleman, loses his respect.’ Was it my ward who spoke next? The voice was clear and cold as Aunt Jane’s |! ‘“‘T think you are mistaken! I see that I was wrong to love the only person who has been really kind to me since my brother died, but I do not think my guardian misunderstood me. Still, I will take your advice, and go back to school till l am of age. Now mark me, not because you advise me, but because I cannot live here on cold, formal terms with my guard- ian, and I will not give him reason to despise me, by showing that I am grateful for his love.”’ The voice trembled a little, but Aunt Jane merely said— ‘“You have decided wisely,’’ and left the room. I kept perfectly quiet. sob, and then light steps approaching my sofa. A tear fell upon my forehead, and then soft, I heard one choking warm lips gently pressed the spot, and Fannie went towards the door. In an instant I was on my feet beside her. Never mind what I said; I did not offend her, and when I sat down upon the sofa again, the tiny form nestled close in my arms. Only one question about our future life did my promised wife ask me— ‘Aunt Jane ?”’ ‘* Will return home the day we are married !”’ And she did; a handsome present quite re- conciling her to the match, and repaying her for the three months she spent with me to play propriety when I received a visit from my ‘*ward.’’

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A NICE BY ALIOCN B. ‘¢Onry a hundred dollars a year more, Fred, and such anice neighborhood !”’ Mrs. Ballard gazed up into her husband’s face in such an earnest, animated way, her own looked so pretty in the full light, between the Liverpool coal and the shaded gas-burner, that ‘Fred’ could not resist stooping down to kiss her. If he could have foreseen how much that kiss was going to cost him! They had been three years married, and, living thus far without the joys and plagues of a nursery to divide them, they were still fond enough of each other to make the caress a happiness to both. Mr. Ballard drew the bright, sparkling face down to his shoulder, and took the hand that had been upraised in a pretty appealing gesture. ‘*Is it any more comfortable than this home ?’’ *O yes, indeed; the hall and vestibule are finished in black walnut, and then there’s a third room, you know I told you, on the first floor, and two more chambers, of course, above.”’ As they already had four, and occupied but one, it did not seem essential to increase the number of sleeping apartments; but Mr. Bal- lard agreed to meet his wife the next afternoon on his way up town, and go to see the new house. Now they were living beyond the Eighth Avenue in Nineteenth Street, and, though the block of four houses, of which their own was a part, was unexceptionable, one had to pass certain tenement houses to reach them, and the entire square presented an incongruous mixture of comfort and squalor which one often sees in respectable localities in New York city. The desirable residence Mrs. Ballard had dis- covered brought her nearly two avenues nearer the Fifth; but it was very high up town, to be sure—above the Thirties. The situation was a little bleak, and the front of the house narrower by two feet than the one they now occupied ; but when one aspires to gentility they must put up with coldness and narrowness, as all the world knows ; and in every other respect there was nothing to ask. The black walnut vesti- bule and staircase, the handsome mantels, and neatly finished cornices, gave the interior quite au air; and, standing on the doorstep, both up NEIGHBORHOOD, HAVEN, and down the street, only houses of equal merit were to be seen; indeed, they rose to the grandeur of four stories and twenty-five feet fronts as they neared the end of the square. **T shall never be able to walk to the Swamp,” said Mr. Ballard, who was in the leather trade, almost under the shadow of the Cliff Street Temple of Knowledge. ‘But the cars bring you to the corner, you know, and the Fifth Avenue stages are only a block and a half away; and it won’t make much difference to me, I go down town g0 sel- dom.”’ Not that Mr. Ballard needed to be urged into the exchange, for the noisy children swearing on the sidewalk near their pleasant home an- noyed him as much as the rag man’s cart with its melancholy bell did his wife. This chiffonier must have belonged to one of those objectionable tenement houses in the rear, and he had a fancy for stabling the two wretched dogs that dragged under it on the curb-stone before Mrs. Ballard’s parlor windows, However, all that was at an end; the new house was taken, and the moving accomplished without any greater incidents than are usual to such transitions. The new parlor carpet would have been needed all the same in Nineteenth Street, and the furniture being almost new was sufficiently good for its present improved quar- ters. Mrs. Ballard superintended the last tack, and saw the door close on the upholsterer with great satisfaction. She took unusual pains with her toilet that night; put on her husband's favorite dress, and some well-preserved crimson immortelles in her brown hair. ‘‘ And now,’’ she said, as she had shown him through the house, ‘‘ we are all ready for calls, if it is at all a sociable neighborhood.”’ It was unusually so for New York ; several of the ladies remarked that when they paid their compliments and gratified their own curiosity as to the inmates and appointments of No. 27. Of the five who had done so Mrs. Ballard had elected two as favorites. ‘*] hope we shall see a great deal of you,”’ Mrs. Rhodes remarked, in taking leave of Mrs. Ballard. ‘‘Mrs. Hamilton, who was before you, was extremely unsociable. I don't be- lieve she ever set foot into my house more than 33

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84 twice, all the time she lived here. It doesn’t look well to be above living pleasantly with one’s neighbors.” Now, as Mrs. Rhodes’ house was four stories, and very brown stone as to front, such a re- niark was gratifying; so was the freedom of Mrs. Sloan’s manner, who said ‘‘ My dear’’ on her very first call, twice in a breath, and urged iis speedy return. ‘** Don’t let it be a hundred years before we see you at 32, my dear Mrs. Ballard. I am de- lighted with the acquisition of such neighbors ; such an improvement on poor Mrs. Hamilton! Don’t come any farther, my dear, pray don’t!’’ And Mrs. Sloan tilted gracefully on her high hoot heels, and swung round on the pavement with the most captivating air; a wave of the hand and a parting smile intended to confirm the favorable impression she considered herself to have made. ‘*Mrs. Hamilton does not seem to have been much of anybody,’’ Mrs. Ballard said to her husband, after giving a glowing description of Mrs. Sloan's toilet and general appearance. ‘*That’s the second time I've heard how un- sociable she was, them ?”’ Do you know anything about ‘*Why, yes; Cameron said to me only yes- terday, ‘So you've taken George Hamilton's old much better off than I am,’ house?’ George is a nice fellow, very ; ‘It's a pity he should have such a wife! so dull, you know, not going out any,’’ Mrs, Bal- lard explained, ‘*They didn't have room enough here, I be- lieve, for their five children,’’ pursued Mr, Ballard, A very good reason, Jive childre n, for poor Mrs. Hamilton's lack of sociability ; Mrs, Bal- lard did not stop to think of that. She felt greatly elated by the favorable comparison that had been made between them, and entertained her old friend and neighbor, Mrs. Thane, of Nineteenth Street, with a description of the style and friendliness of those who had stepped forward to console her for Mrs. Thane's loss, That good little wife and mother went home with the seeds of envy and jealousy sown in Mrs. Ballard every day of her life, for there was no one else her kindly heart. She missed she could be very friendly with when they had ided near each other. She went up to see ] ~ her the first moment that she could take from her nursery duties for such a jaunt, expecting to hear in turn that Mrs. She might have said, with Sallard was as incon- solable as herself, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, the lover of Wordsworth’s Lucy, ‘‘ But oh, the difference is to me !’’ Mrs. Ballard had been so occupied with her new house and her new neighbors that she had scarcely glanced back to Mrs. Thane’s, and when the familiar black beaver bonnet and gray Siberian fur tippet made their appearance in her parlors she even wondered how she could ever have thought Mrs. Thane pretty and lady- like. She had “ not a particle of style,’’ par- ticularly after Mrs. Sloan’s fashionable toilet and dashing manner. ‘Oh, it’s a lovely neighborhood, Harry !’’ Mrs. Thane said to her husband; ‘‘ the houses are all new and elegantly finished, and there are no less than three private carriages kept in the square. Ours looked so mean as I came back, the grocery store more forlorn than ever, and the house so plain and old-fashioned. Eli- nor had on her best silk, and sat sewing in the parlor, and here must I stitch away in all the noise and confusion of the nursery, shut up with the children from one week's ena to the other !”’ Mr. Thane felt hurt, and yet his wife could not help it. The best balanced feminine mind goes through such experiences, and must strug- gle back to cheerful serenity again, as it may. Mrs. Ballard sat sewing again the next morn- ing; her dress a printed mousseline de laine ; her feet shod in gaiters that had seen some service, and neatly darned on the side, answered very well for the house. and in fact would unhesitatingly have gone out She wore a plain linen set, with Mra, Thane, any morning, Just as she was, There was a ring at the door-bell, ‘*Mrs, Sloan sends her compliments, and would Mrs, Ballard like to go down town with her this morning !’’ Mrs. Ballard started up with quite a flush of It was a beautiful day, and to be out on Broadway with so well-dressed a com- pleasure, panion was a delightful prospect ; so an affirm- ative message was dispatched; and the dozen new pillow-cases for the servants’ rooms re- placed in her work-basket, while she made a speedy toilet, Her best dress, a Marie Louise blue silk, her best hat, her new velvet cloak, new gaiters, and, of course, her best set of muslins, were laid out. Mrs, Sloan must not be kept waiting, and she hurried the things on, and left her room, for the first time in her married life, in that indescribable state of confusion known as ‘* all sixes and sevens.”’ The waiter, who was also chambermaid and co-laundress, was busy with her ironing. ‘‘It was not worth while to

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A NICE disturb her,’’ Mrs. Ballard thought, .«as she glanced back at the half open drawers, wide open closets, and the various garments scat- tered about the room. She should be back in time to arrange everything before Mr. Ballard came. She felt uncomfortable with the re- membrance of it, though, and a little nervous, as she neared Mrs. Sloan’s, and saw her seated in full promenade dress at the window of the reception-room ; it caused an unfortunate tug at her new glove, which would not go on, and an irreparable rent was the consequence. Mrs. Sloan was in high good-humor ; she was going down to look for a new dress for New Year’s day ; it was only November, to be sure, but it was well to take those things in time; the season was so early, it reminded one of mid- winter; the mud and slop from the late rain had frozen in the street, and there was ice upon the sidewalk, although the sky was so blue, and the sunshine so clear, The Sixth Avenue cars were at the corner, but ‘fone met all sorts of people in them,” Mrs. Sloan said; ‘‘none of the ladies in this neighborhood used them, the Fifth Avenue stage was so much more genteel than even the Broadway vehicles, that came up so high.”’ 8o the blue and gold stage received them, and Mrs. Ballard had an opportunity of growing familiar with the palatial residences she had seldom seen before, and congratulating herself as belonging In some faint degree to the same Mra. Sloan pointed out the different houses, and named their owners in the moat locality. familiar way, so that the ride to Broadway was very short, indeed, They alighted opposite the Metropolitan THo- tel; along, and so they did most faithfully, cruising Mrs, Sloan said it was as well to look all into every shop, whose windows were at all at- tractive, turning over more elegant silks than Mrs. Ballard had ever seen in all her life before, on their way to Stewart’s. And here Mra. Sloan sauntered about as if she had the freedom of the establishment; speaking to half the shop- men, and going from mantillas to mourning, and from merinos to blankets, the length and breadth of each department. Mrs. Ballard had her modest list of necessary articles to be purchased ; it was her methodical habit to set down everything as it made itself known, so that, when she took an afternoon for shopping, she usually accomplished a great deal. But she did not think it pelite to move away from Mrs, Sloan, or ask her to leave the elegancies she was absorbed in inspecting, for the plain glass towels and vulgar crash which NEIGHBORHOOD, 85 she happened to need, All at once Mrs, Sloan discovered that it was two o'clock, and they must certainly have a lunch, she felt ‘‘ perfectly exhausted.’’ So an omnibus was signalled by the gallant policeman always stationed at this thronged crossing, and Mrs. Ballard was intro- duced to the luxuries of ‘‘Thompson’s,” a café then in all the glory of its white and gilt panels, its crowds, and its Roman punches. Mr. Ballard now and then indulged his wife in a concert, or an evening at the theatre, and an ice-cream at some tidy saloon afterwards, as is much the fashion with quiet cockney hus- bands; but to go at mid-day, and by herself, into a crowded Broadway restaurant, Mrs, Bal- lard never dreamed of doing. The utmost limit of her shopping lunches had been a modest purchase at some cake-shop, eating a jumble or a square of sponge cake over the counter, as she waited to have her parcel tied up, The hum and crowd, and curious stares they met with, in their search for an unoccupied ta- But Mrs. Sloan ‘breasted the current’? gallantly, and presently rushed ble, disconcerted her. up to some acquaintances with delighted re- cognition, Mrs. Ballard thought ‘ how fortunate that she happened to be in her best,’’ for Mra. Sloan, not feeling in the least ashamed of her new friend, made an inatant Introduction, and she was at once at home among them, Mra, Sloan entirely forgot to order anything at first, she was so occupied In talking, and then it was nearly a quarter of an hour before A waiter condescended to anawer her signal; #0 that it was half past two when Roman punch and calves’ feet jelly for two, with a plate of fancy cakes, were set before them, they sipped Time was of no consequence ; their cakes; their ices in the smallest ible quantities, and trifled with the different silks and evening dresses they they di wussed had examined, and Mra, Sloan made the most amusing comments on the people who passed inand out. Mrs, Ballard had no idea she was 80 witty and clever; the weak point in every one’s appearance, and manner, and toilet seemed to strike her at once; and, entertained in this delightful way, three had sounded from the City Hall before they reached the pavement again, ‘*It’s hardly worth while to take an omn!- bus,’’ Mrs, Sloan said, ‘‘to go so little way. I must stop at my dressmaker’s, and see if there is the slightest prospect of her being able to set to work upon my dress when I do get it.’’ The establishment was only at loward Street;

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yet the walk proved very disagreeable. The bright noon sunshine had melted the ice, the pavements were a slop, and all the awnings and cornices dripped uncomfortably. Mrs. Ballard ‘*dodged”’ great plashing drops, and held up her dress, and flattered herself that her toilet had received no injury, when at last they reached Madame Genet’s, and were left to wait in the showily furnished anteroom. ‘*Madame is always hurried,’’ Mrs. Sloan remarked, putting the tips of her gaiters up to the fire to dry, and shading her face with a morning paper. “I have sometimes waited here two hours to speak to her. And her charges are frightful. I had my last bill six weeks before I dared to show it to Mr. Sloan. Seventy dollars for three dresses ; but ‘ garni- ture’ was the difficulty ; they always find the trimmings, and they can charge you anything they like on those without being able to say one word. I thought you might like to be introduced; she never undertakes a customer without introduction.” The restless, voluble little Frenchwoman gave them audience at last. ‘‘ She was charm to know the friend of Madame Sloan; she was charm to wait on madame herself; but, ah, the ladies were all so pressing, and it was the sea- son of business. She would consider; she would tell Madame Sloan, the next time she call in, when she would have the happiness of under- taking for her.’’ There was the damp chilliness and gloom out of doors that always follow the brightest win- ter day in New York when twilight appears. Already the gas jets in the shop windows were lighted, and the current of the crowd set steadily up Broadway. The omnibuses were all crowded with gentlemen returning from business, and ladies from their shopping. One and another passed with an ominous nod of denial from the driver, till at last they were fain to crowd into one, where a single seat presented itself, which seat Mrs. Sloan instantly possessed herself of, inviting her friend to a place ou her lap. Mrs. Ballard had the mortification of hearing several unpleasant remarks from the gentlemen with regard to people who never knew when a stage was full, and of being obliged to accept the seat of a very young gentleman, who proceeded to hang on by the strap in a jolting, comfortless way that made her miserable. Still, she said to Mrs. Sloan at parting that she was indebted to her for a most delightful day, and agreed to her proposal to accompany her again when the dress was really to be de- cided upon—quickening her steps a little as the 86 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, thought of her husband’s punctuality and the disordered room she had left flashed into her mind. The hat rack was still unencumbered—what a relief!—and she flew up stairs to set things torights. It was a narrow escape ; but she had escaped, and it made her all the more talka- tive and demonstrative when “ Fred’’ did make his appearance. Sewing was not very attractive the next morning. Mrs. Ballard felt tired and jaded; besides, she had discovered several spots on her velvet cloak, some miserable mud stains on the hem of her dress, and that her new gaiters were warped out of their first freshness. It took her all the morning to get to rights, and then it was so late that it did not seem worth while to get her work about, particularly as she was liable to calls. Mrs. Rhodes was ushered in in the most friendly way the day following, just as the work-basket had made its appearance. She had started to go down town on a little shopping, only to match some things, which would not take long, and in passing the door it had oc- curred to her that Mrs. Ballard might have some errand in the same direction—‘‘ it was so much pleasanter to have company.”’ Mrs. Ballard fluttered at this token of inti- macy with the wife of the cashier of the ‘* Corn and Barley Bank.’’ It would not do to decline, when it might come to her ears that Mrs. Sloan’s invitation had been accepted; besides, cook had asked her for the towels only that morning. She really must have them. ‘If Mrs. Rhodes could wait ten minutes while she changed her dress ?”’ ‘*Oh, twenty if she liked; when one was out for the day, a quarter of an hour more or less was of no consequence !”’ Mrs. Rhodes took up a magazine, and settled herself comfortably in Mrs. Ballard’s easy- chair; and her hostess, apologizing again for leaving her, hurried up stairs. She was tempted to put on her brown merino, her usual walking-dress, but then velvet and merino did not look well together, and her cloth cloak was se shabby, and Mrs. Rhodes wore a rich robe dress in three flounces, so the blue silk went on again, “just for this once,’’ with all its accompaniments, and the disorder of two days ago prevailed in the apartment when she closed the door behind her. **Only to match some trimmings !”’ If it be the device of an evil spirit ‘to tempt to loss through loss of time,’ it was a crowning point when trimmings were invented and trim-

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A NICE NEIGHBORHOOD. 87 ming stores were opened, Mrs. Rhodes wished a particular shade of sea-green; there were yellow-greens and green-greens in abundance, but no sea-greens for at least nine squares; and then the sea-green, when it was hunted out, was a fringe, when it ought to have been aribbon ; and when at last Peyser reported the ribbon as found, there were no buttons within a dozen shades of it, and the clock at the end of the store stood at. half past one. Mrs. Rhodes declared herself unable to go another step without something to eat, and, by a remarkable and singularly happy coincidence, Mrs. Sloan was discovered bearing up upon Thompson’s as they reached the door. It made quite a jolly party, and Mrs. Rhodes soon dis- covered her weakness for the good things of this life by ordering broiled oysters and wood- cock for three, finishing off with a Charlotte russe. Her husband had no more for his din- ner at Delmonico’s, and the three ladies man- aged to make a tolerable lunch. Mrs. Sloan enjoyed hers remarkably, and invited both the other ladies to a sociable tea at her own house, the evening following. It was there that Mrs. Ballard first saw the hus- Lands of her new acquaintances. Mr. Rhodes was a dull, heavy man, only to be roused out of his stolidity by a reference to the money market. Mr. Sloan, on the contrary, was quite as agreeable as his wife, and advanced in Mrs. Ballard’s good graces by paying her several apparently unstudied and frankly sin- cere compliments. She felt a little uncomfortable at the tone of bautering between the husband and wife ; it was so unlike anything she had ever been accustomed to. ** Look out for yourself, Mrs. Ballard,’’ Mrs. Sloan called out from behind the tea-tray ; ‘‘ Joe is making a dead set at you; he’s the greatest flirt in town.’’ Whereupon Mr. Sloan charged his wife with jealousy, and gave her permission to make a conquest of Mr. Ballard in return. Mrs. Bal- lard wondered to see her husband join in the laugh, and take it so pleasantly. However, it reassured her for the time, and she did not have another of those disagreeable misgivings until Mr. Sloan assisted her in putting on her shawl at leaving; she imagined that he pressed her hand. If he did, it was very light, scarcely more than a touch, and it might be a foolish mistake of her own, and so it was not worth while to tell Fred of it and annoy him. 8o Mrs. Ballard went to sleep, for the first time in her married life, feeling that there was some- VOL, Lx1.—4 | ‘ thing concealed from her husband; and this very fact kept the remembrance of that faint pressure, and the admiring look which accom- panied it, fresh in her mind longer than she would have liked to confess. To the towels and the crash, which had not been purchased yet, sewing-silk and various other little items were now added. It was necessary to make an expedition to that fated region of delays—‘‘down town;’’ this time alone, and, being alone, there was no excuse for finery ; but it had become a matter of habit, and, though her second-best silk, a well pre- served plaid, replaced the blue one, which had been torn in the door of an omnibus on the last trip, it allowed velvet and the best bonnet, both of which were put on. Making straight for the housekeeping depart- ment at Stewart's, after leaving the thread and needle store, all the necessary purehases were speedily accomplished; but, on crossing the rotunda, whom should she spy, seated comfort- ably at the silk counter, but Mrs. Rhodes, who nodded and beckoned. ‘* How very fortunate !—to help me to select a silk. I have five now, you know; but Mr. Rhodes makes such a point of seeing his wife and family well dressed, he says it’s as much a part of a man’s respectability as the house he livesin. I have a black, and green, and Baya- dere stripe, that’s three ; and a plum, and deep blue. I’m quite at a loss!" So Mrs. Ballard could do no less than come to the rescue, and the inevitable trip to Thomp- son’s was proposed as a sequence. Proposed by Mrs. Rhodes, who made a faint show of re- sisting the arrangement when Mrs. Ballard said it was her turn to order the lunch; but finally gave in, being short of funds, as she acknowledged, having paid two shillings more a yard for her dress than she had intended. ‘*T never take any more money with me than I think I am going to need, there is so much danger of pickpockets now-a-days,’’ Mrs. Rhodes said, as she studied the carté in its papier maché cover. She spent at least ten minutes in a eareful review, but finally arrived at the con- clusion that ‘‘there was nothing nicer than broiled oysters and woodcock, after all.” Entirely unconscious of the charge for this selected delicacy, Mrs. Ballard gave her order to the waiter with an ease and confidence that surprised herself. She was still more surprised when she came to turn over the counter, which, with unexampled delicacy, a well-trained waiter ever reverses as he lays it before you. It was well that she had taken an extra three dol-

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lar bill from the house money that morning. How much change she received from it at the desk, or rather how little, she did not care to examine into. There was a plain dish of mutton chops for dinner at home that night, with turnips and potatoes, a bread pudding for dessert. Mr. Ballard always advocated a plain table. It was a part of his general principle in life ; modera- tion in all expenses ; no pinching in one place to spare in another. He had started without capital, and it was his ambition to accumulate one ; not for the mere pride which many men take in a good bank account, but because opportunities were constantly occurring for advancement in his business dependent upon his ability to control ready money. Thus far, Mrs. Ballard had entered into the understand- ing very heartily, and endeavored not to over- step the income he had allowed himself, any more than if it had been a salary, with no possibility of enlarging it. ‘* After all, a mutton chop at home tastes better than turtle soup at Delmonico’s,’’ said Mr. Ballard, applying himself cheerfully to the delicacy he mentioned. ‘‘ You don’t get pota- toes boiled like this at a restaurant, either— mealy as a miller!’’ And he surveyed the pomme de terre on the end of his fork. ‘Lem Gilbert wanted me to stop into Delmonico’s as I came up town—his treat, of course; but then I should have been obliged to return it some day, and when I have any money to spend I like to spend it on my little wife, and enjoy it with her.’’ He looked across the table with such sincere and honest affection that her consciousness of the day’s adventure flamed into her face, and nearly betrayed her. She had no appetite, and that, with her flushed face, passed for a head- ache, and she was obliged to take her husband’s condolence and petting, feeling more deeply guilty every moment. ‘*T’m afraid you don’t go out enough; you ought to walk every day,’’ pursued Mr. Bal- lard, when he had established her on the sofa, and carefully shaded the light ; ‘‘ you ought to walk out every day.’’ ‘* But, Fred,’’ began Mrs. Ballard, with a confession trembling on her lips. ‘* Yes, yes, I know all about the sewing and housekeeping, and that I have the most indus- trious and economical wife in the world; but, for all that, you must take time to keep well. Now not another word.’’ And he kissed her mouth, quivering with the remembrance that she was acting a falsehood for the first time in 88 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. her life, and accepting praise where censure was her just due. Mr. Ballard noticed, after this, how frequent his wife’s headaches became. Their evenings, once 80 cheerful, were half the time clouded by dullness on her part, and of course that she was not well was sufficient reason why she should not come and perch herself on his knee, and talk over the little incidents of the day. She no longer brought her aceount-books to be added up, and boasted playfully of her good management in money matters. She was irri- table, but that was natural enough when she was not well, More than once he found her dressing or putting her room to rights instead of being at the hall door to meet him. ‘ Ly- ing down till the last minute,’’ he said to him- self. ‘* Poor child! she must be suffering more than she admitted.”’ The little household, that had always run like clockwork, began to show symptoms of disar- rangement. Dinner was late; there was very little variety ; beefsteak three times a week as often as not, and no more little made dishes, which Mrs. Ballard used to be so famous for concocting, and cold meat, which he hated, took their place two nights in succession. Mr, Ballard naturally remonstrated, and was told, sharply, that it must be used up in some way, and she had not time to waste in the kitchen. He overheard his usually gentle wife berating the cook for using the best linen pil- low-cases on her bed, and the cook retorting that ‘‘ the cotton ones was all giv’ out, and she wasn’t going to sleep on the tick for nobody,”’ Surely he remembered giving his wife money for the purchase of new bedding for the ser- vants’ room when they moved into the house, and helping her measure off a set of pillow- cases. His memory was correct; he would have found the whole set in her work-basket if he had looked there, with only the over and over seams finished. However, he had his own annoyances and carelessnesses to occupy him. Several times lately he had lost money from his pocket-book in paying bills, and once had handed up a half eagle to the omnibus driver instead of a nickel penny; he must have done so, for he remem- bered seeing it in.a handful of change just before he left his office one night, and the next morning he could not find it. But it served him right for not conquering the careless habit of carrying coin loosely in his pocket, His wife had often cautioned him about it, so he concluded not to mention it to her, but be more careful for the future.

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A NICE NEIGHBORHOOD, 89 Her spirits did not improve; not that there were any decided symptoms of disease, only loss of appetite, languor, and irritability. He came to the conclusion that she ought to have medical advice; he was afraid of ‘ intermit- tent,’’ it so often lurked about the made lands in the upper part of the town. It was a nice neighborhood, but he was afraid it was unhealthy. He had come to this resolution as he walked briskly up Broadway one afternoon. He had an engagement to meet a gentleman on business at the Metropolitan. It was a successful interview, but it carried him out of the line of the cars which he usually availed himself of, and he was obliged to take an omnibus. It was all full save the seat by the door, and so dark as he stumbled into it—for it was the trip before lamplighting—that he could not: distinguish one fellow-passenger from another; but, after a while, looking about him, as a cheerful man will on a long, crowded ride, and thinking of his wife again now that business was over with, he was struck by the air of a lady in the corner farthest from him. It was too dark to distin- guish faces, and of course Elinor was safe at home this time in the afternoon looking out for him; but the lady was wonderfully like her, and the gentleman friend sitting next to her evidently admired the stranger as much as he had admired his wife in the days of their court- ship. His arm was stretched out, holding on to the end of the omnibus, so as to bring it back of the lady without seeming absolutely imper- tinent—how well he remembered the old trick ! —and he was bending down to talk into her bonnet ! He was unconsciously attracted to watch the pair after this, and noticed that the lady was very quiet, and the gentleman apparently very complimentary. They belonged in or near his own neighborhood, too; for, as they ascended Murray Hill, and he had made out Thirty- Seventh Street after some study of this unac- customed locality, the gentleman pulled the check-string, and prepared to get out of the stage. The lady’s veil was down as she passed him; but the resemblance to his wife lost nothing on closer view, and the gentleman was his neighbor, Mr. Sloan. Wonder and astonishment confused him for the moment. He allowed the stage to roll on two or three houses from the corner without getting out himself, and when he turned it they were too far ahead of him to overtake them. So it was Elinor after all; he saw her go up the door-step, and Mr. Sloan pass on. What had detained her out so late? What had taken her out at all, when he had left her with symptoms of an incipient headache? As for that puppy, Sloan, it was just like him! always imagining that every woman liked and courted admiration as much as his own wife! However, he shouid soon hear the whole story. He could not have been three minutes be- hind them, and strode directly up stairs into hia own room; but there stood his wife, smooth- ing her hair quietly before the glass, it is true, but with not a trace of her walking-dress lying about, or anything unusual in her reception of him. Could his eyes have deceived him? But he would not be impatient, or offer the insult of a seeming distrust, to the woman he had given his whoie heart to; she should speak of it herself—no doubt she would presently—and he dashed the cool, fresh water over his face, as he prepared for dinner, as if it could cool the fever of his mind. Dinner came, and went ; the evening passed, and still no mention of the afternoon’s engage- ments. But Mr. Ballard had found a solution for the silence. It wanted but two days to the New Year, and no doubt her errand had con- ceived some little surprise for himself, such as they were in the habit of planning for each other. He had his own in contemplation, and had already haunted more than one furrier’s shop, after business hours, that week. In fact, he had a pretty set of mink fur already laid aside, all but decided on ; one that he could not tell from sables at five times its cost. ‘He would wait patiently for the New Year.” But though he tried to be satisfied, and called himself all manner of names, mentally, for his momentary doubts, ‘ trifles light as air’’ would intrude on his recollection, and array them- selves before him. Not only that evening, but the next day, in his office, at his desk ; and the next, the day for the conclusion of his purchase. He felt half tempted to decline it; but no! how would he feel when Elinor came and offered him some gift, in which she had studied his tastes, and said, ‘‘ There, | was down town se- lecting it, and was belated, and that odious Mr. Sloan met me in the omnibus, and annoyed me so with his attentions; I could not tell you then, for fear you would suspect what I had been after !’’ How would he feel, meeting such an emergency empty-handed ? So he made the purchase, and concluded to take the furs home himself, to prevent mistakes; he was not the only man who carried a large package on New Year’s Eve. Trudging along from the cars, thinking of the radiant and astonished face with which the

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long wished for furs would be received, Mr. Ballard quite lost sight of the annoyances of the last few days. The whole street looked so cheerful, with the light streaming through handsome curtains, so different from the poverty and squalor that used to damp him in nearing the old house, on just such nights as this. ‘*Tam so glad that I indulged Elinor in her choice,’’ he said to himself, forgetful that the houses of Sloan and Rhodes lay beyond his own doorstep; ‘‘there is such a comfort in a nice neighborhood.’’ And yet he reflected that they had not really been any happier there ; no, if it came to that, home itself was by no means so pleasant. The parlor was lighted, and Mrs. Ballard, handsomely dressed, sat before the fire. She did not rise to meet him as usual, and yet she was not ill; she had never looked better in her life. Her eyes were brilliant, and a superb color lighted her cheeks ; almost too bright for health, or a quiet heart. Mr. Ballard came in, holding his precious freight before him, as if to bespeak a welcome. ‘*There, Ellie!’’ and he threw the cape over her shoulders; ‘‘and here are the rest of the fixings in this box ;’’ and as he stooped down over her, ‘‘now for my pay.” ‘*Oh, no, no!” and Mrs. Ballard threw off the cape to the floor, and averted her lips with a quick gesture. “I do not want it, I don't deserve it;’’ and then taking the two hands that had met to turn her face upward, she held them tightly over it, and said with a sob, ‘Oh, Fred, if you only knew how wretched I am !”’ Some demoniac impulse, that set his very heart on fire, and made his brain whirl, moved Mr. Ballard to tear his hands away, and spurn her from him; but he crushed it down. ‘ Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor her?’’ rang through his mind, and the solemn vow heaven- ward, recorded in his firm ‘‘I will,’’ at the altar. So he only repeated ‘‘ Wretched, Elinor, on New Year’s Eve?’’ and lifting her from the chair, seated her in the old place of confidence, upon his knee; but she slipped to the floor, and laid her head upon it, instead. **Oh, Fred, I do not know where to begin. I have deceived you; you think I am good, and Iam not; and I must have made others think me worse thanIam. You must not kiss me! Do let me tell you all about it, or my heart will break !”’ It cost him more than she could ever know to sit there so quietly, smoothing down her hair, as in the old time, and to say in an un- shaken voice, ‘‘ Yes, tell me all about it.’’ 40 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, It was sad enough; the step by step of little extravagances, little concealments, and prac- tised deceits, which led to taking the money he had missed to replace the wardrobe ruined in the frequent idle shopping excursions, and wasted on delicacies which her husband s0 strictly denied himself; or in the purchase of expensive items of dress she had been drawn into purchasing from the example of her new acquaintances, or because they had been pro- nounced becoming, and Mrs. Sloan had poured compliments and flattery into her ear until she had grown weary of quiet domestic life, and eager for admiration, restless without it, and ready to accept it, however offered. ‘‘ But oh, Fred,’’ and here the head sank lower and lower till it almost touched the carpet, ‘‘I never meant to do wrong; I never felt how wrong it was—except deceiving you, and taking your money ; I felt that all the time, but I did not know how to get out of it until to-night. Just before you came, the bell rang, and Mr. Sloan came in, just to wish me a happy New Year, he said, and he would not sit down and wait till you came; and then, when he was going, dear Fred, he stooped down, and kissed me full on my mouth before I knew what he was going to do; and it made me so angry and miserable, I cannot tell you, and made me see that he thought I would not resent it. I thought right away of his disagreeable manner when I met him in a stage two days ago, when I had been having that dreadful dress Mrs. Sloan persuaded me to get for to-morrow tried on at Madame Genet’s. I don’t ask you to forgive me. I know you will never kiss me again; but I am glad you know it all.” ** All, Elinor ?”’ “Yes, all; believe me this once. I am telling you the truth.” He did not kiss her then, he would have been more than human in his forgiveness ; but he took her hands, and made her lift up her face, while he told her how greatly she had erred; and pointed out the first wrong step— undue intimacy and confidence with idle, vain, extravagant, and heartless women whom shwe knew only as neighbors; the little rents and breaches in principle ; the folly that had crept after the idleness, and the vanity after the folly. Yet Mrs. Sloan was not a bad woman in the eyes of the world, or her husband a bad man. Probably both had displayed the worst points about them, and the frivolity of the one, and the idle gallantry of the other, have their counterparts in every street and every square in town. Nay, society owes its gayety and ate in ap an hee, ae ee ee a: a

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BOREAS, THE MANIAC KING, brilliancy to just such as they, and one would be scouted as oversaintly to reprove it. Yet they had marred the perfect union of a true domestic life, such as is growing more and more rare with the inroads of custom and ex- travagance, and which they could never have attained to—a life of perfect confidence, per- fect trust, of mutual concession, and healthful repose. Mrs. Ballard came to know herself forgiven and restored in time; but it was not until the new gift of an infant life brightened their home that she could believe the old painful remem- brances resolutely and wholly banished, as an offering to the innocent child who lay nestling, like the dove of peace, in her arms. ‘You did not stay long in Thirty-Seventh Street ?’’ Mr. Cameron said to his friend when congratulating him on the happy occurrence. ‘*T was surprised when I heard you had moved, it was such a nice neighborhood.”’ ‘* Yes, very nice ;’’ and Mr. Ballard hesitated a moment—perhaps Mr. Cameron thought of taking his new wife there ; how should he con- vey a sort of warning ’—‘‘a very nice neigh- borhood, but I don’t think it altogether a healthy one.’’ ~~eor BOREAS, THE MANIAC KING, BY MYRTLE. I wear it, and love the stentorian voice Of the maniac king ; Within my spirit its echoes are waking Madness that pleaseth while heart-strings are breaking ; Too tame are the zephyrs—oh, give me my choice Of the maniac king. Cold is the altar where hope and love burn'd; } All the dirges I sing | O’er the ashes of idols I made of earth’s clay, More precious than all of gold’s brightest array ; | All, with the wail of despair, I have learned From the maniac king. Listen! that wild, piercing scream is the laugh Of the maniac king ; Though it maketh me tremble like the aspen the while, My spirit it fascinates more than the smile Of any of earth; my pleasure I quaff From the maniac king. I cannot tell why my quivering heart, That dreadeth his wing, By his caprice was held till invisibly fell A strong threaded cable, a maynetic spell, O’er my will, till I cannot depart From the maniac king. And pale, strange maidens are coming to me; All hasten to bring White robes and flowers; I am to be a queen-bride, And go with my rover o’er mountain and tide ; For at the feet of his captive bowed the proud knee Of the maniac king. 4* 41 High our throne shall be on the leeberg's crest, : The wondering sun shall fling Around us the diamonds which hundreds of years Have robbed from old ocean, and millions of spears, Set thickly with gems, will there guard my rest With the mauiac king. No splendor of earth can equal the home Of the maniac king. You may bear from all countries to India's land, Each crown and tiara, all earth's golden sand, And pile with her jewels—they ‘re less than the dome Of the maniac king. And when of our stay we wearied grow, Round our palace we ‘I! fling Iey walls and high towers our absence to guard ; Nor fear that its beauty by time will be marred ; O'er earth I'll wander in clouds of white snow With the maniac king. Ye dare not approach the northern retreat Of the maniac king! Not e’en woman's pure tears will move the hard flend; The husband she weeps, the friend much esteemed, Like brave, noble Franklin, are slain at the feet Of the maniac king. Loud trumpets shall herald our coming, and then The echoing caves will ring With hoarse, hollow tones, as though ghosts of the dead Were there quaking with fear and screaming from dread, Beseeching, once more, protection with men Against the maniac king. And far above billowy waves I'll ride With the maniac king ; Or waltz on their crests, when red light’nings play near To the sailor boy’s couch, and sprinkle his bier With seaweed and foam from the angry tide, "Woke by the maniac king. *Mid hail and wild thunder the demon-like glee Of the maniac king Will shriek o'er the tempest, exulting, that he Is lord over Neptune and I queen of the sea; Nay, mariner, ask no pity of me Or of the maniac king. Once in the dead past my heart was all tears, But the maniac king With human fiends stole all the traces away Of love, hope, or pity. I curse the sad day, With those who've given my future's dark years To the maniac king. Dire vengeance I'll bring with my new acquired power, Like the asp’s deadly sting ; For the base hands that wrested my treasures I'll find, And tightly with cords of life’s bitterness bind, Or mercy will grant them, and shorten death's hour By the maniac king. There is naught that can save my madd'ning brain From the maniac king But to clasp to my heart lost idolized forms That I loved more than life. Hark! hear ye the storms That sweep from the North with the dirge-like strain Of the maniac king ? Come, maidens, your wreath haste bind on my brow, For the maniac king Is waiting his bride. Oh, your icy hands chill My pulse’s rapid motion: your robes send a thrill Of death's freezing sense to my heart. I'm now Free from the maniae king !

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MR. AND MRS. RASHER. BY THE AUTHOR OF ‘‘MISS SLIMMENS.’’ CHAPTER lI. THR NEW HOUSE. Say, Mr. Rasher, are you going to buy a new house, or are you not? ‘* You don’t know?”’ Well, Jdo! You owned up yesterday that the clear profits of your business this year was over twenty thousand dollars, and if we’re ever going to live in a brown-stone front, now’s the time. You don’t make twenty thousand dol- lars every year cutting up pork, or, if you expect to after this, it’s high time we was taking our proper position before the world. I, for one, intend to go out a little more than I have. I’ve got things to go with, and I intend to go. You’re afraid people will make light of us as well as our lard oil? Fiddlesticks, Rasher! I wish you would quit them everlasting puns. It’s vulgar to pun; a very low species of wit, indeed ; I heard Mrs. De Longue say so, the night I was to her reception. You can’t help it; you must interlard your conversation with ‘em? Good Lord, Rasher! whatever else you do, leave your business behind you when you come home, I declare, the very silk curtains in the parlor have an odor of it! Don’t bristle up sof There it comes again; it’s enough to drive a woman mad! You can’t help ‘‘ cutting up ;’’ you ’re so used to it? Now, look a-here, husband, we’re going to settle this matter about the house this morning, or we're not going te settle it. If you'll quit that nonsense and listen to reason, I'll tell you what my ideas are; but if you don’t, I won’t say another word. Then you guess you ’ll keep on? and if you do you won't get me to keep still. That’s just what you want; you’d be glad if I never opened my lips, though which of us is capable of speaking with the most pro- priety I'll leave other people to judge. I picked out a house yesterday afternoon that suits me ; and, as a woman is supposed to be the best judge of such matters as the house she lives in and has to stay in from one year’s end to another, why, if you can pay for it, that’s enough. It’s a brown-stone front, four story and basement, stoops and balustrades of brown- stone, massive and handsome; style of archi- tecture modern Italic, and not surpassed by 42 | | | | | | I remember just what the advertisement said, which was any of similar size in the city. the reason of my going to see it. It’ll be finished next week. It’s twenty feet front, and commands a beautiful view of the neigh- boring houses, which are all just as nice and aristocratical as our own, It’s because I liked the neighborhood so well that I wanted that house in particular. ‘‘What’s the price?” Sixteen thousand dollars, and considered cheap, considering the Avenne and the Park. Eight thousand dollars will furnish it from garret to cellar; library, pictures, and everything, and we can get a man to do it all without taking any trouble ourselves. You’ve got thirty thousand in the bank, I know, and, with your business, you need not be afraid but that you can— ‘Save your bacon!’’ Odear, Mr. Rasher! if you’re going to continue so vulgar, I don’t know as there’ll be any use in our trying to get where we ought to be. The girls will be home from boardin’-school to their winter vacation in the latter part of December, and I’d like to get all moved, and settled, and furnished, and fixed before they come home, just to give ’em a pleasant sur- prise. There, Rasher! I knew you had some fatherly feeling about you, if you had no pride. You ’re in no hurry this morning, I know. Just wait a minute till I get my bonnet and shawl, and let ’s go round and look at it. Ain’t it a beauty? Them balusters are su- perb! Step in and look at the parlors; two and an extension; and behind the staircase there ’s a sweet little room, which I shall fix up as a boudoir. I'll be as much at home in it as a pig in a flower-garden? Humph! You’re extremely complimentary to your wife, my dear; but I sha’n’t resent it here, before all these workmen. You can say what you please. I suppose it was my misfortune to marry a man in the pork-packing business whose mind is always running—on all fours ’—wil/ you quit interrupting me, or not ?’—whose mind is always running on his business. If you'd only drop it at home and in company, I wonldn’t care, seeing it’s made us so much money; but, as ft it is, I am almost driven—into a pig-pen !—al-

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MR. AND MRS. RASHER. 43 most driven to distraction. You ’re uncommon | tle it about the livery, etc. You don’t see as provoking this morning, Mr. Rasher. This is a splendid house to give a party in; and I’ve made up my mind to give the biggest one of the season, if we get moved and settled intime. You hate parties? Of course you do; you hate everything that I like. You’d be contented to sit down, and smoke your pipe, and drink your sherry forever in the back sitting- room of that little, mean, three-story brick. You ’ve no ambition, and you ’ve no feeling for your wife. Oh, you needn’t be putting your arm around my waist and hugging me, with that fellow there a painting them friskoes look- ing right at us. I wish you’d remember what I’ve told you so often—that it’s dreadfully out of taste to be showing your family feelings in public. When we go out together you shouldn’t speak to me, no more’n if I wasn’t there ; stead of that, you invariably keep hanging around me, and every once and while burst out with: “Say, Marier, did you hear that?” or, ‘Come here, Marier, and set side of your husband a while;’’ or, ‘‘Marier, I wonder if the children are doing well to home ?’”’ And that night we played forfeits to Mrs. Fitz-Simmons’s, and you was judged to kiss one of the ladies for a punishment, what did you do but kiss me right before the hull crowd! Wasn't that punishment enough? You needn’t try to turn it off with a joke. You know it was a breach of etiquette, if not actually immodest, to choose out your own wife in all that company. You was too bashful to choose anybody else; and, besides, you hadn’t yet got tired of kissing your own partner? Pshaw! that’s all well enough to home. I could see the Widow Granger looked disappointed. Oh, now, don't color up, dear! Come up stairs and look at the next story. There! This is the apartment I ’ve set- tled on for ourselves; it’s eighteen by twenty, and you always like an airy sleeping-room ; and, what makes it pleasant for me, is that it looks right over at Dr. Yellow Dock’s house ; and, as I shall set here a great deal, I can see their company going in and out, and when they take a ride in their carriage, and how they dress their servants, and everything. They ’re very fashionable people, and they’ve made their money, every cent of it, within five years. Speaking of carriages, Rasher, we can’t get along any longer with our one horse and our single chaise. We must, after we go into this house, have a pair of black horses, and a car- riage with our arms upon it, and a place for the footman to hold on behind. Sit down in the window here, and take it easy; I want to set- there will be any necessity for us going to the livery, if we have an establishment of our own; and as for arms, we’d better keep our arms in it instead of on it? Dear, dear! husband, I wouldn’t have had Mrs. Fitz-Simmons heard you say that, for the world; she’d have had her whole set giggling about it the next time we came where she was. Of course our ser- vants must dress in livery ; at least have capes to their coats and buttons on their caps. Don’t you know whether any of the Rashers, in the old country, ever had a coat-of-arms? You might consult the book of heraldry, and find out. If there was, you must have it painted on the carriage door, and engraved on all the plate; if there never was, why, we ’ll just in- vent one, that’s all. What are you doing on that scrap of paper, Rasher? A coat-of-arms? Dear me! I didn’t know as you kuew enough. Let me see it, won’t you? ** Ain't it sweet, Mrs. Rasher? used to think a great deal of that motto; and My father that’s the way I came to be rich. It means, literally (I’ve got it in Latin there), that Discretion is the better part of valor.” If you can’t do anything®but cast ridicule on yourself and your wife from morning till night, we might as well stay in our obscurity. You aren’t casting ridicule on me; the wild boar forms part of the coat-of-arms of some of the noblest families of Scotland and England? Oh, that alters the case! If you really think, Rasher, it would be aristocratic and just the right thing, and if you think our friends will see it in the same light you do, why, I like it well enough. When will you get it engraved? I wish you'd stop to Ball & Black’s, and order a set of solid silver to be made, to be done in time for the party, and our arms on it. Come, let’s look at the wine-cellar; you must learn to talk about your wine-cellar,

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44 Rasher, if you want to make an impression on the men. Everything down here is mighty nice and convenient—but, la! that’s the ser- vant’s business. I'm going to pretend, when I get a new set, that I don’t know a coal bin from a washtub, That'll be a pretty way to have myself imposed upon? Well! you're able to stand a little imposition, and you don't suppose I’m going to let ’em see I ever stepped in a kitchen, No, they don't; and I’m going to keep 'em done up My hands show it? nights in old gloves, and oil 'em every night with—lard oil ?—stuff! with rose cream, Let's go! tell me first whether you’ve con- cluded to take the house. You s’pose I must have my own way about it? That’s a dear, good Rasher, as you are, And to pay you for consenting, without a fuss, [ ‘ll trouble you as little as possible about the change, moving, and all that. I'll give the upholsterers orders about the furniture, and get a bookstore man to fill the library ; and when everything is ready for us to step in and take our dinner, we ’ll ride over and take possession. [ ‘ll get an auctioneer to sell off our old stuff, every article of it, for what it'll bring. I expect, perhaps, it will come to enough to pay for the new set of silver, centre-piece and all, for the piano, you know, is most new, and the carpets are only six months old. You hope I’ll reserve your old secretary and arm-chair, and that sofa? O dear! I suppose I can have ’em set in the fourth story, where you can go and look at ’em once and a while. I don’t see why you need to set such great store by that sofa, because you and I used to set on it together, in our little parlor, the first winter we was married. It’s stiff and old-fashioned now, and has been covered twice. I allowed it to set in my room up stairs, seeing you thought so much of it; but it might as well go to the auction-room as up into the fourth story, where it will have to stay, if it’s kept in the new house. What are you thinking of, to walk right over that curbstone without seeing it? You was thinking of old times? No doubt you’d like to go back to the days when I did my own work, and set and sewed for the children, eve- nings, but 7 wouldn’t. It’s a great burden off my mind to have the girls to Madame Flum- mery’s school; she’s very genteel, and will give ’em an air, which I know J couldn’t, though I’m naturally more genteel than their father. What’s that? we’re setting them up above us, so as to make them ashamed of us? Well, Arabella was a little sniffy the last time GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, she came home, but when we move on to the Avenue in the new house, she'll have more respect for us. Ah, here we are at the corner! Come home early to-night, Rasher; I want to talk over the plans, Ain't it splendid? and I hav’n’t had a bit of trouble, only to give my orders, I think Mr, Brilliant, the upholsterer, is a very tasty man, I told him about what we could afford to expend on the rooms, and he fixed them up himself, His only exceeded the sum I set about two thousand dollara. He asked my idea of colors for the first floor, and I told him I liked crimson and gold. I think I never seen handsomer cornices, The mirrors, and the chandeliers, and the cor- nices, and the picture-frames, give an air of gorgeousness—don’t you think so? I boughtthe pictures myself, all to one store, as the man gave me a bargain, if I'd take the lot; and I got Mr. Brilliant to put new frames to them, to correspond with the mirrors. The paintings themselves didn’t come to quite so much as the frames. I'd an idea them sort of things was more expensive, as Mrs. De Witt told me she’d given four hundred dollars for a little dull thing not much bigger than my hand. She must have been awfully imposed on, for I got one four feet long for forty dollars, and far more brilliant colors, at that! Come in here, Rasher, and look at the library. You see he’s put this in darker colors ; but that’s the fashion, I believe. Them ain’t wooden books, like some of Mrs. Smyth’s; they ’re the genuine article. I paid Mr. Octavo twelve hundred dollars for filling the shelves. But I had more trouble with him than with all the rest put together. I didn’t like the bindings of the books he put in first, and I had him take ’em all back, and putin these. These have got such pretty red covers and gilt letters. Besides, I got mad at him about another thing. I thought he meant @ fling at your business. Right along in the very first row there was three or four books with no titles at all, but just ‘‘ Bacon,’’ printed on the back. My! but wasn’t I mad! I suppose they were recipes for curing bacon, perhaps—I didn’t look to see, but I made him take ’em right out. Up a little higher, what did I see but ‘‘ Hogg’s Tales’ printed on the back of another book? I asked him what he meant by it; if he meant to in- sult us because we’d made our money in the pork business? and he didn’t know what to say; but he took ’em away, and finally I told him I guess he ’d better change the whole lot, and put in them with red bindings I’d seen at

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MR. AND MRS, RASHER, 45 his store. He was very good-natured about it. I suppose he didn’t want to lose our custom. That’s one advantage of being as rich as we are—people don’t like to offend us. I don’t suppose any one will ever read the books, but it is necessary to have them, for the samvw rea- son that we have almost everything else; be- cause other people do. Pictures and books are considered stylish; I’ve heard Mrs, Fitz Sim- mons talking about an author's style. What's that? In what respect do you resemble an au- thor? I am sure I can’t guess, my dear, I’ve never detected any resemblance, though, as for that matter, I know very little about authors. Because you both make a living by the pen? and both of you sell your tender-/ines? Now, Rasher, for mercy's sake, we're in the new house, and do, do, for my sake, quit that miserable habit of punning! or, if you must make puns or die, choose some other subject than the one you 're always harping on. Here's my boudoir; I told him to’ put that all in yellow, with blue favings and trimmings. I cautioned him about the sofa and chairs; not to get ’em too small; for you know I’m pretty solid, and I shall want to recline on ’em when I think I'm likely to be surprised by company ; so he’s made ’em as large as the room will allow. That painting up there by the door, with that little lapis-lazuli table under it, is copied from the original of Rachel’s Madonna in the Roman Vacuum, the man said who sold itto me. He advised me to have it hung in my boudoir in such a position that I could gaze upon it in my reflective moments; it’s a religious picture, you know. I usually gaze in the looking-glass in my reflective moments? Ain’t you ashamed to trifle upon so serious a subject, Mr. Rasher? I shouldn’t wonder if your habit of punning led you into the still worse one of using profane language, if you continue to cultivate such irreverence. You don’t see any connection between punning and swearing? Well, do; only last week, when I was telling you about the rocks up to the park, you said ‘‘ blast ’em,’’ and then went on pretending you meant blow ’em to pieces with powder. I’m going to have a yellow satin dressing- gown, faced with blue, and a blue cord and tassel, made to correspond with the sofa and curtains ; and then I shall expect to spend a good many of my mornings here, and have a mark hanging out of that handsome book there, as if [’d been reading, and I can pass away my time hemming ruffles or handkerchiefs, and when Mrs. Fitz Simmons or any of my friends call, I can slip my work under this satin cushion, } and beg to be excused for receiving.’em in my boudoir, but I was a little unwell this morning; which will probably be the truth, Rasher, for since I've taken to drinking wine for dinner, and having dinner so late, and then sometimes taking birds, or oysters, or something for my supper after that, I've had the headache a great deal, and I ain’t near so stout as | used to be, really, though I look so much fatter. You think I'll weigh as much as your prize porker now? Oh, Rasher, how can you? but it’s bloat, it's mostly bloat. I know I am, I inust be delicate, or why should I have such head- aches, and such strange sensations in my dia- gram? Eat too much? My appetite never was poorer. Last night, I ordered the cook to fry me a sausage, privately, and bring it up at nine o'clock, for my supper. I hadn't had any for a long time, and I couldn't think of any- thing else that would relish. If my appetite wasn’t poor, why should I crave sausage ? However, I don’t mind my health so much; for I think I can stand it this winter, and next summer I shall expect you to take me off some- where on a tour. Where are we going to live? Why, all over the house, I'suppose. These things are too fine for use? Of course I don’t expect you to pull off your boots in the parlors, nor lounge there after you ’re home from busi- ness, unless there’s company. As you're so prejudiced against furnaces, there ’s a grate in the basement dining-room, and you can take your paper and go down there after the silver and China’s cleared away. If you want to go to bed before the company’s gone, you can go up the back stairs and get to our room. And where will J be? I’m sure you don’t need me, when you’re mostly reading the newspapers of evenings, anyhow; and, as you can’t bear half the people that visit me, why, when you don’t feel like seeing company, you can have a nice time all by yourself. You think parties, and operas, and late hours don’t agree with you; but I’m sure they do with me; and of course you don’t expect me to give ’em upon your account. No; but you wish the house wasn’t so big, or had some little corner you could call home? Fie, Rasher, isn’t the whole of it ours, and of course our home? I think you ’re real ungrateful not to be satisfied, after I’ve taken so much pains to make you comfortable. Our bedroom is just as splendid as any room in the house; there’s lace on the bottom of the pillow-cases, and lace curtains lined with the sweetest pink silk, and a Severed China wash- basin, and all kinds of fixings; more’n you can use, or I either, for that matter; in fact, I

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46 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, don’t know the names of half the things, nor what they’re meant for; and I’m sure you ought to be contented with so much, and every- thing so nice ; and now, my dear, while I think of it, let me caution you not to throw your coat on that counterpane when you take it off, and ‘not to wear your dusty boots inside the cham- ber, for the carpet ’s a white ground, and will show the least bit of dirt; and to turn down the spread when you get into bed, so’s your breath won’t stain the edge of it; and I guess you might as well not meddle with the toilet- table and glass at all, but have a little mirror put up in the closet; for, you see, your great fingers would make sad work with them things on the table; and if you should knock that Cupid over and break it, you ’d spoil the whole effect. ‘‘The fact is, Mrs. Rasher, the pen’s too fine for the pig.’’ Please don’t make such unpleasant remarks, and make me feel unhappy the first night in the new house. I suppose it makes little difference how fast things get spoiled, as we ’ll have to have new furniture about once a year, if we wish to keep up ap- pearances ; so, if you want tosleep in your boots, sleep in ’em, for all I care. Come, let’s go down to our first dinner. I’ve had the new plate put on, and the new porcelain. I took our coat-of-arms to the factory, and had porce- lain manufactured with it on every piece. I told Thomas to put it all on to-night, same’s if we had company. I want to get used to it, you see. Bless me, Rasher! you liked to have poked your arm right through that lace drapery, get- ting into bed. Did you notice how surrepti- tious Thomas looked when he waited on us to-night? He made me feel uncomfortable. He thinks because he’s been with the Greens and the Parkers he can turn up his nose at us. I wouldn’t keep the fellow at all, polite as he seems to be, if it wasn’t that I want to learn of him how to have things de Rigor, as they say about the ceremonies with the Prince of Wales. If I’d have thought it would have done any good to have asked him, I’d have hurried up my party when he was here. Do you know, Mrs. De Witt actually went to the ball. If we’d a made our fortune five years ago, we'd a been one of the old families by this time, and we might have been asked. What's that? You can’t make a whistle out of a pig’s tail? Well, who wants to? I’d be just as good as Mrs. De Witt, if I'd have begun a little earlier in life. But, as I was saying, I want to keep Thomas until after the party; he ’ll be a perfect jewel of a help, and if there ’s any matters I’m in doubt about I can ask him. I ain’t obliged to see his impertinence as long as it’s policy to keep him, and I intend to get used enough to keeping a man-waiter against I let him go to know how to keep the next one in his proper place. For the land’s sake, Rasher, you'll snore all the lace off that pil- low-case if you snore in that style. Ain’t you even going to be allowed to snore in peace in your splendid residence? La, yes! as loud as a steam-engine if you want to; but do try and keep awake a little while, while I’m actualiy talking. The tailor’s got the liveries all ready for Thomas and John; and to-morrow the new carriage is coming home. Have you seen it? Yes? And is the coat-of-arms sufficiently con- spicuous? Day after to-morrow, if the Wea- ther’s fine, will be an event in my life. I’ll be handed into my own carriage, and have a footman standing on that little what-do-you-call- it there behind, and John a driving in a coat with six capes, and our family device upon the door. I shall make all the calls I can think of. Ha! but won’t Mrs. De Witt be mad! They’ve been obliged to give up their carriage lately, and to see me in mine will make her frightfully envious; but she’ll keep as pleasant as a basket of chips, and never let on. The next day I'll drive down to Stewart’s to buy myself adress for the party. I’ve often, in old times, when I went away from there in the sixpenny *busses, envied the ladies, and the clerks car- rying out their parcels, and putting them on the seats so killingly polite! I never expected, in those days, to ever be there myself with two ser- vanta in capes and bands around their hats, and a coat-of-arms on the door. What did you say? ‘* Honor to whom honor is due.’’ I may thank the rise in pork for my rise in life? I declare, Rasher, if you don’t quit poking pork under my nose, you shall never have any more fried tender-line,nor roast spare-rib so long as I have a table set in my house. Now don’t get the nightmare to-night, and tear down my pink silk curtains about our ears. ‘‘ That would— be getting—the wrong—pig—by the ear!’’ There he goes snoring off again with that hate- ful word hardly over his lips! Well, well, well! I may as well compose myself. Strevotna or Cuaracter.—A few ideas of our own will save us from being too sensible to ex- ternal impressions, as a light in our room makes lightning less blinding.

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THE BLACK SHEEP. BY MARION HARLAND. CHAPTER I. Mrs. TynpAne sat in her nursery, intently engaged in the embroidery of a child’s dress. It was an elaborate piece of work, such as few mothers, with the cares of housekeeping and four children on their hands, can find time to wish for, much less attempt. But this was de- signed as a christening-dress for the babe in the cradle, upon whose rockers Mrs. Tyndale’s ready foot was resting, and this very plump and pink specimen of juvenile humanity was the first girl that had ever been born to the Tyndale household. It was clearly an extra- ordinary case, demanding, in the proud mother’s opinion, extraordinary effort on her part, and expense on that of the scarcely less fond and pleased papa. The wee lady, wrapped in soft folds of linen and flannel, dreamed vague baby-visions, with her eyelids fast shut upon—we had almost said into—her fat cheeks, and Mrs. Tyndale, as she hummed a lullaby, and her fingers deftly thread- ed the mazes of her pattern, had her dreams also. Very bright they were—drawn by hope, and painted by love. ‘‘Her boys had never quite filled her heart ;’’ she had discovered this long before this latest advent. ‘They are far more troublesome to train than girls, and so soon as they are safely through the diseases of infancy, and able to take care of themselves, amidst the dangers that beset incautious and adventurous lads, they must go out into the world; perhaps remove to distant States and countries ; leaving the homestead desolate, and the parents as lonely as if they had never borne and brought up children—as they vainly hoped and prayed—to comfort and stay their declining years. Then, the anxieties that continually hang upon the mother’s heart, knowing, as she does, into what scenes and temptations her boys must be thrown; doubting, as she cannot help doing, whether they all have strength to resist the allurements to ruin!’’ Mrs. Tyndale sighed, as she again turned to the sunny side of her picture ; ‘‘ the sweet companionship and confidence she was to hold with her daughter ; the second youth which she was to enjoy in watching over the expanding heart and mind; the solace she would prove in the father’s ; and illness.’’ Here she was constrained by her own imaginations to stoop over the cradle, and pull aside one corner of the worked lawn, that tothe uninitiated would have seemed tothreaten suffocation, to convince herself of the reality of her bliss, as she whispered with a smile and a tear, ‘‘ It’s mother’s best blessing !’’ A clatter of small boots on the stairs, and the door flew as wide open as the hinges would carry it. ‘*Mother, Allen’s got my whip and won't give it back to me!’’ shouted the eldest hope, red with rage. ‘‘And I say, mother, he has torn my new book terribly !”’ said Egbert, a delicate-looking boy of eight, with whom books were the only playthings of any value, “right through Jack the Giant-Killer, and the Story of the Lillipu- tians ; the last half, too, mother, and I had not read it, either! It is too bad!’’ A gush of hot tears finished the sentence. ‘*Hush! do be quiet, boys!’’ begged Mrs. Tyndale, shaking the cradle, as the little mound of cambric and silk began to heave. ‘You will wake your sister! Where is Allen?’’ ‘* Down stairs ; won’t you make him give me my whip?’’ said Master Sterling, eagerly. And without waiting for an answer, he ran to the head of the steps: ‘“‘Allen! Mother says, come up here—right away !”’ ‘*T said no such thing, Sterling !’’ called the mother, still endeavoring to hush the infant. But the uproar had wrought its effect. Sterling waited in the hall to laugh provokingly in his brother’s face, as he unwillingly obeyed the summons, reported so authoritatively, and when the two entered the nursery, Mrs. Tyn- dale was in the act of raising the crying babe in her arms. ‘* You boys are the plague of my life!’’ she said, fretfully. ‘'I would not have had her disturbed for all your whips and tops put to- gether. (Sh-sh-sh!) This is just the way (bye-bye, that’s mother’s baby !) that you are going on the livelong day! It’s all your fault, (hum-m-m!) Allen! I know it is. You are a constant worry !’’ The baby’s screams were hushed, and the pre-convicted Allen put upon his trial. lie was weary hours, and the mother’s despondency | a sorry picture, as he stood before his judge, 47

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48 confronted by his accusers. The elder sons were handsomer than the average of boys of their age, while Nature had made this one plaiu, as if to furnish a contrast to Sterling's bold, dark beauty, and Egbert’s large hazel eyes and golden curls. Allen had sandy straight hair, a pug nose, small gray eyes, and a wide mouth—now distorted by the uneasy attempt at a smile, in homely, but apt phrase, denomi- nated ‘the bad grin.’”’ His brother's address and manner had advised him that he was in disgrace, but he had pride enough to wish to conceal his apprehensions of punishment in the presence of those who, he knew, from past lessons, would exult in his discomfiture. So he fumbled at his buttons with his dirty fingers, and kicked the heel of one muddy boot against the toe of the other, all the while stealing furtive glances at his parent’s lowering brow. No! he certainly was not a lovely object; but there was something forlorn in his aspect, something 80 pitiable in this unchildlike pretence of indif- ference, that the mother’s heart shonld have grown compassionate at the sight. Mrs. Tyn- dale was not an unkind woman, but she was impatient—hasty in judgment and action. **You naughty boy!” she began, angrily. ** What is this I hear of you ?”’ An expansion of the ‘‘ bad grin,’’ more sig- nificant of fright than tears would have been, was the reply. **Can’t you speak?” shaking him by the arm. ‘‘ What have you been doing to your brother’s property ?”’ “Nothing; I haven’t seen it !’’ ** Don’t tell me a falsehood! Where is Ster- ling’s whip ?’’ No answer. ‘*Do you mean to speak ?’’ This time, a cuff administered upon the right ear extorted a how!, in the midst of which, the words ‘‘On the bench’’ were distinguishable, ‘Hush your noise! On what bench ?’’ ‘In the yard.” Go get it, Sterling !’’ ordered the mother. ** Now, how dare you tear poor Egbert’s book ?”’ she pursued. A sulky pout from the delinquent. ‘‘ lis beautiful new book! before he had a chance to read it! Whatdo you think I ought to do to you for such behavior ?”’ Allen had opened his mouth in denial or ex- planation, when the inquisition was interrupted by Sterling’s return, With a sort of triumphant disappointment, he proclaimed that the whip was not on the bench, nor could he find it any- where in the yard. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ** You wicked boy |” ejaculated Mu. Tyndale, boxing him energetically from side to side. ‘* You naughty story-teller! Go down instantly and find it, or that is not a beginning to what you will get !’’ Blinded by tears, and choking with sobs, the child groped his way down to the yard. The whip had fallen behind the seat, when he hon- estly believed that he had left it upon it, and in his bruised heart the instant suspicion arose that Sterling had purposely concealed it there. Egbert’s complaint, too, he considered unfair in the extreme, since he must have understood that his brother had snatched at the book, rudely indeed, but more in fun than earnest. With all the strength of his soul, the boy hated them both as he returned to the chamber of injustice, bearing the unlucky toy. ‘* Now, are you not ashamed of having told such a vile falsehood ?”? demanded the mother, ‘* Where do you learn so much wickedness? Not of your brothers, for I never knew either of them to lie and steal. If it were not that I lave your sister on my lap, I would feel it my duty to give you the most severe whipping you ever had. You are growing worse and worse every day. I expect nothing better of you than that you will come to the gallows before you are twenty-one. Ask your brother’s pardon, and Egbert’s too, for treating them as you have done !”’ A look of sullen malignity spoke in the gray eyes, and every feature swelled with the stub- born resolve not to obey the unreasonable com- mand. A short but hot contest resulted in the housemaid and cook being summoned to bear the kicking, screaming boy to the garret, where he was locked up. His yells and thumpings against the door, although imperfectly heard in the remote nursery, were yet distinct enough to keep up his mother’s irritation. The baby being almost asleep again, she could not, of course, resign her for a minute even to the nurse ; so the latter functionary was dispatched to convey the prisoner’s sentence to him. The noise within ceased, as the girl struck smartly on the door. ‘* Master Allen, your ma says you are to stay in here, and have nothin’ but dry bread and water to eat, till you axes your brothers’ par- ding ; and if you don’t stop your racket, she’s comin’ up here with your pa’s horsewhip, and know the reason why, sure’s your name is Allen.”’ ‘*T don’t care if she does !’’ vociferated the boy ; ‘‘ and you are a cross, ugly old thing !”’ Which message being duly repeated, with

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THE emphasis, to Mra. Tyndale, she concluded that ‘he was best off where he was, and would probably come to his senses when he grew hungry.’ custle- building. ‘Where is Allen?’’ inquired Mr. Tyndale, at dinner-time, A cloud of vexation passed over his wife's So she resumed her needle and her sunny face, ‘Oh, there has been no end to the worry I have had with that boy this morning! He stole Sterling's whip, and tore Egbert’s book ; viked up Evelyn ' told me half a dozen false- hoods ; and when I punished him, became so outrageous that I had him shut up in the garret, where he must remain until he is con- quered,”’ **A troublesome child !"’ groaned the father. **T do not know what is to be done with him, if he goes on in this way. He has already caused us more anxiety than all the rest of our children. I am glad that you were so firm with him. I fear sometimes that you are wearied out before he is subdued, or allow your feel- ings to overcome your reason before the proper degree of submission is gained ; he is so obsti- nate. Nothing is more injurious to a child than to come off victorious in a battle with his parent. If you raise an issue, you must carry your point, at all hazards.” A wise saw, Mr. Tyndale! most impressively delivered over your roast beef! a good seed dropped into the fertile minds of Masters Ster- ling and Egbert, who digest your counsels with the dinner so acceptable to appetites sharpened by hard play in the open air! Let us look in upon the doughty prisoner, the seditious mem- ber at whom the family artillery is to-day aimed. He has eried himself to sleep—the boon Nature mercifully accords to children when exhausted by emotions too powerful for their weak frames; he lies on the floor directly be- neath the sky-light—the only window in the room. It is a cool day, or the atmosphere would be stifling. tomb-like feeling about the place; a chill which must strike painfully upon the relaxed limbs and weary lungs. True, there is abundant store of blankets piled in yonder corner; but As it is, there is a close, what boy six years old would have the prudence to bethink himself of such protection during the reaction succeeding intense excitement ? Allen’s entrance into the world was made in circumstances most unpropitious to his future happiness. ‘I am tired of boys!’’ was the half bitter exclamation with which Mrs. Tyn- dale received the intelligence that she had a VOL. Lx11.—5 BLACK SHEEP, 49 third son, and her husband sympathized in her disappointment. Sterling was his favorite, as the fragile, beautiful Egbert was his mother's petand pride, Only a daughter was now needed to set, as it were, a keystone in the family arch. For the new-comer there was no place prepared, no welcome ready. His lack of personal charms, added to a disposition which was, or seemed to his parents to be, particnlarly difficult of con- trol; the alternate spells of shyness and vio- lence that taxed their patience and temper as he grew older, all these combined to wean his natural protectors from him far more than they would have confessed, even to then:selves. Sterling's frank grace and openness of speech, and Egbert’s gentle, affectionate demeanor were naturally more to be admired and loved than the uncouth ways of ‘‘the little bear,’’ the And, indeed, to one who had seen him sitting on his name by which he passed in the family. cricket in the corner of the nursery on a winter evening, sucking his thumband peering through the bristly hair overhanging his forehead at the merry group of children at play around the fire, this epithet would have been most readily adopted towards the neglected boy. “Master Allen! Master Allen!” shrill voice at the opening door. called a It was the maid, with a slice of bread anda eup of water. Partially aroused by her clamor, Allen raised himself to his elbow, and looked at her with his red eyes; a gaze she was ex- cusable for construing into a ferocious glare, when it was, in truth, but the bewildered stare of a half-asleep child. 979 ‘*Here’s your dinner!’ giggled the girl, whose consideration for the disgraced could not be expected to exceed that of her mistress. ‘* And your ma says is you ’pentant yet ?”’ ** What?” queried the wondering boy. “Is you ready to ax your pretty brothers’ parding ?’’—with a nettling stress upon the adjective never applied to himself but in de- rision. ** You go about your business !’’ retorted he, savagely, sinking back to the floor. To do Mrs. Tyndale justice, it was her inten- tion to visit the guard-room in person when dinner was over. She was actually on her way thither, with the prisoner’s rations in her hand. When she passed the nursery, the baby set up an imploring cry, and she recollected, with keen self-reproach, that the darling must be very hungry. The convenient nurse was again appointed her deputy, without a misgiv ing that the food and message would not be properly delivered.

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**T will go myself, by and by,” she said, mentally, when the report of the interview was rendered. ‘I am not anxious for another scene like that of the morning. I will give him time.”’ Fortune favored procrastination she thought compassionate, when it was purely selfish. A succession of visitors occupied time and thoughts until her husband came home to hurry tea, that he might keep an appointment for the evening. She absolutely forgot the child until the meal was concluded ; nor did the preoccupied father ask a single question touching the case which had opened within him such a fountain of pro- found thought and sage sayings a few hours before. Most of the afternoon had worn away very heavily to poor little Allen. He was as stout of courage as of body, therefore the loneliness and silence of the attic did not frighten him. Ile had been there often before ; but this fact, while it took from the gloomy room the terror of strangeness, had also made him acquainted with its contents, worn out its amusements. Excepting some always locked chests, he had explored every corner, examined every article of rubbish there heaped away. There were old books; but, after he had looked at their pictures, he needed them no longer, for our hero was (we are aware that we ought to blush —we state it upon ha) in confessing it)‘‘a dunce! the authority of his mother and his teacher. Did they not bring incontestable evidence of this shameful truth when they represented that, although six years and two months old, he could just read in words of two syllables; that Primers and Readers were still dog-eared, and spelled over, and halted at by him, whereas ‘‘dear Egbert” at the same age was studying Grammar, Arithmetic, Geography, and Natural Philosophy? Was there the least hope that a boy so stupid, so lost to ambition would ever be President? or a probability that he might, some day, even be a member of Congress ? Smile, if you will, incredulous reader, at this early despair of attaining honors so easily pro- curable; but six years thrown away, in our fast country, is a tremendous loss ! ‘* No! he never will be fit for anything higher than a business man, a mercantile drudge !”’ mourned Mrs. Tyndale. And her husband, albeit a business man himself, and highly es- teemed by his fellow-citizens for his talent and energy, echoed instead of resenting his wife’s sigh, and pondered the discouraging decision for some moments in silence before stating, as GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, a comforting offset, that ‘‘the other boys had brains enough, at any rate.”’ But to return to the dismal upper chamber. The incarcerated, although put there for the express convenience of thinking over and re- penting of his misdeeds, soon cast such thoughts behind him ; and, after his wrath had expended itself in devising impracticable means of re- venging himself upon the brothers he was learning to regard as natural enemies, looked about him for some means of killing time. After long search, this came to light in the shape of a bit of charcoal, conveyed thither by some happy accident. The walls were white and smooth; and, without a suspicion of un- pleasant consequences, or that he was commit- ting a trespass, he dragged a box to the side of the room, mounted upon it, that he might have a wore extensive field for his labors by beginning higher up, and set about his work. For a while, he sketched aimlessly; animals with very stiff legs and bulky bodies, and houses all doors and windows, approached by men as tall as the buildings they made feint of entering; yet he handled the pencil less awk- wardly than he did most other things, and quite as well as either Sterling or Egbert would At length, a bright thought twink- Selecting a new spot, a broad, have done. led in his eyes. unsullied surface, he drew more slowly and carefully. First appeared a tolerably graphic outline of a frantic female, her skirts flying back and her cap half off. One hand brandished a rod of terrific dimensions, the other clutched something which presently grew into the simil- itude of a kicking boy, poised in air by the hand aforesaid. When this was completed, the artist withdrew to the centre of the apartment, and sat down upon the floor to admire his per- formance. A smile of intense satisfaction, a grin of supreme complacency lighted his heavy He clapped his hands and struck his **T tell you, he’s a-getting it, sure and strong!” he chuckled. And he rolled over and over in the height of his face. heels together in ecstasy. merriment. Poor fellow! experience had fitted him to judge of the accuracy of such representations. But something was yet wanting. Although no book-worm, as we have said, he remembered that to every picture was generally appended a description of the same. Writing was not easy work ; but, with equal determination, if with less pleasure than he had evinced in the former part of his task, he remounted the box, and again. Cool though it was, he was went at it ag

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THE BLACK SHEEP. obliged to wipe his face with his sleeve several times before the inscription was finished. Thus it stood when, with a sigh of relief, he finally retired to his post of observation :— “MISSES TYNDALE WHIPEN OF HUR NORTY SUN ALLEN,” His delight and the glow of composition had to cool brought to his mind the recollection of his time before the tantalizing tea-bell meagre dinner, and the consciousness that his present appetite was very clamorous, ‘*T wonder if they have biscuits for tea!’’ he said to himself. ‘I'll be bound that greedy Sterling will eat my share and his, too; and it will be just like mamma to give Egbert the piece of cake that I ought to have!’’ The He dashed him- self down upon the floor, and cried bitterly: I wish I could kill Everybody loves them, and every- reflection was too harrowing. “I wish I was drowned! myself! body hates me !”’ This childish burst of grief was of short dura- tion; but his heart ached and heaved all the same as he lay there looking up at the darkening skylight, and wondering if the God he had been told was so good made all beautiful people to be loved and pe tted, and all ugly ones to be despised and abused. Such was his train of thought when the door was unlocked, and his mother came in, bearing a light. * Well, Allen,”’ but not unkind, ‘* I hope—what is all this ?” she began, in a tone cold, as the new edition of ‘‘ Charcoal Sketches’’ met her sight. One moment’s reflection would have convinced her that the child was guiltiess of intentional disrespect to herself or injury to her walls, or his offence would not have been blazoned where its instant discovery was sure ; a second thought would have led her to note the talent manifested in the rude drawing, and to smile at the hiero- glyphics underneath ; but her wrath stayed not To the terrified boy He neither breathed nor thought until he found him- self sobbing in the dark, in his little bed, his body smarting, a tempest of outraged feeling in for first or second thought. it was as if a whirlwind swept over. him. his soul. CHAPTER II. ‘*Fing boys, those of yours, Mr. Tyndale!” after the 7? ‘*What are their ages! remarked a gentleman, two years scene above described. ‘* The eldest is eleven, the other nearly ten,”’ was the reply, uttered in a gratified tone. ‘** Boys, come and speak to Mr. Hamilton.”’ Egbert, being near the fire, by which the gentlemen were sitting, spoke first, while Ster- ling advanced from the further corner of the counting-room. ‘*How hot your skin is, my little fellow!” said Mr. Hamilton, retaining the hand of the latter. ‘*I should say that you have a fever, or are much heated by exercise.”’ ‘“*Have you been running, or over-exerting yourself in any way ?”’ asked the father. **No, sir; Egbert and 1 walked down town together.” **Hlis pulse is quick,’’ pursued Mr. Tyndale to his friend; ‘‘ but it may be nothing. You feel quite well, do you not, my son?’’ ‘Yes, sir; that is to say, pretty well. Ihave a slight headache, and have taken a little cold. It is not worth speaking of,” rejoined the boy, who prided himself upon his manliness of speech and behavior; and thought sickness a mark of weakness he should be ashamed to avow. His head continued to ache, and the sore throat he had alluded to ‘*a little cold”’ grew worse as evening came on. He could eat no supper, and pleaded fatigue as an excuse as for retiring early. By morning, the power of concealment was gone, and the rapid progress of the disease revealed its true nature; scarlet The children were immediately excluded from the fever in its most alarming form. other sick chamber. The little Evelyn was guarded most carefully ; being removed to a distant part of the house, an apartment the mother never visited without previous ablutions and a tho- rough change of clothing. Allen’s sleeping- place was a large closet, adjoining his parents’ room, but Egbert was in the habit of sharing the bed of his elder brother. following day, the dread malady attacked him also; and in two days, Allen was added to the sick list. garded as most dangerous, but his constitution battled nobly with the assailant. ran its course with fearful rapidity, and left Ere noon of the Sterling’s case was, at the first, re- The disease the boy weaker than an infant—just alive, and that was all. The utmost assiduity of nursing would be required to preserve even this feeble spark of existence. The trembling hope of his recovery was insufficient to cheer the hearts on which additional burdens were laid every hour. Egbert’s illness assumed a more unfavorable type, as his brother improved. To the parents, the amendment of the latter was but a transfer of anxiety.

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og Allen's attack was mildest of all. Indeed, at no period of his sickness was his condition con- sidered critical, and on this account, perhaps, he was consigned to the care of the professional nurse, who had been hired to assist Mrs, Tyn- dale. She was skilful in her business, and a humane woman, treating the sick boy as kindly as if he had been of her own kindred ; but she was a stranger, and his natural shyness had Made timid and babyish by suffering, he longed for the mother, who had showed so little of maternal fondness His heart—for he had one, deep and tender, although no one suspected it—yearned increased with his years. for him. to have her near him, were it but for one hour in the twenty-four; to lay his aching head upon her bosom, and have her call him by but one of the pet names he could overhear her He knew, too, that he was very sick, and that people often die lavish upon his brothers. after severe illness ; and in the dark night his flesh crept with fear, his heart seemed turning to ice, at the thought that he might not live, but be carried from his bed to the grave ; never, never again to look upon the bright world, or the faces of his parents. Then came the awful question of what was to follow death; the na- tural shiver of the human soul on the confines But he spoke of none of these the life, and there was nothing now to win him to of eternity. things. Reserve had been lesson of his a different course. ‘*A patienter child I never saw, ma’am,”’ said the nurse, as Mrs. Tyndale stepped in for a moment on her way to her daughter’s room. ‘Lam glad to hear such a good account of hot and sind Good-night, my you, my son ;’’ and she laid her hand tremulous, he felt it was—upon his brow, hope you will be well, soon, dear.’”’ As she stooped to kiss him—an act she often He did not brush it away after she had gone out. forgot to perform—a tear fell upon his face, He was too happy to feel it lying there, and to think that she shed it through love and pity for him. How pale and thin she looked! yet, in his eyes, how beautiful! In spite of her in- justice and non-appreciation of himself, he had always cherished a sort of admiring worship for his mother, She was in the habit of saying that he was ‘‘not a sentimental child,’’ and really believed him deficient in natural affec- tion. So well had she read the secrets of the young spirit committed to her care! ‘If LT get well, and I hope I shall,’’ he mused, **T willtry hard, oh, so much harder than I have Who ever done before, to be a good boy ! GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, knows but she would love me almost as well as she does Egbert, if | were not so wicked? She always says that she would; that she scolds at me, and punishes me, not because I am not smart and pretty, but because lam bad. I will be good a“ Voices in the outer room directed his atten- tion to the open door, connecting his chamber with his mother’s. The nurse had gone down for her supper, and he was free to observe all that passed. His father and the doctor had just entered from the apartment occupied by the older boys. Neither seemed to give a thought to Allen’s vicinity. ‘*You can call in a consulting physician, if you desire it,’’ said the doctor. “I wish, how- ever, that I could encourage you to hope for a different devision from any one familiar with such There is—you should know it, my dear sir—as little doubt as to the symp- cases. toms, as hope of the result.’’ ‘*T have confidence in your judgment and skill, doctor,’?’ answered Mr. Tyndale, in a ‘*My poor wife "? God help her! voice husky with emotion. will feel this most keenly. and he bowed his head upon the tall back of a chair near by. There was a silence of some minutes, during which, Allen, alarmed at he knew not what— for the conversation he had heard conveyed a very vague idea of danger and sorrow—lay quaking, and wondering what fearful thing was about to happen. ‘* You will break it to her; I cannot!" said Mr. Tyndale, hoarsely, as a hand was laid upon the lock of the entry door, So saying, he changed his position to one in the shadowed part of the room, Mrs. Tyndale was dressed for her usual vigil with her sons, and her countenance wore a more cheerful look than it had done an hour before. The doctor interpreted the cause of the change. ‘ Your babe is quite well, I trust, my dear madam /”’ he said, ** Very well,’’ was the response, accompanied by the ghost ofasmile, ‘1 am thankful that this is so,’’ ‘* You have every reason to believe that she ” will escape entirely,’’ continued the physician. ‘*This consideration should, of itself, console you in the midst of present trials, and’’—paus- ing to prepare her for the solemn change of theme—*‘ for the greater sorrows that may yet be iu reserve for you.’’ ** Dovtor,’’ ejaculated Mrs. Tyndale, turning quickly upon him, ‘tare my boys worse? are

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THE they—’’ “She could not pronounce the fatal word, ‘*Be calm, dear madam! By the Divine blessing, Sterling will recover, I hope.’’ —her voice strangely strain- ’ **Do you mean’ ed—‘‘do you mean to intimate that Egbert will not?’ ‘¢T will not conceal from you, Mrs. Tyndale, that there is no probability, scarcely a chance that he will ever rally.”’ The wretched mother started forward in the direction of her boy’s chamber, but fell fainting in her husband’s arms. In the confusion that ensued, the gentlemen did not observe the figure, dimly visible in the closet beyond—the child who sat up in bed, his lips white, eyes fixed with terror, and hands clenched convul- sively upon the sheet. Mrs. Tyndale’s swoon wasshort. With returning consciousness, came the full sense of her misery. Her first effort was to throw herself upon her knees at the physician's feet, and supplicate him to save her child. ‘*The Almighty alone can preserve the life He has given,’”’ he said, mournfully and im- pressively, as he raised her. ‘* But, doctor, surely you can do something for my darling, my best-beloved boy! 1 cannot see him die! he must not! he is so beautiful! so good! He is my pride, doctor—the noblest boy mother ever had, and I will not give him up! I say, I will not!’ ‘*My love!’’ Her husband drew her to his arms, and spoke firmly: ‘* No human help will avail for him now. Compose yourself, for my sake, and for the sake of the dear children you will still have left to you,’’ ** Left to me!’’ raved the frenzied woman. ‘*Why should he be the onetaken? J// it were Allen, I could bear it!* I would not murmur at the blow; but not this! not this !’’ ** Hush !’’ said the physician, with involan- tary sternness, and a startled glance at the door. Allen saw him shut him in, and knew and saw nothing more for days together. It was a bright winter morning when he awoke. He could see that the sun was shining, although the one window of his room was dark- ened. His head was clear, his body free from pain, and he remained quiet, recalling ineident and remark, until the whole of the dreadfal scene, Which had nearly cost him his life, came back to him. Strangely enough, it did not trouble himvery much. A callousness seemed * Words actually used by a mothér iu similar cireum- stances, 5* BLACK a 9 SHEEP. 53 to be upon his heart; perfect indifference to pervade his being. His prominent emotion was an idle curiosity to learn what had happened during his slumber. “Why, he is sensible! she came to the bedside with the doctor. ‘Of course he is he rejoined. ‘* What else did you expect?’ But he, too, appeared to be as surprised as pleased. ‘* Well, my man !'’—taking the thin hand in his—‘' you ’’ said the nurse, as ? are getting on bravely.’’ ‘*Is Egbert dead yet, doctor?’’ interrupted Allen. weakness. ** Did you ever?’ exclaimed the nurse. The doctor was perplexed. The fixed of the boy, and his apparent want of feeling His voice was unsteady, but only with look were so unusuai in the circumstances, that he was ready to think his intellect disordered by the malady through which he had passed. ‘* Egbert is better, my poor fellow,’’ he said. ‘You must not think or talk about him or anybody else just now. When you are stronger, I will answer all your questions,’’ A step was heard in the other room. **There is mamma !’’ said Allen, in the same languid tone. ‘Call her in, please !’’ But, at the sound of their voices, she entered, unsummoned, and before either physician or nurse could move to caution or prepare her for a repetition of the unfortanate question. The doctor indeed met her at the foot of the bed, and informed her of the favorable signs mani- fest in the patient, adding his injanction of silence and repose. Allen gazed earnestly at the face bent above his pillow. white and sorrowful—had such a gliastly look that it reminded him of his dead aunt’s, as she lay in the coffin, the only corpse he had ever seen. He felt sincere pity for her, and, to his childish perceptions, there was no reason why he should not tell her so. ‘*T am sorry for you, mamma!’ he said, It was very simply. Her quick look of inquiry at the attendants was answered by a negative shake of the head, ‘*There, there, honey!’ interposed the old woman; “you must not talk now !’’ **] don't want to talk!’’ he said, wearily, turning his cheek to the pillow. ‘I jast wanted mamma to know that I was sorry for her, be cause Egbert is dead.’’ With a stifled ery of angaish—a recoil from the bedside as if stabbed to the heart—a star: of horror and amazement at himself, whic) Allen mistook for angry aversion, the mothe hurried from the room. The nurse followed

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54 her to offer what aid and comfort she could supply. ‘* Poor mamma !”’ sighed the boy, calmly as he had before spoken, ‘ Doctor, will you tell her, some time when she can listen, that lL am very sorry it was not me that died |’ The doctor was a prudent and tender-hearted man, and in obedience to the dictates of both these qualities, he never repeated to the sorely smitten parent an observation that might ag- But It may have been that this gravate her sufferings. her heart, too, was soft just then, MRS. WARD'S BY MARY W. JANVRIN, AUTHOR OF * pracsg,”’ Watt, now, Miss Pettengill, I s’pose you ’ve come over to hear about my seein’ the Prince ! How d’ye do? and how’s the folks to your house? I’m kind- er tuckered out myself with my visit down to I’m proper glad to see you! Bostin; sech a jaunt’s consid’able at my time of life. But do set down in this rockin’-cheer, and draw out your knittin’; while I'll be at I jest want to mould out Arty, he’s , 5a power- leesure in a minnit. these apple-dumplin’s for dinner. dreadful fond of dumplin’s, and there ful sight of apples this year. There! Now I'll jest set the heel of this sock, and tell you about my visit. You see, Miss Pettengill, I’d been readin’ all about the great doin’s in the Statesman, and last week, a Tuesday mornin’, I was over to son ’Bijah’s, and found he was a-goin’ down to Bostin Wed- nesday to buy up his winter goods, and to see the Prince, too—goin’ to kill two birds with one stone, you know; so, sez I, ‘‘ Now, ’Bijah, I’ve been wantin’ to go down to see niece Ruthy Ann’’—she’s settled there, married to Mr. Wetherell, a rale fust-rate man, too—‘‘and I’ve a great mind to jest start off with you, and see the great sight for once myself.’’ Wall, upon that, Martha, she j’ined in, and ’Bijah said So I jest made up my mind on the spot, and purty soon started off for home to tell Arty how to I don’t go p’r’aps I’d better improve the chance. look after things while I was gone. abroad very often, you know, Miss Pettengill, and sech an undertakin ’s consid’able. Wall, Arty, he was as glad as the rest to hev me go; so I jest laid out my alpaca dress and cape to wear, and packed my new black silk aud my best caps into a bandbox ; and Wednes- day morning, bright and early, Arty kerried “THE FOREIGN Count,” VISIT ** AUNT SABRINA’S DREAM,"’ GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, single sentence, so eloquent in its humility and love, would have touched the blind mother with remorse; awakened the latent affection for one who, up to this time, had been to her a child in More thickly yet was the dust of years to gather upon the stone that rested above that fountain—a seal which, in most mothers’ hearts, the first stroke of baby-fingers suffices to break, never again to little else than name. bar the rush of the living waters. (Conclusion next mouth.) TO THE PRINCE. “ TATTLERS OF TATTLETOWN,"”’ ETC, ETC, us over to the Concord depot to ketch the fust train for Bostin. P’r’aps you’ll think it’s kinder foolish for am old woman like me to be runnin’ arter shows and sech; but, somehow, from the fust of it, readin’ about the millintary and the great doin’s, I was as curis as enny young gal. Besides, arter all, it’s something to see a real live young man that’s goin’ to be King of England arter his mother Victory’s done wearing the crown; and you can tell on it to your children and your children’s children all the rest of your life. So, sez I to Arty and *Bijah, as we driv along to the depot, ‘‘‘ All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy,’ and a little vacancy does a body good once in a while.’’ And the boys agreed with me. So we sot out; and by noontime, when we got down to Larrence, I was purty tired with the long ride from Bose’wine, and while we sot there waitin’ for the train from the eastward I eat the cookies and cold tongue Martha had put up for me, and ‘twas half arter two afore we got into Bostin. I declare, Miss Pettengill, I hadn’t the faintest idee that them railroad keers went along at sech a tearin’ rate, and I asked ’Bijah if it wa’n’t suthin’ oncommon for ’em to travel so fast, and if we wa’n’t on the ex- press ; but he said we was a little late, that’s all, and orter get in on time. Thinks I to myself, ‘I shouldn’t wonder if we all were in etarnity, instead of time, if we go on at this rate ;’’ but I didn’t say ennything, though I sot and trembled—for ’Bijah, he thinks I’m narvous like. Wall, we rattled along, and without enny accidence, only every once in awhile, when they come near a town, the man that stood on the platform would keep screwin’ round the iron wheel that holds the

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MRS: WARD'S VISIT TO THE PRINCE, cars together, and it allers gin me a start, for the first time they done it arter we left Bosc’- wine [| thought suthin’ had broke, and asked *Bijah. ‘* But,” sez he, ‘they ’re only break- in’ up, mother. Don’t be onaisy !’’ And that seairt me dredfully; for thinks I, “If we are goin’ to break up, ’Bijah and the rest take it pretty cool, ennyhow.”’ But Bijah, he explained what it meant, and so I felt easier afterwards, though I couldn’t seem to get wholly over the startled like feelin’. Jest afore we got into Bostin, ’Bijah, he pulled my sleeve, and, pintin’ out of the keer winder, on the left hand side, sez he, ‘There, mother, theré’s Bunker Hill Moniment!’’ ‘La, suz!’’ sez I, ‘du tell if that great tall stone chimbley marks the spot where the Revolutioners fit, and licked the red coats? I hope they ’ll take this young man, the Prince, out there to see it!’ But ’Bijah, he kinder thought ’twouldn’t be jest perlite to rake up old scores when the young man come over on a social visit ; and said he didn’t think they ’d do it. Ennyhow, though he couldn’t a-helped seein’ the moniment, taller than three or four meetin-us steeples, one top of another, when he rid over the Eastern Railroad, on his way to Portland, when he went home. Wall, it was half arter two, I should say, when we got into the great Bostin depot, all under kiver; and when ’Bijah and I got out onto the platform, you ’d a-thought for sartain, it was the Tower of Babel or Bedlam broke loose ; sech a crowd of men standin’ behind a railin’, and beckonin’ to you all ter once! It *pears that every one on ’em wanted us to ride in Ais kerridge; but ’Bijah, he passed ’em all by as if they ’d been so many blackbirds, and when we got to the edge of the depot, he just beckoned to one on ’em who’d been the civil- est, and told him he wanted him to kerry me up to Chester Park, and gin him the number of the house where I was to go to. ‘It’s to Mister Cyrus Wetherell’s,”’ sez I; ‘* mebbe you know him? He’s a great dealer in furnitur, and merried my niece Ruthy Ann!’’ But he jest looked kinder pleased like, cos I was goin’ to ride with him, I expect; and ’Bijah, he helped me in, and put in my bandbox—I’d kept a purty sharp lookout for that, I tell ye, Miss Pettengili—and sed he’d got to make the most of the rest of the day in buyin’ goods, for the stores wouldn’t be open next day; and he wouid be up to Ruthy Ann’s to tea; so I was driv off. I do declare, Miss Pettengill, if I didn’t feel kinder scairy, a-sittin there all alone in that splendid kerridge, and ridin’ through the streets, all lined with great stores and crowded with people ; but the driver, he knowed the way; for bymeby, arter turnin’ ever so many corners, and bein’ nearly run into by the horse keers (they hev railroads that go by horses right in the middle of the roads, in Bos- tin), we come to Ruthy Ann's house—a great, tall, brick one, four stories high—and the driver got down and run up a high pair of steps, and pulled a Jittle silver handle to the door bell, and then he come back and helped me out, and I went in. A great, tall, Irish feller come to the door, and sez I, ** Here! you jest take my bandbox, and then tell Miss Weth- erell her Aunt Sophrony has come from Bosc’- wine!’? Jest that minnit, Ruthy Ann, she come runnin’ down as spry and peart as a gal of sixteen; and sez she, a-shakin’ my hand, ‘*Why, aunt, how do you do? Come right up stairs! I’m very glad to see you; but you’re the /ast parson I should a-thought of seein’ !’’ **T knowed so,”’ sez I, ‘* but I come down with ’Bijah to see the Prince. Your old Aunt So- phrony is gettin’ curis as a young gal, Ruthy !”’ Wall, Ruthy, she smiled, and sed she was proper glad I’d come; the city was full of strangers; and arter she’d rung a bell, and told the sarvant to bring me up a lunch; for they ’d jest got up from dinner, sez she, ‘* Aunty, if you wa’n’t so tired, I should ask you to go down to Tremont Street, and see the Prince on his ’rival—for he’s comin’ into town this arternoon—but mebbe you’d prefer to take anap?’”’? ‘*The Lor!’’ sez I, ‘I ain't a bit tuckered out, Ruthy, though it’s a right gocd long ride down from Bosc’wine—and [ never had the habit of napping day-times ; it seems to me terrible shiftless like to sleep time! away, when the sun is shinin’ clear in the canopy—so I'll jest smart up a bit, and go out with you.’’? Ruthy didn’t say ennything about me changin’ my gown, but seein’ she had on a nice black watered silk, I jest put on mine, and then we sot out; and, arter ridin’ a mild or two in one of them street railroad keers, we got out into a street Ruthy called 7reemont, where she said we should hev to wait an hour or more, before the Prince came past with the millintary ; for you see they’d been and got up a percession to meet him at the depot, and wait upon him down to the tavern where he stopped. The land sakes! Miss Pettengill, if ever I see sech a lot of people together in all my born days; and Ruthy Ann sed ’twa’n’t the day of the celebration neither, but the next day would beat anything I ever see. Wall, bymeby, when the folks were thicker in the streets and on the sidewalks, and crowded

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*aA sxela 00 GODEY'S to every winder, and jammed on every step thicker ’n huckleberries in a puddin’, and we ’d waited till little arter five o’clock, what should we hear but some marshall music, and then, by the way everybody crowded up and looked airnest, we knew he was a-comin’. So I jest sot my glasses true on the bridge of my nose, and looked with the best of ’em; enough, a great lot of soldiers a-horseback come and, sure prancin’ along; and then, close a-follerin’, there was two or three kerridges, for all the world like great double shays turned down afore and be- hind, and in the fust one, along with three men, sot a young lad about as old as my Arty, a-bowin’, andsmilin’, anda-touchin’ his hat with one hand while he held a little jiminy cane, about as big round as a stick of peppermint candy, up to his mouth with t’other. He had on a black suit and kinder yaller kid gloves; and was a proper lookin’ youth enough, not handsome, but from fair to middlin’, and rale amiable lookin’, While I was a-lookin’, and the folks were crowdin’ and pushin’ like a flock of sheep, arale tall, perlite, handsome feller in the crowd kinder took holt of my arm, and sez, ‘If you'd stand up here, madam, mebbe you ’d see better!’’ So I sez, ‘‘ I’m shure I’m much obleeged to you, mister; but I hope [ ain’t puttin’ you out?’’ And sez he, a bowing, ‘'O no, indeed! stan’ and then 7) rite up here in my place, ma’am ! he slipped away, and give me his place on the meetin’-us steps. So I had a good sight of the Prince; and, arter the percession had passed by, I turned to thank the young feller agin, but he wa’n’t nowhare to be seen; and I told Ruthy Ann I was sorry he was so modest like ; but just then I went to put my hand into my pocket to get my handkercher—it was a bran new hemstitched one, Martha, ’Bijah’s wife, had gin me ; and lo! and behold that was gone, and my puss too! ‘The land sakes!” sez I, ‘*Ruthy, I’ve lost my puss avd handkercher as sure as you’re born! If I could see that perlite feller that helped me onto the steps, mebbe he’d help me sarch for it; for I can't hev dropped it fur off!’ Then Ruthy spoke up, and sez she, ‘‘ Aunty, I’m sorry for you, but I’m afraid your perlite feller was a rogue ; a pickpocket! How much money did you have, Aunty?’ “Wall,” sez I, ‘Tl only had about ten and six, for | was lucky enough to take out all my bills, and put ’em inter my bandbox, to your house, and I only took enough to buy a L wanted to get it at some store when we went back, But you dou't think that feller could a been such a nice new neckerchief for Arty. LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, deceiver ?’”’ sez I, forI felt real kinder hurt like. ‘‘T hav’n’t the least doubt of it,’’ sez Ruthy. ‘*But don’t worry about it! I'll make you a present of another kerchief. It was fortinit your pocket-book was’n’t well filled. He proba- bly took it when he helped you up the steps of Park Street Church.’’ ‘ Wail,” says I, ‘‘if I could set my eyes on him for about two min- nits, I’d larn him how to break the command- ments rite under the very droppin’s of the sanctuary! My son ’Bijah shall complain of him to the perlice!” But Ruthy said it was too late to do ennything about it; and, as she insisted on my goin’ with her to a great store, where I picked out a rale handsome necker- chief, and she paid for it, I didn’t say enny more about it; and then we went home. They had tea quite late; and Ruthy’s hus- band, Mister Wetherell, come home, and was proper glad to see me; and ’Bijah, he ’d fin- ished his buyin’, and he come in; and then we all went down into the dinin’-room. ’*Twould do your eyes good, Miss Pettengill, to see the chany, and cut glass, and silver forks, and tea- pot, and water-pot, and creamer, that stood on Ruthy Ann Wetherell’s table! I declare! the President could’n’t set at a handsomer spread table, nor live in a house filled with handsomer furnitur’ and things. I told Ruthy that her lines was cast in pleasant places ; and she don't seem a bit proud, nor lifted up, as some do when they’ve made out well in the world. Ruthy allers was an amible gal, and desarves everything in the shape of good fortin that’s happened to her. I see Georgyanny for the fust time at supper ; she’s Ruthy’s only darter, you know, and I hadn’t looked on her pretty face sence she used to come up here to spend her summer vacations on the farm, a leetle thing. But la, suz! she’s a young lady, now, and as purty spoken and well-mannered as she is handsome ; for she’s a picter to look at. While we all sot a-eatin’ supper, Georgyanny’s father, he spoke up, and sez he, ‘* Wall, aunt, the great question with the ladies seems to be, ‘Who will the Prince dance with at the ball to-morrow night?’ It would be quite a proud event in my Georgy’s life if she should be one of the honored pard- ners ; don’t you think so?’ ‘ Wall, no, Mister Wetherell,”’ sez I, I can’t say as, if twas me, I should think so much of the Aonor as I should of the scarcity of the thing. If princes were as common as other folks, ’twould'nt be ennything to dance with ’em ; but they 're only born once in a great while, and that’s what makes people run arter ‘em so. Though, as you say, it is

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MRS, WARD’S VISIT TO THE PRINCE, something, and ‘ll do to tell on to your chil- dren; aud I hope you will have it to tell to your ’n, Georgyanny,’’ sed [to her. And, upon that, you never see ennybody blush up so as the galdid, You’d a thought I'd a-sed some- thin’ out of the way. Arter breakfast the next mornin’, Ruthy Ann took me one side, and told me that Georgy was jest promised to a nice young man who'd been head clark with her father, and was goin’ to be pardner one of these days ; and that she was a-goin’ to the ball that night with him; and she asked me if | did’n’t want to see Prince's her gown she was going to wear. So we went up to Georgy’s room, and there, spread out on the lounge, was the handsomest dress I ever laid eyes on! The land! I can't purtend to tell you how ’twas made, only that ’twas of sattin and white lace, and all trimmed off with puffs and ruffles, and spotted with little gold flowers; and the waist was made low in the neck, with short sleeves; and there was a lace cape all trimmed off with little gold filigree. You see, everything of wimmen’s clothes now is trimmed off with this gold stuff; and they all But’ if you could a-seen Georgyanny when she was look like troopers in full regimentals. dressed that evenin’, you’d a-sed she looked good enough to eat. ‘Wall, Georgyanny,”’ sed I, arter I'd seen her gown, ‘I expect, for sartain, you ll dance with the Prince arter this! You orter, arter goin’ to all this expense! I should say ’twas extravagant to spend so much money on a single gown, if ’twa’n’t that sech a thing only happens once ina life-time !’’? ‘La, aunty !"’ sez she, ‘you're as much of an ad- mirer of royalty as myself, else you wouldn’t hev come ’way down from New Hampshire to see him.’’ ‘O no, child!’’ I answered back, ‘my Bible sez, ‘ Put not your trust in princes ;’ so you see I never should git in danger of thinkin’ too much of ’em; though, the truth is, I do believe Queen Victory, this young and I kinder wanted to see her oldest son, and make man’s mother, is a rale good woman; up my mind if he’s goin’ to rule the kingdom * “T tell you what, Ruthy Ann,”’ equal to her, sez I, as soon as We were alone together, ‘I should jest like, of all things, to go to see this young Albert Ed’ard at the tavern where he's stoppin’ and have a little private talk with him, and ask him about his mother, and the way she’s brought up her family to hum, Ilv don’t look a bit proud like, and I guess he'd ‘It never would do in the ‘Tle 'll be so busy be rale sociable,”’ world, Aunty !"’ sez she, all the time, that there'll be no chanve to fnd 7 5 him; but I'll tell you who we can call on, and it ll be better: the old Revolationer that’s in the city, atthe Adams House. He's a hundred and four years old, and as smart as ennybody ; and it'll rale interestin’ to hear him tell about the Battle of Bunker Hill, for he fit in it aginst this very Prince’s people. Mister Weth- erill sez he’d rather shake the old veteran's hand, than dine with the hull party at the Re- ‘Wall, Ruthy, your husband has got the right sperrit,”? answered I, ‘‘and I ? vere House, should be proper glad to see the old gentle- man.’’ But yet, all the time, Miss Pettengill, I’ kinder got my mind sot on seein’ the Prince and hevin’ a leetle talk with him, if ‘twas a possible thing; though I thought I wouldn’t say enny more about itthen, ‘Then, arter we ’ve seen the millintary parade, and the percession, we ’li call on the old veteran |’’ sed Ruthy. ‘* Mister Wetherell thinks we 'd better not git inter the crowd on the Common (that’s where the parade was), for fear we shall git crushed,’”’? **La,’’ sez I, ‘I ain’t a mite afeard but I ken hold my own, and ’Bijah, he can keep off the pickpockets, Howsomever, I sha’n’t take ennything in my pocket to-day but an old red silk handkercher that’s seen some sarvice; and if any young feller takes that, he must be dredfully in want of suthin’ to wipe his nose on!” that Wetherell and his wife, and ’Bijah and me. Georgyanny, she’d gone off airly with her So forenoon we started out— Mister young man: a proper gentleman, too, he was! Well, arter ridin’ down town in one of them street railroads, Mister Wetherell, he sed we ’d all better go to one of the houses on Bacon Street that fronted the Common, where one of his friends lived ; and Ruthy and I could set at the winder, and see the whole, while he and ’Bijah could wait for us outside. So, arter a good deal of pushin’ and crowdin’ we got into the house, and were fortinit enough to be airly and be dre’dful welcome. And there we hada grand sight, and sot for four mortal hours; though it didn’t seem so long. Fust, the per- cession come out of the State-House, where the Governor had treated the Prince and his folks rale nice; and then they marched onto the Common, the millintary and all, the perlice clearin’ the track and drivin’ folks this way and t’other. The Prince he rid on the splen- didest black hoss, that stepped off as grand as if he was king of all the Boston hosses—and he hat, and sojer fixin's— And then the Common was crowded; and the millintary had on a red coat and the Prinee, I mean, not the hoss,

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58 had the greatest show you ever did see, I thought the great muster up to Nashua beat all, and wouldn't a-belleved that any troopers could a gone ahead of the Governor's Horse Giuards; but, my stare! the muster wa'n't a sarcumstance tothia! Such a host of trainers, allon horseback, in red regimentala—dragooners and lancets they called ‘em; and then the ma- liclous companies, all aewalkin’ afoot in solemn why, "twas enough to make you think And then the bands a-playin’, and the cannons a- firin’; la, suz, Miss Pettengill, if I’d a been a young man I'd a got rite up and sung Yankee phalanx the Revolution was comin’ rite over agin ! Doodle in the midst of it all, though I s’pose it would a kind of grated on the ears of this young eprig of a king, ’coz, you know, that was a tune his ancestors couldn’t seem to bear enny how. Wall, bymeby, arter all the prancin’ and firin’, and paradin’ onthe Common was through, they formed into a percession ag’in; and the Prince he got into a baroosh with the Governor, and the Mare, and some of his English folks who’d come over with him; and the sojers j'ined in afore and beliind, and the bands a playin’; and they toted him all over the city agin, up one atreet and down another, till I #hould a-thought they ‘d all got clean tuckered out together, "Twas dre’dful tejus like! Where they kerried him to, arter that, I disremember, to hear the school children sing, I believe ; but Ruthy and our folks we come away then, to go and the old along the atreeta, and I see the red and white aoe Revolutioner, Au we come trips of cloth featered from one house to another, ses Ito Mister Wetherell, ‘TT should think all Boatin was puttin’ her winter flannels 1’ and that tlekled him amazin'ly; seems flags and on as if he never'd git done laffin’ about it, I hain't got leesure now to tell you about our visit to the old gentleman, shall have to let that go till some other time; but Mister Weth- erell and 'Bijah, they talked with him, and we all shook hands with him, and got his picter on a piece of white paper—potygraf, they called it —to bring home with us; you'll find it in the family Bible on that light stand, Miss Petten- gill! Arter that, it began to grow dark, and we all went stairs to dress for the ball rite arter supper ; and, sakes alive! Miss Pettengill, I wish you could a-seen that gal when she come down all dressed! She looked jest like picters of Cin- derrilly in the old story books; and I told Ruthy Her young looked home, Georgyanny, she went up she orter to have glass slippers on, Hunt’s his name—he man—Mister GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, proper proud of her when he wrapped her shawl round her when the kerridge driv up. The next mornin’, bright and airly, we had breakfast--Mr, and Misa Wetherell, and 'Bijah, and I, for Ruthy's husband Ia arale bianess hand, and allera goes to his store airly; and 'Bijah, he'd concluded he must go home in the fust train, Ruthy, she'd hung on for me to stay the week out and over Sunday, so I told 'Bijah I'd walk a plece with him on his way down to the depot. Ruthy said she 'd bet I should git lost. ‘* But,’ sez I, ‘I guess not! I’ve larned the way purty well onto Washington Street, and I'll jest keep my eye on the Old South steeple and hev that for a kind of landmark.”’ So we sot out. Arter we’d got quite a piece down, ’Bijah, he sez: ‘* Now, mother, you 'd better go Walk straight up this street, and then l’ve So back, turn off to the right into another street.’’ forgot it now, but he giv’ me the directions, I bid him good-by, and telled him I should be to hum by Tuesday, and he must go over and look arter Arty and the hired man, and then I set out back alone, You see, it was about half arter eight then, and I jest thought I’d do what I meant to all along—go and hev my little visit to see the Prince. I hadn't sed ennything about it to’ Bijah and the rest, but I hadn't gin itup. I tell you, Miss Pettengill, I'd gone all the way to Bostin a purpose to see Queen Vic- tory’s son, and I didn’t mean to come back to Bose’ wine without hevin’ a talk with him, So I jest inquired of the folks | met the way to the I'd heard Ruthy tell the name went Revere Louse of the tavern where he stopped atralght ahead, through thick and thin—and there was a master crowd—and at last | got to ‘Twas a powerful handsome great and the door, stone house, much as aix or seven stories high a good deal bigger 'n the State House over to Concord ever begun to be, Wall, mebbe the folks on the steps thought I belonged there--was a boarder, or the land- lord's wife, or something-—for they jest made way for me, and nobody sed a word till I got inside the great front entry, and went up stairs, As I was goin’ along the long gallery, a-lookin’ at the beautiful flowers they'd been and put there to make it look like a great flower garden, there stepped up a man dressed in a handsome dark blue suit with bright buttons, and a star on the left lappel of his coat, and white gloves on, and sez he: ‘‘ Madam, this is the way to the Prince’s rooms, and probably you’ve mistook it.”’ Sez Il back: “It’s an accident a purpose, mister, Be you the landlord?” ‘ answered he ; ‘‘I’m the perlice ossifer on duty ‘* No, ma’am,’

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MRS, WARD'S VISIT TO THE PRINCE, , here, Would you like to see Mr, Stevens ?’’ ‘' La, I thought most Nkely you was him your- nelf,"’ sez 1—for he was a proper handsome, large man, with great black whiskers anda ralo pleasant look to his eye, ‘' Wall, yea, you may speak to him if you're a mind ter, for I come & puppose to ask him to show me the way to the Prince's room,” ‘ Ilev you any message, arrant, ma’am?’’ asked he, ‘ Nothin’, Mister Perlice, only I come to hev a little spell of talk with him. If he hain’t got up, I ken wait, for I s'pose the young man is kinder gin out, up a-dancin’ all night. Our folks that went to the ball wa’n’t up neither when Icome out. P’r'aps I’m too airly?’? Upon that, the perliceman, he looked kinder sorry, as if he didn’t want to disapp’int me, and he sed, rale perlite, sez he: ‘I’m railly sorry, ma’am, but I’m afeared it ll be impossible for you to hev audience with the Prince. He’s now at breakfast, and—’’ ‘I ken wait,”’ sez I, breakin’ in upon him ; “ and if you'll jest tell me which is his settin’-room, I'll go in and set a spell till he’s done eatin’. ‘*The best way would be to go into the ladies’ ” nd parlor, and send up your keard,’’ sez he, arter thinkin’ a minnit and lookin’ kinder puzzled, ‘* Ring the bell, and when the servant comes give him your keard, and he'll kerry it to La sus, Aline Vettengill, that seemed queer enough to me, and I up and told him, sez 1; ' Du tell, Mister Verlice, if they use keards down here to Bostin? ] hadn't the faintest idee on't or I'd gone up into the garret, and hunted up, and brought ‘em along, I hain't used ‘em this fit teen year or more, sence they got the factories ee his highness, That's ipecac! mine toapinnin’ and weavin’ so fast over to Manches ter, hand now.”’ Upon that the handsome perlice man kinder amiled wider, and sez he: ‘Oh, ma'am, you mistook me, I meant a little plece of white pasteboard with your name writ or printed on it, But I'm really afeared, ma'am, that waitin’ here will do no good, Hadn't you better step inter the ladies’ parlor, ma'am ?”’ I don’t know, Miss Pettengill, but I should a gone, but jest then a long file of folks come It seems sort of slow work, keardin’ by along the gallery, and rite in the middle of ’em I see the Prince; se I jest stood my ground, and stepped a leetle forrard to be ready to speak to him when he come by. There was a big man with red whiskers a-walkin’ alongside of him, and a dozen or more English folks, but I didn’t mind ’em no more ’n nothin’ at all; and when the young man was rite off against me I cur- chied, and sez I: ‘‘ Mister Wales, I didn’t want to go back to Bose’wine, up in New Ham’shire, | | without hevin’ it to tell of that I'd apoke to Queen Victory's boy, for I've great reapeck for the mother that's brought up sech a family of children so well as your'n has, I hope I don't intrude, Mr. Walea?"’ I kinder thought the young man was touched by my speakin’ so about his marm ; for though the big man with red whiskers sort of stared and pussed up his lps, Albert Ed’ard, he jest amiled, and sed he, ‘* Oh, no intrusion, ma’am! Won't you walk in?’ §So in I follered him inter his room, and it was rale splendid, A/iss Pettengill—jest as you used to read about in the Arabian Nights—and then he bowed, and asked me to set down, the big red-whiskered man a-lookin’ on all the time, and the others I didn’t like his looking at me so, enny too well; and I guess the Prince knowed it, for sez he, kinder low, ‘‘Oh, never mind I never do! He's only the Juke, and let’s me do purty much as I’ma mind ter, I told our folks to hum, that I wouldn't come on this long visit at all if I couldn't have a good time of it, and purty much my own way!”’ a-starin’, him! ‘ Weil, you hev had a good time, I 8’ pose, Al- bert Ed’ard ?”’ ‘'Tain’t every young man of your age as has sech a to-do made over him. he’s my youngest son, and kerries on the old place to huam—(my name's Ward, A/ixs Bophrony Ward; I forgot to mention it!) if my son Arty should go to England, I shouldn't expect ennything of the kind. And all the odds between you two fs, you happened to be born Victory's son, and sez I, Now, if my Arty Arty didn't, Otherways, you look a deal alike ; the shape of your nose and his'n is Just about the same, only his is kinder hooked at the end, Lemme Ree } ‘* Nineteen, ’Bout the same age, too, 1 guess, Albert Kd’ard, how old be you?” ma’am,"’ sed he, and he sort of smiled rale purty, and showed his teeth, and then he asked, ‘*May I inquire, ma'am, if it was your son, Ar- temas Ward, I had the honor of a talk with in Canady when I was there? He was a showman, Mister Ward ‘*No, I guess it muat a-been some other of the name,’’ sed I, “My son never was in Canady; besides, his name was,’’ his father though it allers It’s in the Cate- ain't it’s Artarerres; liked better’n I, seemed kinder nateral like. ‘Artemas,’ the name chism you know ; * Xerxes the Great did die; And so must you and I,’ And soI s’pose that’s where husband took it from, Arter ‘ Xerxes,’ you see! But, as I was a-sayin’, it couldn’t a-been my son, you see, h when he ’s though Arty allers sez, ‘ Sho, now !”

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60 kinder surprised, and he'd be jest as likely ’s not to say it to you as to ennybody. But Arty, he's to work on the old place; and it’s to tell him about it that L wanted to hev a little talk with you, and ask about your folks to hum, Your marm, she’s well, I s'pose, and all the reat?’’ Albert Ed’ard, he kept lookin’ more’n more pleased every time I mentioned Victory; and lie answered, ‘' Yea'’m, they were all in purty good health and sperrits last time I heard from Mother 'n father, they've gone on a visit to Prushy, to see my sister Victory Adelaide ; she’s settled there, p'r’aps you know.” “Du tell !”’ sez I. I remem- ber readin’ in the papers all about your sister’s ; om, **1’m glad to hear it. gettin’ married and settin’ up housekeepin’. Your ma’ll git her children merried off purty fast, I reckon, fust. Let down the bars for one, and the rest ’Il all foller! begin to be sparkin’ arter the gals?’’ and upon this Albert Ed’ard kinder smiled, ‘* Wall, your ma’s brought up a large family ; and she must a-had a hard time on ’t, bringin’ ’em all through She’s begun right; the oldest S’pose 'twon’t be long afore you ‘Il 9») the measles, and hoopin’-cough, and sech ; and she orter take some comfort with ’em when they git older and settled down in homes of their own. But I’m makin’ a dredful long call; and, besides, I’m master ’feard that the Juke and them other folks of your ’n don’t like my sittin’ here and talkin’ with you; they keep kind of hard. Did all them come **Yes,’’ said Albert Ed’ard, ‘‘Tum, I should say a-lookin’ over with you?” ‘*they’re my sweet.’’ some on ’em looked sour !’’ sez I, kinder short and piecrusty, for if there’s ennything under the canopy I do hate, Miss Pettengill, it is to be stared at. Jest then, there come atap at the door, and in come a great black servant, black as the ace of spades, all dressed off in a kind of uniform; a rale nigger, and with white kid gloves on; and he handed some letters to the Prince on a little silver waiter, saying, ‘‘ Your Royal ’Ighness, ’ere’s some Henglish letters jest harrived by the steamship Harabia!”’ The Prince, he took up the letters and looked proper ‘They ’re from your ma and folks, I s'pose ?’’ sez I, ‘‘and I'm rale glad you ’ve got pleased. ‘em. That's one of your sweet, too, I s’pose?”’ and I kinder sniffled when the nigger went past me, out the door. La, Miss Pettengill, I wish you could a-heard Albert Ed’ard laff then! he jest went at it rale hearty and boy-like, ’sif he injoyed it; and the Juke, Ae couldn’t help a smilin’ too. I was a-going’ then, but I jest thought I'd | GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, stop a minnit more, and ask the Prince about the ball. ‘‘So,”’ sez I, “I s’pose you had a proper good time last night to the ball; and, before I go, I should jest like to inquire if you danced with my niece's darter Georgyanny Wetherell, I told her mother that Georgy looked as handsome as Cinderilly, when her godmother come and took her to the Prince's hall, in the chariot made out of a punkin, and the mice for hosses; and I’d bet ennything she ’d dance with the Prince, too!’ “I danced with several very handsome young ladies,” sez Albert Ed’ard, ‘‘and should a-been glad to a-danced with more; but, to please the Gov- ernor and the Mare, and some other public dig- nytaries, I had to dance once in a while with the merried I seem to disremember about your grandniece, ma’am,’’ ‘ Oh,” sez I, *‘you’ll be shore to remember her by the gown she had on! It was of rale satin, and the skirt was all ruffled and furbelowed off with gold fixin’s, and she wore a lace juniper over it; her mother called it so, but I should say ’twas a petticoat.’ ‘* Wall,’’ sez the Prince, ‘*T dare say I did dance with the young lady, fur there were several with junipers on; but I’ve kinder got em confused. I danced seven- teen times in all, ma’am, and didn’t git home till five o’clock this mornin’—that accounts for Oh, don’t say a word,”’ **Georgyanny, she wa’n’t up when I come out; young folks will be young folks, and you'll hev to do up a lot of sleepin’ bymeby, to pay for bein’ kep up so late of ones, my bein’ so late to breakfast.’’ 8eZ A nights. I stole off airly, to ketch ye before they begun to tote ye round to-day. You must get orful tired, Albert Ed’ard?”’ ‘*Oh, la, 7 don’t mind it,’’ sez he, ‘‘‘ young hearts, light heels.’ Enny time, I could ‘Dance all night till broad daylight, And go home with the Juke in the mornin’! JTIe gits kind of tuckered out, but I feel fust rate next day.’’ ‘* Wall,” sez I, a-gettin up for good then, ‘I must be a-goin’ now, and giv you a chance ter read your letters! I’m proper glad I come down to see you, and much obleeged for your politenance, I’m shore; and if you only had time to stop, and come up to our place in Bose’wine—close by to Concord, the capital of the State—I 'd try to show you that New Ham’- shire farmin’ folks know how to treat people that’s been perlite to’em. I ain’t a mite sorry I come down to Bostin, for I’ve seen the old pensioner and the young Prince. La! who’d a-thought when our merlishy was a-fi’tin’ the British reg’lars over to Bunker Hill, eighty

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MRS. WARD'S VISIT TO THE PRINCE. 61 year ago and up'ards, that the posterity of old King George and the last end of the Revolu- tioners should a-had a good social set down together, as I hear you’n he did yisterday? We read in the Scriptur, how the time shall come when the lion and the lamb shall lay down together; but Mister Wetherell, Ruthy Ann's husband, sez this is the lion, and the unicorn, and the ’Merican eagle all bein’ in the same cage ter once. Ennyhow, I'm proper thankful you come over tosee us, Albert Ed’ard; and I hope you'll come ag’in an’ stay longer, and yer marm 'ilcome too! Here’s a rale nice Bald'in apple I happen to hev in my pocket— it come from the old place up ter Bose’wine, growed in the corner orchard, and mebbe you ’ll kerry it home to yer ma'am with my respecks, Miss Sophrony Ward, Bosce’wine, New Ham’- shire?’ and I gin it rite inter his hand, ‘I’m much obleeged to you, I’m shore, ma'am!” sez Albert Ed’ard, and he made a proper perlite bow and laid the Bald’in on the silver waiter ‘long of the letters; ‘‘and if you 'll wear this ring, p’r’aps it ll sarve as a remembrancer of the Prince of Wales when he is in his own country ag’in!’’ An’ if you'll believe it, Miss Pettengill, he up and took a beautiful ring rite off of his own finger and gin tome, I'll git it and show it to you; I keep it in a little box, on cotton wool, in my upper drawer. There! ain’t it a rale beauty? La, you'd orter seen how supprised they ware to Ruthy Ann’s when I showed it to ’em arterI gothum! They sed they wouldn’t a-believed I’d had a talk with the Prince if ’twa’n’t fur that evvydence; and it turned out, arter all, that Georgyanny hadn’t danced with Albert Ed’ard, only touched his hand in the same set; and her father he sed her old Aunt Sophrony ’d got ahead of her time, complete. Wall, I thanked the Prince as well as I knowed how, and made a low curchy, and told him I was shore I wished the Bald’in apple was a berrill on ’em inste’d of one, to kerry home to Victory, and then I bid him good-by and come away. The Juke and the rest, they all bowed rale perlite when I was a-comin’ out, for they 'd seen what a good talk Albert Ed’ard and I’d had together. You never see a man so clever as that perlice ossifer was when I passed by him in the entry. He was rale likely lookin’, I ken tell you, Miss Pettengill, and handsome enough to be a Juke or a Lord hisself. ’Tain’t all the good looks that is gi’n to ‘* Lords, Dukes, and Earls, and folks of high renown,” as the old song used to say; and black whiskers are VOL. LXIL.—6 ‘nuff site handsomer’n red ones, enny day, to my mind, But I’m gettin’ kinder out of breath myself, a-tellin’ about my visit to see the Prince of Wales, and you must be sorter tired settin’ there so long and harkenin’, Miss Pettengill, If I could stop now, I'd tell you about the rest of my visit to Ruthy Ann'’s—how she and I went out a-shoppin’ together, and then we went to Mount Orburn, the most butiful graveyard you ever see, with the handsomest moniments for tombstones, and a meetin’-’us in the middle of the yard, with three or four marble figgers—‘‘ statoots,’’ she called ’em—cut out to remember some great men by; and then, Monday, we went over to Charleston, to the Bunker Hill Moniment; and Tuesday, thongh they all kept urgin’ me to stop longer, I had to come home, for I felt kinder anxious about Arty and things up here on the old place, and sez I to Ruthy: ‘‘ I should ‘admire to; but my fall work ’s comin’ on, ap- ples to stripg, and presarves to make, and every- thing to see ter.’’ So I started off. As I was sayin’, I should like to tell you all, but there ain’t ‘time this mornin’; but ef you'll stop ter dinner, Miss Pettengill—do, now ! I guess them apple dumplin’s’ll be done to a charm !—and arter dinner I'l] set down and tell you the rest ; though I must say, Miss Pettengill, amongst all the great sights I see down in Bostin, the best and greatest was my visit to see the Prince! err _ BURY ME IN THE VALLEY. BY MRS. CORDELIA H. TURNER. Bury me in the valley Beside some rippling stream, Where blooms the modest lily Amidst the emerald green ; And where the feathered sonyster Will build its downy nest Amid the fragrant rose-tree That blooms above my breast. Bury me in the valley, Where early comes the spring, And where the towering holly Will lasting beauty fling ; And let the distant sunset Its gold and crimson shed Upon the murmuring water That glides beside my bed. Bury me in the valley, Where tender breezes blow, And let them murmur gently My requiem soft and low ; Avid let the glistening dewdrop Be pearls upon my breast, With quaintly carved thongh humble slab To mark my place of rest.

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62 GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, NOVELTIES Fig. 1.—Garotte collar and neck-tie, for morn- ing or home dress, suited, in fact, for all plain tolleta at home and abroad, and extremely ser. viewable in travelling, The collar is of plain Fig, 1 linen, the habit-shirt of cambric, the neck-tie of plain black, blue, or crimson silk, the ends lightly embroidered or plain, as fancy may dictate. They are very fashionable at this mo- ment, particularly for young ladies. Fig. 2. Fig. 2.—Another style of habit-shirt, a frill of embroidered muslin set on with an inserting of embroidered cambric. The frill should be nearly plain. Figs. 3 and 4.—Real novelties in the way of FOR JANUARY. undersleeves; to be worn with a short dress sleeve, or with a Greek sleeve that is entirely Fig. 3 open to the cap on the forearm. For evening- Fig. 4. dress they should be made of thulle and Va- lenciennes inserting. For the day, of muslin

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 68 and Swiss embroidery. Fig. 4 is the most de- Figs. 7 and 8.—Black velvet net for the hair, sirable, but both are more hovel than graceful. with four heavy tassels in gold. Fig. 5.

bes | | ' ca 4 Fig. 5.—Cordon and flat bows for the hair, of black velvet and gold-colored ribbon. It is a good and becoming headdress. Fig. 6. Fig. 9.—Chenille net for the hair, with a Fig. 9,

bunch of aquatic grasses, and thin blossoms in gold. 7-2 eeer - EMBROIDERY.

Fig. 6.—Dress cap, with roses and gold lace.

CARRIAGE SHOE,

Tus shoe is made of black or any €. <i dark-colored velvet, richly embroi- — Rs SAS SSSsss.. = dered, and bound with satin ribbon. ' . The sole is of stout wash leather, wadded and lined with satin. It is & warm and handsome carriage shoe.

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64 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, TURKISH LOUNGING.-CAP., Materials.—Rich crimson cloth, black velvet, Albert braid of both — colors, gold thread, gold braid, and a tassel made in passemen- terie to combine all these colors. Tue ground of the cap is in cloth, the lower part only (which is appliqué) being in black velvet. The centre of the crown is in the same material. In the engraving those parts that are in velvet are represented black. The broad white lines in- dicate gold braid, which is used to cover the edge of the velvet where it joins the cloth, as well as to form The double lines on the cloth are in black Albert and gold thread. On the velvet they are crim- son Albert and gold thread, sewed down in the usual manner. This sort of work espe- cially commends itself from being so easily and rapidly executed ; and in the opinion of many, it is far richer and more effective for this purpose than either crochet or anything else. Itis extremely warm certain scrolls. TOP OF CAP. and light, and, if small pieces are added for ears, it forms a delightful travelling-cap. “ec” yy ’ inn “Mil "Hy i] me | y Mi i "my To make it up, procure some black silk and common bed-ticking, also a little black silk cord. Cut out the silk lining the full size; but tha¢ of ticking about an inch narrower in the head- piece, so that it may not reach the edge where the velvet and cloth give already sufficient thickness. Gather the silk head-piece into the round for the crown, so as to make the lining separately from the cap; but work the ticking and cloth together. Tack the lining in round the crown, and down the joining at the side; turn in the edges round the head, and sew round the black silk cord, and the tassel in the centre of the crown, —- — »— see CROCHET FLOWERS. SPIDER WORT. Tus flower is formed of three small petals, and requires two shades of violet Berlin wool ; one rather deep, the other lighter, though it must not be too pale.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 65

Take the lightest color, not split, and make a chain of three stitches ; fasten off. Take the second shade, and work in the first loop of the chain one plain stitch, in the second loop one stitch of double crochet, and one plain stitch ; then make a chain stitch, and begin the second round in double crochet, putting a wire in the edge. In this second round, you must increase one stitch in the first, third, and fifth long stitches of the preceding row. This round being completed, break off the wool, twist the ends of the wire together, and cut off one of them. The stamens of this little flower are very beautiful—they are of violet color with a top of the richest golden hue—and spring from a little tuft of silky violet threads. It would be better to buy them ready made, if possible; but, if preferred, they can be made thus: Take a bit of floss-silk, of a bright golden color, make a knot at the end of a piece of violet silk, or wool, insert the bit of gold-colored silk in the knot, and tie it as tightly as possible ; cut the end of the gold silk quite short. Make another knot about half an inch from the first, insert a bit of gold silk, tie it like the first. Cut short the violet and gold silk, and make another knot at the end of the latter; tip it with gold in the same manner; place your silk across the half- inch, tipped at both ends, and tie it in the middle, so as to make three stamens of equal length ; place them in the middle of a little tuft of violet silk, or wool, and fix the whole in the middle of the flower. Cover the stem with green wool, split. The Spider Wort grows on a long stem, with- out leaves, and generally with two or three flowers on one stalk. The leaves are always close to, the bottom of the stalk ; they have the appearance of a blade of grass, and are about a foot long, and an inch broad, and are of a very bright green color ; but the little bunch of flow- ers will form a pretty ornament for mats, &c., without leaves or buds. FANCY FLOWERS FOR CAPS. Takk two shades of floss silk, of any color you please; they must both be of the same size, neither too fine nor too coarse. With the darkest shade make a chain of seven stitches ; cut off the silk, make a loop on your needle with the lighter shade, and work round the chain ; the first two stitches, and the last two, in double crochet—the remainder in long stitches (putting three stitches in the top loop)—some leto must be worked in the edge ; this completes one petal. Three similar ones must be made, and the four petals twisted, or 6*

tied together securely, after having placed a little white stamen in the centre, Cut-off all the wires but two, which forms the stein; cover this with a bit of green floss silk, split. Leaves.—Make a chain of nine stitches, with a pretty shade of green floss silk —it should be rather dark ; then, with a lighter shade, work a row of long stitches round it, the first and last two stitches being in double crochet ; a wire must be worked in the edge, leaving a little bit as a stem. These little flowers have a pretty effect, and are very quickly done. They can be mounted according to taste—three or four flowers and three leaves will form a nice little spray. —-—_~ 3-2 & eo —_—— BOURSE IMPERATRICE. Matevials.—Broad gold braid, gold thread No. 0, two dozen rings nearly three-quarters of an inch in diameter, a skein of purse silk of any color that may be desired, and passemenuterie tassels, bars, and cord, composed of the same color, with gold. \ q 4 . Ny ~/ “ BRERA CSS>< iv \ ™

Tue star in the centre of this purse is the part first done. Bend the end of the gold braid down an inch, draw an end of the silk through the doubled braid an eighth of an inch from the fold, and wind it round the braid for rather more than half an inch; fasten off the silk. There will be an end of braid uncovered with

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66 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, silk. Leave it in both thicknesses of braid, and again fold down an inch. Treat this the same. Do this ten times, which will take up twenty inches of the braid. Arrange the piece in the form of a star, as seen in the engraving, and sew the centre firmly, to keep all the points in their true position. Do another star, exactly like this, for the opposite side. Now cover all the rings with crochet, sew them together, as in the engrav- ing, and work a yold rosette in the centre of each. Tack them down on a piece of toile ciré, with the star in the centre, and unite them by button-hole bars, carrying a line also round the star, just above where the silk is wound round, to form a wheel; all the points of the wheel must also be connected with the bars and rings. Both sides, being done precisely alike, may be united at the sides. A flat ornament in passementerie (termed a Macaroon) is sewed in the centre of each star, and the trimmings, tassels, aud bars are added. THE CHINTZ WORK BASKET, Tuis basket is made of bright colored furni- ture chintz., As will be sven by the picture, its construction is very simple, being merely pieces of pasteboard, cut any size the maker may fancy, and the shape of those in the engraving. These are covered neatly with chintz, and sewed together. The little box to the left is for but- tons ; it is made of pasteboard, cut to fit accu- rately into the basket, with a cover of tin, covered with chintz, The advantage of tin is, that it will not curl as a pasteboard one would, Thyre is a little stuffed cushion, fitted into the batton box, for pins. The little bag is of chinta, and intended forathimble. The two little bags to the right of the button box, are for spools of cotton; a needle-book comes next, having a cover of pasteboard sewed over the flannel. The bag to the right is made of chintz, very full, gathered in at the bottom, and confined at the top by a ribbon; this is for tape, and the many little trimmings to be found in a lady's work basket. At the side opposite the needle book, there is a bag of chintz for the scissors, and a strip sewed down tightly, and fastened at proper distances, for papers of needles, and bodkius. The handle is a strip of tin covered with chintz, fastened at the sides by bows of ribbon.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. TOILET d Fal Me be oe oe a pbeeot x, oa Uh b my La) ah tt Ht tt Pees | id ni Type, , / Ke ij 4 " ly, yi iy et ileal ity! a HHA PERERA RIES Ona el mine sii a ae ee ae Tus sachet is made in the form of an en- velope, and is intended to contain a lady’s night-dress, etc., either on a short excursion, or to lay on the pillow during the day, forming an elegant ornament to the bed. It is to be worked in square crochet from the engraving, beginning with three squares, and so invreasing to the proper width. The back is plain square crochet, with the border running round; the edging is worked separately, and sewn on after the sachet is made up. The lining should be of a color to match the hangings of the bed, and of a material to wash with the work. _ “7ee & JESSAMINE PATTERN EMBROIDERY ON TAPE-WORK. (See engraving, page 12.) Mater ials,—Cotton, No, 6; embroidery cotton No. 12; a plece of cambrie muslin of the requisite size; and tape, three-elghths of an inch wide, of that kind, which, at some shops, in called “twilled tape," “India tape," “Chinese tape ;"' but it is of the kind that will not curl or got hard in the washing, and is rather coarse-looking than otherwise, Tuts is useful for sofa pillows, anti-macassars, PEAS ph : LEME UU | TdF I ci nh Ml ae “ih - fyyt Mt BF et tafe fi | by ia 67 SACHET. ie " iat tt a The i, UL xy } Set Dba. f ‘gf Ay hit i i td { : # i | ah: pede a hier : a fa B » } z ats PLT ELLE LEE f jel TD PRT Kt yes HEE LTiALSA PAE ri i rn | for insertion for petticoats, for a deep border for a child’s dress, or a deep border round eider- down quilts. First measure with an inch measure, along the top and bottom of the cambric, spaces an inch and a half wide; mark these with a hard pencil, These must exactly correspond on each side; now crease it across in diagonal lines, and run a white cotton through the creases. Now crease the cambric across the reverse way, anil also run in acotton. (// the cambric is a long piece, only a small portion need be done at a time.) Now, on these lines of cotton loosely but firmly run the tape—loosely, because these threads, as well as those of the dividing lines, have to be ultimately taken out; and firmly, that the tape might not slip. Now turn the work on the side where the tape does not appear, trace off the leaf from the engraving, gum it on to some stiff card; when dry, cut out the shape, lay it on the work at the point where the lines cross each other, and run a hard pencil round, Make four of these leaves in the same way; then, with No. 30 cotton lightly sew the No, 6 cotton round, but not so as to flatten it. Make several of these stars in the same way; then overcast them very thickly with embroidery cotton,

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68 Make the cross-bars, one bar going quite across, with two threads of embroidery cotton, then overcast with button-hole stitch ; the second bar make also entirely across, but in overcasting, LOUNGER’S CUSHION OR Materiala,—One and a half ounce bright scarlet eight- thread Berlin wool, a little more than half an ounce each of black and white ditto, Tas cushion or sofa pillow is made in the new crochet stitch. The crochet hook, we must observe, may be made by any one with a penknife, from a cedar-wood knitting-needle, No. 3, by simply cutting a hook at the end. No crochet hook that is sold will perfectly an- swer the purpose, as the stem must be Jong, and of the same dimensions throughout, with a knob at the end. Make achain of any length required, and work back on it, bringing the wool in a loop through each stitch, which you then slip on the hook, thus taking up all the stitches. Second row (in which, having all the stitches on the needle, you proceed to take them off). Bring the thread through the first stitch; and afterwards through two stitches together, name- ly, the one just made and the one beyond, until only one is left on the needle. This forms the first stitch of the next row, which is similar to the first, except that, instead of a chain-stitch, you take up an upright bar of wool, which seems to be, not on the top, but at the side of the work. Work backwards and forwards until you have done enough, observing always to fasten on GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, when at the centre, catch the first bar with one firm stitch, then finish. The cambric under the bars and on the tape has now to be cut out with sharp scissors. PILLOW. the new color so as to do the last stitch of the taking off row with it, For this cushion, with the black wool, make a chain of sixty stitches * and do two rows. Join on white, and do two rows ; join on scarlet, and do ten rows, white two rows, black two rows *; repeat four times within the stars, Make a cushion or small bolster the same size, allow- ing a little for stretching ; fill it with horsehair ; cover it with black sarsenet or calico. Join up the crochet, and cover the cushion; draw up the ends. For tHe Corp,—With the scarlet wool and a coarse bone hook, make five chain, close into a round, and work round and round in single crochet until sufficient is done. Leave a bit of wool at each end to sew the cord on with. For tue Tassers.—Get a friend to hold her hands apart so that a thread wound round them will be twenty-one inches long. Wind round this thirty strands of scarlet, twelve of black, and the same of white wool. Tie these strands tightly twice, leaving three-quarters of an inch between. Then divide the space equally, and tie in the middle. Divide each space, and tie again in the middle, and subdivide in the same

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WORK DEPARTMENT, way, allowing a little larger space on each side of the two first ties, and making thirty-four spaces altogether, two of which are larger than the rest. Cut in the centre of each space, and there will be beautiful mossy balls, which only want a little trimming. Take a rug-needle threaded with scarlet wool, making a knot in the end. Thread on eight of the small balls ; allow eight inches of wool for them; make a knot, aud cut it offf Do the same with the 69 remainder of the thirty-two, Sew on the cord at each end of the cushion, Then take a bit of scarlet wool and the rug-needle, fasten on, slip the needle through one of the two large balls and under the centre of two strands of wool with balls on them, then back through the ball, and fasten off, leaving a handsome tassel of sixteen balls in lengths of four, with a large ball connecting the whole. Do the others in the same way, ONICIVUE aod NV S LNVANI “NVO'TO

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, A NEEDLE-BOOK AND PINCUSHION COMBINED. 7 . a .* os CAriri ty) geoet® Materials.—Two nails of violet-colored silk, some white chalk beads, some crystal, also some gold, a little larger than seed beads, a small piece of fine flannel for the needles and pins, and some ribbon for tying. First cut the exact shape in tissue paper, then cut four pieces the same in card-board, also four pieces of flannel somewhat less in size, and four pieces of silk, two larger and two a little smaller, for the lining. For the Pincushion.—Cut four thicknesses of flannel, cover two pieces of card-board, tack the flannel on to one piece of the former, and to the second piece sew on a small piece of the silk, about half an inch in width, but tapering to- wards the end represented as the heel, now sew this on the first covered piece, sew the two pieces of card-board up at the back of the heel, round the ankle and instep. For the Needle-book.—Cover two pieces of card-board and line them with some silk, then snip the edges of the flannel and sew them to the instep part of the pattern. Now sew the two portions of the design together at the part which represents the instep. Sew on the beads, as shown in the engraving, only observe that underneath the flowers and leaves is a piece of white calico to throw up the white of the beads. A small pair of scissors may be inserted be- tween the needle-book and cushion. FOR OUR YOUNG READERS. SAMPLER PATTERN

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WORK DEPARTMENT. KNITTED BABY’S SHOE AND SOCK. nt AS site itr oe uit i iat Lik) THESE are knitted on steel needles, in Berlin wool of two colors. The shoe in one color, and the sock in white, form the prettiest contrast ; pink and white, maize and white, or blue and white, are all suitable. The shoe is in plain knitting, and ought to be worked tight and even ; the sock is in the cable and hem-stitch pattern, the top being completed by two rows sina \\ NN Wy nn aT tri i iin pi Th “ah lida Ml My” of netting, the first row being on a larger mesh than the second, one stitch of the netting in every stitch of the knitting. A narrow ribbon, the color of the shoe, is interlaced round the ankle, which ties in the front with a bow, and keeps it from slipping off the foot. The row of netting on the fine mesh ought to be in the colored wool. EMBROIDERY. 02200, Pm, Of OES. SS am ,o?? °99 Ee: - - RR 3. S0 °000500%° enanule

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72 GODEY'S LADY’S BOWK AND MAGAZINE. A POINTED YOKE CHEMISE, TRIMMED WITH PLAITS AND BRODERIE ANGLAISE. (Front view.) ( Back view.>

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| RECEIPTS, eceipts, ec. HOW TO COOK POULTRY. Bowen Fow.s,.—White-legged poultry should always be selected for boiling, as they are of better color when dressed than any others, Truss them firmly and neatly, with the leva drawa into the bodies, and the wings twisted over the backs; let them be well covered with water, which should be hot, but not boiling when they are put ju. A full-sized fowl wiil require about three-quarters of an hour from the time of its beginning to simmer, but young chickens not more than from twenty to twenty five minutes; they should be very gently boiled, and the cecum should be removed with great care as it gathers on the surface of the water, Either of the following sauces may be seot to table with them: parsley aad butter, Léchamel, Eoglish white sauce, oyster, celery, or white mushroom sauce, The fowls are often dished with small tufts of delicately boiled cauliflower placed round thein ; or with young vegetable marrow, scarcely larger than an egg, merely pared and halved after it is dressed; white sauce must be served with both of these, The livers and gizzards aro not, at the present day, usually served in the wings of boiled fowls, When they are not so, the livers may be simmered for four or five minutes, then pressed to & smooth paste with a wooden spoon, aud mixed very gradually with the sauce, which should not boil after they are added, Boitep Fow Ls with Ovatens,—Take a young fow!, fill the inside with oysters, put it into a jar, and plunge the jar in « kettle or saucepan of water, Boil it for one hour auda half, There will be a quantity of gravy from the Juices of the fowl and oysters in the jar; make it into a white sauce, with the addition of egg, cream, or a little flour and butter; add oysters to it, or serve up plain with the fowl. The gravy that comes from a fowl dressed in this manner will be a stiff jelly the next day ; the fowl will be very white and tender, and of an ex- ceeding!ly fine flavor, advantages not attainable in ordi- nary boiling, while the dish loses nothing of its delicacy aud simplicity. To Roast Fowrs or Capons.—Fowls, capons, and chickens are roasted and served as turkeys, with the addition of egg sauce; but they require proportionally less time at tho fire, and are seldom stuifed, A full grown fowl will require three-quarters of an hour, a capou an hour and a quarter, and achicken from thirty to forty minutes, A large fowl may be stuffed as a turkey. To Brow A Fown.—Split the fowl down the back; reason it very well with pepper, and put it on the grid- iron with the inner part near the fire, which must be veryclear, Hold the gridiron at a considerable distance from the fire, and allow the fowl! to remain until it is nearly half done; then turn it, taking great care that it does not burn. Broil it ofa fine brown, and serve it up with stewed mushrooms, or a sauce with pickled mush- rooms, A duck may be broiled in the same way. Ifthe fowl is very large, half roast it, then eut it into four quarters, and finish itonthe gridiron. It will take from half an hour to three-quarters of an hour to cook. SAUCE YOR A FowL.—Stew the neck and gizzard, with a& small piece of lemon-peel, in about a cupful of water; then bruise the liver of the fowl with some of the liquor; melt a little good butter, and mix the liver with the VOL. Lxul.—7 gravy from the neck and gizzard with it; let it bolla minute or two, and pour it into the sauce tureen To Fry Cuickens,—Cuat up the chickens, and season them with salt aod Cayenne pepper; roll them tn dour, and fry them in hot lard; when the whole are fried, pour off the lard, and pat ina quarter of a pound of but ter, one teacupful of cream, a little four, and some scalded parsley chopped fine for the sauce To Srew A Fows with Onton Wash it clean, dry, hod truss it as for boiling, puta little pepper and salt Into it, rub jt with a bit of butter, as also the saucepan ; putin with the fowl a pint of veal stock or water, a lit tle pepper and salt, turn it now and then, aud when it becomes quite tender add twelve or sixteen emall onions, and let them stew for half an hou a young fowl will take one hour, and an old one three hours to stew Cuicwnen Bakup in lies Cut a chicken into joluts aa for @ fricassee, souson it well wilh pepper and walt, lay } it Intoa pudding-dish lined with slices of ham or bace add # pint of veal yravy and an onion Anely minced; fill up the dish with bolled rice well pre 1 and piled as bigh as the dish will hold; cover it with a paste of flou. aud water, and bake one hour in as woven If you have no veal gravy, use water instead, adding & little more ham and seasoning A Baown Fuicasari Cut the chicken In small pleces and parboll it, Take onions, parel butter, pepper, y, and salt, put them into a pot well floured, and stow them, Add the chicken, and stew until quite brown, having put in some of the water in which the chicken was bolled to cook It, Fifteen or twenty minutes will be suilicient A Wuire Fricassen.—Cut in pieces two chickens, and lay them in warm water to drain out the blood; then lay them in a clean cloth to dry, put them in a stewpan with milk and water; stew them till they are tender; take them out and strain the liquor; put them over th fire again with half a pint of the liquor, half a pint of cream or milk, the yolks of two eggs, half a nutmeg, @ glass of white wine, and a piece of butter rolled In flour; stir all together in one way for fifteen or twenty minutes till they are thoroughly cooked. Turkey on Fow. 1x Juc.iy.—Bone the bird, and fill it with forcemeat in which are mushrooms; lard it with fut bacon, and tie it up; stew itiu strong gravy, t } i skewer may be passed through it easily; whe cole take off the fat, and serve with a savory jelly round i PLAIN PUDDINGS, OATMEAL Prppine.—Pour a quart of boiling milk over a pint of the best fine oatmeal ; let itsoak all night; next day beat two eggs, and mix a little salt; butter a basin that will just hold it; cover it tight with a floured cloth, and boilitan hour anda half. Fat it with cold butter and salt. When culd, slice and toast it, and eat it as oateake buttered, Paerared Bariey Puppine.—Mix four tablespoonfuls of barley with sufficient cold milk to form a paste, pour on it one quart of scalding milk, then add a small slice of butter and four eggs well beaten, flavor with nutmeg, lemon-peel, bitter almonds and sugar. Be careful to stir the barley well while pouring on it the boiling milk, and not to put in the eygs till the mixture is cold. The eggs must also be well mixed in, Bake one and a half hour in a slow oven, Goop Darrin Puppine.—To one pint of new milk add

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GODEY’S LADY’S r spoonfuls of flour, and some slices of el with the sugar on it; serve with wine sauce, bake in cups, or boil Hasty Puppixe.—Boil a pint of milk; then, whilst stir ipto it as much flour as will thicken it, y abont a tablespoonful Serve hot with cold er aud eugar, or, if preferred, the best treacle Ha Puppixea Bakep.—Stir half a pound of flour toa pint of cold milk, and boil it; then take five eggs thre quarters of an ounce of bitter almonds blanched , and add them to the hasty pudding when Bake in ¢ and serve 1. Sweeten with sugar Pars Ri Peppina.—Wash and pick some Carolina W among it some pimento finely pounded, but muel t the rice in a cloth, and leave plenty of ym for itto swell. Boil in ita quantity of water for When done, eat it with butterand sugar, lemon-peel, if approved. Many people Put hout spice, and eat it with salt and butter Bakep Ric Put half a teacupfal I i with a pint skin r new milk,a t ur nd nutmeg or lemon-peel to b ] 1, with, if f l,asmall slice of butter or dripping, or a few and stir it eces of suet put on the to casionnally at first to prevent the rice from burning to } " If required to turn out, the dish must be red An egg is a great improvement to this pud od if it is liked in a milky e less rice Another Baked Rice Pudd ng *icher B ab ll just soft; then pour bles] mifuls of rice in water t way the water and add a pint of new milk, a little nut- oy non-peel and sugar; then | again, and when ist off the boil add the yolks and whit f nearly three bake, and serve w.th sugar sifted over it A Grorynny Rice Peppina Add to one pint of milk ur eggs well beaten and one and a half ta es} nfu und rie boil these t ther, stir then Pour 10 mixture while hot over two ounces of butt sugar the taste, and add the grated 1 l with the juice 1 idle-sized lemon. Line the dish with puff paste be @ putting in the mixture, aud bake A Flain Ground Rice Pudding may made witha ' part of the « ind ba t ‘ 1 y y er proportion of them, and witl t paste or lemou GENERAL DIRECTIONS FOR SOUPS AND STOCK Tar perfection of soup ia, that it should have no pa ilar fla r; this can only bo secured by careful pro mrbiot (he several ingredionts The } es in which the soups are made should be ‘ tinned, and kept particularly clean, by being was) i t waterand rubbed dry before they are put away therw they will have a musty «me which will i ¢ wsagreeablo taste to all things If they are not kept well tinned a the tate \ na the color of the soup will be ible to be af by the iron; and if the soup-k le be made of cop ! the tinulng not quite perfect, ev will be in a gre which ls sweet, salt, or « muet never be a or iron, to get cold; buat ’ mi tiet eopper ROOK iter or leas degree p mous, As AND MAGAZINE. while hot, into a shallow, well-glazed earth- and be till it is nearly cold, otherwise the liquor will become poured off, y five minutes, enware pan, stirred about, eve sour Lean, juicy, fresh-killed meat is best for soup; stale } make iti lavored y waste- meat wil and fat meat is ve ful An oe soup, the ] quor in wl k will save, as ingredients for nomical ¢ 1ich meat has been boiled; for ex- ample, leg of pork liquor may be easily made into pea soup ; and calf's head liquor and knuckle be made the The trimmings of undressed and the base or stock of white soup meat and game will be useful to enrich soups ; b f dressed or undressed meat assist to make a good ones of dr stock dressed ham, Ilam gives fine flavor, as well as the bone of 4 taking care to allow for its saltness for making hard water bet- Soft water should aliwaye be used soup, unless it be of green peas, in which case ter preserves its color; and it isa good general rule to pportion a quart of water to a pound of mea ap] say, flesh without bone; but t, that is to rich soups may have a ty of water Meat for soup should , but put into the kettle with a very «mall quan never be drowned at first in water tity and a piece of butter, merely to keep the meat from burr the juices are extracted ; by which means of stewing the gravy will be drawn from it before the remainder of the water is added. A single pound will thus afford better and richer soup than treble the quan- y saturated with cold water when first put on, shonld e the The water in the soup-kettle, not be allowed to boil for at least halfan hour; el water will not penetrate, but harden the meat, and keep is@ as in the impurities which, in slow heating, will 1 scum. Long and slow boiling, for at least four or six cessary t the strength from meat; ld never be off the boil from the time it should be taken off as it rises. If, the soup hours, is ne » extract but the pot shou commences The fat however, as is generally thought desirable, should be prepared the day before it is wanted, the fat and the soup at- but it can be removed when cold, ina cake; tains more consistence without los r the favo need not be seasoned till wanted, and then slowly heated till boiling When put ) soup should be poured into a freshly scald l away to e ol, the and thoroughly dried earthen when to be kept for some days, occasionally the fire, to pan anda, simmered for a few minutes over prevent its g mouldy; in rewarming soup be careful not te beeom pour in the sed. ment ad-raspings, or barley, for plain thicken 4 the pot is All vegetables, br common soups, When merely intended to and flavor the soup, should be put in as soon skimmed: but if the vewetables are to be served in the of onions soup, none, With the exception should be put down to stew at the same time as the meat, and the dif ferent sorta should be put down at different times Oniona, whether Whole, or sliced and fried, at once; pol herba, cai fe, and eelory, three hours afterwards; and turnips and othe ofa delicate kind, only about an hour before the soup is ready a should be put whole into soups; allepice is one of the beet, though it la not so highly eatoemed aa it de norves Seville orangeduiee has a finer and milder acid than lemon-j ulec but both should be used with eaution of knotted conealat f cach tied to Siveet herha. for soups or brotha roam. t) and porsley, w eprig ¢ i iiea »>us mea nh soups

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RECEIPTS. and drier onions are, the stronger their The flavor ; in dry seasons, also, they are very strong; the older quantity should be proportioned accordingly. COMPANY DINNERS FOR WINTER. MCLLIGATAWNY soup, fresh cod-fish fried, boiled ham, roast turkey with cranberry sauce, fowls stewed whole, pie, squash. Cocoa-nut pudding, lemon pudding, mince-pie, calf s-foot jelly. Clear gravy soup, stewed rock-fish, roasted ham, veni- oyster potato snow, turnips, parsnips, winter- son pie, boiled turkey with oyster sauce, brown fricassee ; sweet potatoes, turnips, parsnips, beets, Orange pud- ding, almond pudding, meriugued apples, chocolate cream. Venison soup, fresh cod-fish boiled; smoked tongue, roast goose with apple sauce, oyster pie, French stew of rabbits; turnips, potato snow, parsnips, onion custard, beets. Transparent pudding, orange tarts, mince-pie, floating island. Mock turtle soup, boiled rock-fish, ham pie, smoked tongue, roast turkey with cranberry sauce, boiled fowls with celery sauce, oyster loaves, sweetbread croquettes ; Charlotte mince-pie, calfs-foot jelly, blanc-mange. beets, maccaroni. turnips, parsni russe, Rich brown soup, fresh cod-fish stewed, boiled ham, venison roasted, red-head ducks with currant jelly, oyster patties, veal rissoles; turnips, parsnips, winter- squash, beets, cole-slaw. Mince pudding, omelet soufilé, orange flummery, vanilla ice-cream, Rich white soup, fresh cod-fish fried, roasted ham, venison pie, boiled turkey with oyster sauce, partridges, chicken rice pudding, potato snow, beets, turnips, win- ter-squash, stewed red cabbage. Plum pudding, choco- late blanc-mange, cocua-nut cream, apple-jelly, THE TOILET. MANAGEMENT OF THE HAIR. Loss of hair, according to M. Cazenave, resulting from general disease, or from profound constitutional distur- bance, will disappear in most cases with the removal of the cause which produced it. There are cases in which the scalp may be advantageously shaved, and the secre- tion of the hair stimulated by dry friction, topic lotions, as rum, for example, the patient being at the same time submitted to a judicious and well-devised system of re- gimen. The shedding of the hair may be occasioned, or at least greatly facilitated, by the very means adopted for dressing and adorning it. The too frequent use of hard brushes, fine-tooth combs, &e , is highly injurious, For effectually cleaning the hair, M. Cazenave recom- monds that a fine-tooth comb should be passed at regular utervals, every twenty-four hours, through the hair, in der to keep it from matting and tangling ; separating he hairs carefully and repeatedly, so as to allow the air to pass through them for several minutes, and using a brush that will serve the double purpose of cleansing the scalp and gently stimulating the hair-bulbs, Before going to bed, it will be desirable to part the hair evenly, #0 as to avoid false folds, or what is com- monly called turning against the grain, which might even cause the haira to break There ia a class of persona who carry to excess tho drossing of the halt itions of the toilet til the hairs are and who, during the ordinary ope- the only broken and the scalp fatigued, but drag and twiat hair, not ilb iteelf ie altered, the | When the hair is very long, and twisted up into a hard knot on the top of the head, as it is frequently the fashion to wear ®, the current of the fluid along the tubes must be obstructed, and the obvious remedy for this is frequently combing it and brushing it out in its full length Generally speaking, when the hair is naturally mo!+t and oily, it is wrong to oil it habitually, and of course doubly so when it shows a tendency to dryness, The habit of immersing the head in cold water every morn- ing M. Cazenave considers injurious to the hair. The same may be said, though in a more modified sense, of the habit which women have of incessantly moistening the bandeaux for the purpose of making the bair appear for a moment smooth and dark. Cold baths, especially salt-water baths, also exert an injurious influence upon the condition of the hair, hence it should always be carefully covered with an oil-skin cap while in the bath. Too heavy and too warm coverings for the head should be avoided; females should invariably adopt a head- dress of the lightest texture, and such as is permeable by the air. Abstain altogether from cutting, wetting, and twisting, or binding tightly the hair. It should be slowly and carefully disentangled, and so arranged and covered at Where the hai is naturally dry, it is, perhaps, the only case in which night as to give it the proper direction ir it will be in accordance with rational treatment to em- ploy greasy substances ; and in such instances, M,. Cazenave recommends exclusively a pomade composed of prepared beef marrow and oil of bitter almonds; care should be taken to anoint the hairs, not only in their en- tire length, but also at the roots where the hair should be divided to admit of the direct application of the oint- ment, and special care should be taken that the prepara- tion does not become rancid. Where the hair is too greasy, no such application should be used; but the hair may be powdered occasionally in the evening with starch, and the head should be brushed carefully in tho morning to remove the powder, It will also be useful to occasionally cleanse the scarf with a very weak alco- holic solution; the following will answer the purpose: sub-borate of soda, distilled water, and essence of vanilla, All greasy hair requires the most minute attention to cleanliness. Hair-dyes should be altogether condemned ; M. Cazenave observing, justly, we should console our- rary advantage to be that every natural alteration that takes place in the external ap- selves for ¢he loss of the temp derived from their use, by the reflection pearance, brings with it a certain alteration of character, which is not devoid of value, nor unpleasing. MISCELLANEOUS. Iv you aro troubled to get soft water for washing, fill a tub or barrel half full of wood ashes, and fll it up with water, so that you may have lye whenever you want it kettle of Some peoy le A gallon of strong lye, put into a great hard water, will make it as soft as rain water , and is use pearlash, or potash ; but this costs something very apt to injure the texture of the cloth Do not let knives be dropped into hot dish-water, It is a good plan to have a lar tin pot to wash them tin, just high enough to wash the blades, withoul wetting the handles A Cune pon Scunvy.—Plenty of open-air exercise, and tepid bathing, fresh animal and vegetable food, and the free use of r pe fruits, and lemon-julee Lemon-julee appears to be almost a epecilc, low Chees resisting its

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, influence, About half a pint should be taken dally, pure, or diluted with water, Cold, damp, and impure air should be avoided To Dye Sit« BLack,—Impregnate the material with a solution of aeetate of tron, and then boll in a decoction of madder and logwood Tun Deer Means or Cieanine Correr,—Pour into the coffee the white and the crushed shell of an egg Let it stand ten minutes, aud it will be found bright and clear Ae Walter To make Suenpet.—Take nine Seville oranges and three lemons; grate off the yellow from the riads, and put the raspings into # gallon of water, with three pounds of double refined sugar, and boil itto @ candy height; then take it off the fire, and add the pulp of the oranges and lemons; keep stirring it until it is almost cold, then put it into a@ vessel for use A Remepy ron SLEeePLesannss.—How to get sleep is to many persons & matter of great importance Nervous persons, who are troubled with wakefulness and excita- bility, neually have a strong tendency of blood on the brain, with cold extremities, The pressure of the blood on the brain keeps it in a atimalated or wakeful state, and the pulsations In the head are often painful Let and chafe the body and extremities with a or towel, or rnb emartly with the hands, to pro- ¢ clreulation, and withdraw the excessive amount of blood from the brain, and they will fall asleep in a few moments A cold bath, or a sponge bath and rabbing, or a good ran, or a rapid walk in the open alr, or going up or down stairs a fow times just before retiring, will aid in equalizing cireulation and promoting sleep, These aro simple, and easy of application in castle or ibin, mansion or cottage, and may minister to the com- fort of thousands, who would freely expend money for an anodyne to promote “ Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sloep To Remove ture Sueu. or Patrt rrom A Room.—Placo a vessel full of lighted charcoal in the middle of the , and throw on it two or three handfuls of Juniper iut the w ndows, the chimney, and the door hours afterwards the room may be found that the sickly, anwhole y gone The emoke of the ju- onmeonson this advantage, that should any- thing lef n the ro im, ate h as tapest y, &e , hone of it will be injured Having seen this tried, I can gua- rantee its efficacy Das. Benkend and Stener recommend the medicinal use of suwar as of great value in dliarrh@a—one ina child aged three years, and ano ber to a child aged four years n which halfan ounee of powdered white sagar given every hour, soon gave a favorable turn to symp toms of extreme gravity which had long resisted all the ry means of cure ov A RATTLESNAKE cvRaeD In Two Hovas.—The bury Express publishes the followlag from a rell wrrespondent;: A carpenter, while engaged, a fow pulling down an old house, and la remov f the rotten timbers near the ground, was rattlesnake In a few moments his finger to four times ite natural size, and a red wed runt land wrist A or came upon i” Vision grew ylson that was r that Ss Veins Was ] ny approaching Duta rem ) d, mere y by ——$_—— —_— way of experiment, which, to the surprise of all present, acted like a charm, the component parts of which were onion, tobacco, and salt, of equal parts, made into a poul- tice and applied to the wound, and at the same time a cord was bound tightly about the wrist, In two hours afterwards he had so far recovered as to be able to re- sumo his work, I knew an old negro who cured a boy that had been bitten by a mad dog, by the same applica- thon, To Take MILK rrom CreamM.—Use a siphon, and draw off the milk from beneath the surface of the cream, and thus completely separate the two liquids by the simplest means and with the least possible trouble. TO REMOVE INK #TAINS Drop some apirite of ealte—with great caution— Wherever an ink-spot is seen; Having previously molstened that portion With water: and rinse it quite clean As soon as the object 's effected, And then you'll be able to say :— “What a change To find it dislodged in thia way?" who'd have ever expected Rats AND Mice.—The asphodel is useful in driving away rates and mice, which have such an antipathy to this plant, that if their holes be stopped up with it, they wili rather die than pass where it has been placed, CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS, Remepy vor Buenuns, &c.—Take any quantity of red clover heads, boll them until the strength is out, then strain off the liquor and boil it down to the thickness of molasses, and when cold bottle for use, InpIAN Meat Peopive.—Boll two quarts of aweet skimmed milk, then stir in eight tablespoonfuls of Indian meal; add two teaspoonfuls of salt, two eves well beaten, one cup of molasses or sugar (molasses is better), one pint of cold milk, one teaspoonful of einnamon or any other spice; pour iuto a deep dish, and bake four hours Lemon Pis.—Three eggs, six tablespoonfuls of sugar, one lemon, Tako the yolks of the eggs and mix with white sugar; beat the yolks and sugar together, Beat the white of ewes to afroth; grate inthe lemon-peel ; mix the whites and yolks of eggs together; pourin the juice of the lemon, Rich paste—bake as custard, Bake quickly Arete Dumpiinas should be made of one large apple, quartered and cored, then put together, covered with a thin paste, and boiled till the fruit shall be done enough Or: The apple is be not eut, but the core scooped out, and the centre filled up with a plece of butter and sugar, according to the tartness ofthe apple. The paste should not be rolled out, buta lump of the proper quar tity taken, the apple placed upon it, and the paste care- fully pressed round it, bringing it to a point which is easily closed, so as to keepin the Juiweand butter, They have a protty effect if boiled in nets instead of cloths, Svaar Ictna por Cake.—Beat two pounds of double- refined sugar with two ounces of fine starch, sift the whole through a gauze sieve: then beat the whites of five eves with a knife upon a pewter dish for half an hour; beat in your sugar a little at a time, or it will make the egws fail, aud injare the color enall the sugar is put in, beat it halfan hour longer, and then lay on your almond icing, spreading it even with a kaif If put on as soon as the cake come will hardeau by the time the cake is cold

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Ebitors’ Gable. OUR PLATES AND THEIR LESSONS, Men's due deserts each reader may recite, For men of men do make a goodly show; But woman's works can rarely come to light, No mortal man their famous acta may know; No writer will a little time bestow, The wor acts of women to repeat, Though their renown and the deserts be great Mikkon FOR MAGisTRKATES, Oh, grant me honest fame, or grant me none |—Porxr, Men often push their way into “the court, the camp, the senate Tita is, oxsentially, a woman's aspiration, and the mart,"’ eager for distinction, and not particular about the path, provided it lead them to eminence, glory, When ambition stirs the heart of a woman, as it sometimes wealth, and power, It is not so with women doos, she persuades herself that utility is her object, She may err in Judgment, In writing, or action, she may do mischief rather than the purposed or pretends d wood; but we believe the rarest thing in the world ls a woman aiming at renown that has not some real or imaginary basis of doing good Our Fronttispince is a Memontat of benevolence and worth, of fame justly won by women, without being sought as the alm of their endeavors, No admixture of pecnulary, personal, or vain motives sullles the bright nows of such feminine examples, The deeds and the influence of these herole women have produced conse- quences that will beneflt mankind through suceeeding generations, without doing injury to any good pursuit or purpose of the human race, We believe they have done more to suppress evil and encourage good in the world, during their earnest but unpretending course of life, than all the conquerors who have won the crown of everlasting fame from “ Macedonia's madman” to the Duke of Wellington Mas. Evizaueru Fay*—the centre figure of the group —wis born In Norwich, Evglaud, 1780. Sho was a sister of the celebrated Johan J. Gurney In youth, rich, beautiful, and well cultivated, she never allowed these worldly advantages to inspire her with vanity or love of selfixh and trivial amusements, Before she was married she had, with her father's consent, established in his house a school for elght poor children, whom she taught An accidental visit, soon after her marriage, to a prison in London, where women were the prisoners, turned her thoughts to the possibility of improving the condition, morally and physically most wretched, of these evil or unfortunate women, The reforms produced through the personal labors and judicious exertions of Mrs. Fry, so changed the state of public « pinion concert ing these poor culprits, as well as the manner of man- aging those penal institutions, that we can now hardly imagine their doleful condition or the desperate cha racter of the inmates, when she first visited them. Mrs * These portraits are ideal, not personal, intended, with the scenes in the medallions, to embody and illa trate the works of love, pity, goodness, and philan thropy which have been accomplished by ladies whose names and deeds are worthy to be kept in perpetual rememb-auce 7* Fry travelled from place to place solely to ameliorate the condition of female convicts: taking the llwht of the blessed Gospel into the dark cel In of ignorance, crime, and misery, of sin, sorrow, and penitence, she so moved the hearts of those poor degraded outeasts by her tender teachings and generous succor, that mar y were brouwht to repentance and a lasting reformation; some rescued from the depths of guilt were, we may humbly trust, forgiven by Him who has power to pardon sin and save sinners Mrs, Fry ended her useful life in 1845, mourned by all England, where it was felt that a bright particular star had disappeared, Miss DoxornuaA Dix—represented by the figure on the left, at the top of the page—ia a native of New } land She passed her early life in Boston, where, for several years, she was occupied in edueational and literary pursuits, In 1834 she visited Kurope for the firat time, and, while there, carefully sought information that would ald the philanthropic plans sho was devishyg, which were matured some years later, On her return to Boston she made many efforts to do good to prisoners, lunatics, and jn short to improve public asylums and for the aick and But her favorite plan was an amelioration of the inatitutions that provided home destitute the condition of insane persons Since 184] she has devoted herself to this idea, visiting every State, wo believe, this side the Rocky Mountains, travelling more miles than would three times circle the globe, and exa- It would require double the espace We can spare to give sven a mining all the insane asylums in our land synopsis of her labor; we cannot undertake to deseribe the ardor and impetuosity, yet gentleness and persever- ance, she has shown in behalf of her unconscious clients; she has written, talked, reasoned, visited per- sons of influence, argued, urged, has been daunted by In short, volumes might nothing—has never flagyed be filled with the story of her exertions, There is no doubt that she has exercised a great and enduring in- fluence on the economy of insane asylums; eho has also had the satisfaction of causing the erection and endow- ment of quite a number of these places of comfort for such unfortunate invalids, Her name will always bo remembered as an earnest philanthropist, Gnuack Dakiina—represented by the figure on the left at the bottom of the engraving—ts the heroine of foellngs that appeal to the heart like the sympathies of youth, She was never in a position to act upon an unlimited series of her fellow beings, ike the other heroines of our record; but in her short life and obscure position she showed an astonishing ardor, an angel-like pity in the cause of suffering humanity, that ranks her with the noble benefactors of out race Grace was a native of Northumberland, England, daughter of the kee per of Longstone Lighthouse on one of the Parne Islands of that dangerous coast. A young girl, just entered on her twenties, gentle and retiring by nature, and always living in the solitary home her father's office rendered necessary, was so moved by com passion at the sight of shipwreeked men, elinging tothe rocks and sinking ship, from which the next returning hel if

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oO . swig is GODEY'S tide must sweep them, that she determined to risk her own life to save them ler brother was absent, her futher t | to dissuade her from the trial which he con sidered would t futal to her and do no good to the » alone per n ple but she declared she would ¢ f her father refused to ald her, that live or die she would attempt to eave the sufferers So her parents helped t sunch the boat, the father and daughter took each an i vod she thus wae the ministering angel that saved nine perishing men Cirace wae a girl of delicate Constitution, and died of consumption a few years after her deed of heroliem Mus, Conwenive Due Tow represented by the figure at top, on the right oa resident of New York City, where trumental in originating and inatitutions in mainly ia the heat charitable of the kind known la our country, and, wea te ve, there is none exactly like it in the worldeethis is THe Neneeay any Cotio's Hoaprral Tn Lad t firet effort Was made to save the sick, per lishing “lambe'’ of Christ's floet the nurelings and little children of the poor, degraded, of New ¥ hk We that, ¢ outeneat population space now to go into the edygo of Mra this great have no details of misery ming to the know Du Boils, moved her warm heart to att and blessed work.* m pt Bullies to say that she succeeded ta obtaining helpers among the best and first ladies of the elty—that the State gave $10,000 towards establishing the institution, and the elty government contsibuted six the build erected ; that Mra, Du Bois, assisted by Rev, Dr valuable lots on which hospital nys were Anthon, laid the corner stone in 1857, and in 1855 (after four years in hired rooms), this noble institution was per- manent!y located and established Anthon, in his beautifal eulogy on that oec- d “In spirits than those whose Rev. Dr rougher hands, and with sterner *voeation by birth is the voea- tion of charity,’ the enterprise, I hesitate not to express the belief, gratifying ec could not have been brought to this most ynelusion But it was an undertaking l ded with the distinctive mission of your whieh ace sex. It was adapted to the peculiar influence and en- dowments conferred on you from above, to subserve the highest interests of our race; and when entered upon, as this work was, with tender and unwearied devotion, generous self-sacrifice, and humble faith, how could it fail of success? Another of the eloquent speakers, George T. Elliot, M. D., observed: “Nor can the name of one—our first directress, Mra, Cornelius Du Bois—be omitted: alike the foundress and the mother of this hospital; whose devotion, sleepless energy, and unswerving love for these little children, have trinmphed over all obstacles and are crystallized in these halls It is needless tu praise an institution which the least observant must see is, of all charities, the safest, most th evil ve of increasing unalloyed w and most product good tothe world, To train up good citizens and good Christiana from infan y, to snatch fellow creatures from the perdition of unholy homes, to restore bloom to the pale cheek of sick, suffering, neglected childhood, is a work deserving the warmest praise, The foundress of an institution like this, does she not merit honor and love? Miss by the Fiornence NionrixngaLe— represented Lady's Book of 1857 will * Our readers who have the ’ 6 aud 277 of the September find the at yon payes 2 uumber LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, | figure at the bottom of the page, on the right: who has not heard of Florence Nightingale? who coes not know her story in all its details? Without expatiating upon her angelic charity to the wounded and the dying, for every American woman is familiar with the picture of the noble English’ heroine, aud her tender sympathy as she went from bed to bed in those horrible hospitals where lay the wounded and suffering soldiers of the bioody Crimean war that labors of pity and patriotiom were, and are, but a email part of Mias Nightingale'’s claims to the love and honor wo would observe these she has won throughout the world War is not forever, but the poor will always be with tua; sorrow, sickness, destitution and death are the per petual attendants on fallen humanity, Therefore the mind that has devised menana to soften thease ever-reen the way by thane ring miseries of mankind, and shown which to prevent or palliate the sorest ills of life, sufferings that epring from ignorance er neglect on the part of persons who minister to the sick and have the charge of the public healtheuch @ mind ta indeed of the highest order, This intelligence has been shown by blorence Nightingale in her writings* and exertions to organize a new eystem of hospital treatment, of which experience has already proved the effleacy, For these beneficent services which she has done for her country, nay, or all mankind, services of true wisdom, that must go on benefiting the sick and suffering through all future yenerations Miss Nightingale truly deserves what the world teuders her—hounor, esteem, love, BECOND PLATE—A HOME BCENE, We have, in our first plate, set before our readers those bright examples of benevolent action that awaken generous enthusiasm in our sex, aud uplift the soul to the contemplation of heroic deeds jut we are con- strained to say that these distinguished women are the exception, not the rule of life. In our second picture is embodied the real worth, the true sublimity of woman's destiny and daty. ‘Few can serve or save the public,’’ but all can be useful at home, Home is woman's true empire; it is there that she is to be thoughtful aud energetic, pleasant The ‘‘state of life in which ‘is to be the and kind, wise and happy. it has pleased God to call her of her Here she muxt do her greatest work, and win her crown of scene virtues and enjoyments, her trials and triumphs glory by being the crown and blessing of her family. The heart that is softened and expanded by the constant exercise of domestic affections, and consequent efforts to make home the place of happiness, will never confine itself to the limits of the household ; friends, neighbors, the poor, the suffering will all participate in the kind- ness which, ever exercised, never tires, which with those that weep and rejoices with those who re- weeps jolce, MISSIONARY WOMEN: MRS. ELLEN B. MASON, This lady, many years ago, accompanied her husband ies, sent by the Bapt st Churches of America Their fleld of among the Karens, a nation or tribe more industrious as missiona to the heathen of Burmah, labor was and capable of being Christianized than any other people of I eatly engaged in teaching the women and girls, and has dia. Mrs. Mason has, for several years, been earn- suceceded in founding a school to educate native teachers, We have before us a picture, ‘drawn by Mrs, Ellen B * “ Notes ou Nursing,"’ ete,

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EDITORS’ representing the Karen Female Institute at with the native board of managers in their We wish all our Mason,” Tounghoo ; hunting dresses, from a photograph.” readers could look on this engraving, then they would feel more deeply what a great as well as good work has been We give the tummary in Mrs. Mason's own honest, earnest language ;— ‘When the miesion was first extablished in Tounghoo, #ix years ago, not a Karen female could read a syllable Now many hundreds can read, and fifty young women are fiiting themeelves for teachers, twelve of whom have accomplished already branch schools upon the mountains, “When the work was begun, the people ridienled the proposition of instructing girla in books, Now the chiefa themselves select the girls, bring them down, food them, clothe them, supply their books, and find them places for tenehtug “When this work was begun, the chiefs eecoffed at the idea of girle becoming teachers Now there ia the loudest call for them all over the mountains, robber chiefs even promising their support “When this work was bewun, the Karena had not a foot of land to rest them on, when they came down from the thirty acres, with a large handsome institution, and a mountains, Now they have a beautiful place of pretty settlement, all their own, close to the town *When this work was begun, I had to support the men while clearing the ground for the school-house, Now these same chiefs have brought in more than 8000 rupees for the girls’ school, and @ young men's school on the same land * When the work was begun, I had to measure out our own rice, meal by meal, to persuade them to remain over Sunday. The same chiefs have supported them- selves week after week, to enjoy the privilege of coming in at night to study the word of God. ‘When this work was begun, the women presented the strongest barrier, opposing bitterly their girls leay- ing the paddy field to learn books. “Now these same women work day and night to prepare dresses for them, and come trooping down from the mountains loaded with thatch for their cook-house and dormitories, “Tt is just such a work and just such labors that are needed for the Burmese and Shan women of Tounyghoo."' In our December number we said that Mrs. Mason had returned home, hoping to obtain helpers and material aid for her mission, so that she may establish for the women and girls of Tounghoo a school, and teach them asshe has done the Karens, Two American ladies, re- turned missionaries from India, who understood the language, are willing to go back with Mrs. Mason and Who will aid this not our friends, those who have help her, if means can be provided, good work? Will enjoyed the blessed privileges of education that American young ladies so ‘universally have access to, take an in- terost in this subject? Subscriptions of one dollar are solicited from all who approve, nations sent the Editors of the Lady's Book for Mrs, Subscriptions and do- Mason's schovl, will be recorded with the names of the donors.* Sewixna Macuinrs are exempt from attachments for debt, if not exceeding $100 in value, in the State of Mas- It should be the law in all the States: rachusetts and in every neighborhood of twenty families, there should * Subscriptions may aleo be sent direct to Mrs. Ellen BL. Mason, U } broadway, New York, TABLE, 79 be, at least, one first rate Sewing Machine. Those mana- fuctured by Wheeler & Wilson are first rate FAMILY THe Piano tw TH! A good Piano is an inex. haustible source of domestic pleasure, It is the ouly in strument that can supply, iu iteeif, an orchestra, It is the only inetrument that can perform areal sulo, All the others require an accompaniment of some sot The Vaet range of the Piano which the ten fngers permit tt to take in the fullest harmouies, supply the place of nu merous cotubinations A good Piane, with three well trained voices, can give & very true idea of any opera, to those who are from any cutie hindered from attending publie performances of ¢ Vor the iutelleectual part of tiieic, the eclence “the No wuatter tity sition Piano ta ensontial what may be the stringed of wind lnatrament ju question, the Piano, the other instrament can do uniting various chords and harmonies, which to must be used by the eomporitor Our American manufacturers have improved the mv Chanuiem of Pianos so gre atly within the last teu or twelve yours, that it is now as rare to flud a really bad plano, as it used to be to Sud a really good one, The compara and hioreover, of the peg-board ta greatly jucrensed ; skill, inwenuity, and competition have so facilitated the ful instruments, that Pianos may now be obtained for one half the price they formerly cost, Wee d those of Messrs & Gray, Albany, New York, both for excellence and manufacture of these really wonde mime Boardman moderate price Haue’s Boarpina axnp Day Scnoorn ror Younae Lapres, 1826 Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia Miss 8, J This school is designed to give a thorough and liberal English education, to furnish the best facilities for ac- quiring the French language, and the best instruction Au plished French teacher resides in the family, and also in music and the other accomplishments aceom- an excellent teacher of music, who gives her personal attention to pupils while practising. The moral train- ing and the health and physical development of the scholars are carefully attended to, References: Mrs. Emma Willard, Troy, N. Y. ; Henry Vethake, LL.D., Wm. B. Stevens, D.D., Wm. H. Ash- hurst, Esq., Louis A. Godey, Esq., Philadelphia; Charles Hodge, D. D., Princeton, N. J.; and others, To ovr CorresPponpENtTs.—The following articles are accepted: “A Dream of the Pagt’’—* [ntellectg@the Twin —* To M. D.''—** The Con- test’’—*' Our Birdie’’—and “ Something.” Sister of Christian Character”’ the number are worth insertion, if we had room: “ We all '—** Aline Hooper’’—*" The Old These articles are not needed, though some of do fade,’ ete. —** Evening Year" (the writer has the poetic vein, and will sueceed the Old Folks’’'— * Lines’’—"A good Example’’—* Stanzas’’ (not the dest if she perseveres)—‘ Living with the writer can send us)—‘‘ When Sleep hovers o'er me —*‘ Life is Merry,” ete.—‘‘ The Serenade’’—*‘ And where is your Sweetheart ?''—"' Song’’—" Come home, my own love’’—'A Night with the Indians’’ (we never, or very rarely, find Indian legends worth publishing)—** My Lost Pet''—" Nevermore’’—" The Ilistory of a Love- match'’—and ‘‘ Where has Peace gone?"’ . We have other articles on hand that will be reported next month, Will the author of ‘‘ From May to November’ Stale? We some weeks ago, and receiving no reply, conclude the send us her direction—towon, coun!), wrote to her letter was misdivected,

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80 Health D BTAINBACK epartment, dD. ———~ BY JNO WILSON, M Doctors ron Curupren.—Every candid physician will of the children are attended with peculiar difi- read ly admit that the diagnosis and treatment diseases of culties. Diagnosis means to decide ds to the nature and seat of disease Now it is hardly necessary to go into any argument to show that no rational and successful plan of treatment can be instituted for the removal of a disease without a correct diagnosis But what are the difficulties that present themselves in investigating the diseases of children? In the first place, an infant cannot talk, and has no language except that of s is: and again, itis restless and peevish from disease, or agitated and alarmed at the presence of the physician, If he attempts to auscaltate ita chest, or listen to the sounds of its breathing, the signs #0 useful in disorders of the chest are often ren- dered unavailable by a vie t fit of eryin if he would try to gather informa nfrom the expression of coun- tenance, the child will not bear to be looked at; if he should endeavor to feel the pulse, it is inordinately ex- cited from mental emotion, should the little patient be old enough to notice the strange and unusual circum- stances by which it is surrounded. In view of these and other difficulties which no honest and conscientious physician will attempt to deny or conceal, the idea has become quite prevalent that ph know little or yeicians nothing about the diseases of children, and that a sick child is as safe, or safer, in the hands of the mother or nurse, than it would be when committed to the care of the most sk Another comm lful and best educated physician n error is that our modicines are ‘too And first has arisen from strong’’ f The encom pass the invest or children whence these errors? the natural difficulties that ration and treatment of the diseases of children, and which must be obvious to all mothers, while they cannot and should not be concealed by phy- sicians, be skilled in mes done, that But when a man who professes to his profession admits, as is somet “any one senses’’ as well as he can, he makes can manage baby d & concession not only not required by truth, but posi- tively falen to his science, de atory to the just claims of Medicine on the cont of the people, aud fatal in ts consequent rhe truth is, that however great the obstacles to the study of the d rders of children, they ean be overcome by d nee and perseverance; and he who does not bring the lities into requisition, brings unmerited reproach on the healing art, and is unworthy of the idence of t people The greater the difficulties that naturally beset a sub- ject, the greater the necessity for science and skill in its and skill in distinguish- s of children, and this science investigation ing and treating the disease can be attained only by an educated, paine-taking physician, who makes the study of disease a life-time business Some such, nay, m my suc h are to be found in the monks of the medical profession; and such as these, aro competent to manage the disorders of children safely and successfully To wuch as thease, mothers may unhesitatingly commit their precions little ones r the medicines of such phy siciane as these will be adapted to the case in hand, and Will newer be "luo of GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, We are no advocate for dealing out the putencies of the Materia Medica to children; but we must say that the danger consists not so much in the inherent strength or activity of any drug or remedial appliance, as in its use under improper @rcumstances, aud in unsuitable or excessive doses, * All the attendant circumstances, and the proper dose being duly regarded, active medicines may be as safe for children as for older persons, But mothers should aid the physician in his diffienlt and responsible duties. They should do this not by de- parting from his directions, at the suggestion of every busy-body that may come in to see the “little darling,” but they should do it by observing all the symptoms and chanyes closely in his absence, and by reporting them faithfully at each visit The mother who hangs over the couch of her sick child by day and by night, and who watches over it as only a mother can do, sees things that no one else can; for her natural acuteness of perception is rendered doubly strong by her maternal solicitude These advantages the physician is denied in his hur- ried visits, and th ‘refore the mother should be prepared to lay the whole case before him, with all its changing symptoms, When this is properly done, he will under- everything as wellas if he had been present all t— stand the time, and then he can do what the mother could n give a right interpretation of the symptoms, and makea judicious and scientific application of the necessary remedies We may have occasion to write specifically of nursing hereafter, but we take this occasion to say that this close observance, and this correet reporting of symptoms as they oceur in the absence of the physician, are the most essential and indispensable requisites of a good nurs kinds of sickness; while they are all in all ;w important for those who nurse sick children. Water As A Remepy.—Of the hygienic uses of water the and its action on system we have already spoken. So various are the effects of water of different tempera- tures that no single remedial agent is at all equal to it in extent of applicability ; and we venture to say, more- Wo would guard against the error that water can do no over, that no drug equals it in safety and effleacy. harm ; for all remedies of sufficient power to do great good are equally potent for evil when unskilfully used. But, while this is true, we feel satisfied that there is no drug of equal power that is half as safe as water in the hands of the people, because the principles on which the latter acta are more easily understood and the effects are more manifest than those of drug medicines, and therefore persons of ordinary intelligence can learn to apply water judiciously and safely. In making these declarations some carping people may say that we have but this is not #0, and never will be, for we oppose and ever deserted the old paths, and turned “‘ water cure ;"’ shall oppose all exclusive, one-idea systems, but we will n&t re a set of run-mad exclusives, ect a good remedy because it has been abused by and in the are better In many Cases hands of a skilfal physician, other remedies than water; but in the hands of the people, in home practice, there is nothing, we repeat, that will equal it ty and in efficacy in safi And ifany are disposed to make a parade about the dangers of water, they have but to make a comparison between the effects of water and those of calomel the nee of calomel and other drugs in the hands of a akil- ful and pr and other strong drugs. Wedo not oppose lent physician, and we have no disposition to ride on the muchabused aad take a hobby horsical

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LITERARY quack-ridden calomel, yet we venture to assert that the most extravagant and injudicious use of water could not possibly do more injury to the human family than has ensued from the abuse of this remedy and others that are constantly found in the’ hands of the people, CoLumnus, Ga. . Miterarp dlotices, Books matter is so low, we offer our services to procure for ny Matt.—Now that the postage on printed our subscribers or others any of the books that we notice Information touching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing a stamp to pay return postage. When ordering a book, please mention the name of the publisher. From T. B. Pererson & Brorners, Philadelphia:— COUSIN HARRY bler’s Wife,” ete By Mrs, Gray, author of “ The Gam- Little Beauty,’ * Baronet’s Daughter,” ete, Mrs. Gray has been so long and so well known as one of the most charming novelists, that the little we might add fluous, The named work in her praise would be deemed only super- Messrs of the customary pleasing style, Peterson offer their edition above in their which renders the volume in its appearance, even if it had to library shelf no other recommendation, an ornament the Complete in one yolume, Price, bound in cloth, #1 25 CATALOGUE of the works pwhlished by Messrs. Peterson & Bros. firm, we would call attention to their latest catalogue, While mentioning the books received from this containing a list of their publications, among which will be found the latest and best publications, by the This firm has issued complete sets of the works of many most popular and celebrated writers in the world. well known authors, sometimes in various editions, and by reference to this Catalogue, any one desirous of eu- larging bis library, will find all the works, comprising these sets mentioned, and the various editions described, added, mention that this Catalogue gives description of forty- Sour different editions of the works of Walter Scott, and with prices As an illustration of this fact, we twenty-nine of those of Charles Dickeus, The Catalogue will be sent gratis onthe applicatio of any one desirous of examining it. From D. Appieron & Co., New York:— THE GALLERY OF BYRON BEAUTIES: Ideal Pic- tures of the Principal Female Characters in Lord Byron's From original paintings by eminent artists. A Series of Portrait Iilus- From paintings, designed ex- Poems THE POET'S GALLERY: trations of British Poets. pressly for this work, by the most eminent British artists MORAL EMBLEMS; with Proverbs, of all Agea and Nations, from Jacob Rohert Pur lte Aphorisms, Adages and “ule and With illustrations freely rendered, from designs found in thelr works, by John Leighton, F. 8. A The whole translated and edited, with additions, by Richard Pigot BIHAKSPEARE'S WORKS revision of text, by Mary Cowden Clark Edited, with a serupulous th We have received direct from the publishers, Mesars Appleton & Co., New York, the above named valuable works, tl three first of which are splendidly bound 81 NOTICES. holiday books, and all elegantly illustrated with the choicest engravings The two “Galleries’’ and the edition of Shakspeare’s works are profusely ornamented with steel engravings of female figures The first volume mentioned in our list contains some of Byron's finest short poems, agd choice extracts from his lengthier ’ ones, and the illustrations seem to have caught and em- bodied, if we might thus sy ak of a picture, the very The Poets’ signatares of spirit and description of the verse, Gallery is filled with poems bearing the Barry Cornwall, Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Tennyson, Mont- gomery, Miss Landon, Mrs, Welby, Mrs. Browning, and others of equal celebrity on both sides of the ocean, The subjects of these poems are either some feminine namo or some quality or sentiment, each of which is illustrated **Moral these works, by an appropriate ideal portrait. Emblems’ is the most attractive of all and though the engravings are only wood, yet they are executed in such a fluished style, that, taken apart from the print- ing, they might deceive the casual observer. There is a quaintness about the volume, both in its illustrations and its literary contents, that is its greatest attraction, Every one has heard, time and time again, the adages “Who cults off his nose spites his own fice,"’ like whether all have seen these sayings illustrated both “Greatery others them; but we doubt and little wool,”’ and pictorially and poetically, and in a manner to combine beauty and delicacy with comicality. From Harper & Brornens, New York, through Perer- son & Broruncers, Philadelphia:— THE LAKE REGIONS OF CENTRAL Picture of Exploration. By Richard F H. M. I Fellow and Gold Medalist of Geographical Society. This narrative of personal adventure, during AFRICA: A Burton, Capt. the Royal entertaining Army ; is a highly the years 18.76, 7, 8 and 9, in that portion of Central Africa which les to the that till recently unexplored region in which are found northward of the Zanzibar coast, and embraces those great lakes so prominently fiyaringin our modern books of African discovery. Though the narrative is at times somewhat tedious, it is, nevertheless, one that few readers of works of its class will fail to be interested in. The ethnographical, topographical, and geographical notes are full and copious, adding greatly to our know- ledge of the peoples and tribes of Central Africa, and the Numerous well-executed engrav- Price country they inhabit ings pleasingly illustrate and elucidate the text &3 00 A COURSE OF SIX LECTURES ON THE VARIOUS FORCES OF MATTER, and their Relations to Each Other. By Michael Faraday, D.C. L., F.R.S., Fullerian Profes- sor of Chemistry, Royal Institution, Delivered before a Juvenile Auditory at the Royal Institution of Great Britain during the Christmas [Holidays of 1859-60, Edited by William Crookes, F.C.8. With aumerous ustra- tions, These lectures, reported verbatim, and with ex- planations by the reporter, thongh intended for the m ofthose There to sta. young, will be found not unworthy the attent! who have years of ¢ x perience in the sciences is a clearness about them that is almost charming dents, Price 50 cents From D. Aprreron & Co., New York, through Perrr- sow & Baornens, Philadelphia NOTES ON THE PARABLES OF OUR LORD By Kichard Chenevix Freneh Condensed This book @on tains the subetanee of a larwer work whose exer neo has been widely acknowledged, but whose sire aud cost

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GODKY'S LADY'S have kept It beyoud the reach of many rhe authors yw worde have heen erved aa nearly ae possible, an the ome ine have ‘ of matiora not abevlutely hovoaeary of important rk, belnw mainly de siled ateounnte of ert owe and thele refutation, sud notes la other lan whie) were taelena to the hu h remdler h on the lutter have been foll'ml neteamary, h ‘ it many ivetaners trate lu 1, hewn lnterwor ih the text ries @1 00 CHAMBBIA'S BNCYCLOPAGDIA it Dictionary af Univerwil A nawlediye j Lecple Ou the asia ofthe Latest Mdition of the erman Conversations le lilustrated by wo sand mape This olla embra ' iu | ubjeeta the arta and geogra| prudence, bie raphy hatural . ‘ wology, and peddle arte lo sud 2) have been reevlved, Price lo dente per | through G, a From Denny & Jacnaon, New vk vane, Philadelphia THE HOUSRHOLD OF BOUY The Rliair of fdold 4 Roman ar In two vo Anew r obyt tle | sppeared, & senee sue the que will pre- utiy be heard from a ye informs 0 ludefl vv whether us that itis by a Southern lady t sia t nite to stifle or wat ary eur this la, or in not, her fret ap] i othe publie, we do not know; but we are re \ er that it is no undisciplined mind nor ‘ cod pen which has conceived and produced th rice $2 00 From Reon & Canterox, New York, through Samuvern Hazanp, Ju, and Pereuson & Daornurna, Philadel- phia CURIOSITIES OF NATURAL HISTORY Buckland, M. A., Student of Christ Church, Oxford ; Asalet Becond #e- ries ly Francia 1 ant Surgeon Second LifeGuards; author of “ Curlositios of Natural History, First series,"' ete This book be div heads or chapters etiled in order, “AG r The Game- keeper's Muscum ° } ii, Ilunt on the Aon-ahore The . f the private of the au Dean of Weatminater, which, ) " ‘ er's death, were collection of mine thor's father, the Ia and, D. D., disposed of by auctio Th atylo ia lively and agreeable, and hi oo tains much information which will be rece! vex those interested in watural history an POEMS By Barah | ublishers have \a- eued ina peat and attractive fo » litthe volume of poems, which will commen itself taste of the reading pub ‘ Although pow some faulta, these poems are not lacking li eat ul merit Price 75 oontea THER MORAL HISTORY yr WOMEN From the French of Ernest Legou ak ineniae, Lecturer in the Col an Edith de Falsen ‘Les M ; *. Translated from the fifth Paria ee ; D., author of * The New ar . ‘ ! own the Irri wadd ete he " f the moat fore- ible argumer and ‘ dva ‘ mn this really powerful v« moral his tory of Fren men, ! »t of man in the VaAlversal mm! ‘ the wo! t y t ess online BOOK AND MAGAZINE, many important trathe, @ knowledge of which cannot be without value to the elvilised world, We may often disagree with the author, but we will never aseribe to him any but the best motives, The chapter on education, in whieh M, Leeouvé lusiste fipon the fullest instruction of women in all the branehes of learning which are of value to men, te one that ean seareely be too deeply pondered, Nut, as we have latimated above, a very large share of the author's philosophy and sentiment is ay plicable only to Vreneh Women, French men, aud Vreneh l’riee #1 00 A lroohure Hiedman, author of "Tha Din With illu This ia a humorous and eatirienl laws, manners, and ¢ustome THE PRINCK SS BALL Yair.’ Hy Kdmund ¢ mond Wedding, trations by Mtephens Vrom " Vanity " Lyvies and ldyle,"’ ete poem, taking for ite subjeet the giaud ball given the lrinee at New York, and holding up to ridicule the great ado made upon his vielt to that eity, People love te laugh, and we cannot blame the wits if they embrace every good opportunity offered them for making fun, rice 50 cents, From M, W. Dopp, New York, for sale at the Pareny- TERIAN Book Broun, 1924 Chestnut Street, Philada VRED LAWRENCE; or, The World-College, Vy Mas garet K, Teller, This is a story-book for youth, the atm and tendency of which we cannot explain better than by quoting the closing words of the book; “If we are but disposed to profit by all our opportunities, we shall fund that, not only the truths of the material creation, but all the events and orderings of our social lives, every friendship, every duty, every trial and disappointment will minister to our growth toward the perfection for which God has destined us, The whole world la a school, in which not only minds bat hearts and souls are to be developed; our lives are the term of instruc tion, and we graduate when our earthly education is complete, and we are fitted fora higher state of belay, a wider sphere, and a larger activity From Ronear Canten & Baornens, New York BLIND LILLIAS; or, By a Lady Fellowship with God for the Young One of the beat among tha excellent works which the Carters are scattering abroad by hundreds of thousands, Thisinteresting story should be in the hands of children, and of all who love ebil- dren TRUST IN GOD: or, Three Daya tn the Life af Gel- lert. The Hymne of Gellert are familiar to those who enjoy the perfection of sacred lyrical poetry This little book will add to the interest of these remarkable hymna, because it shows us the author was nol only a true poet, but a true Christian From Cuantes Scuianen, New York, through J, DB Lirrixcorr & Co., Philadelphia: MISS GILBERT'S CAREER: An Ameriean Story hy J. G, Nolland, author of “The Bay Path,’ “ Bitt “The Titeomb Letters,"’ “Gold Foil," ete Wa have had the pleasure of perusing this latest work of a Sweet,”’ sterling American writer, who has already made hin self famous by the authorship of “ Bitter-Sweet,"’ that unique and characteristic poem, the most sensible * Ti comb Letters,"’ ete, It is an unsurpassed picture of American life, fresh and glowing with earnest and original thought, and striking out Into a path seldom The alm of his book isa protest n of ehil- trodden by the novelist against the “foreing system’ in the edneati dren, and in the early development of genius; and with what a masterly hand he has directed his strokes against

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GODEY'S ANM-CITAIR, 88 thie evil we leave hia readers to learn for themeaolvon view 61 YO) Vrom Ticknon, Vinina, & Co,, Moston, through Sanunn Hiavanh, di. Pilladelphta j-« THK ODM OF HONACK, Trandated tnta Nngliah Porras, witha Life and Nolea iy Theodore Martin No one who hae not read Horace in the original ean fully appreciate the difeulty of rendaring into Kaglish the Volatile strength and delieaey of him who wae undoult edly the master of Noman lyrie poetry, We have care fully read the translation under notice, and feel eon eirained to eay that, though the translator has failed ta rome jinetances to render Horace just aa we understand him, he hae, at lenwet, made one of the beat translations, tuken ae & Whole, that has ever appeared With thelr iivtal taste, Meosara, Ticknor & Vields have lasued this volume in blue and gold style, by whieh so many of thele poetical publications have been characterised l'riee 7) conta BRIKY BIOGRAPHIES *'Relf-ilelp,”’ and ' Life of George Mtephenson With Hy Samuel Smiles, author of rteel engravings, The author of this volume, under date of London, July 24, 1800, offers It to the "' American public, through the medium of the Messrs, Ticknor & Fields, at whose request the collection has been made," It comprises thirty-five brief biographies of distin eulshed persons, both English and American, One of low Jn the volume ja from the pen of an American friend of the author T’riee #1 25 TOM BROWN AT OXFORD: A Sequel to School Daya By Thomas Hughes, author of School Days *Seouring of the White Horse," ete Part ti@arth a Ruglhy nt Rugby," IX, has been received, This part contains about three chapters, ending at the opening of the twenty-elghth. Issued monthly at ton cents per part. From J. BE. Tivron & Co,, Boston:— HOME PASTIMES; or Tableanw Vivants, Ry J. Head, For the social eirele, this volume will be found in almost ludispensable one, as affording an extensive variety of striking subjects for living pietures, with cloar, full, aud explielt directions for thelr most effective representation, Price #1 00 MAY COVERLY, The volume is designed for the perusal of young girls, and Young Dreaamaker This ln intended to impress upon thelr miuds sound moral teachings WINNIE AND WALTER; or Story Telling at Thanke- giving WINNIE AND WALTER'S CHRISTMAS STORIES WINNIE AND WALTER'S EVENING TALKS with their Futher about old Timea Three very pretty holiday books for young childron, containing stories whieh they will delight to read or linton to, and pictures which they will admire, From Cnroany, Nicnows, Len, & Co., Boston:— THE KANGAROO HUNTERS: or, Adventures in the Bush, Vy Anne Bowman, author of * Kaporanza,"” The ” Castaways,’ “The Young Exiles,"’ ete, Children are inclined to turn with inattention from mere geographical and natural histories, even when they have been pre- pared expressly to please and instruct them; and the ost entertaining book of travels they sometimes find tedious and unattractive, Knowledge they are too apt to regard as @ bitter pill; and to make it palatable to them, it must have a sugar coating in the form of some simple romance which will gain and fix their Interest, The book whose titl we have named above, we are pleased to may possennon thie eharactortatl belong Oiled with all the aweful information found in duller works, While this information te connedted and put ta the form of @ story The seone of this atory te laid la Australia, aud it Contains desériptions of adventures sufielently wonderful and exeiting to eatl fy the eet aetive lng nation, lviee 70 conte Godeyns Arm-Chair, ) Iw presenting the first number of the eimty aeoond volume, ov thirty-fHest year of the Lapvy's Toon, to the Ludios of Americn, We Confons that our heart is oppressed with & weight of gratitude, and our mind erowded with so many reflections, that neither the tongue nor the pea fan Adequately express What We eX perience When we look back upon the uninterrupted period of proaperity which hase attended all our labors, we cannot but feel intensely thankful for the boundless confidence which has been reposed in ua by those who have known us from thelr ehildhood, Very many of those who made our aequaintanee at" sweet sixteen are now prude mt housewives and mothers, and even grandmothers, and who, as we are happy to know, still take a deep interest, toyether with their offepring of the second and third poneration, not only in the innocent amusements, but particularly in the more important lessons of morality, usefulness and taste, which it has been the alm of the publisher to furnish to his readers, And now, while congratulating his readers on the opening of a new year, which he traly hopes will prove for them all a year of health, peace, happiness, and prosperity, the publisher of the Lady's Book will, no doubt, be indulged in a fow reminiscences of the past, or at least of some few of the historical events which have transpired since the first appearance of the Book in the literary world, In that time there have been nine Pre- sidenta of the United States, and nine States have been Many now territories have beon In that added to the Union organized, and are now waiting to be admitted time steam has been successfully applied to the naviga- tion of the ocean, and railroads, to the purposes of in- land travel and commerce in our country, and in the various nations of Europe, The mysterios of the electric teleyraph have been manifested to the Inhabitants of the four continents, Europe, Asia, Africa, and America, our own country having the honor of its first introduction Bosides these things, we have recently seen in our midst the representatives of a nation, the Japanese, who have concluded a commercial treaty with the United States, which a fow years sinco was deemed to be an inter national impossibility. In that time, also, our eltios have been lighted with gaa, and the population and wealth of Philadelphia, and of many others, extended alinost beyond credibility, and thoir streets lined with railroads for the accommodation of the Inhabitants War and conquest have also been busy in adding to the fume and the resources of the country, in the rich landa, aud gold and allver mines of California But this must suffice our readers, We have only fur- nished them with a few of the themes which have arisen within the experience of the Lady's Book, worthy of their reflection And, thankful for the past, let us hope that the future advancement of our country, and the future prosperity of our patrons, and of the Lady's Book, will be commensurate with their merita and dese: vings

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co as Our Everavixos.—“ Just like Mamma,” is the open- ing plate for this number. We can speak of its design and engraving. In another portion of our Book it is is also our magnificent commented on more fully, title “Noble Attributes of Woman,”’ six distinet plates and five statuettes as page, containing This will be the style of our engravings for this year, as it bas been for prece ling years, Mischief, Lying in Wait.”’ A boy waiting to snow- ball 8 Companion - if Stool.” A Tiger, printed in various colors, ? Our Fashion plate, still more eplend d than the one in ) l December, containing six full length figures. So we might term them wheoa compared with the figures of other magazines. No other work on the continent of Europe, or in this country, can match these celebrated colored fashions. We need hardly say that the expense of them is enormous; but as such a fashion could be produced, Godey was bound to give it No finer color- ing can be found on the finest plates that are colored for framing. In September last, we commenced improving thee ring of fashions, which the press pronounced uw wonderful improvement. Specimens of which may be seen in the September, October, and November numbers What will they say now tothe fashions in December and January numbers? Ovrk Lireratcrs.—While paying every attention to the or giect the solid Marion Harland, Metta Victoria Victor, Mrs. Haven, Miss Frost, Mrs. E. F. E the literary department is well mental department of our Book, we do not ne- such writers as Mrs. Janvrin, ett, and Mrs. Hale, for. me of the above will matter. While we have cared Excellent ¢ specimens of the abilities of s« be found in this number; and we feel certain that those who commence “Sunshine aud Shade,” will eagerly look for its continuation. Ler 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 «ubseribers. Money must be sent to the pub- lisher, L. A. Godey, Philadelphia “Trene is one feature,’’ says the Madison Courier, ‘in ( which other magazines have as yet left un- linita this is the masic."’ The reason is that the music is not prepared ex- press r them. Our subacribers get original music, r'd peared in the Lady’s Book, it is published forthe public. and are ahead of the rest of the w After it has ap- Ovr Dreemper AND Janrary Fasnion-PLAtTEes.—The introduction of these double plates entail upon us an enormous additional expense, more than we dare men- tion. But if they please we are satisfied, From The November number has j ust arrived an eminent literary gentleman to Mrs. Hale:— Iam glad to seo that the Book is kept up with so much freshness and spirit, and that it is so flourishing Letrer from a Kentucky editor :— The Lady's Book is the sine gua non of all the peri- odicals for ladies that are published, and if you did not exchange with me, I would have it if the price was ten dollars a year, We can't get along without it. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Maks OP Your Ci.vps.—Remember that the Lady's Book We have more than one thousand private letters testifying to this fact, and the press throughout the country is unani- mous in saying that the Lady's Book is the best magazine of its kind in this or any other country. The difference in the club price of the Lady's Book and that of other maga- zines is only a few cents, and for these few cents you get nearly oue-third more reading and engravings, besides other more expensive embellishments that a low-priced Clubs must be for the is the best work for ladies published in this country. magazine cannot afford to give. Lady's Book alone, with one exception, and that is “ Ar- One or more of that work can thur’s Home Magazine be introduced in a club in place of the Lady's Bovk, if desired. Any person, with a very little trouble, can get up a club for the Book; we have frequently been so informed by ladies—the work is so popular. It is but to call and 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 150,000 subscribers can give five times as much as a work with only half that number, and the embellishments can also be made of a very supe- rior character. Our terms are made plain and explicit, so that they may be easily understood. We are often asked to throw in an extra copy. In no instance can this be done, as our terms are so low to clubs that it cannot be afforded. A shop- keeper would look amazed, if a purchaser should ask him to throw in an extra yard because she had purchased And-yet we are asked to add an extra copy be- It cannot be done. twelve. cause twelve have been ordered. MARK Tuts.—The Lady's Book has become a test of gentility and good sense, and is found in every family where these predominate.— Wabasha Journal “Tue IntvsTRATED News oF Tur Wor.p,” is the name of a publication issued by H. A. Brown & Co., 14 Han- New York. newspaper, highly embellished with wood engravings over Street, This is a first class family of the principal events of the day, and containing the latest home, foreign, and colonial intelligence; issued weekly. eminent personages It is also a drawing-room portrait gallery of On receipt of 87 S80 the paper, with portraitand memoir, will be forwarded to any part The paper is well got up, and the portraits are impressions of the United States, post-paid, for fifty-two weeks from steel plates. We advise all who wish to subseribe for the paper, or the portraits, or to get single copies of the latter, to address as above. Tre best $3 00 and the best $2 00 monthly are offered one year for $3 50. Godey’s Lady's Book and Arthur's Home Magazine. Arthur's Magazine, as far as a high rank of literature is concerned, is decidedly the best two dvllar magazine.— Middletown Rainbow. Arthur's Lady's Home Magazine.—The best of the two dollar monthlies.—Richmond Religious Herald Arthur's Home Magazine.—This still gives new and additional proof of being the very best of the two dollar magazines.— Rushville Times. Hiome Magazine.—This is the best two dollar magazine published.— Henopin Tribune. Fully maintains the wide reputation of being the best two dollar magazine published.—Canton Ledger. We could ll pages with notices te the same effect.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR, 85 OUR MUSICAL COLUMN, A BRILLIANT succession of Songs, Ballads, Polkas, etc., by well-known and able composers, will be given during the new year in our favorite periodical, our determina- tion being to make this department more than ever a leading feature in the Book, and worth in itself the cost of the whole publication. Distant subscribers who look for their entire musical supplies through this medium will find their wants discriminatingly cared for, every piece we present being carefully selected from a large mass of original MSS. furnished us, the composition, har- mony, and arrangement undergoing close examination. We have to allow our opening Ballad, this month, to speak for itself. In our next, we shall lay before our readers a new and beautiful song, My Heart no more in Rapture swells, by Mr. J. H. McNaughton, one of our most popular contributors. Prof. Ambuhl will furnish the piece for March, New Piano Instructor.—The sim plest and best arranged instruction book for this instrament we have yet seen is a new work, entitled The Excelsior Piano Instructor, written by James Ballak, and published by Beck & Lawton, of this city. The first principles of the art are explained with unusual clearness, adapted to the com- The importance of Time is very sensibly dwelt upon, anda prehension of persons entirely ignorant of music. new plan laid down for its acquirement; while all the exercises are arranged upon a plan of sure and gradual progression. Among the exercises are a number of new airs, a Barcarole from the Sicilian Vespers, the popular song Ever of Thee, etc., never before introduced into an instruction book. Weare satisfied that a careful attention to the lessons laid down in this book will give any person a mastery over the instrument, and we are glad to bring it to the notice of our readers. Price $1, on receipt of which sum we will mail it to any address. New Sheet Music.—Our list this month comprises :— By Mr. McNaughton, the six following Polkas, each embellished with a handsome full-page colored litho- graphic title. The pieces are of double length. Price of each 50 cents: Trotty Horse Polka; Patty Cake Polka; Best Friend Polka, dedicated to Mrs. Wm. G. Bryan, principal of an excellent and flourishing seminary, at Batavia, N. Y.; Love and Beauty Polka; Pet Robin Polka ; Peek a Boo Polka. The three first named are the latest issued. The following from our own pen: O Lady, touch those Chords niment. publishers. Poor Ben the Piper. been sold in one month. for $1. The Grave of Old Grimes. A serio-humorous song. Price 25 cents. J. H. Hidley, Albany, N. Y., publisher. Mr. Hidley’s New Publications.—Mr. Hidley’s music publishing establishment, at Albany, is one of the larg- est in the country. among the latest of which are: I am Thine, song, by Karl Merz, price 25 cents; Like the Streaks of Eastern Skies, by Sebastiany, price 25 cents; Kitty Moore (Min- nie Moore's pretty cousin), 25 cents; Be kind to each again, a new ballad, with easy piano accompa- Price 25 cents. Russell & Tolman, Boston, Five editions of this Ballad have Price 25 cents, or five copies Can only be ordered of us direct. His issues are exceedingly popular, Other, new song to familiat words, 25 cents; Songs of Praise the Angels sang, a beautiful soprano solo and chorus, one of a series of six sacred motets, by J. T. Lloyd, price 40 cents; Beautiful Star, a transcription of the popular song, Star of the Evening, by Brinley Rich- ards, 50 cents; The Little Gipsy Mazourka, by Warren, VOL. LXIL.—8 ‘Franklin, We commend any of these pieces to our patrons, and will purchase and mail any of them, as well as other pieces with beautiful lithographic title, 50 cents. can named, free of postage, to any address, on receipt of price. In order to accommodate our friends at a distance from the musical centres, we will attend to the purchasing and mailing, free of all postages and commissions, of any music published. Orders and musical communications to be addressed, J. Starr Holloway, Philadelphia. The most brilliant Opera night ever witnessed on this continent was the splendid ovation in honor of the Prince of Wales, on the occasion of his visit to our Academy of Music, on the night of Wednesday, October 10. Our peerless temple of art exhibited an audience which did credit to the good name of Philadelphia as the musical metropolis of America. Full dress was the order of the evening. The heir apparent and suite, including the Duke of Newcastle, the Earl of St. Germains, Lord Lyons, and others, occupied opposite proscenium boxes in the balcony, the British and American flags and arms being tastefully arranged over the royal box. Among the many other distinguished visitors present, were Lady wife of the Creacroft; Robert Chambers, the author-publisher of lamented navigator, and Miss Edinburgh ; the Marquis and Marchioness of Chandos; ; Commodore Stewart, and others. It was truly a gala night, and the performance, Flotow’'s beautiful Opera of Martha, was a brilliant success, the royal party fre- quently joining in theapplause. A similar scene was never before witnessed in an American theatre, and may never be again. J. Sranr Ho_ioway. Mr. Goprr: For a long time I have wished you to know how much sunshine and happiness enters my heart as I monthly receive the Lady's Book, the most welcome of all welcome messengers; not for the wealth of the Indies would I be without it. dwelling among the “lone pines”’ I am a teacher, of Mississippi, far away from the home of my childhood and the loved asso- ciations of other days; and as you are the cause of this sunshine and happiness, I cannot resist the impulse which bids me take up my pen and tell you about it. Living, as I do, so retired, and with so little society, I sometimes fear that I may become narrow-minded, as is frequently the case when one has such contracted privi- leges ; but thanks to the treasure of a bouk, the particu- lar friend of us ladies, we having our hearts and minds exalted from the intercourse rise above such weakness, which we monthly hold with its gifted companions. Oh, Mr. Godey, could I but dip my pen into my heart, then I could trace words that would convey to you an adequate idea of the grateful incense which springs up from its hidden depths as I reflect that we have a Godey —a dear Godey—who anticipates our every want, both social, moral, and intellectual. Prosperous may he be, and long may he live to gladden other hearts as he has gladdened and made better that of his subscriber. 8. L. D. A youna LApY, capable of taking charge of the educa tion of children under the age of fifteen, desires to enter a private family as teacher. She prefers a situation in Kentucky or Tennessee, Address, until the lst of De- cember, Miss Euna 8., Osceola, Il. CLUBBING WITH OTHER MAGAzINEs.—-We will send the Lady's Book and either of the following magazines one year, for @4 50: Harper's Magazine, The Allantic Month ly, or New York Knickerbocker.

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86 GODEY’S Hatin Onnaments.—Ladies wishing hair made into bracelets, necklaces, or ear-rings, can be accommodated by our Fashion Editor. A very large number of orders Save recently been filled, and pins (which are very beautiful), the articles have given great satisfaction We give the prices at which we will send these beautl- ful articles: — Breastpina, from $4 to $12 Kar-rings, from $4 50 to $10 Bracelets, from $5 to $15 Rings, from $1 50 to $8 Necklaces, from $4 to $15 Fob-chalns, from $6 to $12 The Charms of Faith, Hope, and Charity, @4 60 Hair Studs from $5 50 to $11 the net Sleeve Buttons from $6 50 to $11 the set A Vinainta lady writes us as follows :— And now let me say to you that, as we gathered a few evenings since round our first Christmas tree, we re- membered with gratitude the instructions we received from one of the pieces published in the Lady's Book, and I hope the beauty of the tree reflected honor on the teacher; and I am sure we all joined in the hope that you would spend a Morry Christinas and a Happy New- Year LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, 161 Washington Street, Boston, publish, for Grecian and Antique Painting, the following elegant pictures, which they wiil send, post-paid, to any J. KE TILTON & CO., address, on receipt of price. New pictures constantly being published. Each is prepared on suitable paper, with tints, ete. ; and full directions to paint, to mix each color, frame, ete., without extra charge. There are no other publish ers of such pictures, nor can any other pictures be nade toso fully resemble a canvas oil painting, or remain per- fect asthese. The coarse and cheap pictures are not sult- able, and disgust people of taste with these beautiful arts dize of Plate, besides margin, Price On the Prairie, very fine . 19 by 27 $2 00 Mary Dow, companion to Barefoot Boy . 2 60 Tho Barefoot Boy, companion t to o Mary Dow ; oa” & Oo The Rector's Ward , , P 19 “ 25 1 00 The Marriage of John Alden, in the ‘Courtship of Miles Standish,"’ 14“ 17 1 60 The Virgin and Child, the celebrated Madonna della Scala, by Correggio 16 “ 2 Evangeline, from Longfellow . . 2 Beatrice Cenel, from the celebrated painting by Guido ‘ : » 16 22 é Jean D'Are 12 “ 16 1 00 Age and Infane % a beautiful Fam) ly Group 16 * 23 2 00 The Happy Pamily, beautiful Pamlly Group. 13“ 17 125 Hiawatha's Wooing, enn Longfellow lt 18 1 bo The Farm Yard, by Herring, compan jon to Hiawatha's Wooing +7? @ 1 @”® The Jow's-harp Losson, by Brunet a © a 00 The Little Bird, by Brunet » OM ve Loa Orphelines, copy from celebrated painting ‘ ‘ . ‘ 9" il 1 00 They are the originators of several of the moat popular now atylos of painting, and publish the valuable book, Ant Recongations yours ls given in this book, with that of Professor Day, the ploneer teacher, who has successfully taught in Ku- rope and the best seminaries in Now England, Its value to teachers will be obvious, and to thone living ata great distance, for it gives instructions how to make all materials used, valuable receipts, ete, Some of the branches taught are Ponell Drawing, Oll Painting, Crayon Drawing and Painting, Paper Flowers, Moss-work, Paplor Mache, Cone-work, Feather Flowers, Hair-work, Potichimanie, Leather-work, Theorem Painting, Gilding and Bronaiug, Taxidermy, or the Art of Proserving Birds, Grecian Painting, Antique Painting, Oriental Painting, Wax Flowers, from the crude wax to the beautifal and per- fect flower, frult, ete, ; Sign Painting, Shell-work, Paint- ing on Ground Glass, Magic Lantern, Imitation of Pearl, Sealing-wax Painting, Panorama Painting, Embroidery, Coloring Photographs, Water-coloring, the Aquarium, Tholr careful experience of several ete The work is elegantly illustrated, large 12mo. Price $1 50. This and all our pictures and books sent, post- paid, by mail. Postaos on Tae LApy't& Boox.—Postage for three months, if paid in advance at the office where it is re- colved, four and a half cents, : Tue Fountain County Fair, of Indiana, has sent the first club for agricultural premiums this season. *

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GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR. 87 VILLA IN THE ORIENTAL STYLE, Designed expressly for Godey's Lady's Book by Samus. Sioa, Architect, Philadelphia. 4, ts h desie, A fag Es a a 2, p" Vi Ge . Nace yee : Ww iy yin y 1) Me Nae ' ‘ i aul elit it £4 fas: ' ay ~ Sisko ee Pike wiry rT) In the present number of our series we presenta large =| The plan, as represented in the diagram, is octagonal villa in the Oriental atyle of architecture, differing en | in form, with projecting wings, with large verandas tirely in the design and arrangement of plan from any- between, comprising at once extensive sults of rooma, thing that has preceded it, presenting a degree of novelty which give ample accommodation, with convenience of that Is at once ploasing and attractive, The style being | arrangement, suitable for a large family well adapted to that of a Southern climate, for which it Firat in order will come the Hasement plan, compris is Intended, belong now In progress of erection at Natchez, ing C entrance hall, from which we pass to the large Miswisalppl, K a Ae g= ay ® ¢ BASEMENT PLAS. PRINCIPAT, STORY,

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88 hall upon the prineipal story; A ia the rotunda; B bil m; F hall; office; D amoklng-room Hard-ror play-room; G Ht achool-room; K area; EB Principal atory comprises, A large rotunda, with niches at the angles for statuary, open entirely to the A gal K ve deme, which will be finely wrought in fresco lery will surround the rotunda at each story main stair; F I break family room; D randa, at entrance; B hail, containing furnily room; C drawing room; G dining-room fust-room; If family sitting-room; E reception room; M M dressing-rooms SECOND ®TORY “ond story contains six chambers, hall, and ro- e necessary dreesing-rooms, wardrobes, Turret seems to be but one opinion on the part of the press, that the Lady's Book is the most proper present to make at this season of the year from a husband to a wife, a father to his daughter, or a lover to his lady-love. In- deed, the Port Byron Times goes further, and says: “Any man, in easy circumstances, who will refuse to take this book for his wife not a good husband, father, or brother his daughter, or his sister, is It is the only book m #0 thoroughly adapted to, and designed for benefit of the lady reader. It ia ‘ The Book of the Nation, and the Arts Union of America.’" in the Uni the interest and Towy, Covrty, Ann Srate Do not forget to pat all these in overy letter you write You de not know how much trouble it Would save us PHILADELPHIA AGENCY No order attended to unless the enah accompanies it All post persona requiring answers by mall muat send a office stamp; and for all articles that are to be sent by mall stampa inet be sent to pay return postage le particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in Nothing ean be made out of post-marks M. J, R.—Sent ball trimming, October 10th Mra. J, B. H—Sent patterns of lufint's clothes 10th Mine 8. V. B.—Sent hair ring 2th Mra. R. 8. F.—Sent shaw! by Adama's express 2th F, MeP.—Sent cloak by Adama's express 20th Miso J, L.—Sent hair ring th Mise 8. HH, W.—Sent hair ring 20th GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Bn w Mina M. A, P Mra, Wm. L. B Mra, CLP. C I’, M.Sent pattern Zouave jacket, &e, 22d Mra, A. V, Du B,—Sent hoop akirt, &e express 2th Mra, M. L. P Sent pattern of boy's clothes 20th Sent pattern Zouave jacket 20th Sent patterna and curl clasps 20th Sent patterns 22d by Howard's Sent hoop skirta by Howard's express 2th Miss M, EB, MeC,—Sent patterns of boy's Jacket 25th Mrs, J, BE. L.—Sent pattern boy's clothes 25th Mrs, 8. M. E.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket 25th Mrs. 8. C, 8,--Sent basque pattorn 25) Mrs. B. D, H.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket, &e, 25th, Mrs, Il, H, 8.—Sent cloak pattern 25th Mrs 8. L, C.--Sent worsted by Adams's express Vth. Mrs, C, H, P.—Sent pattern of girl's coat 26th. E. M, T.—Sent patterns 26th. L. F. J.—Sent silk, cloak, &c. by Adams's express 27th. C,. A. H.—Sent silk, &e. 27th. Mrs. A. E. P.—Sent sleeve pattern 27th. Mrs. C. F. 8.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket 27th. Miss L. M.—Sent patterns 29th. Mrs. M. L. W.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket, &c. 29th. Mrs. E. C. 8.—Sent patterns of boy's clothes, &c. 20h. Miss J. P.—Sent pattern of morning-robe 29th. Ii, M. C.—Sent Clotilde Cloak and winter jackét 29th. Miss M. A. D.—Sent wire for shell-work, &c. 30th. Mrs. C. C, C.—Sent patterns infant's clothes 30th. J. B.—Sent bonnet, &c. by Adams's express November Ist. C. 0. 8.—Sent doll and dresses by Adams's express Ist Mrs. J. ¥. M.—Sent sleeve pattern 2d. M. 8.—Sent slipper patterns 2d. Mrs. J. F. F.—Sent patterns boy's clothes 2. Miss E. H. F.—Sent waist pattern 2d. Miss B,—Sent pattern of gored.dress Ist Mrs. R. B. H.—Sent Clotilde cloak pattern 2d Miss FE. M.—Sent mantilla pattern, &e. 2d. Miss B, 8.—Sent hair ring Sth. Mrs, L. C. K.—Sent hair ring Sth. Mra, E. R. P.—Sent hair ear-rings, breastpin, &e. Sih 8. E. M.—Sent hair bracelet Sth. M. BE. L.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket 5th Miss F.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket Sth Mrs. T. C. B.—Sent pattern Prince's wrap 5th. Mias A. M.—Sent cloak pattern 5th Mra, L. 8.—Sent cloak pattern 5th Misa EB. C, R.—Sent articles by Adams's express Sth A. P. B.—Sent children's clothes by Adatme's express Sth Mra, C. P.—Sent pattern 6th Mra, W. EB. G.—Sent sack and pants patterns for boy ath Mina A, ¥.—Sent materials for dross, cloak, &e, by Adamea’s express 7th Mra, M, Il,—Sent pattern Zouave jacket 7th M. K. I.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket and riding habit Ath Mra, T. 1 Sent pattern girl's sont 8th Mra, J. 8. 1 Sent pattern ladies’ drawers Sth Mira, A. 8. M Sent boy's auit Sth Mira, 1. WM Sent ailk Sth Mra, 8, M, J.—Sent patterns 8th Minas M. J. Scnt slipper pattern, chenille, needles, &e, Oth Mina M. KE. F.- Mra, G, ¢ Sent pattern boy's cap 10 Mra. L. UL A Sent dross pattern and buttons Oth Sent pattern Prince's wrap 10th

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. a ee eS PY. W.—Sent Zouave jacket 10th, M. KB C.—Sent Henry the Second Cloak 10th, Mine M. BE. D.—Sent Barcelona cloak 10th, Misa A. C, W.—Sent net for hair 10th, Mra, J, Y. M.—Sent cape pattern 12th, Mra, C, P.—Sent patterns 12th, Centre-Cable Gossip, HANGING GARDENS, THE LAST FLORAL NOVELTY. Baprvon is to be outdone by the nineteenth century, if the plan we give can be carried into effect, We have combined the description of what Mr. Passens, the emi- nent florist of Flushing, proposes to do, from an ela- borate article in the New York Evening Post. Whether he will be able to do it—is the question. If the project is capable of adoption, the present style of House Gar- dening, which we have so long advocated in this depart- ment, undergoes a complete revolution. It is a most fascinating, but, we fear, utopian state of things. But let us have the plan. How one’s mouth waters at this season of the year, to be told that it is within the means of any man who builds a house to rent for $800 a year to have a garden on the roof, which, during the summer, can be filled with the most luscious grapes, peaches, plums and nectarines, and in the winter with exotic plants, the beauty of whose foliage or flowers will afford a charm far beyond the trifling cost of their maintenance. And this is the way to do it:— A glass roof costs very little more than a tin one. Let every roof, therefore, be covered with glass, aud lot the garret floor be covered with concrete sloping from the centre to the sides, around which a slight depression in the floor can carry the moisture or drip, into the leaders which pass from the roof of every house to the ground, With this slight expense, therefore, you have a perfect greenhouse. Now for heating: Every gentle- man knows that the upper rooms of his house are so warm from the ascending heat of his furnace that regis- ters are scarce needed. Let the doors be kept open and the waste heat of the house will keep the garret at the highest desirable temperature, Thus your green-house is heated without any extra trouble or expenditure, If a little extra strength is given to the beams which sustain the upper story, sufficient earth could be placed there to lay out the whole space of twenty-five by fifty feet as a garden, with winding walks, delightful carpets &ec,, planted in the soll, By this mode the illusion will be complete, and in the midst of winter you may have a tropical landscape, Those who have visited the house ef Prince Demidoff, at Flor- of moss, with camelins ence, will have some conception of the beauty of such on arrangement, But for fruit as well as fower culture the uso of pots will be preferable, Let ua see what can be done with The superficial area of nearly every city house is more than twelve hundred aquare feet space required for the statuary and the walka, there will be more than eight hundred square feet on which potas can be placed, By the moat approved mode of pruning for pot culture, the diameter of foliage in a fruit tree You could those, Deducting the should never exceed the diameter of the pot. thus place eight hundred frutt-trees in your garden, but in order to give abundant room and alr we will estimate If you wish no flowers, and R* only four or five hundred, 89 fruit alone, you can have forced peachos and nectarines at & season When you cannot buy them of the confee- tioner for leas than nine dollars a dozen, From your five hundred amall trees a good gardener will readily get a crop of three thousand peaches, But if you wish the house filled with flowers through the winter, you cannot cultivate forced fruit, You can, however, have flowers, stone fruit and exotic grapes in succession, Ifthe house has been filled with flowering plants all the winter, and you have plenty of yard room, the planta can be taken out and arrayed in groups in the yard as soon as all danger of frost is over, The house can then be filled with peaches, plums and nee- tarines, in pots, These can remain there till the fruit has attained sufficient size to be protected from insects; when they also can be grouped in the yard, where they will grow and ripen perfectly well. Their place in the house can then be supplied with grapes in pots, which have been retarded by being kept in a cool dark place in the cellar. These will then bear abundantly during the summer, and before the flowering plants require to be taken in the ensuing fall, will duly respond to the tiller in Black Hamburghs and Muscats. Two pounds to each vine, or a thousand pounds of grapes, would be a moderate estimate for the space men- tioned. Both stone fruits and grapes are easily managed, and a man of ordinary intelligence could soon learn to grow them, even if his life has been passed in the midst of dry-goods or hardware. Here, then, are new luxuries—flowers, peaches and grapes— within the reach of every man of moderate means. HOLIDAY GIFTS.—FROM JAPAN, Tur first really valuable invoice of goods from Japan was open for inspection and sale in New York a short time ago. It comprised almost every kind of manufae- tured Japanese articles, the selections being made with great care and taste, by two gentlemen of acknowledged ability. The lacquered work—the most important— comes from Miaco, the city boasting the highest artistic skill in the empire, renowned for its manufactures, and the articles were furnished by the best dealers in it Many of the cabinets and boxes are richly ornamented with heavy gold and silver work and plating, the lat- ter being very thick and rich, In some the hinges and fastenings are of pure silver with native woods of rare beauty and finish, their vari Construeted of or inlaid ous grains blending to produce one harmonious effect, of various descriptions, shapes, and sizes, inlaid and decorated with enamel, gilding, mother-of-pear!, bronze, and lacquer work, Japanned and polished up to the highest degree of oriental excellence, they are at once magnificent and marvellous, Japanese ingenully seema to have been exhausted in the production of the elegant and fantastic in their design and ornament, Tho polish of these wares ta retained for years; it will resist even scalding water, Such cabinets have, we are informed, sold for sixty to eighty dollars each in Hong Kong and Chinese seaporta . There are iInnumerablé chow-chow boxes, containing full seta of trays, plates, ete., auch as aro used by Ja Many aro unusually fashioned to resemble These, with the writing, panese princes and noblemen elaborate and curious, being honses, junka, and the like smoking, and elgar boxes, constituje a large proportion of the Invoice

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‘ as 00 GODEY The writing boxes contain the receipt from whieh the ink is manufactured The emoking botes are such aa those commonly used in Japan, but of the richer de seription, moat of the receptacles for fire being of solid silver, Ruch boxes passed round the table after dinner, with the accompaniment of cigars, are hoecoming familiar to our merehanta in China, The drawers ordinarily contain different brands of cigars, a piece of ehareoal supplying means of ignition There are, too, many ciyar-eases of rattan work of a very durable deseription The sakee bottles also invite attention, They commonly contain the spirit of the country, and will make pretty and unique parlor ornaments rhe handkerchief and glove boxes are of the richest old lacquer, very highly ornamented This ware is most prized and sought after, next to the cabinet work The porcelain ware excels that of China, the inhabi- f the flowery country preferring it to theirown Nothing like it is known elsewhere for There tants manufacture delicacy of material and beauty of construction, are punch and salad bowls, melon dishes, dinner, des- sert, and cheese plates, and cups and saucers without number, al! ornamental and of the finest porcelain, Add to the above jewelry and snuff boxes, caskets of all sorts and sizes, card trays, shaw! cases, toys, pictures, puzzles, bird-cageas, tools, bows and arrows, chains, trinkets, imitation shells and fishes (a f the brightest colors), pietures with figures in relief, and Japanese knick- knacks of every conceivable and inconceivable deserip- tion, and our readers may form some idea of the exhi- bition NOTES AND QUERIES 1. We belleve that we have never before given this extremely tieeful Receipt for Removing Grease Staina Srom Paper Gently warm the greased of epotted part of the paper, and then preas upon it pleeos of blotting-paper, one after another, #0 ae to abeorh aa much of the wrenese aa poraible liave ready eome fine, clear essential oil of turpentine heated almost to a@ belling state, warm the and then, with a soft clean brush, of the apotted yroneed leaf aw littl wet with the heated turpentine both aid port, ly repeating this application, the grease will be oxiracted, Laatly, with another brush, dipped in ree tifed epirita of wine, go over the place, and the grease no longer appear, neither will Uw paper be dia For valuable manuseripts, booka, and engray , te will be worth the patna and time 2. New Kgyptian Antiguitica..—The Bulletin de l'in atitut Ngyptien states that M, Mariette lately found near & mummy, discovered at Thebes, various curious arti cles, amongat which were these: Ten gold braceleta for the lews, two other bracelets formed of pearia put on gold threads, another of gold, well executed bearing mythological symbols; a gold diadem ornamented with mosaics, and surmounted by two sphynxes, a mirror with geld ornaments, a figure of 4 king standing ina bout with two divinities pouring water on his head and two birds fying above him, a figure of a boat in gold, containing teh silver figures of sailors rowing, and one ofa person singing at the prow; a ponlard with a gold reabbard, the blade being the finest specimen of Egyptian workmanship yet discovered, and containing incrusted in ita piece of bronze on which are various ornaments and helroglyphs; and a hatchet, the blade of which is in gold and the handle in wood ornamented with gold. 3. How the Christmas Wreathe look in California,— 8 LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ‘We are in the midet of the holidays,"’ writes one of the best California correspondents, " the groceries, the markets, the streets are green with the boughe of ever greene; redwood and cedar, pines and myrties give forth their fragrance, The ehureches are redolent of an odor that | never whiffed in the Atlantic Biates from a eheraub which looks very much like your bayberry it lnetios or candleberry, The peculiar aroma at firet is that of the bayberry, but close behind it comes a faint amet! aa of clnnamon—making together a most delicious perfum With this shrab the pillars of the churches, the gas-pipes aud burvers, the galleries and pulpits are hung, while roses, geraniume and fuchaias, all grown in the open air, fill up the spaces between the branches, and give a Juny appearance to the room." 4, New Styles of Wreaths and Headdresses.—We gave the information desired by our young lady friends, at length in our last number, Fashions, NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Havina 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 & 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 of packages forwarded by express to any part of the country For the last, diatinet directions must be given Orders, accompanted by checka for the proposed eapen- diture, to be aditrensed to the care af L. A. Godey, Baq No order will he attended to untleaa the money ta frat recelved, Neither the Kditor nor Publiaher will be acoount Wile for loanea that may coeur tn remitting Tuatructions to be ae minute aa ia pors ble, aceompantod by a note of the height, complexion, and yeoneral atyle of the person, on which much dependa in choice Drees goods from Levy's or Evans & Co,'*; elonka, mantillas, or talmas, from Pvodie’s, 61 Canal Mtreet, New York; bon nets from T. White & Co.'s; Jewelry from Warden's or Caldwell's, Philadelphia When goods are ordered, the fiehions 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 O# RTREL PASTIION-PLATE POR JANUARY RECKPTION AND RVENING-DRRSS Fig. 1.—Dress of blue glaae «ilk, Thereare two skirts ; the lower one trimmed with ruches of ribbon, placed in clusters of three, at a little distance apart; the front of the upper skirt has a trimming to correspond, placed en tablier, While the three puffs form with ita tunic; the puffs are canght to their places by garlands of apple- blossoms and grass; the upper one, that on the corsage, and the coronal for the hair, are with the simple foliage of the tree itself, Fig. 2.—Dress of rich mauve reps, The skirt and corsage quite plain; the richness of the silk, and of the cape and sleeves of point Duchess, worn with it, being all sufficient. This style of corsage presents a decided

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FASHIONS, 1 Hair in full raised puffs; coronal of purple Marguerites, without foliage, fastened by a knot of ribbon to the left Fig | Dress of violet and white gage d' Indie in novelty, and is very elewant stripes; trimming, aruche of white satin ribbon, Square corsage; sleeves with one puff and a frill Fig 4 green silk; Kimple and elegant dress of green erape, over the bouffantes of the skirt, corsage, and sleeves caught up by ruches of white erape, Chatalaine of Cape Jessamine blossoms, without foliage; eluster of the same on the left of the skirt; drooping wreath to correspond, mixed with foliage, Dress of thulle, over white silk, The donble skirts have alternate puffs of thulle and violet erape ; Fig, 6 the upper skirt has a broad bouffante of violet crape edged by a puff of lace, and caught at regular intervals by oak leaves in gold, the acorna being in real gold, A cluster of the same forms the bouquet de corsage, while a flat Norma wreath of leaves and acorns is arranged in the hair. JUVENILE EN COSTUME, Le Petit Amour in white thulle and rose-colored crape. DESCRIPTION OF WOOD CUT LATEST FASHIONS. (See engravings, pages 1, 7, 13.) CHILDREN'S FASHIONS, Fig. 1.—Boy offour, Skirt and vest of bright barred poplin; little Jacket of plain gray poplin, Fig, 2.—Street dress for a very young child, Warm cloak of cashmere, embroidered in silk or braid; white satin hood, with a ruche aud loops of ribbon inside the brim Fig, 8.—Coat dreas for little girl, in dark bine merino The front has a plastron or flat tablier application of the same material, trimmed with braid alone, or braid and fringe, according to fancy Fig. 4.—Lad's blouse and trowsers, in dark kersey mere, Renfrew eap, in black eloth Fig. 6.—Dross of scarlet merino, plain and fall, Cloth paletot, with Wide sleeves trimmed with plush; gray Heaver hat, with velvet bands and bows, and & plume de eoque to the left Fig, t<Toy's Twwlan of dark eloth, with oval but tons, lenfrow cap in gray; blue neek-tie Fig, 7—Little girl's cout dress of plain poplin, a pearl fur e@ollar The chem\settes and cuffs are of blue satin, Round hat of blue and black gray ehade quilted in diamonds barred velvet OPERA HOOD, ATILL another style, This is of split sephyr, of any bright contrasting eolora; the balla are passed through A single thread and form a chain, with a new and pretty effect THE ALION NIGHT-DRRAB, We give two excellent designs for the short night- dresses #o useful in case of Illness, and by many pre ferred to be worn altogether in the summer season The Alice \s of white cambric; the sleeve set in a point on the shoulder; the trimming a plaiting of cambric, with a floanee of fine broderie Anglais set on without fulness THE RLSIE NIGHT-DRERS, OF striped dimity; the ruffles are all made en revere, orto turn back from the neck, front, and wrist, They are also of corded dimity, and the scallop is done with red cotton ; fastened with pearl or gold studs,

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PUILADEL PHILA FARHLIONS, FOR JANUARY Ovn Pashion-plate naturally loads to a few more items on the subject of evening dross Viret, as to the width and shape of the skirt; "Tl made erinoline, worn under ridiculous or wretehed toilets, had inspired some ladies who have a strong dis like to anything ugly or common, with a desire to di minish the fulness of dresses and return to the Greek or Noman tunics, but the change was soon found to be alto ia the flat of the Monitewr, to which admirable counsellor we are also indebted for gether impracticable ;" the following valuable suggestion as to the arrangement of the amplitude of evening dress draperies, on which their peculiar elegance so entirely depends ;— *To secure all possible gracefulness in ball dresses, the plaits at top are made wide and then doubled again, and without cutting the stuff to a point; but three points of gores are added at the bottom of the under skirt, one between the widthe at each side, and one behind, These points make the lower part of the skirt spread well, and form a train, The front of the skirt is always made shorter to give freedom to the feet."’ Again, as to the sleeve: the bell-shaped puff is quite as much in favor as ever; itis always becoming to fresh- ness and youth, Where the arm needs more conceal mont, a puff and flounce, or two wide flounces may be worn, falling nearly as low as the elbow In material, the widest liberty of choice is given, For young lad‘es, thulle, white and colored crape, gauze, tarleton, and other diaphanonus fabrics, are the moat stiitable, Still, the rich silke tn stripes of contrasting high colors, in moiré, and partionlarly watered silks, in etripes ov large and small waves, of brocaded silks with plain grounds, and Jacquarded figures, seem to be mort soughtafte, They are more costly, but more enduring; they range in price from #4 to #l4 and #15 4 yard We have seer, one of plain Magenta and pure white, in atripes two inches wide, of oriental richness and lnatre ; the same may be aald of many of the broeaded silks, eo pecially where wold, searlet, green, aud erimeaon are brought out upon modes, black, mauve, or any plain de eided ground Among the richest fabrics, however, velvet has re gained ita place, especially uneut velvet, or veloura epingl); the rich shades of crimeon and fuchetla colors, Velvet Rich laee and, in feet, all prevailing tints are to be fund requires very little addition to ite elewance in ite most suitable ornament, We quote two Freneh styles for making up velvets, which have novelty to recommend them t-- ‘An ornament on the sleeves of a very pretty nacarat velvet dress made by Mme, Bernard, one of our frat rate dressmakers, should be noted, The ornament was formed by a broad gold band, and the body, which was high, was fastened by gold buttons, The skirt, quite plain and long behind, waa eleven yards round * Another dress by the same maker was made of light peach-bloom velvet, with a plain «skirt, a low body, short sleeves formed of large beret of velvet, arranged so as to leave at intervals, hollows, in which was seen a large puff of white satin, The body hae draperies ar ranged contrariwise, reproducing the ornaments of the sleeves, that is to say, in the Intervals left by the waved plaits of the velvet white satin puflugs were visible This new fashion, which it requires the pencil rather than the pen to represent intelligibly, is most happily effective."’

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, In a splendid ball given in Paris, one of Gagelin’s Pompadour costdmes, worn by a youthful bride of re- markable beauty, attracted much notice. This costume consisted of a skirt of green silk looped up in two places on each side by white and pink chicories forming ribbon. The front of this skirt was white satin decorated with white and red roses, The body had a white and pink bertha, rounded behind, and beginning in front from the point ofthe body. The The headd ress consisted of “a which was in the apron style, sleoves were white thulle white and pink chicory on one side, accom panied by roses on the other, and two large white marabout feathers. A charming ball cloak made of quilted satin, white outaide and pink inside, with a milkmaid’s hood, pro- fusely trimmed with white and pink chicories, served to complete this toilet, so fresh and youthful. In the wedding outfit of the bride just alluded to, among the splendid articles of all kinds, many of which had French eashmeres, such as had never been made before. Their colors, quite novel, are as lasting as those of India, and their patterns, absolutely unique, presented a wonderful relief, It will be noticed that necklaces have now regained been obtained from Gagelin’s were two their old place in popular favor for evening dress, For all light tissues, flowers or follage in bouquets, wreaths, agrafes, ete., are the most suitable ornaments. A parne of flowers is often almost as costly as one of gems, and includes a whole set—wreath for the hair, bouquet de corsage, and sprays for the skirt of the dress, A parne of these fragile but exquisite ornaments often coats from $15 to $100, if ordered from the best French houses ; but their delicacy is so exquisite as to outrival nature the drooping wreath is more becoming, merely because peo- They may be set in any form most becoming to wearer. It is absurd to wear a coronal, when a ple tell you “round wreaths are the most fashionable :” the best artistes mount a wreath for the face that is to wear it. We may our steel-plate illustrates this; and notice among the infinite varieties of styles and blos- somes a round headdress of convolvulus, with drooping branches’ ali round, as well as the agrafes of the dress, which came from the celebrated flower manufactory of Tilman, 104 rue de Richelieu Another headdress com- posed of China rose-color auriculas, divided into small tufts, accompanied a dress of China rose-silk. One, very light, was made of clematis and grange bloom: it pre- sented on the forehead a narrow but rounded cordon, Another was com- posed of periwinkles, white lilac, and waxed orange- which increased in volume behind bloom, Both were master-pleces of taste. Bouquets to match, ofan elongated form, were placed at the side of the waist. Mme, de Labre had also supplied a delightful coro- net, formed of pale blue corn-fowers on the right, wheat- ours pointing upwards onthe left, and, behind, a large tuft of wheat-cars and blue flowers, Laat of all one of cherry- color wild roses and white lilac, extremely fresh and graceful When the droas is of a heavier fabric, the ornaments for the hair, which are now #o popular, in gilt, ete., are very suitable; also, headdresses combining velvet and flowers of the same material, velvet and gilt, ete For a dress of cerise and white, for instance, large cherry-color roses with fincy foliage, daisies, lilac velvet pansies and gold anemones, A large gold torsade In- closes it on one side, and a bunch of white lilac hangs down on the other For a cherry-color dress covered with a white thulle | tunic, a coiffure presenting a cherry velvet torsade fast- ened by three gold buckles, and terminated on one side by atuft of white frizzed feathers, on the other by a large bow of two loops blended with another of gold cord, the two long tassels of which hung down on the shoulder Lastly, for two toilets of court mourning, the follow- ing headdresses :— A bandeau of black and violet velvet powdered with gold stars and accompanied by two tufts, one very com- pact, of silk violets, and the other of black and violet bows mixed with gold threads, A torsade of wide mal- low ribbon blended with black lace, and fastened at the side by an agrafe of wheat-ears in silver. Plain dresses continue to be made of thick tissues such as druggets, terry velvets, and poplins., Ottoman veleurs is perhaps the favorite material for street dresses, and offers a sensible, suitable resistance, for once, to the mud and mire which last year fringed the rich floating flounces of costly robe silks, The cor- sage is almost invariably round, with a belt; the sleeves are often plain, slit up to a certain height, and buttoned behind the arm with large buttons like those on the front of the body. These buttons are continued down the front of the skirt in the cassock or Empress dresses, which are quite plain in front, and laid in wide plaits behind and at the sides. The dresses of our best establishments spread out and fall ina peculiarly graceful manner, owing to a new ar- rangement most happily imagined. Another kind of sleeves is narrow at top without gathers or plaits, and wide at bottom with a turned-up cuff showing the satin lining edged by aruche. At the top of the arm there is a fancy shoulder-knot with tags. These shoulder-knots as well as the fourragires, the frogs like those worn by hussars, ornaments in the guipure style, badges and medallions made with the crochet, the fichus and berthas of the same kind mixed with jet, are all worn more or less on rich plain goods. In our notice of Mrs. Scofield’s bonnets the past month, an error occurred in the mention of the bridal hat. The ornaments were a barbe of rich blonde, a branch of orange flowers and buds, with a light plume of marabout to the right. A novelty in the cap, was a prpillon (butterfly) in velvet and gold, on the right temple, Short, full feathers—these butterfly ornaments, long grooved leaves in velvet the color of the bonnet—golden ornaments, pearl, and gilt, among the chief ornaments of the velvet bonnets, in steel, are The drawn brim in velvet, is one of the chief noveltios, as, for instance, a royal purple brim, thulle cap crown, encir- cled by a wreath of purple chrysanthemums with golden centres, Velvet cape covered by afrill of blonde, As to colors, fuchsia, rogg des Alpes, mauve, royal purple, pale and very deep green, all the clarets and maroons with deep biue, will be among the most popular, Of course the bonnets can be made as piain as desirable ; one has infinite choice, and a person with good taste, may combine the best points of two or three in her order. The blonde cap is optional; brides of black lace, and plaitings of ribbon, or plaited bands extending from the forehead to the cheek are substituted in many, and an attempt will be made to do away with the cap altogether The satin linings, put on with a colored cord or piping, betokens this, and foreshadows the style of next spring's macaroons straws, Our notice of Genin's furs must necessarily lie over another month, owing to the crowd of information ac- cumulating at this season of the year, Pasion,

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i) A | i ii } My aM ' | i i in Wa ~ ~ Wa WS SS . Wax THE ZOUAVE. (A Négligé Toilet.) (From the establishment of G. Bropis, 51 Canal Street, New York. Drawa by L. T. Voier, from actual articles of costume.) (See description, page 191.) 100 “@| 448 Jeemou egy eallm seunrT *7@ATQA JO ‘1019 ‘WITS JO! OTO RINNE are EwrorD SI Yor ‘OUI M YIM POUT] pue pepi00 ‘TeLIEI"EU HOVTG JO epRUL OG 0} SI IDITaLIRyD eUT

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: wt t " Rye ef ee ee iw THE PROMENADE DRESS, Coat of black silk, having at the bottom a ruffle of purple silk, over which falls a rich lace. The bishop sleeves and small cape are trimmed to correspond, The Zouave suit for little boy is made of poplin, braided, 102

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\ Grn 7 THE EUPHEMIA. Tris dress is of Marguerite colored silk, trimmed with quilled ribbon, The front width of the dress is gored, and the sleeve is a loose coat sleeve, with gauntlet cuff. 103

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Nl ff iff | yp 4 Y DRESS OF FRENCH MERINO. To be embroidered with silk Yyy Gp bs Y yi YW ia tidy @ -—) © a A = > wm ot = g © E a Lv 80 e £ I 7 2 | ss) DRESS OF STRIPED POPLIN. Two skirts, trimmed with quilled ribbon.

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Mave of fine French cambric, and t:immed with rosettes made of flouncing. 105

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DRESS FOR A LITTLE BOY. \ \ \ y |e oY i ———— To be made of pearl-colored poplin, braided with Magenta-colored cord. PARTY DRESS FOR A LITTLE GIRL. . Maps of Solferino silk, braided with gold, and trimmed with drop buttons, 106

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INFANT'S SHORT DRESS. 4 AG " \ 77 4 “4 4 ” 7 ‘he ry “ £ \ pnd ® t =) t) f- ; > “ ’ « \ LA / 4 ~ / te 6 ~ . sy as J . ° 4 “, ‘ f ws \y , J -] 4 A 4 . ad A o . : : . 2 LO ff) a o - * eo “A Se, °7 se ‘@e 6 0) | 4 « - / ° ie —— = Mans of linen cambrie, with embroidered side stripes trimmed with flouncing. The waist is made of tucks and inserting. DRESS FOR A LITTLE GIRL. 107 To be made of rose-color or blue French merino, embroidered.

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EMBROIDERY, CINDERELLA SLIPPER. (See description, Work Department.) i ry: ei T et i