Godey's Lady's Book and Magazine 1861-06: Vol 62 Iss 6

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GODEY’S Lays Hook and PHILADELPUIA Hagasine JUNE, 1861. - 7 ee - THE MANUFACTURE We should never advise any one, who is not called by duty, to visit a Powder Factory, for, firstly, you run a risk of being blown to nothing ; and, secondly, you increase the danger in which the workmen are placed. So, to save you, reader, from these dangers, and to give you a clear account of the various processes that are gone through to produce this important element of war, we sit down to write. As we enter the gates we observe nothing very particular, and our guide seems to be used to all matters con- nected with the business, so we go gently on until we reach several large stacks of wood, alder and willow, which are standing there to be dried by the atmosphere, previous to being converted into Charcoal. Each piece of wood is about three feet in length, and the manner cf burning is as follows: A series of iron cylinders, each about two feet six inches in diameter and five feet in length, are ranged in a building known as the cylinder house. Each of the cylinders is set in brick-work, so arranged that the hot air from the furnace plays quite round it, causing the heat on the upper and under sides to be uniform. Made to fit these cylinders are others of thinner iron and lighter make, capable of being drawn in or out at pleasure. In this portable cylinder, technically called a slip, the wood is put, and then pushed into the fixed cylinder and shut in by air-tight iron doors, or doors made air-tight by means of sand. As soon as the action of carbonization com- mences, all the gaseous products of the wood are expelled through a hole at the back of the cylinder, and thence into the flues, where they are burnt. Here is atwofold benefit. The gases are almost sufficient to convert the wood into charcoal, and the great nuisance which would VOL. Lxit,—42 OF GUNPOWDER. be caused by their escape into the atmosphere is avoided. After remaining in these cylinders at a low red heat for about six hours, the wood is perfectly carbonized. It is then allowed to cool; and when drawn out is charcohl of the purest quality, and is ready for grinding. This process is none other than that of grinding coffee. The charcoal is put into a hopper, from which it falls into the mill, is cut or crushed to pieces, passed through a reel covered with a canvas of the finest mesh, and is then fit to perform its part in the manufacture of gun- powder. Sulphur is prepared by heating a quantity of crude sulphur in an iron pot, conducting the vapors into cool chambers, where they fall as a very fine powder, called flowers of sulphur. When the chamber becomes warm these flowers of sulphur melt, and run into cylindrical moulds, in which form the sulphur is called roll sulphur, and is quite pure. Itis then ground and passed through a very fine sieve, when it also stands ready. The last and most important ingredient is Nitre, or, as it is more commonly called, salt- petre. This is obtained chiefly from Bengal, and in its crude or ‘‘grough”’ state contains from one to twenty per cent. of impurities; common salt being the chief. In this state then it arrives, and before being used has to be freed from every impurity. This used to be done by repeated boilings and crystallizations ; but now it is boiled once and passed (in a fluid state) into large shallow copper pans, called coolers. Now if allowed to cool at rest it forms itself into large crystals, which contain much that is impure ; but if you can get the crystals small, there is little impurity to be found. This 493

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494 ix obtained by keeping the liquid constantly in motion during the cooling process ; 80 that the nitre crystallizes in very small particles, so small indeed that the saltpetre thus crystallized is called saltpetre flour, and is, if carefally washed with distilled water, absolutely pure, and so fine that no grinding is necessary. Under the old system the saltpetre had to be thrice boiled, thrice set to cool in crystallizing pans, and then melted, run into moulds, cooled, and ground, We are indebted to the French for the new pro- cess, After having then seen our ingredients care- fully prepared, we now bring them together in They in the following propor- a ‘‘house,’’ called the ‘‘ mixing house. are here weighed tions :— _ ie Saltpetre per cent. Sulphur 10 ie ” Charcoal 15 “ * These ingredients are then placed in the mix- ing machine, which is simply a wooden box, through which a shaft passes armed with long The shaft to turn on its axis very rapidly, and by means copper or gun-metal teeth. is made of the teeth the mass is intimately mixed. A bag is placed under the machine, a alide is withdrawn from the bottom, and the powder (for such it is now, but very weak) falls into the bag. The quantity placed in one bag is called a charge, and weighs between forty and fifty pounds. The charge (green charge called generally) is new ready for the incorporating the which before were only mixed, are now incorporated, mills, where several ingredients, or very intimately combined, by means of a heavy grinding pressure. Imagine a large round dish of iron. Inthe centre of the dish is an upright shaft, made to turn by means of gear- work underneath the floor; on this dish are placed two wheels, called runners, made of iron or stone, each weighing three or four tons. Through the centre of each runner a horizon- tal spindle passes, which spindle also passes through the upright shaft before mentioned, When shaft is put in motion of course it carries round cutting it at right angles. the upright these runners, which perform about ten revo- lutions per minute. The weight of the runners causes great pressure upon the powder, which is spread equally over the bottom of the dish, and the small circle in which the runners re- volve causes the grinding, by which means, and the aid of water, the intimate mechanical com- bination of the ingredients, upon which the strength of the powder entirely depends, is ob- The time necessary to bring the powder tained. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, to its proper strength varies from one hour to ten, according to the quality required. One manufacturer has patented a process by which he causes the bottom of the dish to be heated, by which means he obtains the required strength in a much shorter time. When taken from these mills it is in broken cakes of a grayish color, and about half an inch in thickness. It is now called mill-cake, and has attained its greatest strength—all after processes decreasing its explosive force, but increasing its durability. From the incorporating mills it is taken to the press house, where the mill-cake is passed between cylindrical toothed rollers, which in motion turn towards each other, and crush the powder againto dust. On one side of this press house you see a large cubical box placed between four iron columns, which support a huge cross- bar of iron, called a cap; underneath the cap is suspended a cube of wood to fit the box which stands below. The powder, when broken down, is carried to this box, on the bottom of which a layer of it is placed. covered with a sheet of copper, and on the cop- This layer of powder is per is placed another layer of powder, then another sheet of copper, and so on, alternately a layer of powder and a sheet of copper, until the boxis fall, A man then turns a small cock, the box begins to rise, and pushes itself against the piece of wood suspended beneath the cap. As this wood fits the box, the box keeps rising, but as it rises the powder is compressed to the But how is the box made The stands upon the ram, as it is called; this ram requisite hardness. to rise? By hydraulic pressure. box fits into an iron cylinder; into the cylinder water is forced, which raises the ram and of course the box placed upon it. The pressure obtained is generally about four tons to the square inch upon the ram. When the pressure is taken off, and the box opened, the powder and copper are compressed into one solid mass ; but a few hard blows with a wooden mallet soon cause the cakes to separate. The copper plates are put aside for future use ; the cakes of powder, about two feet six inches square and one-eighth of an inch in thickness, are carried to the breaking-down machine, where they are again passed between the toothed, rollers and broken into pieces hard and black, of irregular forms, varying from an inch and a half to half The powder is now fit for Before we leave this house we may just get a glimpse an inch in length. granulating or corning, as it is called. at the men here, and yet the men you cannot see, only their intensely black faces and lively eyes. Strong men and true, no doubt, to their

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THE employers, but not always conscious that while carefui for ‘the master,’’ they are caring for their own lives. We take leave of the press house, then, and follow the hard pieces of powder to the granu- lating house. Here we are in great danger, and not very well able to see it on account of the ‘‘dust’ flying about, However, we can is tolerably full of ma- ’ perceive the * house’ chinery ; consisting principally of the toothed These ** Jacobs’’ are endless straps passing over wooden cylindrical rolls and ** Jacob's Ladders,” wheels ; each strap has a number of cups ffxed upon it, The powder is ‘shot’? into a hopper on the floor; at the bottom of this hopper one of the wooden wheels rotates, and over it the In the downward journey the cup is inverted, but no sooner does it get endless strap passes, its turn on the bottom wheel that it rights it- self, and not only so, but fills itself with powder, which it carefully carries to the housetop, and as it turns on the upper wheel shoots its load headforemost into another hopper, from which it passes between the rollers, and is crushed into the required sized grain. So these ‘‘ Jacobs’’ save the trouble and expense of having men to carry up the powder on their backs. The powder here is not only granulated, but a large portion of the dust is taken from it and returned to the incorporating mills. We have now the powder in grains of various sizes and of a very dull grayish brown color, not much like the powder of commerce. But we shall get it so much like that, that you will recognize it wherever you may meet with it. From the granulating house it is carried to the rubbing house, where the powder is placed in canvas, and By this motion the grains of powder are hardened, and by the attrition they gain a glossy appearance and look bluish-black. powder is a great deterioration to the explosive cylindrical vessels of wood or rapidly turned upon the vessels’ axes. This rubbing of the quality of the powder ; it makes it less angular, but, as a counterbalance, it is much more dur- able, being less impervious to moisture than before. Well, having whirled it in the cylin- ders for ten or twelve hours, and having seen it brought out, and noted its different appear- ance, we follow it to the drying house. Not long since it used to be dried as follows: The powder was spread upon canvas cases and placed in racks round a room, called the stove ; into the wall of this building a huge iron pot not standing on its bottom, but so was built placed that the bottom of the pot should project into the room while the mouth was outside. MANUFACTURE OF GUNPOWDER. 495 In this a fire was kindled, and the bottom of the pot heated to a red heat. Pleasant, cer- tainly, when one entered to see the round red pot glaring in amongst the powder and threat- ening death and destruction to all. Now the stove is heated by means of steam pipes passing through it, and the temperature usually ob- tained is about 130, For twenty hours it rests in this warm climate, during which time it parts with all its moisture except about nine per cent, At this stage the powder is some- what dusty and of different-sized grains; two things then are required, to clean it from the dust, and to separate the grains into the various sizes, for large or small arms. To accomplish these ends, the powder is transported from the stove to the dusting house, The dusting house, as its name implies, is the place where the powder is dusted, or finally cleansed from any remaining dust. This is an important affair, as the fouling or not fouling of the gun depends greatly upon this matter. It is generally performed by causing the powder to run through a series of reels covered with open canvas, which reels are rapidly whirled round, and while they are in motion all the very fine powder or dust falls through the can- vas. When properly dusted, the different-sized grains have to be separated one from another; the ‘‘large grain’’ for artillery ; the “fine grain”’ for rifles ; the ‘‘ double F’.”’ and ‘treble F.’’ for sporting purposes; and so on. When rated it is carefully weighed, put into barrels, sepa- headed up, and carried away to magazines, quite finished and ready for use. These various processes cannot be carried on without much risk to life and property, hence the necessity that exists for the greatest pos- sible care throughout all departments. Every man has clothes to be used only in the houses, so that there can be no chance of the least par- ticle of grit getting on to the clothes, neither is All shoes are exchanged for shoes made only of any man permitted to wear metal buttons. leather, no nails of any kind; and these are worn only in the houses. In the machinery brass and copper are largely employed, becanse from them it is almost impossible to strike fire ; and to prevent any friction under foot should grit get into the houses, the floors are carefully covered with leather. Still, with all these pre- cautions, accidents are not entirely avoided, though greatly diminished. -7-7eo oe . Ar the present day, the uneducated Hindoo girl, by the use of her hands simply, could

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496 surpass the delicacy and fineness of texture- productions of the most perfect machinery, in the manufacture of cotton and muslin cloths. In England, cotton has been spun so fine, that it would require a thread of 450 miles in length to weigh a pound; but the Lindoo girl had, —-—— GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. by her hands, constructed a thread which would require to be extended 1,000 miles to weigh a pound ; and the Deccale muslins of her manu- facture, when spread on the ground, and covered with dew, are no longer visible. MAGNETIZED INTO MARRIAGE, BY METTA VICTORIA VICTOR. ‘‘Tr’s both annoying and ridiculous !”’ ** Yes, it is, indeed !”’ ‘‘Just to think, Kennon! Here I am to be married to-night, and it’s now four o’clock P. M., and I have ‘nothing to wear’ but this dusty, dirty, disagreeable travelling suit. Some outrageous rascal stole my carpet-bag, and vamosed, and here I am, minus all the neces- that, I believe, is safe saries, except the ring; in my vest pocket.”’ ** Oh, that’s all! else which you referred to as annoying and I thought it was something ridiculous,’’ said his friend, the groomsman elect, who had come to the depot to receive him. ‘*What can be more so?’’ cried the young ‘* Just look atme! And there isn’t a ready-made clothing store in this little man, savagely. village, Ill be bound; and if there is, do you suppose I can obtain such cloth, and such a fit! That suit was a miracle in the way of fit and It made me even handsomer If you had a drop of generous blood in your veins, you would becomingness. than usual, so you may judge. pity me.”’ ‘*I do pity you sincerely, but not for the loss of your wedding-suit.”’ ‘* What for, then ’—my prospective misery ?"’ laughed the expectant lover, with a toss of his head, as he stole a look in the little dusty mir- ror of the station-house. ‘‘O dear! I do look You ’ll have to lend me a suit; and you ’re shorter and broader than I. It will never do for Emily’s lace and white satin I’ve shockingly, Kennon. to brush against these soiled habiliments. a mind to have the wedding delayed until I can send back to town.” ‘* There will be no necessity for your delaying it.”” **And I couldn’t disappoint myself so much, if there was. If Emily is waiting to have me, I cannot be so cruel to her—O no!”’ Kennon looked in the bright triumphant face before lim, the face of a man elate with happi- prove so treacherous is astonishing. ness, on which the loss of the important car- pet-bag had thrown a shade of annoyance, as if truly to set off its light. He opened his lips and shut them His own expression was grave. once or twice before he could force himself to say what had to be said. ‘The loss of your wedding-suit is really quite apropos’’—with an attempt to smile; “‘when you have lost the bride, you do not need the apparel.”’ Stewart Cameron looked up quickly at his friend ; and, meeting his troubled eye, stam- mered out, ‘‘ Is Emily dead ?”’ *“O no, not so bad as that, but she—she—”’ ‘* Be quick with your bad news.” ‘*Ran away last night with her cousin Gardi- ner.”’ ** Indeed ! The tone of quiet scorn deceived his friend for an instant; but when he raised his eyes I wish her good luck with him.” again, he saw, by the sunken, haggard look which had fallen upon all that bloom and spar- kle, that the blight had been as sharp as it was sudden. He feared that Stewart would fall, and said: ‘*Take my arm, and I will tell you all I know about it as we walk along.”’ ‘* Where shall we go?’ asked Stewart, with the vague air of one who has had a blow, and is struggling back to consciousness. ‘To her father’s. Yes, they are expecting you. They want to receive you, and testify their sympathy, and their own trouble about it. Mrs. Bell charged me not to return without you. I feel sorry for her—not only the impropriety of the affair, and the gossip attendant, but she liked you as much as she disliked Gardiner. She has spent the day in tears.” ‘*They are married, are they not ?’’ ‘Yes; the ceremony was performed in the next village, during the stoppage of the train at the station. Everything was well planned. I presume you passed them to-day on the road. Nobody wonders that Gardiner Bell should do a dishonorable thing; but that Emily should I see no

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MAGNETIZED INTO MARRIAGE, reason for her having played such a game, since no one compelled an engagement against her wishes.”’ ‘‘Compelled it !’? muttered Stewart, between his shut teeth. ‘I believed that girl loved me, Kennon, as much as I believed there was a heaven above us.”’ ‘*T have a curious theory,’ friend, ‘‘ but I do not expect you nor any of her I believe he has be- , continued his friends to give faith to it. witched her; that is, influenced her by other agencies than her own free will to the step she has taken. I believe he has magnetized her, or something—I hardly know what myself; but gained sowe unholy ascendency over her will. I believe that she did love you—perhaps still does; but that he has exerted some strange fascination over her which has finally led her I do not think it was in Emily’s nature to have allowed these away, struggling to the last. preparations for the wedding to go on, if she had been purposing this catastrophe all the time.” In the mind of the unhappy man beside him floated a vision of her whom he had come to The face, child- like in its innocence, with the trusting eyes, marry, and found a living lie. the trembling, sensitive mouth, the fair fore- head ; it wore a look which he had never seen upon it—not of careless audacity for the false- hood she had acted, not of shame and contrition, but a frightened, pleading look, in which terror and sorrow lurked, a hesitation, a struggle, as if compelled by some unknown power in a direction she was averse to taking. Involun- tarily he stretched out his hand, as if answering her The sneered at his own fancy, and walked on more cry to be saved. next instant he firmly than before. He would not have obeyed the request of Emily’s family to come to them if he had not cherished a feeling of filial affection and reve- rence for her mother. A fierce rebellion arose in his mind against the sympathy which he felt would be lavished upon him. He was haughty and self-reliant, defying the pity or curiosity of the world; but when he came in sight of the ‘familiar mansion,’ when he walked up the shadowy avenue, through the broad, old-fash- ioned hall, into the parlor, and saw, standing to receive him, Emily’s mother, pale, with tears on her cheeks, he was unnerved. Going to her quickly, he flung his arms about her, kissing her forehead with quivering lips. As he led her to a seat and bade her rest herself, looking up, he saw standing in the window a young lady who so closely resembled Emily that for an His mistake was 42* instant he was deceived. 497 apparent to him almost before it was made ; it was a relative ; probably the cousin whom she had written to him was to play the part of She was looking at him earnestly, A strange bridesmaid. but her eyes fell upon meeting his. sensation oppressed him upon encountering her glance, which he threw off with an effort. ‘* Valencia, my dear,” said Mrs. Bell, as soon as she could speak, ‘‘this is Mr. Cameron. You know each other, though you have never met before. Stewart, this is Miss Wood, my niece, who was Emily’s best-beloved and most intimate cousin.”’ Miss Wood came forward and shook hands with him. He had often heard that she was just the stature and age of Emily, that there was a very strong resemblance to each other, They were, indeed, almost surprisingly alike ; the same wavy brown hair, the same clear blue in the eyes, the same lightness and pliancy of the rounded form; yet there was a difference in expression, more apparent to Stewart than it had ever been to any onevlse. She looked as Emily ougat to have looked, considering the part she had played; a “lurking devil in the eye,’’ so very prudent, so very alert that no one but would have detected it at all. a person of Stewart’s discernment Swimming be- hind that lovely azure, he saw it dart forth and itself back could look down into the unfathomable depths draw again instantly, while one of Emily’s eyes and see nothing but calm and purity to the very bottom of the soul; at least, so it had always been, but of course those eyes had been lying ones, too. He, with all his know- ledge of men and women, all his unusual quick- ness of perception and coolness of judgment, He almost flung away the soft hand which pressed had been egregiously deceived, fooled | his with silent sympathy, whereat the young girl opened her eyes a trifle wider, and then The excusable for smiled. smile seemed to say, ‘‘ You are any degree of rudeness to-day, and irritated him like a "99 poor Mr. Cameron ! finger laid upon the bare flesh. He felt sorry for his hasty judgment when he perceived the delicacy with which she with- drew until Mrs. Bell could relate to him the particulars of Emily’s flight, as far as known, and all the painful conjectures, doubts, and fears which distressed her. ‘She had remarked,’’ she observed, in the midst of her narration, ‘‘that Emily had not seemed so happy for the last three or four weeks; she had grown pale, was restless at night, ate but little, and would lose herself, in the moments of busiest occupation, in idle reve-

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498 ries ; yet when started from these by the playful rallying of her companion, her face would be full of gloom, sometimes of terror, instead of the blushes and smiles most natural to the circumstances. Yet she (the mother) would not and could not believe that these moods were caused by anything more serious than passing regrets at leaving her home, and timid apprehensions of that future state to which she yet looked forward with eagerness ; the tumult of joy and fear common to betrothed maidens She had observed no intimacy between Emily and the so near the threshold of marriage. cousin with whom she had so strangely eloped. None of the family approved of the young man; he had never visited them frequently, owing to the coldness with which they treated him since an avowal of love for Emily which he had made three years ago, when she was but fifteen years of age. Their reasons for disliking him was their knowledge of the natural want of integrity which he had displayed from a child, and their fears that*his habits were not those to make a wife happy. Then, too, although they gave him credit for being as much at- tached to her as it was in his nature to be to any one, they knew that her fortune was the principal object with him in seeking to marry her. Within the last fortnight,’’ continued Mrs. Bell, ‘‘ he has called here more frequently than ever before. As Valencia came here about that time, and he appeared to come as a rela- tive, to make himself agreeable to her, and as Emily’s wedding was so near at hand, and there was always young company and much gayety about the house, we treated him with less coldness. But, ah me! who could have anticipated so woful a result ?”’ Mrs. Bell wept silently as she concluded her story. Stewart Cameron paced the lengths of the parlors distractedly, and Mr. Bell, coming in, almost groaned as he shook him by the hand. Kennon remained in the little tea-room off the parlors, trying to keep up conversation with Valencia, for he was too solicitous about his friend to leave him. When aservant summoned the family to tea, the dainties which were to have furnished ‘‘the marriage table’ seemed like “funeral baked meats.’’ But little was eaten, and thatinsilence and constraint. Every- where was some reminder of the feasting and merriment which were to have filled the now desolate house, During theevening, Valencia played and sang a little, but the time wore away drearily, until Kennon took leave, and then Mrs. Bell herself offered to show Stewart to his chamber, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ‘* We mourn her as one dead,”’ said she, as she stepped in with him, closing the door and looking about. ‘‘Oh, Stewart! this was to have been the bridal-chamber. Look here, upon this bed; she left them all behind; they were prepared in honor of you.”” | He looked, and saw the exquisite dress of pearl-colored silk, the light over-robe of misty lace, the delicate handkerchief, the prayer-book, gloves, the wreath and veil—all but the lovely form which should have inhabited these bridal garments. ‘*Mrs. Bell, I have a curious request to make of you. I wish you would give these to me. They shall be to me a reminder of what was to have been. I will give them to my spiritual bride. Henceforth women are nothing to me —that is, no one but you, whose heart I know; but if I wish to please my starved fancy with the picture of a wife such as I hoped for, I will fill this apparel with an imaginary form, which I will dream is mine, and true to me.”’ She could not laugh at the sad conceit; her own feelings were too miserable. She answered that they were his, to take away with him, if he wished; and, bidding him good night, left him to the solitude created by the broken promise of her who was to have been with him. It might have been midnight, or later, that Stewart Cameron, alone with his thoughts, felt Fither the air was really oppressive, or his own thick- The win- the heat of the June night intolerable. crowding emotions suffocated him. dows were open, and out of one of these he leaned, breathing the odor of roses from the vines which hung thickly along the trellis- work of the porch beneath him. The roses of the year before had heard him tell the story of his love to blushing cheeks and kindling eyes ; and every one knows there is nothing like the ghosts of vanished perfumes to haunt the me- mory with undying tenacity. The night was dark, except for the few wild stars which peered through the warm clouds which promised rain for to-morrow. Leaning there, breathing that haunting sweetness, and staring out into blank space, Stewart became aware of some one cau- tiously approaching the house from one of the side avenues. His senses were preternaturally acute that night, and he saw the men, who didn’t see him, steal along and enter the porch. The next moment, there was the whisper of voices mingled with the fragrance floating up to him. He might have thought of house- breakers, or of the parlor-maid giving audience to some lover; but the first words were audible

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MAGNETIZED INTO MARRIAGE, to him, driving all inference away, in the de- sire to hear every syllable. | **Is she here ?’’ “Whof Emily?’ “*Yes, Emily! confound her! mean to say she is not here ?”’ ‘*Of course she is not. How does it happen she is not with you? What have you come back for ?”’ ‘‘She has run away; actually given me the slip; and now I’m in a pretty kettleof fish. But the knot is tied, tight as the parson can tie it, and no power on earth shall keep her away You don’t ” from me. ** How did it happen that she left you?’’ **T don’t know much more about it than you do; but the fact is, Valencia, after we got away from you, the spell didn’t seem to more than half work. She went to the minister’s all right, and was married willingly enough—I can summon him to testify to that; but soon after, she began to look uneasy, to start, and be nervous, and then she got to crying, and finally asked me to take her back home. I told her we were married now, and going home would do no good ; that I wanted her to go with me to visit my friends in Chicago, and that we'd go up the lakes and all around before we So she said no more, and seemed reconciled. We were riding all the time in the cars, for I feared pursuit, and wanted to get out of harm’s way. We rode all night, till, about nine in the morning, the cars stopped for break- fast ata station. She breakfasted with me, and I left her in the ladies’ room a moment, while I returned. bought myself some cigars, and when I went for her she was gone. I rushed into the cars and ran through them, for they were about to start, but I could see her nowhere. Just as I left them to return to the station, they moved off, and at the same time a train from the opposite direc- tion also left the depot. It struck me in an instant that she had secreted herself aboard of that train for the purpose of returning home, and I darted after it, caught the last platform, dragged myself up, and rode all the way back in the same car with that poor fellow that I cut out so nicely. I should have delighted myself with the idea of his disappointment, if I hadn’t been so uneasy. But you see, Val, I went carefully through and through the train, and there was no Emily to be seen. So I just stepped off at the station next this village, and waited till dark before I still thought she would take the next train, and be I’m glad she isn’t, for I’m I came over. here by this time. bound to find her and keep her. She ’s mine, | 499 and she’s got to stay mine. She’ll be a little restive at first, but she ’ll get accustomed to me in course of time. It was lucky you saw me this evening, when you passed down the garden- walk with that young gentleman. Did you pick up my note ?”’ ‘*Of course, or how should I have kept the appointment ?”’ ‘*By the way, how do you like the dis- carded bridegroom {”’ ‘*Oh, very much; more, even, than I ex- pected. He’s just the man worth risking one's life for. He'll be difficult to conquer, but that will make my triumph the more splendid,”’ ‘*Glad you fancy him, Val. Wish you good luck. He was part of the consideration, you know. But just at this crisis 1’d like a little of your wit to help me in this new state of What had I best do about finding Emily? I didn’t know she had any purse of her own with her. I don’t know but she’ll commit suicide, or go insane, or something. I affairs. wish your power had extended a little farther, Valencia. You have influenced her will, but you haven’t made her love me, after all.” “Did I promise to?’’—with a little langh which made the listener shiver. ‘‘ No, Gardi- ner, I’ve fulfilled my part of the agreement; and if you can’t win her love after you’ve got own fault. her for a wife, it will be You ’ve too good an opinion of yourself to des- your pair.’’ ‘* Don’t be sarcastic, Val; not with me. What I want of you is—if she should get back here before I know, to renew your influence over her, and make her pliable to my wishes. She’s my wife, you know; married me of her own free will.”’ ** Apparently—yes |" ‘That person is not going to prolong his stay, is he? I should think delicacy would induce him to get away from here as quickly as possible.’’ ‘He shall stay as long as 7 can induce him, that’s certain—or where would my chances be ? If Emily should make her appearance here, what can she say ordo? No force, no unrea- sonable or unlawful persuasion has been used, She is your wife, and must submittoit. She'll realize soon enough the necessities of the case, Still, I hope you can keep her away from here for the present, for my sake. But I must go in, Gardiner; it’s too damp here for me, and I[ wish to lookany best in the morning.”’ The interview was ended; the conspirators (if such they were) parted, leaving their list- ener in a state of excitement unparalleled in his

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500 experience. Joy that Emily was free from the presence and attentions of that detestable man, fear that she yet might be found by him and held as his wife, unable to escape him however much she might loathe him, dispute d with each other, overwhelming his own loss, his terrible conviction that she was bound to another by ties which denied her to him forever, and blent with all was wonder at the mnystery which in- volved the whole case, Again that face, ap- pealing and terrified, and those eyes which seemed to cry out to him, floated before his mental vision, until he felt as if he must fly— fly where? and to what purpose ? The brief night of that season soon gave place By four o'clock it by five he was down upon the porch, to the harbingers of dawn, was light; unquiet and watchful, waiting to see Mrs. Bell and tell her what he had heard, so that they might immediately decide upon what steps to take. As he walked there, unmindful of the refreshing morning breeze, another person came out to speak with him. A moss-rose could not be sweeter or more modest than Valencia Wood, as she appeared this morning. She seemed afraid to insult his troubles with her pity, speaking to him so geutly, looking at him so timidly. ‘* You did not rest last night, Mr. Cameron ; you are pale, and your hand is hot’’—dropping it, with a little sigh. She had taken it as she greeted him, without any advance upon his part. ‘*T did not rest !’’ thundered Stewart, with a look which made her recoil. ‘‘ You did not expect that I would. But I heard and saw what you also did not expect I would. Tell me, girl, what unholy power you have used over Emily! Do not deny. Remember! I heard every word which you and he uttered here, on this spot, last night.’’ Her eyelids trembled and her color changed, but presently she raised her eyes with a look of surprise and resentment. ‘‘ What do you mean, Mr. Cameron ?”’ ‘*Do you dare to affect ignorance, Miss Va- lencia? I am not a man to be trifled with. You, if you are a woman, and that dishonorable friend of yours shall suffer all the punishment I can heap upon you. You shall be disgraced, at least.’’ ** Either you have dreamed, Mr. Cameron, or your sudden loss has disordered your iniellect. You address strange language to me, which I bear with at present as we bear with the sick He must be laboring under some er insane, GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, singular delusion,’’ she added, half aside, and eying him suspiciously. Stewart was perplexed, Facts which seemed appallingly certain a few moments before began to grow dim and confused, He could not, for the life of him, arrange them systematically in his mind, and bring one to bear upon another, Had he indeed been dreaming? ‘ Absurd! impossible !'’ So he muttered to himself, and looked into Valencia’s eyes steadily, to confirm himself, as one, in trying to grasp a thought which has escaped, will look into the eyes of another, ‘‘Tell me what it was you dreamed,”’ she said, in the manner of a person soliciting the confidence of a child. ** But I did not dream !”’ ‘*You must have dreamed, Mr. Cameron,’’ Her low voice, patient and kind, soothed and Yes! he had had a frightful Ile could have sworn to it as a verity, disarmed him. dream. which must have been owing to the feverish state of his mind, for now he perceived it to have been a phantom; and he walked to and fro, with the young lady keeping step with him, feeling all his hopes and fears subside, and the dull pain settling down again. They continued thus until breakfast was announced, Valencia was not forward in con- versation, occasionally remarking upon some trifling subject. She did not annoy him with questions, nor with expressions of sympathy. When she spoke, only the under-current of feeling in her tones betrayed her generous pity. Stewart felt it more with every added glance and word. How much she was like Emily ! Twin sisters never more closely resembled each other. Ah, if he could persuade himself that she was what Emily ought to have been, he might fling the past tothe winds. The shadow of such a thought just hovered on the borders of his mind for an instant, and vanished the next, as if it had not been. Again it trembled back, as we have seen spots of sunshine flicker across the gloom of some closed room, coming and going through some almost imperceptible interstice. ‘* Valencia, my love, you and Stewart must not forget breakfast’’—and Mrs. Bell stepped out to bid her guest good-morning. ‘It is five minutes since Nora summoned us,” They went in together. It was evident that Mrs. Bell reposed great confidence in her niece, and felt a warm affection for her. She treated her with the tenderness of a mother. ‘Surely these people kuow her well. I must have been totally mistaken in my first impres-

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MAGNETIZED INTO MARRIAGE, sions.’’ And Stewart mentally begged pardon for the injustice he had done her in his thoughts. With the intention of winning him from himself, Valencia offered, when breakfast was over, to play for him, as she understood he was fond of music, She took pride in her ckill as fa musician, and put on no false airs deprecat- ing her own ability. She played as if to chal- lenge his criticiam, and he praised her sincerely. The occurrences of the past night receded farther and farther away, only returning to him at intervals with a startling distinctness which for a few moments would overpower him. He would reach for his hat and stride forth, as if called of an imperative voice, only to grow doubtful, to hesitate, to return. All the fore- noon, Valencia exerted herself to entertain him, succeeding better as the hours rolled on, until her aunt solicited her assistance about some feminine employment, and he was left alone. When she was away, Stewart began to doubt himself and her. He realized the plain, un- varnished fact of the night before ; he wondered low he could have deluded himself with the idea that it wasadream. ‘She has bewitched me as she did Emily. I will not see her again. I will leave this house instantly. 1 will say nothing to any one of my plans, but I will up- set this planet but I will find that poor lost child, and set my mind at rest. If she has warried of her own choice, I will bid her God speed ; if she has been the victim of any infer- nal plot, I will be her avenger.” Calling a servant who was passing through the hall, ke asked for Mrs. Bell—to speak with her alone a moment; and when she came, he told her he wished to bid her farewell for the present, but that she would see him again soon. He would leave the articles she had given him Would she care for them sacredly until he claimed them ? as surety of his swift return. His hostess remonstrated against his abrupt departure. ‘‘Lam going to try and find Emily,”’ whis- pered Stewart. ‘‘I have good reason to know that her flight was a forced one; that strange means have been used for her deception. Iam bound to know the truth, for my own sake, for yours, for hers. Mrs. Bell. I only seek her good. You may trust my discretion, You are her mother, and know that If I ascer- tain that she has been sacrificed to the wishes Let me go. and ambitions of others, I will put you in pos- session of facts immediately. I will not say now whom I suspect. Do not be surprised to 501 see Emily here any moment, She has fled from that man. Do not look at me as if I were wild. I tell you I know it. watch over her; protect her from all untoward influence, capecially Valencial” If she comes, keep There is Kinily now |"? almost shrieked the mother, Stewart followed her glance, and saw, stand. ing in the window where he had seen Valencia the day before, Emily, looking at them with dreary, haggard eyes, her face pale, her lips quivering as if she were trying to speak, wear- ing her travelling bonnet and shawl, As they started towards her, she walked away, and when they reached the porch she was nowhere to be seen. They hastened to look around the corner of the house, and encountered Valencia, her bonnet swinging on her arm, ‘*We have seen Emily; she was at this window an instant ago,’’ gasped Mrs. Bell. ** Did you meet her ?”’ ‘*Meet her? No, my dear aunt, and you did not see her. It was I who stood in the win- dow.”’ You!’ exclaimed both. ‘‘Certainly’’—laughing. ‘Did I look so much like Emily?” ‘* But how could you have on her bonnet and shawl ?”’ ‘*T did not, dear auntie; I had on my own. Here is the bonnet. You sent me to the gar- den for flowers. It was your thinking so much about poor Emily that gave her dress and expression to me. Do, dear, dear aunt, try and be less troubled.” Mrs. Bell and Stewart looked at each other. ‘You both of you act demented,”’ still jested the young lady. ‘Shall I prove my own iden- tity? Well, then, Mr. Cameron, I stood at the window and overheard you tell my aunt that you were going away ; also to ‘beware of Valen- cia!’ Now, what did you mean by that? I shall have a great deal to forgive, I’m afraid. Come! relinquish your idea of departing before dinner, and walk with mein the garden. There is a Victoria Regia just opening. Did you ever see one in full bloom? This royal plant floats on the bosom of its silver basin like the very dove of peace. It will calm you just to look at it.”’ Her fingers rested lightly on his arm, leading him away. Mrs. Bell watched them a moment. ‘*How much tact Valencia has!’’ she thought to herself, admiringly. ‘‘She is a noble girl! I hope, if Stewart ever recovers from the shock of Emily’s treatment, that he will offer himself to Valencia. She is poor, too, and needs just

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502g such a husband to gratify her fastidious taste, and support her in the position she is entitled to. O dear! my heart palpitates yet with the fright | got when I mistook her for my poor ehild.’’ And, with a sigh, she returned to the house, leaving the young couple leaning against the edge of the marble basin, inhaling the heavy odors of the superb flower, The remainder of that day Stewart Cameron was lost in an intoxicating dream, The rich perfume of the Victoria Regia acted like an opiate upon him, or, rather, like a taste of the vision- bringing haschich, transfusing his senses until the things about were floating in atmospheres of gold, warmed through with flashes of rose. Ile felt too indolent to any longer pursue his purpose of seeking Emily. A delicious languor enthralled his will; he yielded easily to the guidance of Valencia, who chatted with him, half playfully, half seriously, by the fountain, looking herself like some living lily, except for the soft fire in her blue eyes. Stewart vexed himself to think whether it were her breath or the creamy flower beside them which gave forth such sweet aromas. When the sun beat down his meridian heat upon the garden, they sought refuge in the cool parlors, and still Valencia When Kennon called, she left fora few moments, to change her morn- hovered by his side. ing dress, returning soon, brilliant, and beau- tifully attired. **T tell you what it is,’’ said Stewart, follow- ing his friend out upon the avenue, at the ex- piration of his call, “I am not certain that I shall so much regret Emily’s conduct. That cousin of hers is a remarkable girl.”’ ‘*Very remarkable!’’ spoke up Kennon, quickly, curling his lip. ‘* My friend, are you mad ?”’ ‘*So I have been told twice or thrice to-day,”’ laughed Cameron. ** Well, I believe it. It is my opinion that she Take my advice, and get away from her. has made all the trouble.” How could Valencia make Mrs. Bell regards her as a daughter ; **Tmpossible ! trouble ? they all love and respect her,’’ spoke the young man, with haste, oblivious of his own expres- sions, made a few hours ago. ‘*T don’t know how she has made it. But she can’t deceive me, nor influence me. She has tried her game with me; but, fortunately, She didn’t find a bit of My Get your hat, I am not impressible. imagination to work upon. nerves are good, and my fancy stolid. Cameron, and take a walk; it will do you good.”’ Valen- He obeyed, with evident reluctance. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, cla would have prevented his going; but Ken- non kept by his side, and she was obliged to allow him to depart. It was sunset when they went ont, and al- most nine in the evening when Stewart returned, Miss Wood was watching for him on the steps, alight scarf thrown over her head and shoulders, and the full power of the moon shining upon her, ‘* You have stayed away a great while,"’ she **It is too lovely a night to be lost in- I have been ont all the evening. See how the roses glow in the moonlight.”’ said, doors. ‘‘It was to have been my honeymoon !”’ exclaimed he, bitterly. She did not speak; but her eyes, lustrous and warm, down-wavering beneath his, put the question into his mind—‘t Why should it not be, still ?”’ ** Valencia! Emily was false, but you will be true! Her bridal garments are in my room, in empty mockery of the bride. Why should you not wear them? To-morrow night, at this hour, will you marry me ?’’ ** So soon ? O Stewart ! and we were strangers yesterday !”’ ‘* Not strangers. Mrs. Bell has told me how much she loved you, and you know what my family and fortune are. You are only a better Emily for me. It will please your aunt, and give the gossips of this detestable village a pretty theme for romancing.”’ For an hour or more they lingered upon the steps. ‘*Go, Valencia, and tell your aunt. If the plan meets her approve” there is nothing to prevent its consummation. Kennon shall be my attendant, and you will find some pretty maiden for yours. The feast shall be spread again, the guests rebidden, and the wedding be Good-night, sweet.’’ He kissed her, and she glided away. ‘*T must attend to that suit of clothes,” thought Stewart, coming back to homely ne- ‘It’s a pity, after all, that I lost And as he went to his room, he ad- shall & merry one. cessities. them.” mired the beautiful bridal paraphernalia still flung across the foot of the bed, which he had not disturbed during the long hours of the previous night. , Exhausted by excess of mental excitement, he was soon buried in profound slumber, from which he was awakened by a bright ray of moonlight stealing across his eyelids. He must have been asleep some time, for the moon hung low in the western heaven. He saw it, large and nearly full, with that mysterious light which

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MAGNETIZED it wears as it approaches morning, and which gives to the most common-place objects an en- chantment theirs at no other time. It was not, perhaps, then wonderfal that the figure which he at once perceived standing at the foot of the bed should have impressed him so strongly. He saw Emily, still pale, still troubled, with her travelling dress and cloak upon her; but her bonnet was off, and her fine, long hair, all dishevelled, rushed down about her shoulders in a torrent of glistening gold. She had the bridal veil in her hands, and was arranging it upon her head, with wistful smiles, mingled with apprehensive looks, whispering to herself, and glancing about the room as if fearful of being pursued or chided, ** Emily !” ‘* Hush, dearest! Iam almost ready; and if Valencia should know I am here, before the minister arrives, she will call me away with her eyes. I don’t want to leave you, Stewart—I cannot—I willnot! See! my veilison! where is my handkerchief ?--one moment.”’ ‘Tell me all about it, my Emily. Are you afraidofanyone?’’ He spoke very gently, fear- ing to alarm her. ‘*There! Iam ready, quite ready, Stewart.” With beaming face and eyes overflowing with love, she held out her hand to an imaginary Stewart, and glided out of the room with him. Trembling with conflicting feelings Cameron deserted his couch, dressed himself, went out into the hall, down into the parlors, and all over the lower part of the house, looked out on the portico, but saw and heard no one; the family was lost in slumber; he returned, to distract himself with doubts, until the intense reality of broad daylight persuaded him he No! not deceived, for the veil and handkerchief were gone. Going out of his room, as soon as he heard the household astir, he met Valencia in the hall, who advanced to him in the sweetest con- fusion, blushes on her cheeks, tears in her eyes. ** What will you think of me, Mr. Cameron ? Was I in your room last night? Oh, I know I for here are the But I hope you are un- I shall have to had been deceived by a vivid dream. must have been, treasures which I stole away. aware of my nocturnal visit. confess to you that Iam a sleep-walker. times, though not frequently, and generally when my mind is disturbed, [ make these som- nambulic excursions. I sorry. But then’’—with a beautiful, shy smile—‘ is it any wonder that I was agitated when I went to my Some- am so dreams last night?” INTO MARRIAGE, 508 Ile put back the veil and handkerchief which she extended towards him, caught her hand, and kissed her forehead, ‘*We will cure you of this dangerous habit, And now, have you consulted la it to be f”’ Aa for me, Mr, Came. ron, it in not for me to refuse so much happi All things shall be arranged as you ’ my sweet one, your Aunt Bell? ‘* She has consented, news, desire,’ At eight ’o clock of that evening a small company was gathered in the parlors, to witness the marriage of the newly betrothed couple, Only the intimate friends of the family were present, as they felt too much grieved and mortified by Emily’s conduct, to wish for a merry-making. Neither Mrs, Bell nor Kennon, (the latter officiated as groomsman) expressed the surprise which they felt at the hasty arrange- ments of Cameron, so at variance with his usual manner of conducting the important affairs of life. They looked upon this hasty wedding as the result of pique; but as Valencia seemed to be a proper and lovable person, they hoped for a moderate degree of happiness to follow. The couple, with their attendants, had entered from a side room, and the minister had stepped forward, when a shriek rang through the house, and Emily, pursued by Gardiner Bell, rushed through the startled assembly, and flung herself in her mother’s arms. ‘‘Give her to me! she is my wife,’’ burst forth her pursuer, as the arms of the mother closed involuntarily about her child. ‘ You've had her hid in your house now for two days, and I think it’s about time she came to my house.’’ ‘We have not hidden her, Gardiner—she has not been here,’’ answered Mrs. Bell, looking in the dark, excited face of the nephew she had always so disliked. ‘See! I have been here, dear mother.”’ Stewart Cameron looked in the face of Valen- cia—it was white as ashes beneath the bridal veil of her cousin ; her eyes were fixed straight upon Emily with a look of threatening. ‘* Do not let her look at me,’’ almost screamed Emily, hiding her eyes in the bosom of her mother. ‘'If she looks at me thus, | shall never be able to tell you all the truth, which ! feel that you ought to be informed of. You know how I have always loved and trusted Valencia; she is a selfish girl, mother, and I wish to undeceive you. She has ruined my happiness forever. You know, do you not, that she is a powerful magnetizer? When she first came, and always on previous visits, I

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504 have allowed her to experiment on me; I have placed myself in her power, until finally she gained the ascendency over my will, She could influence me when I did not know of it, could bend me to her purposes, could prevent and change my best intentions. Oh, it is terrible to think of it! She heard me talk so much of Stewart, and when she found how wealthy he was, I have no reason to doubt she formed a deliberate purpose to get him from me,’’ ‘*Pool!”’ sneered Valencia; but Stewart grasped her hand with such a pressure that she relapsed into silence beneath his now su- perior will. ‘Once she said to me that things were un- equally distributed—‘that she and Gardiner were both poor, and Stewart and I were both wealthy ; couldn’t we make an exchange ?’—but I thought it a passing jest. She told me she and Gardiner were engaged, but wished to keep the matter secret for a time, as an excuse for his coming here so much. I cannot explain it by words; it is stilla mystery tome; but gradually she obtained such an ascendency over my will that she could compel me to do her bidding. She willed me to encourage Gardiner, she willed me to flee with him, and so powerful was her influence that it carried me through the mar- riage ceremony and kept me in a state of be- wilderment for hours after. I cannot tell you the despair which seized me, as that influence away. I need not tell it, for it cannot remove the misery. I fled from the man I had I was wrought up to a state of mad- wore married. ness, and had all its cunning and vigilance. I made my way back home, hating, loathing Valencia; but unfortunately, she was the first person I after I the grounds, and the moment her eyes were fixed encountered reached upon me, I felt that I was yielding again. I struggled fearfully. I got as far as the parlor- window, I saw you, heard you speak, but she called me, and I obeyed her. She willed me concealed, and for the life of me, I could not reveal myself. That night she took When she was asleep I got to remain me to her room, away from her, I went to my own room; half- crazed with trouble, and unnerved by her un- healthy influence, I imagined myself the bride I had hoped to be, but she stole after me, and drew me back again. She proposed’to give me up, this evening, to Gardiner Bell; she left me in a sound, magnetic sleep when she went to dress herself for this ceremony; but something mercifully awoke me, I arose clear- minded, mistress of my own powers ; and when I started to break up this unholy match, and GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, found this man watching for me, heaven itself, I think, gave me power to escape him, to resist all, to betray all,’’ She stood up, now, unassisted, untrembling, facing her enemies with a will which they could not make to waver, ‘*You are my wife, and the law shall compel you to obey me,”’ spoke up Gardiner Bell, savagely. ‘*Never! my lips pronounced words which give you a legal right to me, but they were spoken by another’s will, and not by mine. I will die in my mother’s arms, but I will never go with you.” Both Mr. and Mrs, Bell threw protecting arms about their daughter. ‘* She shall stay here with us until this mat- ter is investigated,’’ said the father, and what he said he acted up to. There was that in his eyes that made his nephew’s cower. ‘* Now, I have something to say in confirma- tion of Emily’s story,’’ said Stewart Cameron. He had dropped Valencia’s hand, and stood apart from her, leaving her solitary in her shame and confusion. Great as was her ef- frontery, she knew that he had proof infallible of the truth of every word which her cousin had uttered. ‘ The first night of my stay here, I overheard a conversation between Valencia Wood and Gardiner Bell, in which this plot was discussed freely, and in which he asked if Emily had fled home at her desertion. I saw, in company with Mrs. Bell, Emily at the window at the time she speaks of. She was in my room last night for the veil and handkerchief, which she carried out. And now, to account for my own astonishing foolishness, I can only say that this sorceress so bewitched me that all the facts were turned to her own advantage. I have felt like one in a dream, and I just begin to see that I have been in adream. Unluckily, how- ever, for this accomplished magnetizer, I have not quite been magnetized into marriage.”’ Valencia left the room, without a friend to follow her. When Stewart went to his chamber that night, a second time the wedding garments mocked him, empty of the bride. Valencia left that very night, on the midnight train, disappointed, and utterly miserable but for the thought that she had left two hopeless hearts behind her. Retribution, in this case, was awfully speedy for one of the guilty parties. Bell accompanied her, and in passing from one car Gardiner to another, during the darkness, he fell between | them, and was killed,

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FLOWERS, AND WHAT MAY So that, not many months thereafter, the empty bridal garments were filled with life, love, and beauty, and Valencia Wood gnawed her lips with vexation as she read of a long- delayed wedding. — 2 eer FLOWERS, AND WHAT MAY BE LEARNED FROM THEM, BY HARLAND COULTAS, Tur rich variety of flowers and forest trees which cover the earth, were undoubtedly cre- ated to minister to our well-being, and it is plainly the intention of the Creator that we should study them. Especially ought young people to be encouraged in this study, for it brings pleasure to the mind and health to the body. The wild flower is the earliest thing of beauty which every child that treads a green field, or wanders along a green lane, takes to itself; it loves the flowers az it were by instinct. And this love of beauty ought to be cultivated, be- Wild flowers are the loveliest and most accessible of cause it is allied to the love of virtue. God's created works, and none can spend a few of ‘‘life’s hours’’ in becoming acquainted with them, without being led to sympathize with ‘* whatsoever things are pure and lovely’”’ in the moral world. ‘‘ Never lose an opportunity of seeing anything beautiful. Beauty is God’s handwriting—a wayside sacrament ; welcome it in every fair face, every fair sky, and every fair flower, and thank Him for it, the fountain of all loveliness ; drink it in, simply, earnestly, with all your eyes; ’tis a charmed draught, a cup of blessing.” * Blessed be God for flowers, For whe bright, gentle, holy thoughts that breathe From out their odorous beanty like a wreath Of sunshine on life's hours.”’ The most impressive lessons are also taught us by the flowers. In them we see exemplified our own brief life-history, the passage from in- fancy to manhood when human life is in its flower and beauty, and a family gathers around our table, and the transition from manhood to the tomb, for like the flowers we havea limited amount of vital force which is soon expended, we die and disappear, and others take our place. Assuredly the flowers are under the Divine government, and not only they, but also our own world, and every one of those bright worlds A It is formed from the matter of the earth and atmosphere which is attracted about a seed, and every atom VOL. LX1i,—43 which adorn the landscape of the heavens, flower is a beautiful world in itself, | BE LEARNED FROM THEM, 505 moves to ita place in accordance with the ope- ration of irresistible laws. There is no chance work in the building up of a flower, Now it only requires an enlargement of mind to see that the same principle applies to the world. It is the littleness of Atheism, the@ant of that lofty and true conception of the simplicity and grandeur of Nature which cannot see in a flower or forest tree a microcosm or little world, and from thence be deeply convinced that there is a Divine Providence ruling over the affairs of this world, Oh! how much more cheerful and happy in reference to temporal things, if we had more confidence in Him who has so beautifully clothed the flowers and so bountifully provided for them, peal more touching to our hearts, or convincing It is impossible to imagine an ap- to our reason, than those words of the great moral Teacher, ‘‘ And why take ye thought for raiment? Consider the lilies of the field how they grow ; they toil not, neither do they spin ; and yet I say unto you, that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Wherefore, if Gol so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is, and to-morrow is cast in- to the oven, shall he not much more clothe you, O ye of little faith ?’’ Flowers! when the Saviour’s calm benignant eye Fell on your gentle beauty: when from you That heavenly lesson for all hearts he drew, Eternal, universal as the sky; Then in the bosom of you purity, A voice he set as in the temple shrine; That life's quick travellers ne’er might pass you by, Unwarned of that sweet oracle divine, And though too oft its low celestial sound By the harsh notes of work-day care is drowned, And the loud steps of vain, unlistening haste; Yet the great Ocean hath no tone of power Mightier to reach the soul in thought'’s hushed hour Than yours, meek lilies, chosen thus and graced. Mrs. Hemans. This world is full of beauty little understood or appreciated. There is an overflowing good- ness which is ever changing the vegetable covering throughout the year for our instrue- tion and enjoyment, and giving a renewed charm to the ever-varying features of fhe land- scape. Through ignorance we do not see and appreciate the kindness of that Providence which thus surrounds our path through life with blessing. That succession of wild flowers which adorn our rocks and hills, our woods, flelds, valleys, and mountains, from the time when the buds expand and the leaves are green, till the once bright foliage falls brown and withered before the wintry blasts, how few know even by sight, much less by name, amongst those who live in

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506 the country during a portion or through the whole of the year, and who have therefore ample leisure and opportunity, and yet there is not one of them which does not yield abundant scope for study, and exhibit a perfection of structure vigeh tells of the Divine Creator. i et HUSBANDS AND WIVES. How often is it said in the present day that men and women are falsely placed with regard to each other? According to one party men are too strong, and women too weak, and they demand that women’s prerogative be forthwith greatly increased—they would make men of them at once. Others consider that by a dif- ferent course of education, which should direct their minds to great objects, women would quietly assume a position equal to that of men, without any more active interference. A third, and large party assert that, so far from men being the stronger, they have always been the victims of the other sex. ° There is perhaps some truth in each of these propositions ; but when we consider that men lave always been the law-makers, there may he a suspicion of their having secured to them- selves an undue portion of the powers and privileges of social life. It is so easy to make a law in favor of one’s self, that we think there is a cnance of the suspicion being well-founded. On the other hand, the small amount of truth which we have supposed to exist in the propo- sitions above stated, is completely swamped by the presence of a load of injustice. The destiny of man and woman, husband and wife, is the same: each has certain duties to perform which, of themselves, combine for the mutual advantage. If men and women, when brought together by marriage, and who have to live together for the whole of their lives, would make up their minds to be as charitable to each other’s failings, as much disposed to mutual forbearance, and consider- ateness towards each other’s feelings in private, as they afpear to be when in presence of their friends, we should hear much less about in- justice, and false position. To use a common expression, what is fair for one is fair for the other: in the married state there should be the strictest equality. The husband must come down from the position of master, not that his place may be taken by the woman, but that she may be the sharer of his pleasures, hopes, and joys, as she has ever been the partaker of his pains, fears, and sorrows. GODBY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, There is nothing more beautiful than friend- ship; and the friendship of husband and wife insures the highest earthly happiness. Many married men consider themselves fully justified in passing most of their evenings away from home, among their companions. If this be fair for the man, it is equally fair for the woman to go out and visit her friends also. It it be essential that the woman have always a smile ready to greet her husband when he en ters, it is equally essential that he should bring good-humor and a pleasant countenance with him. True, he may be troubled and annoyed with business cares; but, is she not troubled and annoyed, often to a greater degree, with family and household cares, with the difference that, while she is always amongst hers, the man by his more active out-door life does, in some measure, modify his. If it be fair for the husband to keep the purse, it is fair that the wife should know how much or how little there may be in it. There must be no secrets on either side; what the man knows the woman ought to know. In cases of difficulty woman's JSeclings will often suggest a better remedy than man’s reason, The case might be met by the mutual recog- nition of one common purpose, and object, combined with respect for differing views re- garding its attainment. Generally speaking, it may be said that there wants for man, more of sympathy, for woman, more of discretion :— “The kindest and the happiest pair Will find oceasion to forbear ; And something every day they live To pity, and perhaps forgive.’’ THE DEAD DOVE. O VAINLY we sigh for thee, beautiful dove! And vainly we pity thy fate; Naught, naught can restore thee to life and to love, Not e’en the sad plaint of thy mate Thy soft glossy plumage is spotted with gore— The life tide that ebbed from thy heart ; Thine eyes dimmed by death shall be bright nevermore, And the chill of his touch ne'er depart. Thy nestlings are chiding thy tedious delay, And calling in vain for thy care; Their clamorous cries thou cans’t never obey ; Alas, thy sad fate they must share! They will wait for thy coming, till, weary and faint, They sink with a pitiful ery ; Bot thou wilt be deaf to their mournful complaint, And like thee, all alone, they must die. We'll fold thy bright wings on thy poer wounded breast, And thine eyes dim in death we will close; With a tear for thy fate we will lay thee to rest Where naught shall disturb thy repose.

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MY GUARDIAN, BY MARY W. JANVRIRF,. I was thirteen when my father died and left me an orphan. My mother had died when [ was a mere infant, and I had grown up without a knowledge of a mother’s love and tender care. My father was a man of great business cares, with large property, consisting of landed estates, with many tenants under him. He had but little leisure to devote to me, his only child, though he loved me a great deal. This I knew, for there were times when he. would come home at night, and, not finding his little Manette, he would send for me, and, fondly stroking my hair, call me “his darling child,’’ and tell me how much I grew like my dead mother. I had a governess in those early years, and was an apt pupil—so my governess said—and made light of the hard lessons which were given me. My life was very quiet till my thirteenth year, passed there in the old manor house, with no companions save my instructor and my books ; but there came a change. One stormy evening, late in November, my father, who had been absent on business for upwards of a week, came home, wet and chilled with his ride in the cold storm of rain and sleet which had that day fallen. ‘*T had just given up your coming to-night, father,’’ I said, as he came in and removed his wet garments. ‘‘T was detained by an accident to the car- riage,’’ he replied. ‘‘It was fortunate that I was able to procure assistance, or I might have been forced to longer delay in this cold storm, As it is, I feel chilled through and through; I must have taken cold.’’ And he drew his chair up to the glowing grate. “I will ring for Jane to bring in your tea.”’ And I rang the bell as I spoke. A half hour after—the tea service removed— he resumed his seat beside the fire. ‘*Manette, little daughter, come and sit here,”’ he said, pointing to a low stool at his feet; and I obeyed. ‘‘How much you grow like your mother, child!’ he went on. ‘ You have her eyes and hair, and quiet ways. You are all mother, and I bless you for it !””—and he pressed a kiss upon my forehead. ‘If your mother could have but lived! But she was called early. It was God’s will, but we shall join her some time, my child.’’ And he fell to musing. Presently he looked up, and said, somewhat wearily, looking pale the while: ‘ It is late, Manette ; you must retire. I havea dull headache, and must sleep. I have ridden ever since morning, and am very fatigued; a good night’s rest will restore me.’’ And, kissing him good-night, I left him. The next morning, when I descended to the breakfast-room, I was met by the governess, who told me that my father felt ill, and was unable to rise, and had requested a physician to be summoned. I went immediately to his room. The physician from the village was standmg by the bedside, with an anxious ex- pression of countenance. My father’s face was crimson with violent fever, and his eyes were wild and brilliant. He lay quiet when I en- tered; but, as he caught a glimpse of me, he cried— ‘*It is the face of my wife, my dead Manette ! Iam coming to you soon; but our child, our little Manette, will be fatherless.’? Then he beckoned me to come to him. I went up to the bedside, and, forcing back the tears with a strong effort, said, soothingly—“ J am your little Manette, father, and you must not leave me; you must get well, and not leave me alone, my father !’’ He drew my hand in his, and, closing his eyes, sank back upon the pillow, where he re- mained quiet fora little time till the fever spell came on again, when his brain again wandered. For a week my father lay thus, every day the fever raging in his veins, when at length, on the seventh, at midnight, the crisis came. Then, pale and exhausted, he called me to him, and, in a faint voice, said that he realized that he was very sick, and felt he could not re- cover, bidding me be calm and brave. He kissed me, and, with my hand close clasped in his, fell into that last sleep which knoweth no awakening on earth again. **Manette, you will come and live with me, and I will be a father to the child of my friend. It was his wish.’’ It was my guardian, Mr. Harrington, who had spoken to me, and on the night after my father’s funeral. ‘‘Do not grieve so, my child,’’ he continued; “it is 507

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508 God’s will, and we must submit. He doeth all things well.’ But I could net see it then, and so I wept afresh, crying—‘* He is dead, gone, and I am fatherless! I shall be all alone now!’’ ‘* Manette, my child, Z will be a father to you in place of the lost one; it was his wish, and replied Mr. ” you will come and live with me, Harrington, soothingly. And so I left the old home of my birth and that life of thirteen years, and went to live with my guardian at Lakeshore, a distance of over a hundred miles from the manor. My violent grief for my loss gradually less- ened as time passed. My guardian, in truth, became to me as a father might to his own child, and I grew calmly happy. And thus time passed till four years had My governess had not accompanied me to Lake- elapsed, and I had attained seventeen. shore; but I had attended the select school of Madame Derwent, and graduated with the highest honor. My guardian was present at the closing examination, and as I met his eyes resting upon me in pride, I felt more than re- paid for my days of hard study by his one look of approbation. After the close, we rode home slowly together. As we neared the house, half hidden by the grove of noble elms which surrounded it, and drove up the long, shady avenue, he said, ** Well, Manette, you are emancipated from the school- looking at me with his deep gray eyes : room now, and, I suppose, like all young ladies, are rejoiced at your freedom. Are you not?’’ he asked, looking at me earnestly. ** Yes and no,’’ I answered, laughingly. “J am partly glad and partly sorry.”’ “Why sorry? You are expecting to enjoy much in the future, and young ladies are al- ways anticipating the happy period of their ‘coming out’ in society.’’ ‘* But J don’t care for society,” I answered ; *‘at least, not fashionable society, and I like my books a great deal better. But, now that I have left school, I shall have more leisure to cevote to my painting and music, and to the society of those who are my true friends.’’ And I fancied I had uttered a very dignified decision. A smile lurked about my guardian’s lips as he said; ‘*One would think, Manette, to hear you, that you had already found out the hol- lowness of the world, and tasted its bitterness But, my child,’’ he continued, and the smile left his face, ‘‘ that is a lesson I pray you may never ’ as well as its sweets, you talk so wisely. learn,’ GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, I was prevented a reply, for the carriage had reached home. i should have written that Madam Harring- ton, my guardian’s mother, a dignified yet affable lady of the old school, resided over the somewhat quiet household of her bachelor son ; and she, too, welcomed his ward home to Lake- shore with a kindness which savored of a heart which, though old in years, had not forgotten its own youth time. And so she said, kindly, as we sat at tea:— ‘* And now I suppose you will be lonely here, Etta. You had better ask some young friends to pass a month with you. The change is great from a busy school to an old house like this, where there are no young faces.”’ ‘*No, no, dear Mrs. Harrington. Do not in- vite any one here. I am not at all lonely with you and Mr. Harrington, and | do not wish for other society.’’ ‘It shall be as you like, Etta,’ she replied ; and I saw a pleased expression resting on my guardian’s face, though he said nothing. The next morning, at breakfast, Mr. Harring- ton remarked that he was called on some busi- , a town some twelve ness matter over to E miles distant, and asked me if I would like to I had made ready, and we were soon on the road, It was a beautiful October morning, clear and bright, and we rode through woods clad in the gorgeous drapery of autumn, past the river, which wound like asilver thread through mea- dows and hills, and along the broad, fair turn- pike bordered by stately trees and open fields. I sat quietly drinking in the beauties of the scene, but at length was recalled to myself by accompany him, my guardian, ‘* Manette, are you lost in admiration of the beauties of this October morning ?”’ ** Almost,’’ I replied, looking up and meeting the gaze of his deep eyes, ‘‘ but your voice re- called me back to the reality.’’ ‘* You are a great admirer of beauty in every, form,’’ he said. ‘‘ You can appreciate a beau- tiful work of Nature or of Art, Manette. You should have brought your pencil with you.’’ ‘*] don’t know; yes, I trust I can appreciate the beautiful everywhere,’’ I answered, ‘* both in Art and Nature, as you say. Those distant mountains, with the blue shadows upon them, those nearer hills, in the golden light of the sun, and these glistening meadows, with the dew yet upon the grass—these, all these I love ; yet these are tame, when compared with a living love, a breathing, pulsating love, that better satisfies the heart, I think.”’

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MY In my excitable nature I had opened more of my heart than I intended to my guardian ; and as I paused, looking down confusedly, not know- ing what he would think of me, I was startled by the violent trembling of his hand which held the reins, and, looking up at his face, saw that it was deathly pale. He put his hand which was free on mine for a moment, then hastily removing it, murmured— **No, no, it cannot be! It is presumption in me to think it. I am surely mad or dream- ing !”’ I looked at him in astonishment, and then asked: ‘‘ What is it, my dear guardian? Is it anything I can do for you ?”’ ‘It was nothing, Manette. I was dreaming aloud; it is a habit of mine;’’ and he smiled half sadly ; then he added in his old calm man- ner, with the emotion all gone, ‘‘I am afraid that my child will be a little lonely in our dull old house, with no society save my quiet mother and her guardian. Had we not better invite Miss Eames, or some other young lady to Lake- shore for a season ?”’ ‘*No, no, my dear guardian; do not do it!” Isaid. ‘I shall not like this Miss Eames, if you do. I want only the society of our home circle, and shall be very happy there with you and your dear, kind mother, unless you wish more company,” I added. “Well, if you think so, Manette,” he an- swered, smiling down on me with his deep, gray eyes, as I sat beside him. ‘Then it is settled, and to my liking, too, for I much prefer a quiet home. But here we are, almost at our journey’s end!’’ he added, as we entered the village and drove through its pretty shaded streets to the house of the person with whom he had business. An hour after, as we rode homeward, my thoughts reverted to the morning’s conversa- tion, and I inly wondered what grief had thus shaded my guardian’s life. As Mr. Harrington assisted me from the car- riage, on our arrival home, a young man came down from the veranda with eager warmth of manner, saying—‘‘ Uncle Oscar, do you not recognize me, or have I grown out of your knowledge within the last five years ?”’ It was a handsome, boyish face, the young man raised to his uncle’s; a broad brow, over- shadowed by thick masses of curly, brown hair, and eyes of the same rich brown, a handsome, bold face, with a pleasing look in thuse brown eyes and around the firmly cut mouth. “You have grown completely out of my knowledge, Edgar,” replied Mr. Harrington; ‘bat I begin to see traees of the boy I knew in 3% ” GUARDIAN. 509 your face,’’ he added, as he gazed upon him ; then, calling to me as I turned to leave them, he said: ‘‘ Manette, this is my nephew, Edgar Harrington. My ward, Manette Blanchard.” The eyes of the young man rested on my face for an instant, then he extended his hand, say- ing frankly: ‘I am most happy in making your acquaintance, Miss Manette, for permit me to call you by that name; and I trust we shall be the best of friends during my stay here at Lakeshore; for I foresee that we shall be thrown much together.”’ Edgar Harrington remained with us over a month, through golden October, when the leaves fell withered and sere to the cold earth, and through the colder and longer days of No- vember, when the winds wailed and moaned abroad, and the shivering trees stood bare and leafless like giants despoiled of their armor. From the first, I had liked Edgar Harrington ; his bold, handsome face and strong confident manner. We had become great friends; and rode or walked together on pleasant days, or, when stormy, read or sang together inthe parlor, He was the only child of my guardian's brother, and had just graduated from college with the highest honors. His home was in Beechwood, some hundred miles distant; and he had come to visit his urcle for a season of rest, before commencing to read law under an eminent bar- rister in his native town. My guardian had been absent much, of late, on urgent business, he said, which required his immediate attention, and I saw but little of him. When I did, I noticed often the old look about the mouth and eyes, and it filled my heart with ‘*It is his old sorrow,’’ I would say to myself. ‘It is what none can help, or gladly would I.” It was the early evening of a day late in No- vember. The day had been unusually warm and pleasant ; and Edgar Harrington, who was to leave on the morrow, proposed our taking a last walk together; as I made ready, and we went forth. There was one place whither we had often been, a little vine-clad seat in the edge of the forest upon the summit of a hill; and hither we wended our steps in the soft, bland evening air. ‘* Manette,’’ said Edgar, as he sat beside me, ‘* Manette, there is something on my heart which I must tell you to-night, before I leave this place to go back to my home. There isa little boon which I wish you to give me, Man etta,’’ he said, taking her hand as he spoke. “It is this hand, and your love withit. AmI asking too much ?”’ pain.

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r 510 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, It was unexpected to me—this avowal from his lips; and it startled me a little ; for, in the time we had been together, I had never thought of this. He had seemed so like a brother, as I thought; but, alas! I never had had a brother, Did | regard I loved him and so knew not the love of one. him as a brother? I knew not. very much; and he had more than a brother’s affection forme. So, with his passionate words, and quick, decided manner, the matter was settled; and we were betrothed lovers. I doubt if I was happy then, if, when my head rested on my pillow that night, I felt as one should who was betrothed to the object of their strong- est love ; but yet I loved him, and said to my- self over and over again, ‘If he should cease to love me, it would be the greatest trial of my life.”’ The next morning Edgar told his uncle of our relations to each other, and received his con- gratulations for our happiness. This, he told me before we parted; and then, with a last embrace, he sprang into the carriage which bore him to the nearest station. We were betrothed, but were to wait until Edgar had won his profession, which would be in three years. And so we parted, he to begin his new career, and [ to remain with my guar- dian till he should come to claim me. After he had gone, my guardian came tome in the parlor, and there was the old look in his face again. He was suffering. ‘Oh, what would I not do to relieve him; and yet I am powerless,’’ I said to myself, as he came near me where I stood at the open window; and taking my hand in his, which trembled a little, he said, tenderly— ‘* Manette, my child, Edgar has told me all; and [ desire nothing more than your happiness. I wish you much joy in the new relation you have assumed toward him. I pray you may be happy !”’ “I thank you, my dear guardian, my best friend,’’ I answered ; ‘‘ | am happy in this new tie. Edgar is so generous and neble that we must be happy together.’ “Yes, yes, you will be!’’ he answered. ‘*Edgar is a young man of much talent and nobleness of character, and will give you the love for which yournature yearns. Oh, Manette, child, I pray that nothing may come between you and your bliss, that all be fair and bright along your future way!’’ Then, slowly releas- ing my hand which he continued to hold, my guardian went out, leaving me alone, and with that same look of sorrow abont his mouth ever before me. Why should it disturb me so? I could not banish it, and yet I could not speak to him about it. But it was ever before me ; and that night I heard my guardian walking his room, slowly pacing back and forth, till I fell asleep in the gray dawn. A year went by, and Edgar came once in that time to Lakeshore. It was in the summer days, and again we took long walks and rides, and I was happy. When he left me to return again to his studies, he said, as we parted, ‘In two short years, my betrothed, I shall have gained my profession, and then I shall come to claim my bride.’’ In the ensuing winter, a heavy sorrow came to our home, in the death of Mrs. Harrington, my guardian’s mother, But it was not as those ‘who sorrow without hope ;’’ like ‘a shock of corn fully ripe for the harvest,’’ she was gath- ered into her rest. Over six weeks had passed without a letter from Edgar. Always, before this, I had received one every fortnight. What could have hap- pened to him? He must be ill, And my anxious heart conjured up every imaginable accident to my betrothed. At length, one eve- ning, my guardian came home from the village, and with the long expected letter in his hand. He gave it to me, and I opened it eagerly. As I read, my head swam, my hand trembled, and a quick pain shot through my heart. With a faint cry, the letter fell from my hand, and I sank insensible upon the floor. When [ returned to consciousness, my guar- dian was bending over me. His words reached me like words heard in a dim dream: ‘‘O my God!’’ he cried, ‘‘why does Edgar thus cast so ruthlessly away this love that another would give his life w He was bending over me, laving my brow with water, and he stooped down and pressed a warm kiss upon my cold lips. That touch recalled me to life, and I opened my eyes and looked around, ‘You were faint, Manette,’’ said my guardian, calmly. Could it be the same voice whicli I had heard the moment before? ‘ Your letter I have read it,’’ he continued, Excuse win ?’’ overcame you. for I thought perhaps Edgar was ill. me if I was wromg, but your happiness is very dear to me, my child.” ‘*You know all, then, my friend; the faith- lessness of my betrothed and my misery,’ I said, with false composure. ‘‘ My broken faith and broken heart—but no, it shall not break or bend for a false love!’’ I added, quickly; ‘*it shall learn to beat calmly, and to despise him. False ! false ! they are al/ so!’’ I added, bitterly.

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MY GUARDIAN, ‘*Manette, my child, do not judge all men by Edgar. Strive to forget him, for he is not worthy your love,’’ said my guardian, in a low voice. ** Yes, I will!’ I said, almost fiercely. ‘‘I will tear his false image from my heart, as even now I rend this letter to fragments!’’ And I took the letter, and tore it into shreds. But this fierce mood passed away, and when I sought my room it was to throw myself down beside the couch, and weep and wrestle for my blighted hopes. Days, weeks, and even months went by, and I mourned for my lost love. Try as I would, I could not quickly drive his image from my heart. My nature was too intense to forget easily. Two years passed, and with no change to me. We had little company at Lakeshore, and thus, in my secluded life, I had much time to brood over, and make myself miserable in thinking of the past. My guardian was much from home, and so I was left mostly alone. One day, I read Edgar Harrington’s marriage to the daughter of the eminent barrister with whom he had studied. ‘ Now, at length, I shall be able to drive all memories from my heart,’? I said, And I did; from that moment all love died out, and Edgar Harrington, my former betrothed, became to me as one dead. If | had met him then, and he had been free, and wished me to wed him, I should have turned from him with indifference. When my guardian came home that night I laid the paper before him, and pointed to the marriage. He read it, and then his eyes sought my face, but he saw no emotion there save a smile, as I said, calmly- - ‘*You perceive it does not affect me any, my friend. I see now that I was mistaken in myself; that I never cared for him as I should for the one who was to be the nearest and ciosest friend on earth.’’ ‘Oh, Manette, how thankful I am that this isso! I had feared otherwise. You will yet find a love which will be the true love. But, Manette, I am going abroad. I start in the next steamer for Europe, and cannot say when I shall return. I shall expect to hear from you regularly during my absence, and shall write to you by every home-bound packet. And—’’ **Oh, do not go!’’ I cried, interrupting him. ‘Do not leave me, my guardian, my only friend !”’ He looked at me, and a cloud came to his brow, and the old look to his lips. ‘It must I must go. It is best that I go be, Manette! away.”’ | 511 ‘*Oh, cannot you send some one for you?’’ Isaid. ‘‘My dear guardian, do not leave me ! You know not how I miss you in your absence, even for a day, and these long months will be intolerable.’’ Again his brow clouded, though his lip soft- ened ; and he put his hand slowly to his brow, and murmured: ‘‘ No, no, it is madness to think it! I cannot stay longer, and day by day live so. Child, you know not what you ask.”’ ‘*My guardian, if you must go, then let me I must go. go with you!” He gazed at me earnestly, and said, while his voice trembled ; ‘* Manette, I tell you again you know not what you ask. You will force me to teli what I had hoped to keep for aye a secret in my own heart. It is because of you that lam going away ; it is because of you that I have absented myself from home; it is becanse Tlove you that 1 must flee from you! My child, you will forgive me, if I cause you pain. I had desired to depart with this knowledge unknown ; for I have not dared hope that it might be for an old man like me to love you and to win you,” I was sitting on an ottoman at his feet when he commenced, but he had risen up and rapidly paced the floor, I recalled the words I had heard him utter that night when first I knew of my lover’s faithlessness. Had I been blind during the past, that I had not seen this? Yes, I must have been. And this avowal, coming so suddenly, did it give me pain or joy? Cer- tainly it was not pain that filled my heart and surged up over my whole being; no, no, far from it; it was not pain, it was intensest joy. I rose from my seat, and, going up to my guardian, laying my hand upon his shoulder, said, softly: ‘* Will you not take me with you, then, my more than friend, my dearest love ? Will you not take your little Manette to your heart, and become her guardian through life, for she has just learned that you may do this ?’’ ‘‘Do you mean it, Manette? Is it love or gratitude you give me ?”’ he asked, taking both my hands in his, and looking into my eyes with his deep, searching gaze. ‘It is love, my guardian,’ lanswered. ‘ Be my guardian still, through life, throngh all my future! There is no one else I want but you.”’ ‘Yes, yes, it is love!” he said. ‘‘I read it Oh, my life, ny dar- ling, I am blessed, indeed !’’ And he took me up in his strong arms, and pressed a kiss upon in your beautiful eyes. my forehead and lips. Yes, this was the love that should brighten my future way through life; this, which was

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512 to take the place of that for which I had sighed in the past—the passing fancy of the boy Edgar Harrington. That the blighted blossom; this the perfect fruit. And, as together we crossed the blue sea and journeyed throagh the Old World, as together GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. we looked upon its ruins, and palaces, and sunny skies, I never regretted that the fabric of my youthful love-dream was shattered to give place to 4 more substantial and perfect structure—the strong, enduring, deathless af- fection of my guardian, ow ome AN EDITOR’S TROUBLES. A protner editor from that vast region the West, has written us such a pitiful letter on the subject of an editor’s difficulties that we it for the berefit of our readers. He writes :— insert H , Sept. 14, 1860. My Dear Frienp: For I am sure, after you have perused my letter, you will let me call you friend, or even brother, so nearly does my lamentable experience resemble yours. I have just found time, in the midst of my duties, to read the second number of ‘‘Scene in Our Sanctum.”’ I read it all, and I can only say that, remarkable as some of the specimens of literature given there are, in every way, I can take from the drawer now open beside me ar- ticles sent, actually sent to me for publication, and letters directed to your humble servant which are fully equal to anything you perused on that hot day. Hot! Some of the letters I have received and some of the articles sent to me would make an editor perspire in Decem- ber, with the snow two feet deep, and the fire in his office entirely extinct. But enough of this prelude; let me dip into the above-men- tioned drawer and send you a copy of what | find there. Poetry! Mr. Godey, it is my firm belief that every idiot in the United States writes, at some period of his or her life, poetry, and sends it to an editor. Otherwise where does such trash as the following come from? I won't tell you who wrote it, but if an elderly, tall, lank, tal- low-haired maiden lady who haunts my office, sends me any more I will publish it, and put her real name to it. There! TTlome. Wuew o'er the vast, expansive firmament wo roam, Cohesive sentiments attract our longing hearts to home. Home! the synoninym of all things blest, When we by Pandemoniac sorrows are opprest, Be it a desert—a vast plain—a scene Of wildest desolation, still I ween Rach sympathetic breast echoes my ery Jn Homes enchanting environs let me live and die! ) | I won’t tell you who wrote it this time, but if any more pink-edged notes signed ‘‘ Aurelia,’’ come to me, let her beware ! Another dip into the drawer produces the following :— Annabel. Grace Alice Laura S——. AccoMPANy me, reader, to a stately city man- sion where, in the lap of luxury, surrounded by all the costly appendages of wealth, cradled in the sunshine of prosperity, rich, courted, flattered, the idol of society, the star of fash- ion, shielded from every rough wind, bosomed in ease and comfort, lived my heroine. There let us leave her to seek ancther scene, the haunt of vice and poverty, the home—alas, to call so low a dwelling by so sweet a name !— the home of Marcus—Mareus! Hark! do you hear the low silvery tuneful voice that echoes the pame ? Radiant in loveliness, in a dark blue velvet and diamonds, she forms a striking contrast to the tall, embrowned son of poverty who stands in the doorway. ** Marcus !”’ ** Annabel!’’ She fainted! He caught her in his arms! She revives! speaks ! “Marcus! my own! we must fly! My father will never consent !’’ **Won’t he?”’ ** Never !”’ We will fly!” They flew! In a shaded cottage, shut out from the rude world they dwell—loving and loved. There, for a regular jumble, I think that cannot be surpassed. Here is something that must touch your editorial feelings. I found it upen my table last week :— Dear Sir: I see by your prospectus that your circulation is fifty thousand. Now, sir, that must bring you in considerable money.

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AN EDITOR'S TROUBLES, What is money? Filthy lucre! trash! yet, applied to good purposes, treasure and riches ! Therefore apply it to the best use! We are in debt twenty-five hundred dollars for building our church! Pay this! Put your money to the highest use, the diffusion of Christianity. Pay our church debt, and keep your heart from sinful coveting of riches ! Yours in brotherly love, Simon G——. Comment is useless! As we are on the let- ter question, I send another specimen of this favorite torment of editors :— Dear Sir: I am the muther of 4 children. Tha are good children, awl of them, too gurls James, the eldest, helps his pa on the farrum, and is ekwel toa man his pa and too boys. sez; they are real nice children. Jewlia is one of the hansummest gurls ever was, tho I say it as shoodn’t; but wat I want principully to rite abowt is Ellinore, she’s the yungist, and she’s Such I want to see her a genius; she is, really. ritin as she does, and she only ateteen. in print, so I send sum of her poytry to you to If you think ten dollars is too much for it, we ’ll say ate. put in your paper. Yours respectfully, Jane Smiru. And here is the poytry:— My Kitten. My kitten, how you frisk and piay, All in the sun on a summer's day ; Don't its rays dazzle your eyes, And make you see stars in the skies? Kitten! idol of my soul, Drink the milk in this here bowl; Jumed says you are a feline beast, And I have a feelin’ heart at least. Kitten! kitten! I love thee! Say, kitten, do you love me? The next I find is poetry. O Jupiter! I shall certainly die of a poetry indigestion Country Felicity! EMBOWERED in & mossy nook, Far from the city’s noise, By rivulet and running brook I taste the country's joys. Verdant verdure, grassy green, Encounters here my eye; Azure blue, cerulean hue Hovers in the sky. Melodious, tuneful melody Falla on my listening ear; Harmonious, sweetest harmony Softly greets me here I watch the tunefal nightingale— The clarion of the night, And as he soareth heaven ward, I join him in his fight. 2 5138 Felicity and happiness Dwell in a country home ; Who from these bowers of eudless peace Could to a city’s horrid turmoil roam ? What do you think of that? Another letter from a genius who must possess a fluent pen to do all that he promises :— Dear Sir: I shall write in the course of the coming year several novels. As my means are limited, I to pleted and published in book form, but propose cannot wait for them be com- to write a chapter each week, and publish in, I offer them to you at the moderate price of $500 each. They will be entitled as follows :— some leading periodical. The Farmyard of Snozzle; an offset to The Housebold of Bouverie ! Into the Water; companion to Over the Cliffs. Astray in the Mountains !-not by the author of Out of the Depths, Jemima! sister novel to Lavinia. A Plaster Puppy, by Holly Berry; who didn’t write The Marble Faun! Jim Jones! no relation to Guy Livingston. Pay me a good deal, and pay me quick! far surpassing Love me little, and love me long. Poker and Tongs! a newer novel than Sword and Gown. The Dilapidated Woodshed! belonging to The Semi-detached House. The Factory in Worsted! written after The Mill on the Floss. Somebody after Her! unknown to the author of Life before Him. Eve Bugle! companion to Adam Bede. Not exactly a Genius! the counterpart of Al- most a Heroine. Sarah Smith’s Baby! a burlesque on Sylvan Holt’s Daughter. Jack Nova Scotia, Rowdy! not by the author of John Halifax, Gentleman. Folks is Various! by Mighty Main, who didn’t read Odd People. Women who remain seated! companions to Men who have risen ! Day after To-morrow ! in the style of Two Years Ago. You don’t say so! in answer to The Reason Why! The Flaming Bedpost! to match The Pillar of Fire ! Staid at home to Look! uot written by the au- thor of Run away to Sea, The Gentleman in Black ! Woman in White. Write and Wafer! written after Say and Seal. a companion to The

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GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, — If these titles don’t suit you, let me know, and I will send you some more, I ain’t par- I can write up to any title that any Yours respectfully, J. L. C. ticular! body else can. If you would like to secure J. L. C.’s contri- butions for the Lady’s Book, I can send you his address. The next package in the drawer was sent to me by a gentleman who resides in H . He modestly calls them ‘ Imitations of the Poets,’’ and on the strength of this uses great names I give a few speci- with a perfect looseness. mens :— Crash! Smash! Dash! After Tennyson. Crasn! smash! dash! O'er thy iron track, O cars! And I would that my pen could write out The sound of thy many jars! Oh, well for the men who travel, If their nerves are inured to riot! Oh, well for the grim conductors That they care not for peace or quiet! For the noisy trains whirl on To their stations in country and town; But oh, when there comes a smash up, How railway stock goes down! Smash! crash! dash! Locomotive and tender and train, For the ancient days of the old stage coach Can never come back again. The Sailor Boy. After 0. W. Holmea. A SAILOR stood upon the deck, A handsome lad was he, But his face was very dolorous As he gazed upon the sea. Upon the briny ocean This boy was forced to roam, For the very simpie reason That he had no other home, He likewise had no pa nor ma, No sister nor no brother; But this sailor had a sweetheart, Who loved him and no other. She was 4 very lovely gal, Her Christian name was Sue; Her ebon hair had a natural curl, And her azure eyes was blue. Her cheek was like the blusning rose That's newly blown in May ; Her teeth were like the costly pearl That 's dived for in the bay. Now when this sailor left his gal, To go upon the sea, She up and concluded she wouldn't stay Alone by herself. Not she! She 'd heard that sailors always have A sweetheart in each port, And she thought to have one true sweetheart Was all that one man ought. So she joined her gallant lover's crew, To sail with Captain Duttons, And bought herself a jacket blue, With yooses on the buttons! But as this sailor stood on deck, Lamenting of his dear, He'd not the least suspicion That Susan was so near. Susan!" he sighed—and at the name She gave his hand a squeezer, And softly whispered, in low tones, **Here I am, Ebenezer!" He clasped her to his manly breast, And, gazing on her beanty, This very lovelorn sailor boy Forgot his sailor's duty. Don't blame the youth, for all of us Forget which way to steer, Neglect our helm and radder When we think on woman dear! The captain came upon the deck, And seeing what was jogging, He ordered this sailor boy To have an awful flogging. Then to his heart the sailor boy Clasped his lovely Sue, Blubbering, “‘I cannot bear it!"’ She sobbed, ‘‘I wouldn't, too!" Again he kissed her lovely brow, ** Farewell to earth,’ sobbed he; And these devoted loviers Jumped right into the sea, MORAL. If you ‘ve a girl, keep her at home, Or else, on land or water, You'll be a gazing in her eyes At times when you hadn't oughter. Hard Times. After Kingsley. Turer merchants wore riding down into town, In the passenger cars as the clock struck ten ; Each thought of the notes that were coming due, And all were very disconsolate men. For men must work that their wives may dash, Even if there threatens a business crash And a dreary impending crisis! Three ladies sat up in their parlors fine, Discusajng the news of the world of “ton,” And chatting of feathers und flowers and lace, Wondering if silks would go up or down For women will dress for ball-room floors, And dry goods bills run up by scores In spite of the coming crisis. Three failures there were in the morning's news ; Three gloomy men were the lords and masters ; Three women are weeping and wringing their hands, Each blaming her spouse for the country's disasters.

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AN EDITOR'S For women will scold if they cannot dress, And the loss of fine clothes is a dire distress, Due to the coming crisis. The Tippler’s Soliloquy. After Shakespeare (some time), To drink or not to drink, that is the question: Whether ‘tis better, on the whole, to suffer The stings and torments of « thirst unsatisfied ; Or to take rum against a sea of cravings, And by deep drinking end them. To drink, to sleep, No more; and by a spree to say we end Thirst, heat, and suffering—and all other shocks That flesh is heir to; ‘tis a consummation Devoutly to be wished! To drink, to sleep, To sleep! Perchance to dream ; ay, there's the rub, For in delirium tremens what may come, When by the man of poker we 're pursued, Must make us pause. There's the respect That makes our soberness of so long life ; For who would bear the kicks and knocks of fate, The summer's heat, the duns of creditors, The snarls of scolding wife, the baby's squalls, The insolence of bosses, and the spurns That ragged merit of policemen takes When he himself might his elysium seek Ina mint julep. Who would work all day To groan and sweat under the scorching sun; But that the dread of something after drink— The excruciating headache, after which A feller ’s so used up, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear the thirst we have Than fly to hiccups and the soda water. Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all ; And thus the native thirst for brandy toddy Is quenched with dread of headaches and policemen; And rarest frolics that are sorely tempting, With this regard become the direst folly, And lose the very name of ‘‘jolly benders.” What do you think of the proposition con- tained in the following letter? > Dear Sir: I ama yung Lady who have Got a good Inglish Ejucation, but no accomplish- ments much, and I am ankshus to Improve my talents. I know I’ve got talents and Cood write if I was larned a little More. As I can’t afford to pay my skoolin myself, and pa says he ’s paid enuf for my Ejucation, I thought I wood Write to You and borrow five hundred Dollars, three hundred for Skoolin, and the rest for Currant expences Which is numerous in a city bordin Skool. I say borrow, for as soon as I finish I am Going to be an Orthoriss and write, and I will write for You and Pay up. Plese write immejately, For I want to Get away from this old farm and go to Skool awful. Yours trewly, Ann R : May she live till she gets it—as the Irishman said when the man, paying him a shilling for holding his horse, said—‘‘ Pat, you owe me six- ‘May your honor live till you get it !”” pence ”’ TROUBLES. 515 Can anything—I put it to you as an editor— can anything surpass the refreshing impudence of young aspirants to public notice. Read the following :— Dear Sin: We are two sisters who are unex- pectedly obliged to earn our own support. We have decided to adopt literature for a profes- sion, and have accordingly written a sketch for your paper. Please send $25 by return of mail, as we are in immediate want of the money. Dora and Cora Dopp. Another letter, the exact copy of this, came the same day, and with them were the follow- ing ‘‘sketches,’’ offered at the moderate price of $25 each. Winter. Cora Dodd, Conpensep frigidity diffuses itself over the surface of creation. Hilarious skaters wake the echoes with jubilant chorus, while through atmospheric space ring forth the sonoriferous sleigh-bells. Phosphorescent resplendent icicles form glittering substitutes for summer’s ver- dant foliage. Silvery puresnow fluviates mutely from the azure firmament, imbedding vegeta- tion in its chilly folds. Ruddy lambent flames within contrast with frigid hoariness without. Such is winter. Eternity. Dora Dodd, SPACELESS space, unbounded bounds, Exaggerated length of time, Never ending, ceaseless rounds, Forward reaching, endless time Magnified, all glorious space Lengthened, coming time Boundless and unceasing grace Grant us at that time. The next letter from the drawer is as fol- lows :-— Dear Sir: Send me ten dollurs four the in- closed poytry, and oblige Yours J.J. The Slayin Party. Wer krammed into a normus slay, All for to go a slayin ; Fortin kupples we maid that day, All for to go a slayin. The nite before the sno had snu, As if two maik gud slayin, So I invited luvely Sue To go with us a slayin. Twas jolly fun, we all were gai Wen startin out a slayin, The sin shin was as brite as May The day we went a slayin.

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We all upset inter tne sao Wen we went out a slayin; We larfed and sk*ambled out again, To finish up our slayin Wen we cum home the moon had sot, The day it was a dornin, We singed alowd, a merry crowd, We won't go home till morning. And that is all I now kan rite About this famuss slayin, And sol bid you all good-nite, And hope you'll go a slayin, DOING BY Mrs. Hamersty did her own washing, a fact impressed upon the deepest consciousness of Talk of ‘* black Mondays”’ They were serene twilights, com- every child she had. elsewhere ! pared to the Cimmerian gloom which gathered over the house of Hamersly, as the first puff of smoke from the wasli-house chimney greeted the early morning sky. The Hamers!y’s were not particularly poor by any means. A Brussels carpet adorned Mra, llamersly’s parlor, and there was enough stuffed furniture and etagerie in it to have paid wash- Then why did Mrs. Hamersly do her own washing? ing-day hire for the last six years. She had never asked this question to herself, yet we opine to think it was from an ‘ ambi- tion’’ to keep up a traditional ‘‘ smartness,’’ said to have existed in her ancestry ; also—and let this part of it be told in a whisper—we suspect Mrs. Hamersly was just a little ‘ near,’’ and it would have gone to her heart to have paid out a bright half dollar every seven days, more than to perform the whole drear drudging her- self. This view of the case, we may be assured, was never brought forth in conversation on the Her mother and grandmother before her had always subject; her argnment generally was: done her own washing, and why shouldn’t she ? She was a larger sized woman than either of them. Besides, it was just about as much trou- ble tu be running round to find a washerwoman every week, and have her only half do the work after all, as it was to do it all herself.”’ I do not in the least deny the right of women, in these enlightened days, to make drudges of themselves, because their grandmothers did so ; but, perhaps, it would be well to try and discern the actual amount of labor performed by these excellent defunct, in order that their modern imitators may gauge their own efforts thereby. A. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Ain’t that enough ? I cannot send vou the whole contents of the drawer, for it would occupy all my time for a month, and take all the paper in my office. These few specimens must convince you that you are not the only man who groans at tle sight of an envelop, or faints at the prospect ofa manuscript. Hoping that 1 have not bored you, lam Your brother in affliction, L. Cc. R—. HER OWN WASHING. I have been in the far backwoods, where every- ‘ thing was as nearly as possible in the same primitiveness, to be found everywhere fifty years ago, and I do not hesitate to say I have found ladies in comfortable modern habitations, exerting themselves far more than these exam- ples of the olden time, Then everything was so rude and simple; the same offices, now com- plicated by new contrivances; did not require a tithe of the labor they now demand, Mrs, Hamersly’s grandmother's washing was not probably one-fourth of the size of her own, for those were not days when cotton and calico could be had almost for the asking. ‘* Our grandmothers,’’ no matter how preter- naturally smart, could not have worked harder than hundreds of women in these degenerate days ; for as these latter work all the time, 1 do not see the possibility of the thing. Mrs. Hamerslyewrought for a family of six; herself and husband, and four olive branches. of these, Carrie, the eldest, was over fourteen, and Lilly, the next in age, nearly thirteen. Pretty and graceful children, of whom Mrs. Hamersly could not be otherwise than proud, although her frequent address to themselves was: ‘Shifless lazy girls, always trying to shirk their work.’’ How could it be a marvel, when the kind of work Mrs. Hamersly imposed had such an effect upon her own spirits? For, let it not be supposed the lady went about these self-imposed tasks with cheerful serenity, not at all. True, she had been known to arise on some Mondays, comparatively speaking, smiling, but as things grew more and more complicate, as drear disorder, which there was ‘‘ no time’’ to obviate, reigned over the Sunday littered house, the cloud spread and spread, until no child of Mrs. Hamersly’s dreamed of addressing her save upon matters of immediate urgency.

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DOING HER OWN WASHING. 517 As the-washing day went on, and Mrs. Ham- ersly, wet and weary, grew cross and discouraged, she thought bitterly of her husband sitting com- fortable and at ease in his cushioned chair in the office, and of her children always ready to leave the scene, and slip away, to work or play, her heart rose up in angry repining, and no- thing could have persuaded her that she was not a very ill-used woman indeed. Mr. Hamersly did not deserve these hard un- wifely thoughts; he was one of those unob- servant men who never meddle in the least with house affairs, leaving them to his wife’s superior skill and wisdom, which / think showed a very pleasing respect. His whole life was spent for wife and little ones; and I dare say he would rather have worked himself, had he known how his wife felt about it. So things had gone on ever since Carrie was born, and so they might have been still going on, at least until pleurisy orrheumatism ordered a stop (for Mrs. Hamersly always awoke stiff and sore on Tuesday) had not the experiences of one particular Monday proved the inaugural of a new regime. The earliest dawn of this important day brought with Mrs. Hamersly’s earliest return to waking life the consciousness of a very large washing variously dispersed about the house. Mrs. Hamersly did not hear the real sigh Lilly echoed from Carrie, as, coming to the foot of the stairs, she desired them in a severe tone to ‘* bring down those duds, if they expected her to wash them.”’ Carrie was always from school on Mondays, and to-day Lilly was ordered to remain also, As they came down stairs their mother was just whisking out to the wash-house, and a voice from the retreating figure exhorted them to ‘‘see if they couldn’t creep a little faster, and get a breakfast fit for a pig on the table, by the time their father was ready for it.’’ A girl of fourteen does not invariably succeed in serving up, alone, ameal savory and palatable altogether ; certain it is, both Carrie’s breakfast and dinner bore more than slightly the stamp of failure that day. Her entire efforts were of course directed to getting and clearing away these two meals, as wellas preparing the younger children for school. Poor Lilly fetched and carried in obedience to her mother’s crisp com- mands. Sothe ‘‘ housework,’’ properly speak- ing, stood per force unperformed. As the morning advanced, Lilly came wearily in where Carrie stood washing the dishes; she sank on a seat and wiped the thick damp from her white forehead. VoL. Lx1t.—44 **Oh, Carrie, how I wish | mother didn’t do her own washing; nobody else’s mother of the girls we know do theirs. I wonder if we are so awfully poor, after all. How the house looks! It makes me sick to see it. Last Monday I was over to Ellen Er- win’s ; there was a great stout Irishwoman rub- bing away, and singing as ifshe likedit. Ellen's mother was sewing, and oh! it did look so nice in there. Ellen took me up stairs, and every bed was made, and everything slicked up as if no one had ever been there before. I don’t believe we ever got our room to looking as nice as theirs, and yet they have only ingrain carpet on their parlor, and ours is Brussels. I wonder if we have to do our own washing so as to have dearer things than other folks. It isn’t a nice way, anyhow—but, mercy, there comes moth- er,’’ and she sprang up, guilty, and rushing out at the other door, reached the wash-house as her mother entered the larger dwelling. So Carrie bore alone the style of address her mother was too apt to use on washing-day ; and every word of which cut through her sensitive young spirit, two edged. ‘* Dishes not washed np yet! you've been off to play, of course. Potatoes not over, meat not out of the cellar—really, I’m afraid dinnerwon’t be quite equal to the breakfast your father praised so and ate so much of. However, do just as you’ve a mind to; don’t think of mind- ing your mother, that would be too ridiculous,” Reader, what demon could have transformed the quiet, conscientious child, in her mother’s eyes, into a being to whom such an address was appropriate? Methinks, whatever spirit it may chance to be, it has hovered around more than one wash-tub, for Mrs. Hamersly is no rara avis. But we are by no means to judge all this lady’s moods by that of washing-day. Few women in her own circle, when nothing ruffled, held greater powers of pleasing ; and, in a sum- mer visit she had made not long before, in the fine town of Lanham, some twenty miles dis- tant, she was much liked and noticed. She was not often tired of relating how she had made the acquaintance of ‘‘ Mrs. General Breck,”’ the leader of things in Lanham, who had not only insisted on her spending a day with her, but had promised to return the visit at no dis- tant day. And Mrs. Hamersly ran over in her mind the splendors she meant her house and family to assume when that great event should take place. ‘‘Mrs. General Breck kept three servants, and had no idea how some people had to work, anyhow. She meant to have Jane Williams (when Mrs. General made her visit) come to wash dishes, and do such like.’’ And

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518 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, pleasing visions of the advancement and re- spectability this connection would not fail to give danced through her mind continually. The Monday wore on, the slender dinner had been silently dispatched, and by one o’clock Mrs. Hamersly was in the very thick of her washing, the final rag of which seldom found the clothes-line before four P.M. Lilly had been dispatched to the spring for rinsing water, Carrie was up garret in search of an old piece of carpet her mother meant to wash, when, coming into the house to fill the bluing rag, she heard a knock at the front door. The ‘*soap-fat man’’ had engaged to come that day, and she did not doubt this was he. So, throw- ing down her rag, she marched to the door, and jerked it open. No greasy dealer in scraps greeted her vision, but, instead, flounced and ringleted, Mrs. General Breck ! A kissable and embraceable figure did Mrs. Theodore Hamersly present as she confronted her visitor! An old, faded, collarless calico dress, wet at bottom and front, a ragged hood slouched over her damp and smileless face. No wonder Mrs. General Breck did not know her, but began, ‘‘ Is Mrs. Ham—”’ Whenconscious of the ‘‘haggish look’’ it gave her, this latter lady snatched off the hood and stood revealed in propria persone. Mrs. General Breck did not kiss her. How could she? Ina state of mind not possible to describe, the hostess led the way to the parlor. Every one knows what effect upon a room a Sunday’s free range of ‘‘the children’ has. Books and papers littered the chairs and floor. The children’s Sunday bonnets, not yet put away, heaped the table, and a fine dust sifting in from a carelessly open window dredged the whole. Mrs. General Breck was on her way to the springs, and had proposed to tarry on the way long enough to spend a night with Mrs. Ha- mersley. It is needless to say that, upon see- ing this lady, that project was given up. Mrs. General Breck owned tono acquaintances whose person and house went in such trim as those of Mrs. Hamersly, so, after a very unsa- tisfactory call, Mrs. General took her leave, ‘‘regretting’’ that the approaching three o’elock train made it impossible for her to remain longer. Mrs. Hamersly went back to her wash-tub. It may be inconceivable to some, but this was one of the bitterest mortifications of her whole life. A flerce tide boiled in every vein. ‘*Make some starch.”’ This was addressed to Lilly ina tone which made her shrink. She did not dare to question as to the how of making starch, though she was quite ignorant in the matter, Carrie having al- ways done it heretofore. But Carrie had been sent to the store on an errand, and she could not even ask her. She believed it was made of flour and boiling water, but she did not know that, in order to make starch, the flour must first be dissolved in cold water. She took a milk-pan, and, not knowing the proper quan- tity, took nearly a quart of flour from the bar- rel, and placed it in the pan. She then poured the kettle of boiling water over it, stirred it around a little, and then with difficulty lifted the heavy mess to carry it out to her mother. Such starch! It more nearly resembled pudding; lumpy, thick, worthless. Mrs. Ha- mersly saw this at a glance, as her daughter carefully set down the pan. It was the last hair, in the state she was in, which rendered the burden unendurable. Forgetting herself utterly, she struck the child fiercely; and, partly with the blow, partly with the effort to avoid it, Lilly staggered and fell, striking her temple heavily against the corner of the wash- bench. The blue eyes closed drearily—Lilly was insensible. Terribly shocked and awakened, Mrs. Ha- mersly bore her injured child to the house. She was with her alone ; she kissed and clasped her frantically until a moan told that life and pain had come back together. She would have fallen on her knees before her child, and im- plored her forgiveness, but pride forbade, and, Carrie being now come, she went back once more to her wash-tub. Lilly lay with the pain beating heavily in her wounded head, till at length, hearing her father’s step, she arose, and, with instinctive delicacy, conibed the hair carefully over the swollen and discolored temple. She could not set the table, however, for she staggered at every step; so, going back to the sofa, she again lay down. When Carrie had prepared supper, she could not eat, and dared not come to the table, for fear her father should notice her head. She could not help his noticing her absence. ‘* Lilly, why don’t you come to your supper? You are not sick ?”’ ** A little tired, father, this has been washing- day, you know,” replied she, trying to smile. I should not like to feel the pang Mrs. Ha- mersly felt as she thus heard her child trying to conceal her own unwomanliness. It did not remain long hidden, however. Little Dick, the youngest, playing about the

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DOING HER OWN WASHING, 519 room, unconscious of Lilly’s hurt, brushed her head with his arm. She could not suppress a quick cry of pain. Her father turned quickly round. The hair now pushed aside, showed the raised and purple welt it had before con- cealed. **Good Heavens ! Lilly was mute; she could not tell. mersly looked instinctively at his wife. ‘¢Theodore,” she said, tremulously, ‘‘I was not myself when I did it. I have been so tired to-day—you can’t think!’’ And the feeling long pent up rushed forth in a shower of sobs. That same pride soon forbade her children see- ing these, and she finished her cry in her own room, which she did not leave that night. The sorely tired Carrie, after washing the dishes, once more aroused the two children from the floor, where they had fallen asleep, helped Lilly rise from the sofa, and pioneered the whole party up stairs. How it looked up there! How very dis- heartening to the tired and sleepy group! Not a bed made, and nearly all denuded of pillow- cases and sheets. Here was more work to do, and, as at last Carrie’s head touched her pillow, her mother’s was no longer the only moistened one to be found that night. Mrs. Hamersly thought her husband asleep, for he lay very quietly, but he was broad awake, nevertheless. Mr. Hamersly was one of those many men who need some very decided occurrence to rouse them up to a clear view of things ; but, said view once gained, there was no hang back in necessary measures. **What’s the use, after all,’’ he now ques- tioned, ‘‘of Miss Hamersly’s doing this pesky washin’ sooften? Haven’t had adecent dinneron Monday, I don’t know when. The whole house looks like sin, too; no time to make things de- cent. Carrie kept out of school, and the gad put on the rest of the young ’uns generally. If Ma- tilda Ann hadn’t been washin’, her hair would have been slick, and she would have had on her brown gingham and white collar; then she would have been a fair match in good looks with Miss General Breck, though she had all California on her back. If she hadn’t been washin’, she would never have knocked my little Lilly in that shameful way. I can’t bear to think on it’’—and at this point he gave a tremendous lunge overin bed. ‘‘The long and How did this happen ?’’ Mr. Ha- short of it is, Matilda Ann’s washin’ don't pay ; the sooner it’s put a stop to the better. I won’t have no more on it while I’m master of this house and the father of them children.”’ There was a ‘‘ stitch’’ crawling up and down | Mrs. Hamersly’s side the next morning, and the group which gathered around the table did not seem greatly exhilarated. The meal ended, Mr. Hamersly pushed back his chair and pro- duced his great black pocket-book, a thing he had never been known to do unsolicited before. You might have heard a pin drop as he arose and placed a pile of bills before his wife. ‘Here, Matilda Ann, are twenty-six dollars, fifty cents of it to be paid out every week to a washerwoman, for a year, when I shall hand you as much more, andsoon. I have made up my mind it don’t pay to have you do your own washin’ ; so don’t let us see any more of it. If you don’t feel in your own mind as if the@ioney could possibly be afforded, s’pose you give up that new mankiller I heard you tellin’ about. I believe it was going to cost nigh as much as this.”” And with this last, meant chiefly in joke, Mr. Hamersly went to his office. Whether aforesaid ‘‘ mankiller’’ was given up or not, we are unprepared to state; but we do know a new order of things is established at the Hamersly’s. And every week Biddy Mac- pherson, a nymph with ankles and wrists twice as large as those of Mrs. Hamersly, may be found in that lady’s wash-house, her broad cap border rising and falling, as, with the interlude of ‘‘a rippy dippy dip,’’ her voice rings out the cadence of ‘‘ Kate Mavourneen”’ and “ Erin go Bragh.”’ - -7—7- oer -— TO MY BETTER SPIRIT. BY GAY H. NARAMORE. Mayon, tell me, do you know What impels the restless sea Thus to chant in measure slow All sad notes, which human wo Sighs to old eternity? Manon, tell me, de you know Why I'm so weighed down to-night, That whatever bright flowers blow, That whatever bright eyes glow, My soul cannot feel the light? Past me all fair forms seem hying To fresh pleasures new and rare— Yet what care I for their joying, While my longing heart is dying For thy gentle spirit’s care ! Manca, tell me, did I wrong thee E’er by word, or look, or deed ? Curses now are heaped upon me, And thy very smiles they throng me But to make my sick heart bleed. And jet, Manon, smile again As you used to smile on me. Smiles! Oh, they shall banish pain, And all sorrows be in vain Which so surge this restless sea!

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LESSONS IN eG A Cat Fh Porrixc on tas Moss.—Take the brush and put on a thin coat of glue where the branches and !eaves of the trees are to be; also where the ground is, and where you wish ivy to be, on old buildings, or in the crevices of the rocks. Then carefully pick the moss to pieces and place a fibre or leaf at a time, upon that por- tion of the picture that is glued. Different va- rieties of the moss must be so placed as to give the effect of light and shade. The lightest- colored moss is to be placed on the outside branches of the trees, and mixed with the darker colors for the ground, so that it will look like small patches of sunshine on the grass. There is one variety of running moss which 520 MOSS PAINTING. makes an excellent representation of ivy when placed among the ruins of old castles. Care must be taken that the moss be put on one leaf at a time and placed in a natural position. After the moss is all on, leave the picture lying on the back until the glue is dry. Coyne Frame ror Moss Pictursr.—We give above a design for a cone frame. Procure a deep wood frame the size and shape of the pic- ture. Go over the frame with a coat of copal varnish, and while the varnish is wet, spread on a thick coat of glazier’s putty; then stick pine and hemlock cones, acorns and beechnuts in the putty, in any desirable figures, and fill in with the leaves of the pine cone. After the

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INTELLECT, THE TWIN SISTER OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER, putty is hard, varnish with copal varnish; or if a darker color is desired, mix a small quan- tity of black Japan varnish with the copal. Use a small brush, and see that the varnish 521 covers every part of the frame. Procure a clear, thick glass, and have it fit loosely in the frame ; place the picture also in the frame, fasten it securely, and tie with heavy cord and tassels. INTELLECT, THE TWIN SISTER OF CHRISTIAN CHARACTER. BY WINWIR WALLACE. Inrercect—what is it? A precious gem whose refulgent brightness pours a rich, daz- zling radiance over the surrounding darkness, causing all things hitherto enveloped in the darkest shades of obscurity to become glori- ous'y bright; a lamp to guide the weary searcher after truths hopefully onward, and open up the richer treasures long hidden by the lowering clouds of ignorance, until, maturing, it shines like the meridian sun, casting its penetrating rays of light on mountain top, in glen and dale, on ocean and on shore, numbering the years of creation by the monarch of the forest, the strata of the earth, and the reefs of coral be- neath the south sea wave; and lays bare all nature to its searching gaze. Oh, to what shall we liken this mystic thing, this bright glorious something without form, but comely in its influence? Is there aught on this earth of beauty and of grace which can compare with this bright, this heaven-born gift? Can the happy immortal spirit of man, diving among the bright elysian flelds of the New Jerusalem, while bathing in the rapturous delights of that upper sphere, feel aught that combines the dreamy witchery and solid enjoyment of experience when tasting the sweet waters of wisdom? or does this compose his chief happiness? Onward and upward has it borne its way, and onward and upward will its course ever be, casting its briltiant light around, and making manifest the principles of abstruse science till it reaches the throne of God, its great fountain-head. It com- prehends the stars in the blue ethereal vault of heaven, assigns to each a place, gives to each a name, computes their relative magnitudes, and measures the distance from one world to another with astonishing accuracy. It dives deepintothe earth, and examines the nature of the atoms which conspire to form the globe. By the aid of chemistry, it enters into the analyzation of the elements which compose the atmosphere. Each drop of water must stand poised until millions of living beings are counted within its narrow limits. The wild flowers of the woodland, to- gether with the delicate blossoms of the green- 44* house, must each and all consent to be torn in pieces that classes, orders, and genus may be given. It will look forward and grasp the future, and with one grasp will apprehend the past. Mountains are passed as ‘‘ mole-hills’’ and oceans as ‘rippling streams.’’ It soars above the clouds, yea, even to the great white throne, or descends to the depth of the sea, gathering everywhere some new bright trea- sure. But the natural lustre of this jewel, like that of the diamond, when first found is compara- tively nothing; its powers lie dormant, its capacities have never been tried, and conse- quently its value is not known, for, as the diamond must be polished before its dazzling brightness shines forth clearly, sc must the intellect be cultivated before its brilliancy can be fully unveiled ; and, as a love for the beau- tiful is ever found in the heart of man, it has been the object of his ambitious longings to be wise, to be great. He is ever ready to forget his mission here in his wild, impatient search- ing for knowledge, and yet to fulfil this mission is the beginning of wisdom. Placed here but for a season, soon to be called to a land of spirits, should he not first seek to build his Christian character before he would dive into the soul-enticing delights of science? Too often do scientific men leave the purification of the heart until they have unravelled the mysteries of the material world. Oh, man, ‘seek first the kingdom of God ;’’ then shalt thou be fully prepared to study his works and appreciate the goodness and wisdom of the Mighty Author. And yet I do not place too low an estimate on the benefits to be derived from a mind whose powers are developed to their full extent; on the contrary, I would increase the cry for in- tellectual improvement which has of late gone over the land; I would send the soul to the hitherto unexplored fields of science; I would bring the WHoLe Universe within its compre- hension ; in short, I would satisfy the immortal yearnings of man’s undying spirit. Bat, says one, we cannot study the natural

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. sciences without feeling our faith in the Holy Scriptures shaken, and even our belief in the very existence of a God. Why say this? As well might we say that the perusal of works that bear the stamp of master minds would lead us to suppose that they had had no author; that basking in the sun’s rays, feeling his warming influence, seeing the light he sheds around would impress upon our minds the belief that the sun never existed, as that the close investigation of the works of God and the laws which govern them would lead to the conclusion that there was no Great First Cause which produces these mighty ef- fects. It is true that man, having but a partial knowledge of any science, may believe that that science would lead eventually to Atheism. But if he will pursue perseveringly the study, he will at last be constrained to cry out, ‘‘ Great and marvellous are thy works, O Lord God! in wisdom hast thou made them all.’”’ He will feel his Christian character strengthened, and his faith in God increased. Show me a skilful botanist, and I will point to one who, in every flower which adorns this green earth, sees the wisdom of God displayed, and will feel that the same kind hand which sustains the floweret will shield him from all harm. The geologist, who reads at a glance the composition of almost every particle of the earth’s crust, will see in every rock a source of praise to the Great I Am. The astronomer, who calls the stars of heaven by their names, and views the whole firmament lit with millions of sparkling worlds, will know that there must have been some mighty One, who at first called them into being, and still holds them in their varied orbits. He will feel an awe insensibly as it were creeping over him, urging him with an irresistible power to fall down and worship Him, the Mighty Builder of the universe. The contemplation of Nature through all her ramifications of order, will imperceptibly draw the mind from earth to heaven, and will unite him by an irresistible faith to his Creator; and every truth in every conjured science will serve as a foundation stone, upon which he shall finally build the temple that elevates him to the skies. We are all the recipients of intellect in a greater or less degree, and in proportion to the measure of the gifts, will we be held account- able for the improvement of the talent committed tous. Aud should not man improve this great prize? Will it not enable him to see his duty clearer, and the advantages to be derived from living a Christian life? Will not the possession of a well-stored inteliect enable him to perceive the holiness and purity of God, and inspire him with a desire to be like him ? Will he not, see- ing the flowers which adorn the pathway of the Christian, and the crown of glory, which awaits the finally triumphant, lift his heart to God, the source of life and light, and determine to work out his salvation with fear and trembling. The cultivation of the intellect will increase the capacity the soul has forenjoyment. Mind is immortal, and capable of infinite expansion. Every new truth increases its strength, and every additional idea, its powers. And thus will it ever go on, adding strength to strength, until it will be capable of realizing, in the eternal world, those divine truths which in this life the most polished intellect, united to the firmest faith, can but perceive as through a glass—darkly. _——_3-20-o-o WEAVING. BY ISIDORR. A MAIDEN was weaving at noonday— A maiden with gold rippling hair, Whose heart was as warm as the sunrays That softly encircled her there ; And her eyes were like starlights in shadow, And her thoughts were like sweet summer air. I knew by the light of her smiling, She was weaving a tissue of dreams, A web ofa million of fancies Illuming her life with their gleams— That she saw the far future before her O’er-tinted with halcyon beams. I did not disturb her with questions, Nor mar her sweet thoughts with my own, For the sunlight that played with her fancies From heavenly pathways had flown! And she wound them in hues of the rainbow, As she sat in the noonday alone. And soon when the shadows had fallen, An old man with gray silvered hair Was weaving a tissue of visions In the gloaming that fell on him there; And his thoughts were like hues of the evening In the chamber so ghostly and bare, I knew by the lines on his temples, And by the wan smiles on his face, That from the dead past he was calling A host of regrets from their place ; And so he kept weaving his sorrows In a dream that was mournful to trace. And so we are weaving forever, Our hopes, our regrets, and our fears, And time soon dispels every vision, Or we summon them back with our tears! And still we are none of us wiser As we glide through life’s current of years.

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SUNSHINE AND SHADE; OR, THE GOVERNESS. BY FANNIE WARNER. [Entered, according to act of Congress, in the year 1861, by Louis A. Gopey, in the clerk's office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.] (Continued from page 436.) CHAPTER X. CHRISTMAS CHIMES. CurisTMAS morning was bright and beautiful ; and was ushered in by many a glad shout from the black population of the city. It was scarcely light, when Edith was awak- ened by the black children screaming beneath her window ‘Christmas gift!’’ and ‘ Christ- mas gift’? was taken up by voices in every direction, and shouted in every key from the heavy bass to the childish treble. She arose, and, going to the window, drew up the blind and fastened back the curtain; hearing no stir in the house, she lay down again, and had nearly fallen asleep when she was aroused by a knock at her door, and, jumping up, she opened it and admitted Tink, who had come to light the fire. ** Christmas gift, Miss Edom !”’ said the black girl, with a broad grin. ‘*Merry Christmas!’ answered Edith, with asmile, as she closedthe door. The girl looked , at her with a mystified stare, not understand- ing the northern style of greeting, then pro- ceeded to shovel out the ashes and lay in the kindling wood. ‘* At what time do we breakfast, Tink?’’ asked Edith. ‘* Half past eight, ’um,’’ replied Tink. Edith looked at her watch, then commenced to dress ; it was but little after six, and conclud- ing naturally ‘hat there would be no family worship, she determined to finish her toilet, and go over to the girls’ room and read with them a portion of Scripture before breakfast. She dressed by the light of Tink’s candle, then, not having unpacked her trunk, took out her dresses and hung them up in the wardrobe. By the time she had her clothes arranged it was quite light, and, groping her way through the dark halls (for the blinds had not been opened), she rapped at the girls’ door. ‘*Come in!’ said Matty, and Edith entered and found both of her pupils sitting up in bed. ‘Oh, it’s Miss Edith ! Christmas gift ! Christ- mas gift!’’ exclaimed Mary, and she bounded out of bed. ‘We were just saying that we would get dressed and go over to your room before you were up!’’ said Matty, following her sister with very lazy movements. ‘Does your uncle have family prayers, Matty?’ asked Edith, after kissing the girls and returning their Christmas salutation. ‘*No, Miss Edith, he does not,’’ answered Matty. ‘*T thought not,” said Edith, ‘‘and I have come over to read a chapter in the Bible before breakfast.”’ ‘‘T wish Nelly would hurry herself back !’’ exclaimed Matty in an impatient tone, gather- ing up her clothes and carrying them to the grate, where she warmed each article before putting it on. ‘Never mind Nelly; I’ll assist you to dress,”’ said Edith, and when Nelly made her appear- ance, her young ladies were ready to have their hair arranged. ‘You must come up earlier to-morrow morn- ing, Nell!’’ said Matty. ** Yes, ’um, I tot dat you ’d want to sleep arter bein’ up so late las’ evenin’, and so I crept out de room slily arter makin de fire.” After the curls and plaits were put in order, Edith sat down at the window, with Matty before her and Mary on a low seat at her side, and opening her prayer-book at the lesson for Christmas day, she read the Collect, the Epistle and Gospel, and rendered a brief explanation. The breakfast bell had not sounded when they closed their books, and Matty proposed going down to the parlor. ‘*T do wish papa was here !’’ said Mary, “‘ for I would like to go to the Episcopal church this morning, it’s always trimmed so beautifully on Christmas day !”’ ‘*You can go with me!” said Edith. ** Are you going, Miss Edith? I thought you would like to go, but I didn’t think that you would go out in a strange city alone, and none of Uncle Morgan’s family ever attend church on week-days.’’ ‘*T know where Aunt Morgan’s church is, and I’ll be you pilot,’’ said Matty. ‘It ll be so pleasant for us then to go to- gether,” said her sister, congratulating herself 523

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524 GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, at first that her uncle’s family were not piously inclined on week-days; but experiencing a sharp rebuke of her conscience, she added : ‘* Of course I wish that uncle’s family would always attend church when there is service, but I think we ’ll enjoy ourselves best to go alone.” ‘‘Nora says that it’s excess of devotion to go to week-day or evening service, and she never goes except when she wants to meet Signor Cavelli; I think that’s excess of devotion to him!’ said Matty, opening the parlor door. ‘*T wonder if Nora has any, more pretty things on the etagére!"’ and Mary examined the shelves saying, ‘‘I always look them all over when I come here !”’ ‘* What is this made of, dear?!’’ asked Edith, taking up a yellowish-looking mat, ‘Don’t you know, Miss Edith ?”’ exclaimed Matty, dropping a screen and approaching her teacher. ‘* No, dear, i have never seen anything of the kind before,’’ answered Edith; and Matty, with an animated face, proceeded to explain. **T can tell you all about it,’’ said she, taking the mat in her own hand, ‘‘ Cousin Clarence brought it from India ; it’s made of /accine ; in the first place, Jac is a sort of gum or stuff pro- duced on the banyan-tree, and contains five or six different kinds of resin, and when it is first collected it becomes hard and is called stick lac ; and when that is melted it is called shell lac, because it becomes like a thin crust, and this molasses-candy-looking stuff is made from that, and is called Jaccine; and that cabinet is lac- quered or covered with varnish made of lac dis- solvedinspiritsof wine. Doesn’tit seem strange that this beautiful mat was once nothing but gum, running down a tree away off in India?’’ ** You remembered it all, didn’t you, Matty ?”’ said Mary, smiling. ‘*Oh, I knew I would,’’ answered her sister, laughing; and turning to Edith, she said: ‘‘1’ll tell you how I learned it. Cousin Clarence told it to me last Christmas, and said if I would remember it, he would give me a silver card- case this Christmas.’’ ‘I wonder if youll get it, Matty!’ said Mary. ‘*T reckon not; poor Clarence, he won’t be here.’’ ‘Is your cousin dead ?’’ asked Edith, con- cluding that he must be, from Matty’s sad tone. *‘O no! not dead, but’’—and she looked around, as if afraid of being overheard. ‘If it’s a secret, Matty, you had better not confide it to me,’’ said Edith. It is not a secret, but aunt don't like to | | | hear it spoken of. Cousin Clarence is Fred’s twin brother, and he is insane in the asylum at Havana,’’ she said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “He has been there three years,” said Mary, coming close to Edith; ‘‘ but last Christmas he came home and was all right for two months, and then he became, violent again, and had to be sent back.”’ ‘* This is made of laccine, or shell lac, too,’’ said Matty, taking a long chain in her hand; ** doesn’t it look like gold ?’’ and throwing the golden-looking chain over Edith’s head, it fell in a variety of graceful curves over the massive plaits of her dark hair. **Good-morning ! and a merry Christmas !”’ exclaimed Mr, Morgan, coming into the parlor evidently in a very jubilant mood. ‘“ Fred, look at this tableau vivant! Miss Edith and her pupils trying the effect of green and gold! The chain looks well over your black hair, and in contrast to your green dress !’’ said he, bowing to Edith, who was blushing and attempting to remove the frail ornaments ; but it had become entangled in her hair and twisted around her comb. ‘* Allow me to assist you,’’ said Mr. Morgan. But he found it a difficult matter to loosen it without breaking, and he called to Matty, who, with her sister, had chased their cousin into the hall, shouting ‘‘ Christmas gift!’ which he claimed on the ground of having saluted them first. ‘* Every bit of your hair will have to come down !’’ exclaimed Matty, in dismay. ‘Shall I draw out your comb?” ‘*Yes,’’ answered Edith. And she bowed her head while Matty drew out the comb and unbraided her hair, which fell over her shoul- ders in a waving, heavy mass. ‘* Breakfast !’’ announced Christopher, intro- ducing his head into the room, and disappear- ing as suddenly. *T must go to my room. Come, Matty,”’ said Edith, disliking to enter the breakfast- room alone. She held up her skirt, and ran through the hall, returning Fred’s bow and ‘*good-morning” with a blushing face and embarrassed manner. Nora was on the stairs, and she gave Edith a look of haughty surprise, said ‘‘Christmas gift’? to Matty, and passed them. Stopping before her brother, she said, as soon as Edith and her cousin were out of hearing :— “Is that the Yankee style of displaying a pretty foot and long hair? That young lady has obviously been studying effect /”

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a oe es SUNSHINE AND SHADE; OR, THE GOVERNESS, 525 ‘*No amount of study could accomplish that blush,’’ answered her brother. ‘Yankee ingenuity has taught her how to ‘bid the cheek be ready with a blush,’ ’”’ re- turned Nora. ‘*T think she would make her fortune by teaching the art to others,’’ said Fred, his look and tone implying that his sister would not be unwilling to learn. "hey both passed into the breakfast-room without having expressed a wish for the other’s enjoyment of the merry season. The family were seated around the table when Matty and Edith entered. ‘*You’ve missed the grace,’’ said Mr. Morgan, laughing, and motioning Edith to be seated in a chair at his side, ‘‘Did you say grace, uncle ?’’ asked Matty, with a surprised but pleased look. ‘*No, my dear, J did not, but Nora, there, said it over her diamonds.,’’ ‘*Look at this superb set of diamonds that father and mother have given me!’’ And Nora handed the case to Matty. ‘*Did you find your presents, girls ?’’ asked Mrs. Morgan. ‘*No, aunt! Where are they?” asked Mary. ‘*T sent them up to your room last evening,’’ returned Mrs. Morgan. And Mary started out of the room. ‘* They are watches !’’ exclaimed Matty, when her sister brought in two small velvet cases. And, opening hers, she lifted a small Geneva watch, and examined it with delight. ‘*Did you buy them, uncle ?”’ ** Yes, Miss Mary, J bought them !”’ ‘*Mary, they are from papa! Look on the inside of the case.’’ **O Uncle Morgan !”’ said Mary, after reading the inscription. ‘*Well, I did buy them, but your father commissioned me to do so,” said her uncle, laughing heartily. ‘*We are going to church, Aunt Martha,”’ said Mary, as they arose from the table. ‘To church!” exclaimed Nora, ‘‘ when your father is not here ?’’ ‘We are going with Miss Edith,’’ answered Mary, quietly. ‘* Well, every person to his taste. I think it is the greatest bore in the world to go to church on a week-day! I’m glad that I am not a Catholic, for that very reason.”” And she seated herself before the grate. Mrs. Morgan asked if Matty knew the way, and said that they ought to start in season, for they would have a long walk. ‘‘At what hour does divine service coiz- mence !’’ asked Fred, in a tone of mock solem- nity. ** At eleven o’clock,’’ answered his mother. ‘* It is ten now, and [ think we had better be getting ready, don’t you, Miss Edith?’’ asked Matty. ‘* Yes, dear, if your aunt will excuse us,” replied Edith. And they left the room. Nora looked after them, and, after reflecting a moment, said to her mother, who was stand- ing beside her: ‘‘ Miss Edith is not a member of the Methodist Lpiscopal Church.”’ ‘* Yes, I reckon she is,’’ said her mother, ‘* No, ma’am, she is not; it’s a mistake; she belongs to the Methodist Artful! Why, mo- ther, she was in the Ellises’ room early this morning, reading in the Bible; and then she went down into the parlor, got up a tableau- vivant for father’s benefit, and then ran through the hall, past Fred, with streaming hair and slippered foot, evidently with the object of making an impression on the young gentleman ; and now she’s going to church, a beautiful example of piety, expecting, without doubt, that mi-lord’ll accompany her.’’ She looked around to note the effect of her words upon her brother, who was standing with his back to her, looking out of the window. He did not notice her remarks, and she continued, address- ing him directly: ‘‘I am glad, Fred, that you did not let your politeness run away with your judgment; I expected you would offer to escort the governess to churchs’’ He continued to drum on the window-pane, but said nothing. ‘Emily Owen is coming to-day.’’ She looked at her mother, and they both looked at Fred, Leonora with a meaning smile and Mrs. Morgan with an earnest, anxious expression. His moustache went up contemptuously, but the announcement of Emily Owen’s anticipated ar- rival produced not a word. The drumming continued, rather louder and quicker for a few moments, and then, putting his hands behind him, he approached his mother, and said :— ‘* What time do we dine to-day, mother ?”’ ‘* At four o’clock,’’ replied Mrs. Morgan. He took up a spoon, balancing it on his finger for a few moments, then turned to leave the room. ‘* You will be home to dinner, will you not?” his mother asked. ‘Oh, certainly ; I shall return with the girls.”’ ‘* With the girls ?”’ ‘*Yes, mother. Variety is the spice of life, and I think I’ll vary the order of exersises for Christmas day, and go to church with Matty.

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526 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. I may come out a wiser and a better man. Au revoir’? And, smiling, he left the apartment. ‘*Matty! That’sacapital dodge!’’ exclaimed Nora. ‘I'll bet that he’ll walk with Miss Edith.”? And she went into the parlor to watch them from the window. ‘* Where are you going, Cousin Fred ?”’ asked Matty, drawing on her gloves as she preceded Edith and Mary down stairs, ‘*If you will be very amiable, I will walk down the street with you,’’ said he, tapping his boot with his cane. ‘If I will permit you to do so, you mean. It is not often that you can be seen in such good company, and you must appreciate the honor. Now, hold up your head and turn your toes out!” ‘¢Turn up your toes and hold your head out,” said Fred, imitating her tone, and standing on his heels while he thrust his head forward. ‘** Children should be seen, not heard! Now, open the door.’’ Nora was at the window, and Fred, suspecting her motive, walked with Matty, out of con- sideration for Edith, whose position with regard to his mother and sister he did not think would be rendered any the more agreeable by any particular acts of attention on his part coming under their observation. They walked on briskly for some time ; then gradually slackened their pace, and Fred, ad- dressing some remarks to Edith, fell back, and walked by her side. Without giving much thought to the subject, Edith had regarded Fred as a flippant, good-natured sort of person, not having a very large stock of brains, and nothing particular to recommend him save his affability and politeness. She was surprised, therefore, to find him extremely intelligent ; and, after the weather and other topics of gene- ral interest had been discussed, and the con- versation took a higher tone, she was aston- ished at the extent of information which he seemed to possess with regard to European affairs, society abroad, the political condition of both countries, etc., subjects which had been suggested by the mention of his anticipated European tour, but which, from his general manner and conversation, one would have sup- posed foreign to his daily experience. When they reached the church, Fred said: “‘T will go in, if you think I will not disturb your devotions.”’ **Come in, by all means, Cousin Fred,’’ said Matty, with an approving smile. And they followed the sexton to a front pew that was vacant. Edith passed in first, and bowed her head a moment in silent prayer; Matty and Mary followed her example, while Fred took off his overcoat, and arranged himself comfortably in the corner of the pew. Edith was a dear lover of her church ; its rites and ceremonies, always impressive, now seemed additionally so, and she experienced a feeling of intense satisfaction in being permitted once more to enjoy the beau- tiful service. The voluntary was played, and the deep, rich notes of the organ seemed to tell of friends far away, and stirred up memories so sad that, when the chant ‘‘Thy will be done’’ was sung by the choir, Edith dropped her veil to hide the starting tear. The sermon was finished, the benediction pronounced, and an invitation given to strangers and members of other churches to partake of the Sacrament at the table of their common Master. Fred and the girls arose to go. ‘*T shall remain to communion, Matty, but you need not do so unless you choose,’’ said Edith. And Matty, after whispering a few words to her sister and cousin, said :— ‘* We are going to walk, and will be back by the time you are ready to go.’’ ** Very well,’’ answered Edith. And she was left alone in the pew, surrounded by strangers, but feeling more at home than in the cold at- mosphere of Mrs. Morgan’s elegant mansion. ‘Ye who do truly repent of your sins, and are in love and charity with all your neighbors,”’ etc., fellon Edith’s ear. She was in love and charity with everybody, even her haughty hostess and her daughter, and their proud, almost scornful looks had not kindled one feel- ing of enmity in her heart. She pitied them, and prayed earnestly that they might become humbled, not through misfortune or affliction, but by becoming disciples of the meek and lowly Jesus. Edith was pious, but her piety was of that unostentatious character that made no show or parade of sanctity, but which was evident in her daily walk, in the conscientious discharge of her duties, both religious and secu- lar, and in her lovely disposition, which, toge- ther with a pure heart and clear conscience, made her countenance so radiant and beautiful. She had found in her own experience that everything in religion was calculated to make one cheerful and happy, and she did not be- lieve that, in “‘ glorifying the Father,”’ a long face and the use of cant phrases were essential ; but she was not backward in acknowledging her faith or confessing her Saviour, as was evi- dent in her attending church and remaining to communion on a day wholly devoted to worldly pleasure by those whom she was visiting.

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SUNSHINE AND SHADE; OR, THE GOVERNESS. Matty and Mary were sitting in a back pew when Edith passed down the aisle to leave the church, and when she asked how long they had been there, Mary replied :— ‘*We came in just before you went to the altar ; it was so chilly that we did not walk far.”’ ‘*Where’s Fred?’’ asked Nora, when they entered the parlor, after leaving their bonnets up stairs. ‘*He went down to the reading-room to look over the papers,’’ answered Matty. ‘*Gone down there to smoke, more likely; that ’s what his redigious fit will end in!’ said Leonora, pointedly, though in a pleasant tone. ‘* Smoke and religion! Ha! ha!’ exclaimed a voice in the tea-room. ‘‘ How de do, girls? I'll come in and look at you, directly.”” And, in less than a minute, a figure came bounding into the room, with outstretched arms, and embraced Matty and Mary; then, without waiting for an introduction, extended her hand- to Edith, saying: ‘‘1’ll not stand upon cere- mony, Miss Edith, for I’ve known you ever since you ’ve been South.”’ Edith’s face expressed her surprise. “It’s a fact! Come over here to the fire- place, and I'll tell you what kind of an ac- quaintance we ’ve had together.’’ And, pulling Edith to a seat, she threw herself on the rug, and continued: ‘‘ You know Mr. Acton ?”’ ‘Yes, certainly ; he was my com—’’ “‘T know,” interrupted the stranger; ‘‘ he was your companion for a few days; he is my companion for life: in other words, he is my other half, or three-quarters, for he is twiceas old and large as I am, which is all very right and proper.”’ : ‘*Why, Emily! you married?” exclaimed Matty, holding her breath in astonishment. ** Yes, honey; I’m joined in the holy bonds of wedlock, and a hole-y institution wedlock is ; one can easily slip through the meshes in this country of divorces, and I think I ’ll be legally dissolved, for it’s a great nuisance to have a man’s beots kicking about your room !” ‘* But when were you married ?”’ asked Matty, scarcely recovering her breath. ** You ’ll learn all that in good time, if you listen. Now, Miss Edith, I’ll go on with my story. Well, Mr. Acton, after he left you, went to Havana to see me. We had intended to be married next fall, but while he was there we concluded to bring the courtship to a close, for he has to be in New York nearly all the year, and it’s a great bore to court such a distance apart ; and, besides, I ’m the most miserable cor- respondent; hate letter-writing; and mother 527 had to answer all his letters, which did not seem to please him (though I’ve heard papa say that she writes splendid letters); and so I consented to be married as soon as he returned from Florida, and go to New York for our bridal tour, which was quite a piece of economy, as he had to go there any way, you see.”’ ‘*But when were you married?’ persisted Matty. ‘*Two weeks ago, honey, and without letting the good people here know anything about it ; for you must know, Miss Edith’’—casting her eyes at Nora, and looking very mischievous— ‘‘you must know that Mrs. Morgan and Nora there had dedicated me to Fred, who very na- turally detested the sight of me, because I was always being poked under his nose. Weren't they enraged when I arrived this morning with my spouse! But I’ve been quite jealous of you, Miss Stanford’’—starting to her feet sud- denly; ‘‘really, quite jealous.’’ **Of me!’ exclaimed Edith. ‘* Yes, me! and I called you names several times, for William was everlastingly talking about Miss Stanford, and wondering how you got along, and if you liked Beech Bluff, etc., until I more than half suspected that he was in love with you’’—and then, sinking her voice to a very audible whisper, she said, with a look of arch delight at the extent of her knowledge— ‘¢T know all about Charles Howard !”’ Edith colored, but said nothing; Nora eyed her sharply, and Emily, resting her head against the mantle, looked serious for a moment, then continued: ‘*I am right down glad that you gave him his walking papers!’ Edith looked astonished and distressed, but the volatile tongue ranon. ‘'He’ll catch a tartar when he marries Ellen Acton, if she is beautiful. She is William’s niece, and he says that she is very fond of admiration, and is of a dreadfully jeal- ous disposition; and three or four years ago, when she and Mr. Howard met in Europe, they became engaged; but she broke the engage- ment, because she heard after he came home that he was paying very particular attention to a certain young lady in B——,’’ and the tormentor opened her eyes and nodded her head at Edith in a significant manner. Edith felt distressed at these disclosures be- fore her pupils, but she remained silent, fearing that if she made any remark, it would only encourage Mrs. Acton to be more communica- tive. She was hoping that nothing more would be said on the subject, and, to avoid it, was about to address a remark to Matty, when the little lady suddenly broke out again—

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528 ‘William thinks that Mrs, Richards had a finger in the ple, and sent for Killen to visit h——, in the hopes of renewing the engage- ment between her and Charles Howard! 1 won- der if they 'll call me Aunt Emily !"’ “You! why you are only two years older than I am, and you don't seem one bit older than when we used to play here together,’’ said Matty, ** Yes, but I am, though; and I'm improved, too, for I don’t quarrel any more, and I give up all my playthings. You know we never got along very amiably together.’ **There’s Fred!’’ exclaimed Nora, as the front door opened and closed with a loud noise, ‘*Pell him I’m married, or he won’t speak to me!’ said Emily, catching hold of Nora’s dress. ** Ah, Em! howde do? I’mglad tosee you!” and Fred grasped her hand in a most cordial manner. % ** Right well, hon—Fred, I mean! and I’m married! not that 7’m particularly glad of it, but I think you ’Il be !”’ ‘*T know it, Emily; I met your husband with father. Allow me to congratulate you!” ‘*As much as you please! but I fancy you congratulate yourself the most; you never gave my hand such a friendly grasp in your life!’? and they both laughed heartily, con- tinuing to shake hands and congratulate each other. Emily—or Mrs. Acton—was of a petite figure, firmly proportioned, and very graceful and sylph-like in her motions, and possessing soft blonde ringlets and a pearly skin, which, to- gether with her juvenile manners and childish voice, made her appear even younger than six- teen. Mr. Morgan returned with Mr. Acton, who evinced the greatest pleasure in meeting Edith, and at dinner begged Mrs. Morgan to alter her arrangements and allow him to sit between his wife and Miss Stanford. Mrs. Morgan, whose manner seemed to have thawed considerably, though the governess was still a thorn in the flesh, granted the request, and he sat down with his wife and: Edith on either side of him. Mr. Acton entered at once into conversation with Edith; talked about their friends in B—, and revived reminiscences of their journey, Mrs. Acton bending forward to catch the joke and laugh with them. Gradually throwing off the restraint that had made Edith appear to a disadvantage, though never awkward, she be- came her natural self, and looked so animated GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, and charming that even Mra. Morgan's unwil- ling eye rested on her in admiration, The three aucceeding days were spent in a perfect whirl of excitement ; driving and walk- ing in the daytime, visiting all the objects and places of interest in and around Augusta; and the. evenings were passed at public places of amusement, of which there seemed to be no dearth, On the morning of the fourth day, Mr, and Mrs, Acton took their leave, amid many expressions of regret, none more sincere than Edith’s. Whatever had been communicated to Mrs, Morgan and her daughter respecting Edith, there was a very perceptible change in their deportment towards her; they paid her more attention, and though they were not in the least degree familiar, yet it was evident that she had risen in their estimation. It was the morning before New Year’s; the young folks were assembled in the parlor ar- ranging the flowers that were to decorate the rooms on the occasion of Nora’s party. Edith’s taste had been consulted, and she was filling vases and directing the girls where to place them. ‘‘ Where is that gum shell-lac chain?’ ex- claimed Matty, setting a vase on the elag?re. ‘Isn't it there ?’’ asked Nora. ‘No; and I want it to wind around this bust of Jeuny Lind.” ‘‘Tt must be there under some of the orna- ments, Matty,’’ answered her cousin. ‘Indeed, it is not. Christopher was in here pHishing the andirons ; I'll ask him if he has seen it.” And, going to the door, she called the colored man. ‘*No, Miss Matty, I habn’t seen it in here, but I sawd it up in massa Fred’s room tree days back.’’ ‘‘In your master Fred’s room !’’—going to the door with a piece of music in her hand. ‘* What ’s possessed him to take it? it belongs tome. Go up and get it, Christopher !’’ ‘*P’r’aps massa won't ‘low it, Miss Nora,’’ answered the man, looking rather dubious, and twirling his hat in his hand. ‘Do as I bid you!’’ said Nora, sharply, stepping a pace forward and stamping her foot, then drawing herself up to her fall height she returned to the piano and awaited the ser- vant’s appearance. ‘*Can’t find’um no whar! done gwine, Miss !’’ said Christopher, entering and approaching his young mistress with a very uncertain gait and manner. Looking at him a moment, an angry expres-

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SUNSHINE AND SHADE; OR, THE GOVERNESS, = = sion settled over her face ; then, as if the negro were the offending person, she ordered him, in no very gentle tone, to ' leave the room |'’ Nora's good-humor was gone for the morn-, | ing; she jerked her music, threw down A vase of flowers in one of her sudden movements, and then, in raising the piano cloth to prevent the water from running on to the carpet, she dropped & note which she held in her hand into it, neither of which accidents tended to soothe her irritation, She called one of the servants and scolded her for carelessness when she acci- dentally brushed a piece of music with the towel with which she was saturating up the water. Tearing up the note, she threw the pieces into the fire, and was leaving the room with a very unamiabie expression of counie- nance, when the door-bell rung. She listened intently for a moment, then, as the parlor door opened, she advanced and received Signor Ca- velli with one of her most bewitching smiles. So sudden and so complete was the transform- ation, that to Edith, so unaccustomed to such scenes, she appeared as if suddenly touched by a fairy’s wand; and one who had not witnessed the turbulent state of her temper a few moments previous would have doubted had he been told that aught had occurred to ruffle its sweetness. She bowed gracefully, and returned his ‘‘ Happy New Year’’ with ali her elegance and polish of manner, and after he had passed the compli- ments of the season with the ‘‘ young ladies,’’ she motioned him to the sofa, and sat down herself. “‘T have come to bring my regrets, Miss Nora,’’ he said, handing her a bouquet of rare ‘Circumstances prevent my being present this evening, but—”’ ‘* Why, of course you'll come!’’ exclaimed Nora, interrupting him. ‘*T am sorry that I am to be deprived of that pleasure,’’ he replied in his soft accents, ‘1 received a telegraph this morning announcing the dangerous illness of a friend in New York, exotics. and requesting my immediate presence.”’ ** How excessively annoying! But when will you return?’’ Nora asked, in a tone of vexation. ‘*Just as soon as possible. If I find that dissolution has taken place when I arrive there, I shall return immediately.”’ Then, sinking his voice, he murmured a few words and left the room, accompanied by Leomora. She did not make her appearance again until dinner-time, when her goci-nature seemed perfectly restored, and she laughed and chatted with Edith quite familiarly. **T have made out my programme for this VOL. Lx11.—45 629 evening, and I hope the performers will acquit themselves creditably,"’ said she, gayly. ‘Performers! Whose have you engaged /"' asked her father, with a emile, ‘*Well, let me see! There's Miss Elton, she'll play and sing, of course; and—Miss Edith, you'll sing, will you not?" ** Certainly, if my doing so will give you any pleasure,’ replied Edith, somewhat surprised servicer at the sudden clearing off of the clouds, ‘*That’s right! Your music will give de- cided éclat to the performance,"’ replied Nora, gayly. ** Who else, Nora?’’ Mr, Morgan asked, ‘* Fred, of course. The gentleman is absent when the roll is called; but we depend upon him, and hope he’ll be accommodating this evening.”’ ** Cavelli, I suppose ?’’ ‘*No, sir. Signor Cavelli has gone to New York ; he left his adieus with me this morning.’’ ‘“*The mischief he has! What has called him there so suddenly ?”’ ‘* The illness of a friend.’’ ** And couldn’t stay to your party ?’’ ‘*No, sir,’? answered his daughter, with a faint blush. ‘* How many letters are you to receive a day, Nora ?’’ asked Matty, mischievously. ‘*Not one, my dear,’’ said her aunt, before Nora had time to reply. And, looking at Nora with a satisfied smile, as if confident that hei daughter would not disregard her wishes, she continued—‘' Your cousin knows that | do not approve of young gentlemen and ladies carry ing on a correspondence with each other.’’ Nora did not look up, but continued to run her pencil over the paper which she called the ‘* programme,”’ ‘You did not name yourself, Cousin Nora,’’ said Mary. ‘*No; Signor Cavelli actually had the im pertinence to tell me not to disgrace my music master by banging to-night, and, as I shall be otherwise engaged, I shall not play at all. He thinks my style needs taming down, and he is going to take me in hand as soon aa he re- turns,’’ she said, laughing, as they arose from the table. ‘‘Taming down!” thought Edith. ‘ What an influence he must have acquired over her to have effected such a wonderfal taming down of her style already !’’ ‘* What a precious fool !—with a 7 instead of an F,”’ said Leonora, almost audibly, looking contemptuously after Edith as she left the room. ** And so you have changed your mind about

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5 80 keeping Miss Stanford in the corner,’ said Mrs. Morgan, entering the dining-room, and closing the door. ‘* Yes, mother; nobody will know that she is a governess, and I am not going to proclaim the fact, [assure you. I intend to .introduce her as a friend of the Ellises, who has come South for the benefit of her health.”’ ‘Oh, Nora! Miss Edith will never abet in that deception.”’ ‘*She is to know nothing about it. I shall introduce her, and then if any inquiries are The girls will never tell that she is their governess, for they seem to detest the word when applied to their dearly beloved Miss Edith. It’s for- tunate the Actons left before the party; they ” started, shall give that as an explanation. certainly would have exposed her position. ‘But I do not think it was altogether politic that will intro- duce her at once to the notice of the whole in you to propose her singing ; company, and, if left by herself, she might pass unobserved.”’ ‘* Never, mother; she is too handsome and distinguished-looking, and besides, papa would drag her awkwardly into notice, and we had take her throw the best light on the matter, better under our own wing, and She has completely bewitched papa and Fred.” ‘* Ay, there ’s the rub—your brother !”’ ‘*T am not at all alarmed on his account since Mr. Acton told she refused that Mr. Howard, who, he says, is the handsomest man With all Miss Edith’s quiet ways and apparent un- us that he ever saw, besides being very wealthy. consciousness, it’s my opinion that she under- stands her own attractions, and puts a proper value on them, and is reserving herself for some high position, as mistress of the White Ilouse or wife of some English peer,’’ said Nora, ironically, ‘IT certainly never saw Fred so much inte- rested in any lady before,’’ said Mrs. Morgan, without noticing her daughter’s remarks, ‘‘ and she certainly is very interesting, very lovely ; but I never would receive her as my daughter- in-law, never!’’ And, shoving her chair back violently, she left the room. Notwithstanding Mrs. Morgan’s apparent in- credulity when warned by her son of a secret love existing between Leonora and Signor Cavelli, yet she did experience a feeling of uneasiness which had amounted to positive anxiety, when she was inexpressibly relieved by Cavelli’s sudden departure. But from an anxious state of mind on her daughter’s account GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. she was thrown into a state of perturbation by her son’s increasing devotion to Edith, and the announcement of his intention to spend Easter week at the Bluff, and, in consequence, a deferring of his European tour. She had be- come so thoroughly alarmed that she had con- cluded to speak to her brother-in-law on the subject, and request him not to encourage a visit from his nephew. By keeping Edith ‘‘in a corner,’’ by making her a neglected wall- flower, Mrs. Morgan had believed that she would appear awkward and out of place; and, as her son had often declared that he never would marry a woman who appeared to a dis- advantage in society, she had hoped that he would be thoroughly cured of his penchant for the governess. But now that Nora (to whose whims Mrs. Morgan always yielded) had signi- fled her intention of bringing Edith “ out,”’ she was actually in despair ; for, conscious that she would appear to the very best advantage, par- ticularly at the piano, she expected that Fred would become a fixture at her side, which would naturally lead to inquiries from the company, and she had not the courage to brave the looks of haughty surprise which were sure to follow the denouement that the object of her son’s devotion was her nieces’ governess, In making their arrangements, Mrs. Morgan and her daughter had decided that Matty should stand with Nora at one end of the room, while Mary and her aunt, with Mr. Morgan, were to occupy a position near the door to receive the guests as they entered. It afterwards occurred to Mrs. Morgan that by this arrangement Edith would be left to Fred, who she did not doubt would form a committee of reception in another part of the apartment, a feature which she did not consider as at all desirable ; and, to obviate this difficulty, she requested Fred to stand with his sister and cousin. She had just made the request, and was congratulating herself on her able generalship, when the door of the tea-room, where they were assembled, was thrown open, and Mr. Ellis entered. Matty and Mary, with a scream of delight, bounded to receive him ; with difficulty he released himself from their embraces, and advanced to receive the welcome of the others. After shaking hands warmly with Mr. and Mrs. Morgan and his niece and nephew, he looked around the room, and a shadow settled ondhis face. Matty, who under- stood her father’s countenance, hastened to explain. , ‘Miss Edith will be down in a moment, - papa; she is fixing the trimming on my dress. Nora is going to have a party this evening, and

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le th 18 er n, th a; sir ne ly nd SUNSHINE AND SHADE; Mary and I are going to wear purple sashes and bows and white dresses. The dress-maker didn’t fix them to Miss Edith’s taste, and she has been the whole afternoon altering them. Here she comes, and I reckon she don’t know that you are here—see what she'll say.’’ And Matty looked with a pleased, eager face towards the door, which opened and admitted Edith, who, without noticing Mr. Ellis’s presence, walked quietly to her seat, beside Mr. Morgan. ‘Why, Miss Edith!” exclaimed Matty, in a tone of vexation and surprise. Edith looked up quickly, and her face be- came perfectly radiant with astonished pleasure on beholding Mr. Ellis. His eye was fixed on her face, so sweet in its quiet repose as she walked to her seat, and the sudden, electrica! change that passed over it on discovering his presence produced a flush in his own cheek, and rendered the meeting somewhat embar- rassed on both sides. Edith apologized for not observing him when she entered the room, and, regaining her wonted composure, she in- quired after his people at the Bluff. ‘*Come, my son,’’ said Mrs. Morgan to Fred, who, according to his usual custom when an- noyed, had walked to the window, and was drumming on the glass, ‘‘come ; we must have tea over, and adjourn to our dressing-rooms.”’ He took his seat, and, with his usual lively manner, said :— ‘Well, uncle, you have arrived just in time for the frolic.” ‘*] don’t know about that, Fred,” returned Mr. Ellis ; ‘‘ I have important business to trans- act this evening, which may detain me down town until a late hour. You know I am very bashful (with a smile), and I could not summon courage to enter the room alone, after all the guests have assembled.” **T’ll wait for you, papa!” exclaimed Mary. **And miss your lesson in receiving company ? No, that will not do,’’ said Mrs. Morgan. ‘* Here is Miss Edith, Ellis,’’ said Mr. Morgan. **T believe she is the only one who has not been pressed into the receiving service; she will come out and escort you into the room.”’ ‘*Very well, Miss Edith,’ said Mr. Ellis, without waiting for a reply from her. ‘You can wait for me until ten o’clock, and if I am not here at that time, Fred must be your escort.’’ ‘* With pleasure,’ returned Fred. Mr. Ellis had discovered at once that Edith was on a sociable footing with the family, and, feeling relieved of some anxiety on that score, his spirits rose proportionately. “*T believe I have some letters for you, Miss OR, THE GOVERNESS. 531 Edith,’’ said he, as she was about to leave the room with the girls; and he handed her a package, saying, ‘‘ You can read them while ‘ you wait for me in the library.”’ The blushes and embarrassment attending the meeting between her brother-in-law and his daughters’ governess did not escape the ob- servation of Mrs. Morgan. ‘'She must not be put in Mary’s place, either,’’ she said to her- self, while she poured out the tea; then, glanc- ing at her son as he took his seat at the table, —‘*I must balk them both by making it ap- parent to each that the other will win.’ (To be continued.) _ -—ror — THE NAME IN THE SAND. ® BY MRS. CORDELIA H, TURNER, By the side of the ocean on a pebbly seat, Where the white-crested wave rolled up o'er his feet, fat a child in whose locks the cool zephyr play'd, And on his pale cheek the hue of rose laid; His red coral lips it greeted and kissed, Enshrouding him quite in its silvery mist Thus playfully sitting, the venturesome child In miniature islands the sea shells had piled, And as the cool water came up on the beach, To lay on its bosom some fair shell he'd reach ; But as the rude wave receded from shore, The glistening toy to depths dark it bore. Thus thoughtlessly tossing them off one by one, Till all of his miniature islands were gone; Then, rising, in sadness he eries to the main, ‘‘ Bring me, oh bring me those fair shells again! And while lam waiting on this moistened strand, I'll write with my finger my name in the sand, And there it will linger tili ages roll past, And longer than islands of sea shells ‘twill last.” So with his fair finger of soft marble hue In the yet moistened sand he manfully drew The name that a fond loving mother had given, * To her infant son ere she left him for heaven, But as he sat gazing the tide swept along— It trilled o'er the beach, and in its gay song Seemed to jestingly, mockingly, heartlessly say, “Thy name as thy shells I bear far away."’ But nothing undaunted, “I'll try it again!” And as he exclaims it he carves as with pen, Still deeper and deeper in the sand on the shore, His name; but the sea soon levels it o'er, Thus seeing it fruitless his name to enshrine On the beach of the sea that's washed by the brine, He rises! A stone for his mallet he takes, And for a rude chisel some fair shell he breaks; He sings to the waves, “‘ No longer you ‘ll mock; I'll carve in yon granite my name on the rock."’ ‘Twas done, and it lingered till seasons rolled past, It stood the rude waves and the wild tempest’s blast ; And oft when in manhood he stood by a stream, Reverting his thoughts to his boyhood’s wild dream, As over his brow the cool zephyr plays, It brings to his thoughts those fond happy days And miniature isles that were borne from the land Along with the namé that was writ in the sand.

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THE ROMANCE OF HEART. A HIDDEN BY CLARA AUGUSTA. Ir was near sunset, the sunset of a rare day in June, and the amber drapery of the west threw a golden reflection over the dark front of Ireton Hall, the residence of Richard Steele. On the wide, vine-wreathed piazza of the mansion sat the master, the proprietor of un- told wealth, the uncontrolled possessor of a million, in lands, bank stocks, and railway shares. Mr. joyed his riches without companionship; he had not a relative in the wide world. A hard, selfish, grasping man, beloved by none, and Steele had never been married; he en- respected only because of his great wealth. But spite of his power to do good, the world was none the better for Richard Steele’s existence. No prayerful lips spoke his name with blessing ; no lonely child of poverty and want was made happy through his bounty ; no desolate orphan’s heart sung for joy because of his ministrations. And he, this man who so misused his life, went to his couch of down at night, without prayer; he ignored God; and his Bible lay on the ma- hogany shelves of his library, with mould on its velvet cover. No one in Milford remembered Mr. Steele as other than the miser he was to-day ; for fifteen years he had been a citizen of the town, and no change, either for better or for worse, had come over him, in a moral point of view. Speculators avoided him; they made no thriv- ing bargains out of the keen-sighted financier ; and men of business, when forced to deal with him, cut their interviews short. Noone thought of offering him a subscription paper for any charitable purpose ; he denounced all benevo- lent societies as humbugs, and those who can- vassed for them he called swindlers. The gardens of Ireton Hall were the finest for scores of miles; the yellow pears and luscious nectarines mellowed on its walls, the ungath- ered grapes purpled on the trellises, and no schoolboy’s daring hands disturbed the ripe treasures. Mr. Steele’s great dog, Pluto, was as selfish as his master, and his savage teeth were always ready to inflict summary punish- ment on each and all depredators. This quiet afternoon, as Mr. Steele sat on the piazza gazing out on the broad acres of Ireton, his eye fell on two little children who were com- 532 | ing down the road handin hand. They arrived in front of the gardens, and cast wistful looks at the rich damask roses which hung over the quaintly carved gate. For a moment, they conversed tegether in subdued voices, and then they turned in at the lion-guarded gateway, and came slowly up the avenue. An angry scowl contracted the brow of Mr. Steele at this unwarranted intrusion, and he half rose from his seat as if to drive out the un- welcome guests. They were the first children who had ever dared to trespass on the estate of Ireton Hall. They came feariessly up to the piazza, still holding each other’s hands. The eldest was a boy of perhaps twelve years; a brave, noble little fellow, with brown eyes, and dark, glossy brown hair. The other was a girl; she could not have been more than nine summers old, and beauty like hers is seldom seen save in some rare old picture. The sight of her face struck a strange thrill to the heart of Richard Steele, and involuntarily he bent down to look at her. She was fair as a water lily save the crimson which tinged her lips, and leaped at intervals to the snow of her cheek. Her eyes were deeply blue, and her hair like ripples of molten gold touched by heavenly sunbeams. Both the children wore mourning garments, cheap and coarse, but neat as human hands could make them. The little girl spoke first. ‘* Please, sir, will you give brother and me some roses ?”’ The tone was musical and sweet as harp notes, but the rich man’s countenance grew hard and cold. He pointed to the highway. ‘* Begone !”’ he exclaimed, ‘‘I do not raise flowers for beggars!” Oh, how the dark eyes of the boy flashed, and he was about to make some sharp answer, but the pressure of the girl’s fingers on his arm checked him. ‘“‘We are not beggars,’’ she said, calmly, ‘* but our mother is dead, and we are orphans. She loved the roses, and we love them, too. Please give us one apiece. It will seem so good to smell flowers once more.”’ The hard face did not relax, the long, thin finger still pointed to the gate, but the blue- eyed petitioner did not move. She was regard- aed

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ae pa ST ee ESelUcT CUT! ied THE ROMANCE OF A HIDDEN HEART. 5383 ing him with an expression strangely tender and pitying, and it annoyed him more than anything else to be pitied. ‘Why do you look at me in that way?’’ he demanded, harshly. ‘*Because I am sorry for you,’’ she said, sweetly; ‘‘ you are old, and sad, and all alone. Where are your children ?” ‘*T have none,’’ he answered; and wondered, at the same time, why he did so. ‘*None? Have you no little girl to sit on your knee, and call you papa? I’m sure I pity you very much !”’ ‘*Humph!’’ ‘*But Ido! Indeed I do! It must be dread- ful not to love anybody! Did you never have anybody to love you!”’ A spasm of pain shot athwart the rigid face of Richard Steele, and his tall frame quivered, it might be with agony, or anger, one could not decide from his words. He pushed the child away. ‘* Not another word! I will not listen! Good heaven! that lips like those should ask me that question !”’ ‘*Pardon me, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. You loved somebody, and God took her away. Was it your sister?” Ah, yes; and memory flew back to that gentle, fair-haired child who had clung with soft arms to his neck, and kissed with warm lips his bearded cheek. His little sister, May ! How well he remembered her, as she looked the last time he had seen her face, lying cold and calm like marble, in the shadow of a coffin; with white rosebuds broken in twain, amid the ringlets of her hair, broken like herself, the sweet immortal rosebud! Yes, he remembered May, and his eye grew moist with something like atear, but it was a strange visitant, and he dashed it away. Yet that tear was not given to angel May; she had been for years safe in the Paradise of God; it was given to another, whose blue eyes seemed to look at him out of the blue orbs of the little girl before him. He bent down over her, and scanned her features closely. Then he asked— **My child, what is your name ?”’ ** Violet Gray.’’ The man smothered a cry of surprise, and his face grew strangely pale, even in the red light of sunset. It must have been a strange emotion, indeed, which could thus stir the hard heart of Richard Steele. Presently he said :— “And what was your mother’s name before she married ?” ** Violet Dale.’’ ** And she is dead ?’’ He spoke the words in a deep whisper, as though fearing to utter them aloud. ** She is with the angels.” A silence fell upon the group, broken only by the suppressed sobs of the girl and the heavy breathing of the man. When he again addressed her, his voice had taken a softness which none in Milford had ever heard in its measured cadence. ** And this boy is your brother ?’’ ** Yes, my brother Richard.” “Richard! For whom was he christened thus?’’ Mr. Steele asked the question breath- lessly, with an earnestness very strange and foreign to his stony nature. ‘* For a schoolmate of my mother’s—”’ ‘*And this schoolmate’s surname—do you remember it ?”’ **It was Richard Steele, sir.’ O how the cold face lighted up! and the stern month grew almost tender as this proof , of the power of the old love was given him. ‘Did Violet—did your mother ever mention this Richard Steele to you ?”’ The boy came forward, and replied: “ His name was the last on her lips when she died ; and, two days before she left us, she gave me a letter which I was to put into his own hand; and we are searching for him, my sister and I, and when we have found him, we are going to live with a distant cousin of my father’s, in Portland.” ** You need look no further for Richard Steele, Come into the , my boy; he is before you! house, and give me the letter.’ The children followed him into the great parlor, and, calling his astonished housekeeper, he bade her prepare them some refreshments ; then, receiving the packet from the boy, with reverent awe, he went up stairs to his chamber, closed and locked the door, and sat down in the arm-chair by the window. He held the letter some time in his hand, gazing intently on the superscription, which he could scarcely discern for the mist that dimmed his eyes. At length he kissed the writing and gently broke the seal which the fingers of the dead had fixed. The contents of the sheet were as follows :— Ricnarp Steeie: Now that I am dying, it will wrong no one to confess what has hitherto been kept a secret in my own bosom. me false and fickle; you despised all women because of me, and I have suffered you to go on in ignorance, while all the time my heart has been slowly breaking for the want of your You believed

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534 love. When yor left me to go out into the world in search of fortune, my iove for you wronged my Creator! Iwas an idolater, and you, Richard, were my idol! But if my love was strong, my pride was stronger, and when your letters, after growing less frequent, ceased altogether, I sought no explanation of your silence. Georgia Dale, my stepmother, was my counsellor, and because I listened to her my whole life has been shipwrecked! She it was who first whispered in my ear the story of your devotedness to a fair Southern heiress; she it was who brought me the letter containing the tidings of your marriage. Oh, Richard! Rich- ard! who shall picture to you the days of agony which succeeded? But for all my reg- nant pride, I should have lost my reason! Well, after that Charles Gray sought my favor; my stepmother approved of him, and I per- jured myself at God’s holy altar! Too late I learned the truth! It was all a vile plot of Georgia Dale's; I stood between you and her; but for me, she hoped to wim your love! You know the result ; her success was not a success, but a failure ; you fled from the country, curs- ing me in your heart, and never guessing that the fair, smiling bride of Charles Gray cast out a thought after you. Seven years ago my hus- band died, and during these seven intervening years I have earned my own and my children’s bread by the labor of my hands. Once only in all that weary time have I looked on your face, and then you thought me hundreds of miles away; but my love was potent, and I jour- neyed, on foot and alone, a hundred leagues to see you once more. You were walking in the garden, and the woman whom you turned away when she asked for a draught of water was Violet Dale. I would not reveal myself to you; it is better as it is. you, Richard Steele! I have loved you long, and you only; and in the heaven whither I am going there is neither marrying nor giving And now God bless in marriage ; meet me there ! Viotet Gray. He finished the manuscript, and, bowing his face upon the open sheet, the long pént sor- row of his heart burst forth in tears—tears such as only one like him can shed. The closed chamber was opened at last, the double granite doors were rolled back, and the angels of ten- der Memory flew in and took up their abode there. Violet Dale! Violet! the soft-eyed girl whom he had loved with the freshness of his youth and the fervor of his manhood; Violet, who GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. had made his whole life a failure! And yet she had been pure and innocent; before the tri- bunal of his judgment she was blameless. Yet she was dead—what mattered this long-deferred discovery ? it was now too late! Too late for her, but not too late for her children! They should be his, and he would be their father. And it was even so. Richard and Violet Gray went forth no more from Ireton Hall; hence- forth their home was with the early friend of their mother, Unbounded was the surprise in Milford when it was known that Mr. Steele had adopted two stranger children; but still greater was the astonishment when, on the following Sabbath, the rich man walked into church, leading the orphans, one on either side. The good work was begun, and it went on until Richard Steele’s whole nature was revolutionized. Years afterwards, while he lay on his death- bed, loving and grieving friends were around him, and at the very last he fancied he saw the face of his lost Violet hovering above the couch. And at his funeral there were few dry eyes, for the poor had learned to bless his bounty, and the sick and distressed offered up his name in their prayers; and ali svrrowed alike, for they knew that the grave had closed over one whose hand was ever open to the calls of charity. And therefore say not, O cold cynic, that because men are harsh and cold there is no oasis in the desert, for in every human heart, however strong, there is a fountain of sweet waters, and happy is he who breaks the flinty barriers and allows the living stream to gush forth. LOVE. BY HARRIET PAY. Peruaps there are few words in the English language, or in the vocabulary of any other language so strangely miscomprehended as the much abused one of love. The poet sings of it, the novelist writes of it, the novel-reader weeps over it, the school-girl dreams of it, the world talks of it, yet few souls are blest with its knowledge, and its holy light illumines but few hearts. We talk of true, unselfish love, as though love were ever untrue, or its sacred twilight might deepen into the darkness of jealousy or fade in the cold dawn of selfishness. The bright light of passion may dazzle for a time, and then flicker in the shadows of indifference and go out in the blackness of hate ; but love grows brighter in the darkness, and sheds its

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h ht or 18 e, ee 4a) ts POETRY. 585 steady light over the cherished one, to guide and to cheer through the path of sorrow and, if need be, of sin, and over the sea of death. Indifference cannot weary nor ingratitude blight it. It beams brighter and purer in the spirit- land, and death’s dark waters have no power to quench its light. The belief in guardian angels is no idle su- perstition, but a beautiful truth realized by many a heart unbound by earthly passion, for as we love those that have gone before, so may the love of the angels shed its pure light over our souls when peaceful thoughts come over us and still all worldly strife as the quiet of a Sabbath evening. Love is no idle creation of a morbid fancy, no sickly sentimentalism or burn- ing passion. All love is embodied in the one sentence: ‘‘God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever be- lieved on him should not perish, but should have everlasting life.” The subtle essence of love is not human but heavenly, and Madame de Stael had learned it when she said: ‘‘ How happy are those who consecrate to God alone this profound senti- ment of love of which the inhabitants of the world are not worthy.”” This simple sentence contains more of truth than all the passion and sentiment of her Corinne. Earthly love is seldom happy, rarely brings peace to the soul, because it is not love alone, but is mingled with pride or passion. Our books are full of this low, earth-born passionate sentiment that we call love. Each day we hear of a husband that abandoned his family, or of a desertion of home and friends, all for—love. Was it love that prompted the tempter to tear the wife from the husband that she has vowed to love, honor, and obey, to cast away the clinging arms of her children, and to plant the thorn of remorse deep in her heart, that, in the long years to come, she may reap the bitter harvest of wretchedness? Was it love that plead with her when, yielding, she brought dishonor on his name no less than on her own? Love should ennoble, not degrade its object. Love! Divine love, emanating from the great source of light and love, brings joy and not sor- row to the heart that cherishes it. The buds of youth and the blossoms of hope may be blighted by the frost of selfishness, or scorched by the hot breath of passion, but the warm sun of love rises to bring life to the drooping flow- ers, as the ineffable love of the great Father shall raise us, when blighted by the breath of sin, to bestow upon us eterna! life. SABBATH EVENING. BY REV. H. A. GUILD. Tue stilly Sabbath eve has come— Slow sinks the sun to rest; White purple clouds, all tinged with gold, Lie thick along the west The merry warblers cease their song, And seek their leafy beds, While gray night's mantling curtain falla, And soft the twilight spreads. The silent dew steals o'er the mead, And gems the sleeping flowers; While hushed in stillness not a leaf Moves on the rosy bowers, The moon unveils her lovely face, And pours a mellow light Over the earth, and glistening stars Bestud the vault of night. Great God! we praise thee for this day Of glad and welcome rest— A respite from our week'y toils, From care and woe opprest. Oh, let us at the parting hour Of this, Thy hallowed day, Render the grateful tribute due, And heart-felt homage pay. Let us with all creation join, To sing and praise Thy name; And may Thy spirié still our hearts To calm and peaceful frame, May this blest day our hearts revive, And cheer us on our way, Up to the Sabbath in the skies, That never-ending day. THE MOONBEAMS. BY EVA EVERGREEN, On the night, the night, the beautiful night! When the green earth is kissed with moonbeams bright, That light on the trees, and their silver wings Keep time to the song that the zephyr sings; They creep in each sweet flow’ret's folded cup, And there on the sky-distilled dew they sup. Oh, a dainty race of fairies are they— Those moonbeams—what magical wands they sway! They visit the streamlets that hide in the dell, And wherever they catch the water's swell, They kiss it in gladness and leave a smile On its bosom dark and linger awhile. Oh what halos of glory they cast round the head Of the children that sleep in the cotter’s low bed! With their gossamer wings, and their silver-shod feet That have strayed far away from the heavenly street. Many deeds of good have their bright eyes seen, And many a fond lover's kiss, I ween ; Oh what visions of maidens made wondrously fair, As they knelt in the moonlight to whisper a prayer! Bright beams of love from the Father's throne Over earth’s slumbering maltitude thrown, Servants of heaven sent earth ward to keep Their silent vigils while sweetly we sleep.

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> ve MI BY THE AUTHOR OF CHAPTER VIII. A WAY TO GET MONEY. Scorpina ? I am not scolding! I never scold, Mr. Rasher! thing, you begin to talk about ‘curtain lec- tures,’’ and all that kind of vulgar stuff. Men have fairly worn out their own tongues talking If l express my mind about any- about women’s tongues, yet I’ve got to live to see the day when a man admired a quiet woman. You always see them running after the silliest chatterboxes—the faster they can talk, and the more foolish things they can say, the better they like ’em—always provided it ain't their own wife! It’s only last night, at Mrs. Yellow Dock’s, you was perfectly infatuated with that Mrs. IT had to laugh in my sleeve, to see how you stuck by her side the whole evening. Jealous? not a bit of it. Me and Grimace were watching you, and enjoy- Giggle, that we women despise. ing ourselves very much. Grimace told me it was surprising to see a man with such a wife as you had, interested in that silly little widow. I You ’d rather have somebody You were charmed with her good nature? presume so, with an eternal smile on their face, than to hear the wittiest things said in a cutting way. The fact is, Rasher, you ’re not a judge of the female sex; they can pull the wool over your eyes without the least difficulty. You presume I am as well aware of that weakness as any one ? Oh, now, don’t be getting sharp, it ain’t be- coming to you! Give me the money I asked for, that ’s all I want of you. Of course it’s all Men were made to earn If it wasn’t I ever want of you. money, and women to spend it. AND MI a Vn. RASHER. **‘mIiss SLIMMENS for your money-making faculty I don’t know what you’d be, my dear. You’re neither a politician, nor an office seeker, nor even a deacon in your own church, and you can’t even drink a toast like some men; you ain’t hand- some, and never can have any manners; but people respect your money, and put up with all your deficiencies. I was telling Mrs. Allen Allair how much I admired her husband, and she said she’d ‘‘swap’’ any day, Mr. Rasher dressed me so beautifully. All of our set, that have to teaze and teaze when they get new They know I never ask twice when you ’ve got it, and that you ’re things, are envious of me. usually reasonable about pin-money. I suppose it’s because you know I’ll have it by hook or crook, and you might as well give up at first I don’t know what I should do, if I was obliged to submit to what Jeg- ging for what they need, as humble as the cross- as last. My gracious! some of my friends have to put up with. ing sweepers, with their—‘‘ Please give me a penny, sir!’’ I’ve been wanting it a week, and it’s extremely I want a couple of hundred dollars. inconvenient for me to wait any longer. ‘‘Snub- bing you ain’t just the way to put you in the ” Snubbing you! humor for giving it to me. What on earth were you made so little for, if it wasn’t to be snubbed? I’ve always snubbed you, and always expect to. But I want two hundred dollars this morning, and if you refuse it to me, you ll be sorry for it. What will I do? Why a hundred thousand things to make you uncomfortable. What was a woman given her wits for, if it wasn’t to defend herself? I'll do everything you don’t want me to do; and you know what that means, from former ex- perience. It does: it means too much sugar in your tea and not enongh in your coffee, nothing that you like for dinner, and a poke in your ribs every time you get to snoring at night; it means the most chilling and killing politeness, Mr. Rasher—treating you, as it were, as we do friends in reduced cireumstances. It means being nervous and having the headache when you make little advances towards being sorry ; it means forgetfulness of your likes and dislikes, nislaving your paper, not allowing you to smoke in your room; it means very low spirits

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MR. AND MRS. RASHER, when we are alone together, and very high spirits as soon as any one comes in. But there ’s no use telling you what it means; you have had chance to speak from experience. And now, if you want to provoke me, you can; but I shall go and run you in debt just twice that sum, and do lots of troublesome things besides. You’ll warn the shops not to trust me? You dare not! you haven’t the spunk! and if you had it, you’ve too much pride. You can’t catch an old bird with chaff. You can’t frighten me. You’d better go and tell Madame Folly not to trust me! I’m going to get my spring bonnet there. She let me make my selection yesterday, though she don’t have her opening for a week yet. I’ve picked out a perfect love, the very finest real chip with a perfectly new kind of trimming—twenty-two dollars, and I owe her forty, now. She’d be very civil to you, I’ve do doubt, if you were to go there and warn her that you would “ pay no debts of my contracting,’’ and she ’d be just as anxious to get me on her books for a dozen times that amount. Rasher, my love, you’re not a match for the female sex, and you ought to be aware of it. You wish to goodness you never had been a match for one of ’em? There it comes again! what a heartless creature you are, Rasher! not only to tell the wife of your bosom and the mother of ‘your children that you wish you never had married her, but to be guilty of conveying that information in a pun, jesting about what should wring tears from your eyes. You had better punthan swear? Well, if you weren’t a brute you wouldn’t do either, just because your wife wanted some spending money. Don’t try to put your arm around me, I always did hate it, even when we were court- ing, and I know you never do it now, except to smooth over some of your outrageous con- duct. Getting fatter every day? nonsense! I’m not doing any such thing! You think of having me exhibited at Barnum’s as the Fat Woman, if I cause you to fail through my ex- travagance? Rasher! you’ve nothing but vul- gar thoughts in your mind, from one day to another ; and, in my opinion, it’s all caused by your constant contact with pork. Perhaps it’s the same thing that makes you so oleaginous ? And what’s that? something horribly low, I’m sure, or you wouldn’t make use of it. Pretty moruing-dress? I’m aware of that. You’re just trying to change the subject, and slip out of this chamber without giving me what I asked for. I’d rather have the cash than any quan- tity of compliments. You haven’t got it? That ’s always the story. | | 537 Very well. If you can’t do me one favor, will you do me another? Just please to look in the closet, and reach me down my Zouave jacket from the top peg. What am I doing? Why, I’ve locked you in, my love, and you don’t come out till you fork over two hundred dollars. Hope I’ll be generous enough to send you in some break- fast, and a lamp, with the morning papers to read? Ha! ha! do you, indeed? There’s the breakfast-bell now, so you had better make up your mind. We had some splendid fresh eggs sent in from the country yesterday, and I or- dered omelette for breakfast. It will spoil directly. Let you out, and you'll see about it —can’t give it to me through the door? Slip it under the door, my darling, one or two bills at I’ll count them, and tell you when I’ve enough. You'll starve and smother be- fore you’ll do it? Very well. I’m going down. I can eat your omelette, and mine, too. I’m dreadfully hungry this morning, aren’t you, my love? It won’t do a particle of good for you to kick at the door; you’ve often re- commended the solidity of the wood work, and besides you’ve got your slippers on, and haven’t room to kick to advantage. Good-by, my precious. You'll be quite exhausted and ready to be reasonable by the time I’ve fin- ished breakfast. I declare, if he hasn’t got over being mad, It ll take two hours yet My love, can you give a time. and gone to singing! to bring him to terms. me those bills now? (She's done full many a daring dend, But never one much rasher ; If ever I get out again, Good gracious, won't I thrash her! I'd like to, but I can’t, I know, For she is much the stronger. I'll smother in this horrid hole, If kept here any longer.) Mr. Rasher, I’ve finished my breakfast, and would like you to just slip that trifling amount under the door, if convenient. (You cannot have a dime to-day— I'll stick to that like teazle ; You'd better let me out, my dear. Pop goes the weazle !) I guess you'll get tired of singing on an empty stomach, and you see you'll be obliged to give up sooner or later. You can die game? Yes, you can, but you don’t want to; you’re as fond of living as anybody. (I'll live and die in Dixie! Look away! far away !) You can’t look very far away, sweetest, un-

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538 tess you can look through a wooded door. Kicking again! Ho! getting spunky! You ’re fatiguing yourself for nothing. You’d better be a good boy, mind your wife, and come out and eat your breakfast. What’s that? You ’ve got a penknife? Well, I’m not afraid of your committing suicide. Cutting my Zou- ave jacket into flinders, and are going to serve all my clothes the same way? Just as you please. It’s rather expensive amusement, but of course I shall get new ones to take their place. You’ll give your club an account of the whole proceedings? I don’t care for that ; they know I’m your better half. ho! (Marier, mother of my girls! Pity this dreadful numb ache That gnaws like mice within a cheese, Not in my heart, but stomach.) You can have a nice breakfast for two hundred dollars, and not a cent less. You sha’n’t give as-sent to it? Perhaps you ’ll make up your mind by the time I return from the parlors. I’m going down to see about having the curtains What’sthat? You capitulate, resign, Very well; give me the dusted. surrender, give up? money. You'll be obliged to give me acheck on the bank where you deposit, but you promise, on your word and honor, to do that? This morn- ing? as soon as I let you out? before you leave this room? upon your sacred word and honor? Well, then, I’ll unlock the door. I’m a per- fect Bluebeard? I own upto it. Here’s pen and ink; make out the amount, two hundred dollars. Thank you, my dear. And now you may have your breakfast; I'll wait on you myself; and the next time your wife wants a reasonable amount of spending money, don’t lose so much time in giving it to her. The longer you live, my love, the more you ’ll find that you can’t outwit a woman! CHAPTER IX. RASHER ‘‘ AT HOME.”’ Mrs. Rasuer! I’m proud and happy to wel- come you. To what propitious circumstance am I indebted for the honor of this visit? It is three years since you have delighted your husband by a visit to his place of business. Does the smell offend you? your nose is turned up a little. Will you sit down, my dear, upon this half barrel of mess? No? Will you sit down on this hog’s-head? No? You've been to the bank with the check I gave you? Well, I trust they did not refuse to cash so trifling a sum. J/ave your revenge? What’s the matter, | | | | GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, I do not Oh-ho! drawn back- I declare, that was careless of me! You should have noticed it this morning, that Of course the clerk could not make you change for the two-hun- my dear? Isn’t the check all right? see any mistake about it. wards ! I might have correcte4 it. dredth part of a cent. Let’s look at it— 800 002; a bad mistake, really! On purnose, to mortify and disappoint you? Now, Marier, you couldn’t suspect me of that, and besides ‘‘there’s no outwitting a woman,’’ you know —of course not, Marier! You see it sharpens a fellow’s wits to shut him up in a dark closet without any breakfast. I’m very sorry for the mistake and the trouble it’s put you to. Was your dear friend Fitz-Simmons along with you, as usual? She must have been disappointed, not to get her portion of the spoils. Don’t look so cross, wife; sit down and make your- self comfortable. Will have to put a little grease on your temper, to make it run smoother. Haven’t felt so well in a long time as I do to- Business looking up again. Sold a thou- sand barrels to-day. I’ve got five thousand dollars to deposit as I go home. I could let you have a little, as well as not ; but if I should give it to you to-day, there wouldn’t be any excuse for shutting me up in the closet again, and I rather like to be shut up by a woman! Quite a se//, wasn’t it ?’—the thcusand barrels, Imean. Check-mated you, my love! Ha! ha! You look warm—won’t you have a draft of something cooling? I’ve got some bottled stout under the desk there, though I wouldn’t recom- mend it, as it might make you stouter than you are. Will I or will I not give you money to fin- ish your shopping? I guess I’ve punished you enough for that little trick you served me this morning. Just step into my private office, and let me get it for you. If you won’t set down on a hog’s-head, perhaps you will on this chair. What am I doing? Oh, nothing but locking you in, my love. I’ll send Pat home with the carriage, and you can make yourself comfort- able till five o’clock. Fitz is waiting for you at Taylor’s? I only hope she hasn’t money enough to pay for the lunch she’s probably ordered. You haven’t had yours, I suppose; but as you ate both your breakfast and mine, you won’t need any. Faint away? I’ve got a watering-pot I can sprinkle you with through this little window, and then you ’ll have ona watered silk. You’ve heard of the wise ad- vice, ‘‘keep your powder dry,” and if you should faint, I’d be obliged to dampen yours, and you’d be a dough-face, no matter what party you belonged to. I’m going out now to day.

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MR. AND MRS. RASHER. 5389 see a man in the next block, on business. I’ll look in on you in about half an hour. How are you enjoying yourself, Marier? hope you’re comfortable. If you’ll only say you’re hungry, I’ll get you a side of bacon out of the back room. I can’t cook it for you, as I’ve no conveniences, except in one way—the style called the ‘‘domestic broil.”” It’s the way I had my breakfast cooked. As silence gives consent, I suppose I may get it for you, so here goes. Good land, my love, it’s lodged right in your lap! Why didn’t you catch it? You ’ve greased your velvet cloak dreadfully. You ain’t as spry as you used to be, wife. If you ’d been in the dark, as I was this morning, you wouldn’t have been to blame for the acci- dent. You’ve made a pretty mess of it, catch- ing it ker-souse in your lap. You’re in a nice pickle, I must confess. Never mind; don’t cry about it. Eat and be filled. ** You will come out!’’ Then why don’t you come? You might squeeze through the window, but it’s only twelve by fourteen inches, and you ’d be likely to stick. Don’t kick, my love, the door is extra thick, and your shoes are thin! you might hurt the door, and you’re too tender-hearted to do that. If you want to be storing your mind with useful information, you can be reading that pamphlet on the “ Raising of Hogs.’’ We raise ours, mostly, on an ele- vator, which is the quickest method known. My love, you must be hungry, or you wouldn’t be eating up the fingers of your gloves. Rather than have you bite your own ten nails, I'll give you some ten-penny ones to practise on. Bite ’em softly, Marier, for one of my clerks is com- ing this way. Mr. Baker, Mrs. Rasher has called upon me, and has not been tolunch yet. Please step round to our restaurant and order my waiter there to bring in something nice. What will you have, my love? (speaks through win- dow.) Pork dumplings, sausage, ham-and-eggs, ham sandwich, pork-and-beans, roast pig, pig’s feet, head-cheese, fried bacon? you can have one or all, according to your taste. The waiter has never heard about carrying coals to New- castle, I presume. ‘* Nothing at all!’’ Well, Baker, you can bring me a dish of pork dump- lings; I’ve been so busy to day, I’ve not thought of lunch before. Sorry you won’t take anything, Marier; this porter is fine. I’m going to drink your health in a minute, as soon as I get this confounded bottle open. It’s like the Paddy I hired to- day—the Cork sticks to it. Now then, Mrs. Rasher, here’s to your success in putting on the garments which belong to a smaller and less worthy person. I do believe that woman has not spoken for three-quarters of an hour. I never knew her to keep silent so long when she was awake. It’s most time to be shutting upshop. I must peep in, and see what’s the matter with her. Whew! if I keep her in much longer, I shall be like the man with the lion—I sha’n’t dare to let her out. She looks like a concentrated earthquake. Shocking! shocking! Marier, it’s nearly time to be going. Have you hada Speak to me, my dear, I have to dodge to pleasant afternoon ? and quit looking at me. keep from being hit. Marier, do you remember when we were courting, and I bought you that sweet little music-box that played six tunes ? Marier, do you remember when you fell in the river that Fourth of July, and I jumped in and supported you till aid arrived? Crosser and crosser! I can’t melt her icy silence by the most ardent appeals. Well, Mrs. Rasher, it’s five o’clock, and now if you'll say that you are sorry for locking me up in the closet this morning, and promise never to do so again, I’ll let you out. No an- swer. Marier, it’s half past five. The clerks have gone, and the porter is waiting to close the Dinner will be ruined before we reach home. Say you’re sorry, and will be a good girl, and I'll let you out. My love, it’s dark. If you won’t say you’re sorry, you’ll have to stay here. J’m going home. If the store should burn up in the night, you ’d be in a bad fix. Good-night, dearest. Did you call me, Mrs. Rasher? Let you out? Well, say your sorry, that you repent, resign, capitulate, give up beat, cave, and will be a good girl. ‘‘I do say it all, Rasher, if you ’ll only not keep me in this horrid place all night.”’ Well, my dear, that ’s all I ask; come out and be happy. Pat is waiting for us, with the car- riage, at the door, and if we drive fast we may yet ‘‘save our bacon!** Here ’s two hundred and fifty, I’ll save out for you, before I put the rest in the safe. You can go shopping to-mor- row to your heart ’s content. And now that we’re riding together for the first time in the new carriage, can you tell me why I am like Broadway? Because I am con- stantly being crossed. Excuse me, wife, I couldn’t helpit. I didn’t mean to say anything disagreeable to-night. I wonder if Fitz is safe home. Here we are—in time for dinner—Salve Lardum—all right. store.

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540 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, THE HUMAN HAND. Issuine from the wrist is that wonderful or- gan, the human hand. ‘In a French book, intended,’ says Sir Charles Bell, ‘‘to teach young people philosophy, the pupil asks why the fingers are not of equal length. The master makes the scholar grasp a ball of ivory, to show him that the points of the fingers are then equal. It would have better had he closed the fingers upon the palm, an? then been have asked whether or not they corresronded. This difference in the length of the fingers serves a thousand purposes, as in holding a rod, a switch, a sword, a hammer, a pen, pencil, or engraving tool, in all which secure hold and freedom of action are admirably combined.” On the length, strength, and perfectly free movements of the thumbs depends, moreover, To the thumb, indeed, has been given aspecial name (Poller), the power of the human hand. from a Latin verb, meaning to be able, strong, mighty, because of its strength ; a strength that is necessary to the power of the hand, being equal to that of all the fingers. Without the fleshy ball of the thumb, the power of the fin- gers would be of no avail, and accordingly the large ball formed by the muscles of the thumb is the special mark of the human hand, and The of the thumb almost amounts to the loss of particularly that of a clever workman. loss the hand. the army of France, have been known to dis- able themselves effectually by cutting off the The loss of both thumbs would reduce a man to a miserable de- Nor should we overlook another Conscripts, unwilling to serve in thumb of the right hand. pendence. peculiarity.—Were the tips of the fingers and the thumbs bony instead of being covered with flesh, many things we readily do would be absolutely impossible. We now can take up what is small, soft, and round, as a millet seed, So exqui- The nails are often of special service; perhaps al- or even a particle of human hair. sitely prehensile are the human fingers. ways in works of art which require nicety of execution. Their substance is just what is need- ed; they are easily kept at the precise length which answers every purpose; had they been placed on the tips of the fingers there would have been a loss of power, but their position insures their highest efficiency. Aninterchange of power for velocity which takes place in the arm adapts the hand and fingers to a thousand arts requiring quick or lively motions. In set- ting up the type of this page, there have been movements on the part of the compositor of surprising rapidity to any ordinary observer, and the execution of performers on the piano- forte, as well as on many wind instruments, is often astonishing ; these are among many in- stances of the advantage gained by this sacrifice of force for velocity of movement. WOMAN IN ADVERSITY. Women should be more trusted and confided in as wives, mothers, and sisters. They have a quick perception of right and wrong, and without always knowing why, read the present and future, read characters and acts, designs and probabilities, where man sees no letter or sign. What else do we mean by the adage ‘*mother wit,’’ save that woman has a quicker perception and readier invention than man? How often, when man abandons the helm in despair, woman seizes it, and carries the home- ship through the storm! Man often flies from home and family to avoid impending poverty Woman seldom, if ever, forsook home thus. Woman never evaded mere temporal calamity by suicide or desertion. The proud banker, rather than live to see his poverty ga- zetted, may blow out his brains and leave wife and children to want, protectorless. Loving wo- man world have counselled him to accept pover- ty, and live to cherish his family and retrieve his fortune. Woman should be counselled and con- fidedin. It isthe beauty and glory of her nature that it instinctively grasps at and clings to the truth and right. Reason, man’s greatest faculty, takes time to hesitate before it decides; but woman’s instinct never hesitates in its decision, or ruin. and is scarcely ever wrong where it has even chances with reason. Woman feels where man thinks, acts where he deliberates, hopes where he despairs, and triumphs where he falls. +2 eer ——- SUMMER. BY LILLIAN. Lirt high, lift high, your morning gates, O June! To winsome fairies bringing summer charms, Receive them as the year’s celestial boon, Its Eden dream made real in thine arms! At their glad coming, fields of clover blush, And rosy censers smoke with fragrant balm, The very wir maintains a holy hush, As dew-born beauties woo its blessed calm ! A glory beams from every tuneful leaf, And pastures glow with many a tempting plum, The hillsides promise many a golden sheaf, As morning earnests of a harvest come! Hope calms the fury of the noontide heat, And plenty sings in every falling shower, Till queenly Summer, at our waiting feet, Heaps high her treasures for home's sacred bowers

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NOVELTIES FOR JUNE. 541 NOVELTIES FOR JUNE. Fig. 1. soe saunnddarint " Fig. 1.—Zouave jacket and vest for dotted velvet ribbon of some bright color; bow of the muslin, trimmed with a ruche of the same, same shade. This is an extremely simple and through which is passed a braid, or narrow | serviceable pattern, easily done up, as the VOL. Lx11.—46

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Fig. 3. 8 Nyt ye \ \\\ ribbon is only caught on; and as the jacket will be almost universal the present season (together with the white spencer and black velvet point), we consider the present design very serviceable. Fig. 2.—New style of chemise for a young lady. GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Fig. 3.—Morning slip for a child just walking. To be made of dimity, and trimmed with dimity ruffling and narrow linen braid. Fig. 4.—Shirt for a little boy, with worked Marseilles collar and cuffs. Fig. 5.—Cap of net and lace, suitable for a matronly lady.

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® NOVELTIES Fig. 6.—Stylish cap of dotted black and white thulle. Coronet and bows of mauve-colored ribbon. Fig. 7.—Fancy muslin cap, trimmed with a full ruche of pinked silk, with large bow on the top; the ends of the bow fall over the back of the cap. FOR JUNE. 548 Figs. 8 and 9, Ager Bie Figs. 8 and 9.—Collar and sleeve for half mourning, very stylish and effective. Fig. 10.—Sleeve for evening-dress, also suited fur undersleeve with a very open dress sleeve,

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544 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ° in any summer materiaj. Four puffs of Brus- sels net, separated by ribbon ruches, the two last terminating in bows on the forearm. Dou- ble fall of point Duchesse. This is a very suit- able sleeve for the clear white muslin spencers so desirable for those to whom the Zonave jacket is unbecoming. Fig. 11.—White chip bonnet, trimmed with lilac ribbon and flowers. SOFA PILLOW IN LONG-HOOK CROCHET. Materiale.—Two colors of 8 thread or double Berlin wool (these colors should be adapted to the tint of hang ings of the room) ; one skein of shaded double wool, either scarlet or any other hue which will harmonize. The cushion from whence the engraving is taken is composed of stone-color and light emerald green (not grass green). The scroll work is scarlet; one «kein of the darkest claret is necessary for dividing the pleces. A cushion of calico, the size of the crochet, cut in the same shaped pieces, then joined together, then well waxed by rub- bing a lump of beeswax on the inside to prevent the feathers from coming through, and then filled with four pounds of feathers, will make a handsome cushion, A crochet-hook nine inches long, and, on measuring round with a plece of tape, it should measure half an inch and one-eighth over, or, in other words, fve-clghths of an inch, Explanation of Stitch, which it were well to NN RS MWY WSs S practise first on a foundation of ten stitches, and decrease every other row :— Foundation row.—Make 21 chain as in ordinary crochet ; miss the lst chain or loop; place the hook through the next; catch hold of the wool at the back; pull it through as a loop on the hook, sti/l keeping it on the hook. Repeat the same to the end of the chains, sti// keeping all the loops on the hook, till there are 20 loops on the hook. lst row.—Twist the wool over the hook; pull it through the two loops nearest the point of the hook, thus working it backwards. Twist the wool over again, pulling it through the next two, and continue working backwards till there is only one loop on the hook,

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 2d.—On examining the work, a row of un- twisted loops will be found in front, not on the edge ; miss the first long loop; place the hook through the next; draw the wool through as a loop on the hook, still keep it there, and con- tinue till there are as many loops on the hook as was commenced with. Count this row every time to see there is no diminution of stitches till the decrease. Make 21 loops; * now work 10 rows on, till 5 long loops in front can be counted ; tien decrease at the end of next row on left-hand side, by taking the two last of the front loops together. Now work the row back, and take the last three loops together on the right-hand side; repeat from * until there are only four loops on the work. But observe that, after the decrease on the right-hand side 1x THE NEXT ROW, the hook must be inserted in the THIRD LONG STITCH, or there will be no decrease ; and be sure to take up the last loop on the left-hand side in every row that is not decreased. Now, with 4 loops on the hook, twist the wool over the hook ; draw it through two loops again; twist over ; draw through 2; then again through 2; now 545 place the hook through 2d long in front; pull the wool through, then again through next long, and pull the wool through ; now through 2 loops backwards ; and again through 2; then 1 chain, and fasten off. Now there are 43 long loops on the surface, from the point to the commencement, reckoning from the Now join on the wool to the broad end of the point, and at the right-hand side insert the hook in the lst loop of the foundation; twist the wool over the hook, and pull it through ; repeat this till there are 20 loops on the hook; then finish this point as the first. Now observe that on one side of the piece, at the edge, a perfect chain stitch appears, and on the other side only a slight loop. Now, with the darkest claret wool, work a row of single crochet all round the piece, taking up the two loops of the chain on one side, and only one on the side of the single edge. Now, with same wool, sew the pieces together, making one stitch in every loop. There must be sixteen of these divisions, which will make a handsome cushion. centre. INSERTION, EMBROIDERY.

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546 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. HEART-SHAPED SCENT SACHET. Tness pretty little sachets should be made by every lady, to be scattered through her drawers, so as to impart a general fragrance to the various articles of her wardrobe. The trouble is very slight, and the material no more than any trifling remnant of silk of the size shown in our illustration, and three- quarters of a yard of ribbon to form the bow. The little group of flowers which we have given is to be embroidered on the sides as slightly as possible; the two parts are to be laid face to face and stitched together, with accuracy, to their shape, leaving an opening at the top; after this they are to be turned and filled with fine cotton wool, im- pregnated with any perfume most agree- able to taste; after which the aperture is to be closed, and the rosette of ribbon laid upon the place. Ladies who are not inclined to undertake the embroi- dery may take any piece of fancy silk, or even such as are quite plain, and make them up in the same way, with- out this decoration. These little sachets make pretty presents, and it has been with reference to this that the ‘‘ Forget- me-not’’ has been selected for its em- bellishment, —~~e ee CHILD'S BRAIDED GAITER BOOT, Ky ”, The toe and heel are to be tipped with patent leather.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 547 SCENT CASE FOR NOTE PAPER. (See blue plate in front.) Tue material on which the cover of the Scent Case is worked is satin, which may be of any rich color; royal blue, purple, ruby color, or, in short, any that may be preferred. The me- dallion in the centre is of white watered silk, but to avoid trouble this may also be left of the satin which has been chosen. The medal- lion is surrounded by a double row of gold beads, of which the interval between may be Mled up with either clear white or black beads. When the medallion is in white silk, this margin ef- fectually conceals the line of its insertion. The scalloped pattern is worked in chain-stitch, in double lines ; of the first row, the inner one is in light maize-color, and the outer one of dark maize. The second row of scallops is in either two crimsons or two blues, according to the color of the satin. The two straight lines of the margin are in the two shades of maize, while the zigzag line between is simply a herring-bone of vioiet color. The group in the centre is worked in maize color. When the ornamental needle-work part has thus been completed, it will of course be less trouble to send it to the repository to be made up; but as we think some ladies may feel in- clined to finish it themselves, and as we think that with ordinary care it is one of those things which come within their own power, we will go on to offer them a few further instructions. A blotting-book of the required size must be taken; within each cover must be laid a piece of wadding exactly fitting its dimensions, and sufficiently impregnated with whatever perfume the lady worker may prefer. This being neatly squared round its edges, the satin cover must be laid on the outside, brought over, and care- fully tacked down, having been so arranged as to leave a margin of about half an inch all round of the plain satin beyond the needle-work pattern. This being done, two pieces of per- forated card-board are to be placed inside, just within the margin, which having been first bound with narrow ribbon, is then fastened down. Through the apertures of this perforated card-board exudes the scent which impregnates the note paper of which the scent case is the receptacle. COTTON WAGON. Tas useful and tidy little article for the work-table, capable of holding five different sized reels of cotton, is made of card-board, bound with narrow satin ribbon, and sewn to- gether in the form shown in our illustration, A small piece of card-board, three yards of ribbon, AAMT 5 TI TINIAN Ml] UYUULEA RANG SAUAAEOEY UPS OYE MATTA SSE TOENT OVEN OUEOELAL CUCU CEG CAAA MEORRON LRAT EOC EOL RMON AUT ACU NN ALOU NNU PUTO ATUUY CNEL OES COREE EOU EN STEN TD EYE ET MIM and five reels of cotton, will be required to make it. Cut out of card-board five pieces the exact size of the diagrams above, one piece for

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K 548 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the bottom, one each for the two ends, and two scalloped pieces for the sides. Bind these pieces all round with narrow satin ribbon of any bright color, as mauve, scarlet, pink, or blue; then sew them together on the outside to the proper shape. Previously to putting the wagon to- gether, the two scalloped pieces must have five holes pierced with a stiletto, for the ribbon to pass through to tie in the reels; these holes } should be slightly overcast with silk, to keep them from breaking out. Place the cotton in the wagon, the coarsest at the top, and tie it in by drawing the ribbon through the first reel and back again through the second, and tie it in a bow; then pass it through the second reel and back again through the third, and tie an- other bow; proceed in this manner until all the reels are tied in, EMBROIDERY BORDER FOR THE DOUBLE SKIRT OF A LITTLE GIRL’S DRESS. Tae pattern we are now giving has a very rich effect worked on the edges of an upper and under skirt of a little girl’s dress. It is formed of heart-shaped parts, which are linked within each other, and appear as interlacing ; these are of two kinds, and alternate. The one has a row of open holes at each edge, the branching lines to which they are attached in the interior being sewn over. The other is filled in with leaves in the cut-out work. The flowers in the centres of the hearts may be either in well raised satin-stitch or in the cut-out work. The scallop is in clear distinct button-hole stitch. This border should be worked over a tolerably wide hem, instead of being cut out to the scallop, aa the effect is better, and firmness and Cuarability are more secure.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 549 BEAD MAT. tapestry stitch. Take a piece of card, the shape of pattern, and sew the canvas down to it; line with crimson silk. The fringe is made of the beads fastened down in loops crossing each It is quickly made, and very pretty. The beads are large, and of glass, white and red, strung on purse silk of a deep crimson. Make the pattern of the beads, the dark ones red, the light white, and fill up the canvas in black other. - seer le LADY’S COMPANION. To be made of pasteboard, and covered with fancy velvet.

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550 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. KNITTED ARTIFICIAL FLOWERS. HEART’S-EASE. Tus flower requires five petals to form it, two violet and three yellow; one of the latter must be larger than the rest, and of a deeper color. All the wool must be split. For the violet petals, cast on ten stitches on two needles, five on each ; fold the two needles so as to bring the last stitch behind the first, and double knit a piece of rather more than half an inch in length, taking one stitch from one needle, and one from the other throughout When you take the needles out, run the wool through them with a rug needle, and pass 4 piece of double wire through the little bag which the knitting has formed, catch it at the top and sides to keep it in form, draw up tho vther end, and twist the wires together after having shaped the wire to the form of the petal. The yellow petals are knitted in the same way, the largest requires twelve stitches, and the last four or six rows must be done with violet wool, to form the dark spot at the top. The two smaller yellow petals only require eight stitches, with two or four rows of violet at the top; twist the wires of the five petals together, and cover the stem with green wool ; each row. a cross stitch, like herring-bone, should be made with green wool, where the petals join in the middle of the flower. For the calyx, thread a needle with whole green wool, fasten this on the stem, at the back of the flower, and take a herring stitch at the back of each petal, making the stitch rather long, and leaving the wool loose. The bud is formed by making a little tuft of yellow, violet, and green wool, mixed together; fix it on a piece of wire by crossing the wool over, and twisting the wire very tight, turn the ends of the wool down the wire, and fasten them at about a quarter of an inch down, by twisting some green split wool round, with which the little stem must be also covered. Leaves.—Cast on three stitches. Knit one row, purl one row, then lst row.—Make one, knit one throughout the row. 2d.—Make one, purl the row. 3d.—Make one, knit three, make one, knit one, make one, knit two. 4th.—Make one, purl the row. « 5th.—Make one, knit five, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 6th.—Make one, purl the row. 7th.—Cast off, or fasten off, three stitches, knit three, make one, knit one. &th.—Cast off three stitches, purl the row. 9th.—Make one, knit five, make one, knit one, make one, knit four. 10th.—Make one, purl the row. 11th.—Make one, knit seven, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 12th.—Make one, purl the row. 13th.—Fasten off three stitches, knit the re- mainder. 14th. —Fasten off three stitches, purl the rest. 15th.—Knit six, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 16th.— Purl the row. 17th.—Knit seven, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 18th.— Purl the row. 19th.—Fasten off three stitches, knit four, make one, knit one, make one, knit seven. 20th.—Cast off three stitches, purl the row. 2lst.—Knit six, make one, knit one, make one, knit five 22d.—Purl the row. 23d.—Knit seven, make one, knit one, make one, knit six. 24th.—Purl the row. 25th.—Cast off three stitches, knit remainder. 26th.—Cast off three stitches, purl remainder. 27th.—Knit row plain. 28th.—Purl the row plain. 29th.—Knit row plain. 30th.—Purl row plain. 31st.—Cast off two, knit remainder. 32d.—Cast off two, purl remainder. 33d.—Knit row plain. 34th.—Purl row. 35th.—Knit row plain. 36th.—Purl row plain. 37th.—Cast off two, knit remainder. 38th.—Cast off two, purl remainder. Fasten off the two last stitches. It is on this principle that all kinds of in- dented leaves are made; by knitting more rows with increase between the castings off, they are made broader ; by working more rows between the castings off, they are made longer; and by casting off more stitches at a time, the inden- tations are made deeper; so that the endless variety of natural leaves may be copied without difficulty. Having completed the leaves, some wire must be sewn neatly round, following the turnings of the leaf exactly ; and for the larger ones, it will be better to sew a double wire in the centre of the leaf at the back, which will conceal the openings left by the increase of stitches. One or two flowers, with a bud, and two or three leaves, are sufficient for a small branch.

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552 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, a ——— —EE 7 . ry EMBROIDERY PATTERNS. FOR PILLOW AND BOLSTER CASES. 2) % > 1, AE: a Slee slaies sislesleieisicisiaicisisias seicis

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RECEIPTS. Receipts, &e. DIRECTIONS FOR PRESERVING FRUITS, ETC. Ir has been our custom every year, during the months of June, July, and August, to publish a large number of useful receipts suited to the preserving season. Having many new subscribers this year, we republish the col- lection, with the addition of many new ones, which will be found very valuable. OBSERVATIONS OW PRESERVING. A very common discovery made by those who pre- serve fruits, etc., is, that the preserve either ferments, grows mouldy, or becomes candied. These three effects arise from three separate causes, The first from insufficient boiling ; the second from being kept in a damp place, assisted in some degree by the first cause ; and the third from being too quick and too long boiling. Preserves of all kinds should be kept entirely secluded from the air, and inadry place. In ranging them on the shelves of a store-closet, they should not be suffered to come in contact with the wall. and spring exudes from some of the driest walls, and Moisture in winter preserves invariably imbibe it, both in dampness and taste. It is necessary occasionally to look at them, and if they have been attacked by mould, boil them up gently again. To prevent all risks, it is always as well to lay a brandy paper over the fruit before tying down. This may be renewed in the spring. Fruit jellies are made in the ratio of a quart of fruit to two pounds of sugar. They must not be boiled quick, nor very long. Practice, and a general discretion, will be found the best guides to regulate the exact time, which necessarily must be affected, more or less, by local causes If you do not possess a drying-stove, the fruit may be dried in the sun, on flagstones, taking care that insects are not suffered to approach it; a garden glass to cover the preserve will keep them off. If dried in an oven, it must be of gentle warmth, and they must be done slowly. DIFFERENT DEGREES OF PREPARING SUGAR. The various purposes to which sugar is applied re- quire it to bein different states; these are called degrees. They extend to the number of thirteen First Degree.—Replace the clarified sugar in the pre- serving-pan, to boil gently, take a drop of it on the thumb and touch it with the forefinger; if, on opening them, it draws to a fine thread, and, in breaking, forms two drops on each finger, it is at the right point. Second.—A little more boiling brings it to this point, when the thread will draw further before it breaks. Third.—At this point the thread may be drawn as far as the span will open without breaking. Fourth.—On still inereasing the boiling, little raised balls are formed on the surface of the sugar. Fifth.—Take up some of the sugar on a skimmer and drop it on the rest, when it should form a slanting streak on the surface. Sicth.—Boil it yet a little longer; the streak or tail is now larger, and it has reached this point. Seventh.—Take out a skimmerful of the sugar, blow through it, and small sparks of sugar will fly from it. VOL. LX11.—47 5538 Eighth.—The same proof as above ; the sparks should , be larger and stronger. Ninth.—Take the sugar in the skimmer as before, give it a shake, and if the sparks are large, and adhere to- gether on rising, it is at the right point. Tenth.—Dip your fingers in cold water, and then into the sugar instantly, and again into the water, when the sugar will roll into a ball which will be supple when cold. Eleventh.—At this point the ball or bullet will be harder when cold than the lest. Twelfth.—Prove as above; the bullet should crumble between the fingers, and, on biting, will atick to the teeth. Thirteenth.—At this point it should snap clean when This point is very difficult to attain, for in in- it is better, Another bitten. creasing the height, the sugar is apt to burn ; therefore, to try the proof very frequently. process is much used by the confectioner, and produces a deep color; it is made by putting a little water to the sugar and boiling it without skimming, or otherwise touching the sugar till of the right color, then take it off and use immediately. If, on preparing the sugar, you miss the right point, add a little cold water, and boil once more. Observations.—The skimmer should never be left in the preserving-pan after the sugar is clarified, nor after the scum is removed. Be very careful not to stir or disturb the sugar, as that would cause its diminution. In boiling the sugar, particularly the two last de- grees, the sugar is continuously rising and falling, and, on falling, leaves marks on the side of the pan, which the heat of the fire would soon burn, and thereby spoil the whole ofthe sugar. To avoid this, have by the side of you a pan of cold water and a sponge, upon which wipe the sides of the pan carefully the instant after the sugar has fallen. To CLagiry SvGar.—Take the quantity of fine white loaf sugar you intend to clarify, add to it of very clean warm water half a pint for every pound; when dis- solved, add to it the white of one or two eggs—as the quantity may require—well whipped, put it on the fire, and when it comes toa boil, pour into it an ordinary teacupful of cold water; on its rising again to a boil, remove it, and let it settle for twenty minutes; skim the scum from the top, pour off the syrup into a clean vessel with sufficient quickness to leave all the sediment at the bottom, and such steadiness as to prevent any of the latter rising and mixing with it. To Preserve STRAWBERRIES.—To two pounds of fine large strawberries add two pounds of powdered sugar, and put them in a preserving kettle, over a slow fire, till the sugar is melted ; then boil them precisely twenty minutes, as fast as possible; have ready a number of small jars, and put the fruit in boiling hot. Cork and seal the jars immediately, and keep them through the summer in acold, dry cellar. The jars must be heated before the hot fruit is poured in, otherwise they will break. To Preserve STRAWBERRIES OR RASPBERRIES, FOR Creams orn Ices, witnovt Borie.—Let the fruit be gathered in the middle of a warm day, in very dry weather; strip it from the stalks directly, weigh it, turn it into a bowl or deep pan, and bruise it gently ; mix with an equal weight of fine, dry sifted sugar, and put it immediately into small wide-necked bottles; cork

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554 these firmly without delay, and tie bladders over the Keep them in a cool place, or the fruit will fer- ment. The mixture should be stirred softly, and only just sufficiently to blend the sugar and the fruit. The bottles must be perfectly dry, and the bladders, after having been cleaned in the usual way, and allowed to become nearly so, should be moistened with a little spirit on the side which is to be next the cork. tops. STRAWBERRIES STEWED FoR TARTS.—Make a syrup of one pound of sugar and a teacup of water; add a little white of eggs ; let it boil, and skim it until only a foam then put in a quart of berries free from stems and let them boil till they look clear and the syrup Finish with fine puff paste. rises; hulls ; is quite thick. To Preserve STRAWBERRIES IN Wins.—Put a quantity of the finest large strawberries into a gooseberry-bottle, and strew over them three large spoonfuls of fine sugar; fill up with Madeira wine or sherry. STRAWBERRY JELLY.—Express the juice from the fruit through a cloth, strain it clear, weigh, and stir to it an equal proportion of the finest sugar dried and reduced to powder; when this is dissolved, place the preserving- pan over a very clear fire, and stir the jelly oftea until it boils ; clear it carefully from scum, and boil it quickly from fifteen to twenty-five minutes. This receipt is for a moderate quantity of the preserve ; tion will require much less time. a very small por- RASPBERRIES.—These may be preserved wet, bottled, or made jam or marmalade of, the same as strawberries. Raspberries are very good dried in the sun or in a warm oven. They are very delicious stewed for table or tarts. tASPBERRY Jam.—Weigh the fruit, and add three- quarters of the weight of sugar; put the former intoa preserving-pan, boil, and break it; stir constantly, and let it boil very quickly ; when the juice has boiled an hour, add the sugar and simmer half an hour. In this way the jam is superior in color and flavor to that which is made by putting the sugar in at first. RASPBERRY Wine.—Bruise the finest ripe raspberries witb the back of a spoon; strain them through a flannel bag into a stone jar; allow one pound of fine powdered loaf-sugar to one quart of juice; stir these well together, and cover the jar closely ; let it stand three days, stir- ring the mixture up every day; then pour off the clear liquid, and put two quarts of sherry to each quart of Bottle it off, and it will be fit for use By adding Cognac brandy instead of juice, or liquid. in a fortnight. sherry, the mixture will be raspberry brandy. RASPBERRY CreaM.—Rub a quart of raspberries, or raspberry jam, through a hair sieve, to take out the seods, and then mix it well with cream; sweeten with sugar to taste; put into a stone jug, and raise a froth with a chocolate mill; as your froth rises, take it off with a spoon, and lay it upon a hair sieve. When you have got as much froth as you want, put what cream remains into a deep china dish, or punch-bowl, and pour your frothed cream upon it, as high as it will lie on. CURRANTS PrResERVED.—Take ripe currants free from stems ; weigh them, and take the same weight of sugar; puta teacup of sugar to each pound of it; boil the syrup until it is hot and clear; then turn it over the fruit; let it remain one night; then set it over the fire, and boil gently until they are cooked and clear; take them into the jars or pots w'ch a skimmer; boil the syrup until rieh and thick, then pour it over the fruit. Currants may be preserved with ten pounds of fruit to seven of sugar. Take the stems from seven pounds of the cur- GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, rants, and crush and press the juice from the remaining three pounds; put them into the hot syrup, and boil until thick and rich ; put it in pots or jars, and the next day secure as directed. CurRANT JeLLy.—Pick fine red, but long ripe, currants from the stems; bruise them, and strain the juice from a quart ata time through a thin muslin; wring it gently, to get all the liquid ; put a pound of white sugar to each pound of juice; stir it until it is all dissolved ; set it over a gentle fire; let it become hot, and boil for fifteen min- utes; then try it by taking a spoonful into a saucer; when cold, if it is not quite firm enough, boil it for a few minutes longer. CurRANT JAM OF ALL Corors.—Strip your currants, and put them into your pan, with three-quarters of a pound of sugar toa pound of fruit; add your sugar after your fruit has boiled a few minutes: boil all together, mashing your fruit with a wooden spoon ; boil all gently for half an hour, then fill your jars. Currant Wine.—Dissolve eight pounds of honey in fifteen gallons of boiling water, to which, when clarified, add the juice of eight pounds of red or white currants ; then ferment for twenty-four hours; to every two gal- lons add two pounds of sugar, and clarify with whites of eggs. Compore or GreEN CurRANTS.—Half a pint of spring water, five ounces of sugar, boiled together ten minutes ; one pint of green currants stripped from the stalks; simmer from three to five minates. Biack Cvrrant Viyecar.—To four pounds of fruit, very ripe, put three pints of vinegar ; let it stand three days; stir occasionally ; squeeze and strain the fruit. After boiling ten minutes, to every pint of juice add one pound of lump sugar. Boil twenty minutes. GooseBeRRies.—Put one quart of red currant juice to five pounds of loaf-sugar ; set it on the fire, and when the sugar is dissolved putin eight pounds of red, rough, ripe gooseberries, let them boil half an hour, then put them into an earthen pan and leave them to stand for two days; then boil them again until they look clear ; put them into pots and let them stand a week to dry a little at the top, then cover them with brandy papers. Compote or Green Gooseperrizs.—This is an excel- lent compote, if made with fine sugar, and very good with any kind. Break five ounces into small lumps, and pour on them half a pint of water; boil these gently for ten minutes, and clear off all the scum; then add to them a pint of fresh gooseberries freed from the tops and stalks, washed and well drained; simmer them gently from eight to ten minutes, and serve them hot or cold. Increase the quantity for a large dish. Cuerkirs Preservep.—Take fine large eherries, not very ripe; take off the stems, and take out the stones ; save whatever juice runs from them; take an equal weight of white sugar; make the syrup of a teacup of water for each pound, set it over the fire until it is dis- solved and boiling hot, then put in the juice and cher- ries, boil them gently until clear throughout ; take them from the syrup with a skimmer, and spread them on flat dishes to cool; let the syrup boil until it is rich and quite thick ; set it to cool and settle ; take the fruit into jars and pots, and pour the syrup carefully over; let them remain open till the next day; then cover as di- rected. Sweet cherries are improved by the addition of a pint of red currant-juice, and half a pound of sugar to it, for four or five pounds of cherries. Compote or Cuerrirs.—Simmer five ounces of sugar

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RECEIPTS. 555 with half a pint of water for ‘en minutes; throw into the syrup a pound of cherries weighed after they are stalked, and let them stew gently for twenty minutes. It is a great improvement to stone the fruit, but a larger quantity will then be required for a dish. Compote or MoreLLo Cuerries.—Boil together, for fifteen minutes, five ounces of sugar with half a pint of water ; add a pound and a quarter of ripe Morello cher- ries, and simmer them very softly from five to seven minutes. This is a delicious compote. Cuerry Jam.—Stone four pounds of cherries, and put them ina preserving-pan, with two pounds of fine white sugar and a pint of red currant-juice ; boil the whole to- gether rather fast, until it stiffens, and then put it into pots for use. To Dry Cuerrizs.—Take the stems and stones from ripe cherries ; spread them on flat dishes, and dry them in the hot sun or warm oven; pour whatever juice may have run from them, a little at a time, over them; stir them about, that they may dry evenly. When theyare perfectly dry, line boxes or jars with white paper, and pack them close in layers; strew a little brown sugar, and fold the paper over, and keep them ina dry place; or put them in muslin bags, and hang them in an airy place. Cuerrizs, To CAanpY.—The fruit must be gathered be- fore it is ripe; pick and stone them, boil clarified sugar, and pour it over them. To Preserve RavBarB.—To one and a quarter pound of rhubarb add one pound of sugar, half an ounce of bitter almonds blanched and chopped very fine, half the peel of a lemon also chopped very fine; boil all to- gether rather longer than other fruit, or till it will set firm. If the fruit is not quite young, the sticks should be peeled, being first wiped quite dry. Rucsars JaAmM.—To seven pounds of rhubarb add four sweet oringes and five pounds of sugar. Peel and cut up the raubarb. Put in the thin peel of the oranges and the pulp, after taking out the seeds and all the whites. Boil all together for one hour and a half. To Preserve OrANGes OR Lemons In Jetty.—Cut a hole at the stalk the size of a quarter dollar, and, with a small, blunt knife, serape out the pulp quite clear, without cutting the riad, and lay them in spring water two days, changing it twicea day ; in the last, boil them tender on a slow fire, keeping them covered; to every pound of fruit take two pounds of double-refined sugar and one pint of water; boil these with the juice of the orange to asyrup and clarify it; skim well, and let it stand to be culd; then boil the fruit in the syrup half an hour; if not clear, do this daily till they are done. To Kegp ORANGes on Lemons For Pastry.—When you heve squeezed the juice, throw the peels into salt and water ; let them remain a fortnight; clean out the pulp; boil them till tender, strain them, ard, when they are tolerably dry, boil a small quantity of syrup of common loaf-sugar and water, and put over them; in a week, boil them gently in it till they look clear. To Preserve Apricots,—Choose fine apricots, pare them thinly and cleanly, and when done, take their weight, cut them in halves and remove the kernels, lay them with the inside upwards, take the same weight of pounded loaf-sugar and strew over them; break the stones of the apricots, and blanch the kernels; let the fruit lie in the sugar for twelve hours, then put fruit, sugar, juice, and kernels into a preserving-pan, simmer gently until clear; asthe scum rises, remove it ; remove the halves of the apricots ; asthey become cold, lay them in jars, and when the whole of the fruit has been potted, pour equally ever them the syrup and the kernels. Cover the fruit with brandy paper, and tie tightly down. CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC. Bakep Custarp.—Mix a quart of new milk with eight well-beaten eggs, strain the mixture through a fine sieve, and sweeten it with from five to eight ounees of sugar, according to taste; add a small pinch of salt, and pour the custard into a deep dish, with or without a lining or rim of paste, grate nutmeg or lemon rind over the top, and bake it in a very slow oven. Sopa Cake.—Half a pound of loaf sugar, half a pound of flour, and half a pound of ground rice mixed alto- gether; add two eggs, a teacup of milk, and a teaspoon- ful of carbonate of soda; rub in half a pound of butter, and well work # with the hand, and bake immediately. Eco CHersecaAke.—Six eggs, boiled hard, which rub through a sieve with a quarter of a pound of butter; add a quarter of a pound of sugar, one lemon-juice and rind (grated), nutmeg and brandy to taste. A few currants are an improvement. OraNce Cream.—Put into a stewpan one ounce of isinglass, with the juice of six large oranges and one lemon, add sugar to your taste, rub some of the lumps on the peel of the oranges, add as much water as will make it up toa pint and a half, boil, strain through a muslin bag; when cold, beat up with it half a pint of thick cream; put into a mould. In hot weather add more isinglass. AppLe CreEamM.—Put into a pan twelve tablespoonfuls of the pulp of baked apples, the whiter the better, the same proportion of cream, beat well together with a pint and a quarter of lemon jelly, made with one ounce and a quarter of gelatine. Lemon-juice, peel, and sugar to taste. Clear the jelly with white of egg. Portva@aL Cake.—Half a pound of butter, three eggs, leaving out one white, work it well with your hands for half an hour, till the eggs are smoothly mixed ; add half a pound of sugar sifted, half a pound of flour dried, half a pound of currants; mix the above ingredients well together, butter the pans, which should be small, bake them in a quick oven. Heropotus Puppixe.—Half a pound of bread crumbs, half a pound of best figs, six ounces of suet, six ounces of brown sugar; mince the figs and suet very nicely; a little salt, two eggs well beaten, nutmeg to your taste ; boil in a mould four hours. Serve with wine sauce. Bakep Puppine.—Butter a suitable dish, then lay a slice of baker’s bread, then shredded beef suet and a few currants, until you have sufficient. Then take three eggs, a pint of new milk, a little nutmeg, essence of lemon, and sugar, beat them well together, and au hour will bake it. Add a little pastry round the dish. REFRIGERATORY PROCESS, Ir is a common practice in the warm season of the year to cool fluids by immersing the bottles in whieh This is That they are contained in a vessel of cold water. decidedly unphilosophical and bad in practice. such is the case, may readily be shown by reference to direct experiment. water, and afterwards remove it into the air, it will be If we immerse a thermometer in

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556 found to sink several degrees; but it will speedily rise, and take the temperature of the air. But if we placea piece of moist cloth on the bulb of the thermometer, it will retain its cool state till all the water is evaporated from the cloth. Now this very simple experiment at once points out the process by which we may best cool the contents of any vessel. It should be placed in a shallow dish of water, and a cloth thrown over it so that the edges of the cloth are immersed in the fluid, which will rise by the force of capillary attraction, and as readily be converted into vapor by the warm air around, continually diminishing the temperature of the vessel beneath. In this way we have seen wine cooled eleven degrees of Fahrenheit; and if a little spirit be employed as a substitute for the water, the temperature may be lowered about five degrees more. It is in this way that the body is cooled by the natural perspiration, which is perpetually oozing to the surface of the skin through the capillary tubes with which it is studded. MISCELLANEOUS. CorPrLence.—With proper regard to diet and abun- dant exercise in the open air, the unpleasant conse- quences of an accumulation of fat may be avoided. Dr. Radcliffe recommends that the mouth should be kept shut, and the eyes open; or, in other words, that corpu- lent persons should eat little food, and that the quantity of sleep should be diminished. These precautions may be followed with discretion, but it may be dangerous to carry them too far. Fire AND Waterproor Cement.—To half a pint of milk put an equal quantity of vinegar, in order to cur- die it; then separate the curd from the whey, and mix the whey with the whites of four or five eggs, beating the whole together. When itis well mixed, add a little quicklime through a sieve, until it has acquired the With this cement, broken It dries consistency of thick paste vessels and cracks of all kinds can be mended quickly, and resists the action of flreand water VARNISH FoR Brass-Work.—To a pint of spirits of wine, put one ounce of turmeric powder, two drachms of best annatto, and two drachms of saffron. Let it stand ten days, shaking the bottle often, and filter through coarse muslin into a clean bottle: add then three ounces of clean seed-lac, and shake the bottle often for fourteen days. The brass, if large, must be first warmed, so as to heat the hand, and the varnish then applied with a brush a beautiful appearance. The varnish gives the brass rails of desks, &c., Aw Exce.Lent Receipt ror Burne AND ScALDs.—Takeo equal parts of olive oil and lime-water, which, when well mixed together, forms a beautiful white ointment, which may be spread with a feather upon th» part af- fected, and a thin rag laid over it. Two or three dress- ings will generally take out all the fire, after which ap- ply a little healing ointment. Families ought always to have this remedy by them, that it may be applied immedi- ately after the accident, as it very soon gives ease. To Poutsn Sea-suriis.—This requires much care and The shells are first burned to get rid of the Their rough out- They are experience, animal matter that remains in them. side is next removed by mechanical means. then carefully treated—some with nitric, others with muriatie acid, according to their nature, until the proper This is then polished by friction, with leather and the hand. surface is reached. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Damp Watis.—The following method is recommended to prevent the effect of damp walls on paper in rooms: Line the damp part of the wall with sheet lead, rolled very thin, and fastened up with small copper nails. It may be immediately covered with paper. The lead is not to be thicker than that which lines tea-chests. To Remove GREASE FROM CLOTH.—Take soft soap and fuller’s-earth, of each half a pound, beat them well to- gether in a mortar, and form into cakes. The spot, first moistened with water, is rubbed with a cake and allowed to dry, when it is weli rubbed with a little warm water, and afterwards rinsed or rubbed off clean. To Extixevisn A Fire in A Catmyey.—Throw some powdered brimstone on the fire in the grate, or ignite some on the hob, and then put a board or something in the front of the fire-place to prevent the fumes cescend- ing intothe room. The vapor of the brimstone ascend- ing the chimney will then effectually extinguish the soot on fire. Tcurkisnu Mope or MAKING Corree.—The Turkish mode of making coffee produces a very different result from that to which we are accustomed. A saucepan, with a long handle, and calculated to hold small conical about two tablespoonfuls of water, is the instrument used. and about a dessert-spoonful is put into the minute boil- The fresh roasted berry is pounded, not ground, er ; it is then nearly filled with water, and thrust among the embers; a few seconds suffice to make it boil, and the decoction, grounds and all, is poured out into a small cup, which fits into a brass socket much like the cup of an acorn, and holding the china cup as that does The Turks seem to drink this decoction We allow it to remain a minute, in order to leave the sedi- the acorn itself. boiling, and swallow the grounds with the liquid. ment at the bottom. It is always taken plain ; sugar or cream would be thought to spoil it; and Europeans, after little practice, are said to prefer it to the clear in- fusion drunkin France. Inevery hut you will see these coffee-boilers suspended, and the means for pounding the roasted berry will be found at hand. To Gives Sarr CotLars A GLAss-Like Loox.—To one tablespoonful of starch put one of cold water; beat very smooth, and add another tablespoonful of water. Then pour on boiling water until it becomes the consistency required. Add a little melted white gum (about the size of a pea before melted), and a few shreds of white wax. This will give the articles a clear, glassy appearance. Tue Best Means or CLEARING Correr.—First, take the quantity of coffee required, and pour on boiling water, then strain it, and add the white and shell of one egg, well beaten up. Boil fora few minutes. If a strainer be not at hand, two tablespoonfals of cold water poured in the coffee will clear it. It must be poured out very gently. How To Borer a TorKey.—After the turkey has been properly dressed, cut off the first joint of the leg. Now make an incision down the back-bone from the head, and carefully separate the flesh from the bone on both sides, until you arrive at the wings and legs. Cut very care- fully round the joints, and insert the knife between the flesh and the bone, when the bone will be found to leave the flesh quite easily. If a gravy is required, it will be greatly improved by the bones being well stewed and the liquor added thereto. Caves’ Renner is said to be a good remedy for the cure of felons.

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Ebvitors’ Gable. BEAUTY GAINED. Beantifal, yes! but the blush will fade, The light grow dim which the blue eyes wear, The gloss will vanish from curl and braid, And the sunbeam die in the waving hair. Turn from the mirror, and strive to win Treasures of loveliness still to last; Gather earth’s glory and bloom within, That the soul may be bright when youth is passed. Mas. Osaoon. Beauty gained! yes, gained, not given. It is the lot of very few women to be strikingly beautiful, endowed by nature with perfect regularity of features and perfect blending of colors. We will give five maxims to be heeded :— Every woman, not absolutely deformed, may become graceful by giving due pains to herself. Every woman may be good and amiable by proper care to cultivate generous feelings and noble sentiments, and do what she knows is right. Every woman may be well informed, even accom- plished by the industrious use of her time and oppor- tunities. Beauty of feature and complexion, unsupported by moral charms, scarcely lasts through the first years of youth. A graceful, amiable, dressed becomingly, as such a one would be, with her sensible, intelligent woman, attributes of good taste and good sense, is always hand- some to those who know her. These maxims are well illustrated in the interesting sketch of the plain “‘Maiden of the Reveries,’’ who made herself handsome. We arranged this series from the manuscript of our young friend, Miss Helen R Cutter, to show our youthful readers an example of thought on this subject of self-improvement, deserving imitation and praise. REVERIES OF A MAIDEN. (Concluded from page 463.) When I entered the room at Mrs. Doring’s party last night, and heard a murmur—“ How beautiful she is!’’ “How lovely! How graceful!" I looked around, in- voluntarily, to see who had caused these exclama- tions. I could not have believed five years ago (I am now twenty-two) that these epithets would ever be applied toms, Yet it was I that oalled them forth, 1 felt a thrill of exquisite pleasure as this became apparent to me. Not from gratified vanity, though I wili not say that a love of admiration has no place in my heart, yet it has not the highest seat. I felt a sense of satisfaction at the thought that my improvement was the result of my own endeavors, assisted by the instructions of Aunt Eustace, and that what had elicited admiration were but outward, visible signs of the inward harmony and purification I had attained, that they flowed from my developed faculties and disciplined mind and pas- sions. Ido not say this in a spirit of self boasting, but in all humility and thankfulness. And how many girls I see who might attain as high or a higher degree of excellence than I have gained, if they would only begin 47* in earnest the work of self-improvement, before their natures have received so strong a bias in the wrong direction that it is impossible to bend them back to the right way! All cannot attain the like excellence, to be sure, be- cause we are variously endowed by nature, yet none are as beautiful, intelligent, good, or happy as they might become. Physical defects are every where apparent ; the result of wrong habits and indulgences. How rare to see a form or complexion that has not been thus marred! How seldom do we see a well-developed bust! yet it is How few ladies carry their heads properly, or move gracefully, or have fuli, one of the greatest beauties. sweet voices—-or even clear, distinct voices, for that matter, setting aside any pleasing moral element that adds charm tothe tone? Yet all girls, and women, too, might improve in these respects. important would it be to improve thus than many things to which we do turn our attention, not only so far as And how much more rendering us pleasing is concerned, but happier and more useful! Ouce I was blind to these things, but now I see that moral and mental states, the temper and the degree of intelligence, as well as physical conditions, influence the tones of the voice and the movements of the body, and also modify the features and expression of the face Then, if we would be beautiful, move gracefully, and have sweet voices, we must look into the canses that hinder our wishes, and build on a sure foundation, for imitation, or any artificial mode of arriving at the The flimsy pretext is easily results will not answer seen through, or felt to be unreal, shallow, false. Genn- ine grace, and melody of tone, and beauty of expression reach the heart because they come from the heart. , * * * * - * * * I can searcely realize that Cousin Everard admires Jane Austen, yet some persons think so, Jane has a certain kind of beauty, but not of the highest order; she looks like a pretty doll, and she has not mach intellect. I cannot believe that she could ever call forth the power of loving from such a noble nature as Everard'’s. He would require a higher soul. Her beauty does not awaken any vivid emotions; it has a sort of soothing influence, like her gentleness, and her movements, and the tones of her voice. There is harmony in her character, but no marked superiority of any kind. It is said that sometimes high-souled men fancy such women most; a being of softness, delicacy, and sensi- bility seems to them the ideal of loveliness. They have strength enough in themselves, and seek in a wife only gentleness, The amiable virtues are indispensable, and yet it appears to me that a woman who does not, be- sides these, possess qualities that will serve her in any great emergency, a deep sense of duty, and energy to perform it, ‘s a very imperfect woman; so is she who has the strong qualities without the gentle and softening ones. Gentleness and energy are entirely compatible, and she only is ‘‘a perfect woman, nobly planned,” who possesses both these in the right proportions. Where shall we look for such a lady? Not in the ranks of the strong-minded women, nor yet among the 557

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558 giddy triflers of society ; both of these depart, though in different ways, from the standard of a true woman Some writer has said that the ladies of Baltimore are endowed with (or have cultivated) an unusual share of amiability, modesty, and cheerfulness, That they are social and domestic in character, and have those quali- ties which make them excellent fireside companions; and furthermore that their affability is not caught from habits of fashionable society, but from home and friendly relations. They are neither flaunting belles, nor shrewd managers, nor strong-minded reformers, They are only good, intelligent, cheerful women, happy at home, and agreeable in society, and very warm-hearted and chari- table. Now, J believe this combination of the best quali- ties of womanhood is the secret of the extraordinary personal beauty of the ladies of Baltimore. It is the reflection of these lovable qualities which makes them lovely. It would be a curious matter of inquiry; perhaps the thereabouts, who philos« pher’s stone of beauty lies knows? At any rate, these moral cosmetics are worth trying. * * « Everard loves me! * * * * * He has told me so, and—and I have promised. I fee] now that I have long loved him, but our union would never have been happy, even could he have loved me, with all my imperfections, had I not in a good measure, I trust, reformed my faults of character. O how grateful I am for this exceeding happiness! May I never mar it by any inharmonious action, any unworthy sentiment, any ungentle word; buat retain to the end of my life the love I have gained It is I never call him cousin now, Everard! how pleasant the sound of his name! like the sweetest music and am so glad to remember he never was my cousin, She would me, had he only the step-son of dear Aunt Eustace. never have consented to his marriage with been her own son, as she has often told me she thought the intermarriage of first cousins should be prohibited by the laws of the land, as some statesmen, she said, have recommended.* I have taken the happiness of another into my keeping, a sacred trust I have serious duties before me now; Heaven grant that I may be ever faithful to it. I must strive to perfect my character more and more, and be in reality what Everard in his grave fondness called me, “good angel.” bis How sweet to my heart is the praise he has already given me for what he terms my “ moral He has been watching my progress; he ap- This is It seems like a dream that we are to be married in six heroism!” preciates my improvement indeed happiness months, on my twenty-fifth birthday. THE FAIRIES And oh, is there not some truth in these fictions ofthe vnseen world !—BuLwer On, are there not bright lingerers By forest and by stream ? Where the shadows fall upon the brake And the glowworms brighter gleam, * MARRIAGE oF Covetns.—Governor Magoffin, of Ken- tucky, recommends the Legislature of that State to pro- hibit by law, under severe penalties, the marriage of eon He says that the imbeciles, insane, deaf mutes, and blind in the different asylums of that State who are the offspring of cousins is from 16 to 20 per cent. of the whole number; and he claims that it is the right and duty of the State to protect herself against the evil and expense by forbidding such unions, which nature plainly forbids by the natural penalty she uniformly inflicts. ins GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Where the moon sleeps with a richer light Upon some favored glade, And everything around gleams bright "Gainst the deep and mystic shade? Tell me! tell me—have the fairies flown On the wings of the gentle west, And left the lily to bloom alone On the bright stream’s silver breast? Is there no truth in those olden tales Of spirits by us unseen, Who dwell ‘mid the flowers of peaceful vales Or dance on its emerald green ? I’ve sought in vain each beautiful deH For the fairies’ mimic home; The daisy and the heather bell They have equally left alone. I know a legend, a legend bright, That memory brings to mind, To tell where these beings of purer light Their chains of love have twined. Their queen once fled to the vine-clad bank Of the Rhine’s dark, rolling tide, And deep from the cup of love she drank, And became a young fay's bride. Then, fleeing together on joyful wings, They sought some happier clime, Where winter is never—’mid joyful springs They mock at this land of time. No more, then, we find one spot on earth, Where these bright invisibles dwell ; And never again will their nightly mirth Resound from the heather bell. CHILDREN AND JUNE Ir we divide the year into periods, answering to the seven ages of mortal life, March and April would be its infancy, May and June its childhood. We are nowin this sweet season, when all young things of nature are beautiful and seem joyous. Wayside weeds, even, lift their humble heads to the kisses of the sun as blithely as garden flowers laugh out in the gay parterre and blossoms on lofty trees throw up their light towards heaven. In sympathy with vegetable nature the animal feels the influence of this season. The young of all kinds have spring for their holiday; or rather the period of being young, at whatever time of the year it comes, is spring holiday to animals. Thus should childhood be made the season of happiness to all of woman born. No one circumstance in human life has so great influence on moral character as the manner in which the child is re- garded and treated during the seven years, from three years old to ten. We have in our heart a long, long dissertation on this subject ; it must wait, as we have now only time to give our friends glimpses of what is doing for the wayside children of Philadelphia by two of the private associa- tions in our benevolent city THE FOSTER HOME ASSOCIATION OF PHILADELPHIA. This excellent institution, founded and managed by ladies of different Christian denominations, but all united in charity, has been in successful operation fifteen years, and now has about ninety children under its shelter. It is at present opened in the “Preston Retreat,’’ a very commodious structure, generously and freely allowed Thisis a great boon to the society, and enables the managers to the society by Mrs. Preston and the Trustees

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4 EDITORS’ devote their means entirely to the poor children. Very pleasant itis to look on the order, neatness, comfort and gentle training of these little ones, born to no inheritance save perishing poverty or squalid misery and wicked ex- amples. Wethere see what the Bible does for humanity. Idolatry is always cruel to children, The Bible only by its holy influence on the soul of woman, has provided that ‘‘ Foster Home” where the little wayside weeds of human society have found sustenance and culture, and spring joy and summer hope, which has changed them to useful plants. The girls are put by turns to all kinds of household work; both boys and girls are taught to sew and knit, mend and make their own clothes. All are well in- structed in the common branches of English education, while the culture of the heart, in its affections and prin- ciples, is the constant care of the society. Thus the children are fitted to become good servants and appren- tices, and, when their probation is over, to become good members of society, govd citizens of the State, and good Christians in their own homes. The expenses for 1860 were $6471, and more than half of this amount was paid for board of the children by their parents and friends, thus saving them from the degradation of pauperism. This isan excellent feature in the plan of the society, encouraging poor struggling mothers and fathers, also, to the greatest efforts at labor and economy, as by the payment of a small sum, weekly, their children can have all the comforts and advantages of this FosTER HOME. THE JEWISH FOSTER HOME SOCIETY OF PHILADELPHIA. This institution, established six years ago, has now thirty-three children dependent on its fostering care. It is underthe management of thirty ladies, lineal descend- ants of the grand old race of people who inherited the **Promises’’ and preserved the “ Oracles’ of the “Old Testament,’ equally sacred to Hebrew and Gentile Be- liever. We were deeply impressed by the tone of reverential faith in God and tender benevolence towards children, breathed, as it were, into the report of these ladies showing how the true worship of the Creator draws the soul out in benevolence and good works. These two Foster Homes, similar in name and in object both sus- tained and cherished by noble-minded and warm-hearted women; do they not show how closely the religious faith drawn from the Bible can bring together, in good works, the Jew andthe Christian? The God of the Bible only is the Friend and Saviour of little children. This hely bond ef love to the little ones, uniting the hearts and souls of those who worship the Jehovah of both dispensations, will it not, ultimately, prove a sweet and lasting tie of sisterhood in faith and charity and thus draw all women to the feet of the Saviour? SCRAPS FROM A NOTE-BOOK. I wit tell you a secret; The way to make yourself pleasing to others is to show that you care for them ; the small, sweet courtesies in which there is no parade, whose voice is so still to teaze, and which manifest themselves by tender and affectionate looks, and those little acts and offices of attention. The seed of love can never grow but under the warm and gentle influence of kind feelings and affectionate manners. It constitutes the sum total of all the witchcraft of woman. "A lover's hope, the bean in the nursery tale; let it once take root, and " says Sir Walter Scott, “resembles 559 TABLE, it will grow so rapidly that in the course of a few hours the giant Imagination builds a castle on the top; and by and by comes Disappointment, and hews down both the plant and the superstructure ” There is nothing in life like a diversity of thought to cureahurt,. Wounds heal when we never think of them Definitions of a gentleman, alone distinguished by moral qualities: One who restrains bis passions and subdues his selfishness; who considers the comfort of others before his own, and respects the personality of all; never takes an unfair advantage ; scrupulous of his honor, and doubly scrupulous of that of others in his keeping. Ina word, one whose manly traits are pene- trated and modified by the gentleness of a woman's nature. Women’s Unton Misston Socrery oF AMERICA, ETC.— Our readers know the plan of this noble association. It is fast gaining friends. Of the one hundred collectors re- quired, eighty-five have offered. A few ladies have sent us subscriptions; many have given promises and good wishes. Thanks for all—but we best like donations that we can record. Mrs. Richard E. Cochran, Little Rock, Ark., $1. Miss Emma C. Dorr, Boston, Mass., $1. Mrs. John F. James, Philadelphia, $1. Mrs. Thos. J. Cram, Philadelphia, $1. Miss 8. J. Hate’s Boarpina AND Day ScHoon FoR Youne Lapres, 1826 Rittenhouse Square, Philadelphia. This school is designed to give a thorough and liberal English education, to furnish the best facilities for ae- quiring the French language, and the best instruction in music and the other accomplishments. The moral training 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 CorresPonpEeNnts.—The following articles are accepted: “On a Picture’’—‘* Worsted Work'’—‘ The Fairies ""—‘‘ A word bitter Thought’’— **Ashes from the Pipe of an Old Smoker’’—‘‘ The Blue may waken Bird’’—*‘ Canst thou Weep for Me?’’—*‘ Genevieve’ — “Mary's Homage’’—“ Florence’’—*‘ Out of the Fulness of the Heart’’—“ Lines, etc.’’-—‘‘Scraps from a Note- Book’’—*“ Fireside Dreams’’—*“ A Literary Star, and how it culminated’’—‘‘ A Sonnet” (the other poem, declined for want of room, will be returned, if a stamp is sent) The following articles are declined ; some of these are really worth publishing ; we feel loth to refuse, but we have no room to spare, and the authors would not be willing to wait, years, perhaps, before we could insert them: “ Have faith in God’’—‘“‘Sic Transit Gloria Mun- di’’—‘“*Sunshine and Shade”—* Ode"’—“ The Rejee- tion’’—*‘‘ Merry, Merry May’’—‘‘The Hand Organ”— ‘“*My Pets’’—‘‘ North and South” (we do not accept political articles)—‘‘A Rare Chance ’—* Waiting "— ‘My Early Home’’—‘ The Brother and Sister”’ Will be returned, if four (would do well for a newspaper stamps are sent)—‘‘ Long Time Ago’’—‘‘ Many Sorrows” —“A Wonderful Discovery ’—‘ Time ’—‘‘ Winter ’— * Song’’—** The Aurora’’—Thoughts on the Times” (very sad theme, but we cannot mend “the times’’)—‘ Bless- ings in Disguise’’—‘‘Society on Christian Principles”

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560 (this essay deserves separate publication; it is too long for our Book) ‘Little Anna,” From ove poem, * Invitation to a May Walk," we select these Their author, ‘* Mari- lives in @ pleasant place where the June sun * Summer'’-and stanzas, all we have room for anna,’’ shines :— ‘Come walk with me to the banks, my love, And we'll list to the robin'’s sony How blue are the skies! how green is the grove! And the river flows sparkling along! **Do you see that grass-covered isle, my love, Like an emerald green and bright? It is there that these waters, parted above, The Merrimac and Concord unite. “The ‘ wedded’ waters pass our ‘sweet home,’ And they pass no pleasanter place, Nor a happier home, wherever they roam, From their rise to the end of their race.”’ We have MSS Notice to Authors.—A\l MSS. must have a name, ad- not examined on hand dress—town, county, and State—and date legibly written on the first page, with stamps for their return, if not accepted Literary Asptrants.—We are constantly annoyed by young beginners sending us poetry and asking us to We add do either pay for or return poetry. One thing more while remit our usual price may that we not we are upon the subject. It is folly for writers who have made no name to think of receiving payment for pr without being entitled to compensation their luctions. An article may be fit to publish A young writer thankful that he has the opportunity of displaying his talents before some should have a little modesty, and be hundYeds of thousands of readers, without asking more If ability, he will be sought out, and his contributions or less pay in addition he write with unusual solicited, and then will be time to put a price upon the productions of his brain. A little plain speaking at this time, when we scarcely open a letter offering a prose contribution without a request to know “our terma,”’ will probably prove a blessing to other publishers as well as to ourselves, Health Department, u. OD. BY JNO. STAINBACK WILSON, Mepicar Epvcation or WomAN—ProvresstonaL Prive. —The most formidable adversary to the recognition of the rights and privileges of woman, as a physician, is professional pride ; for being more laudable than avarice, it may be made a kind of scapegoat for opposition arising This professional pride is more formidable, again, because it from ali kinds of impure and unworthy motives. is strengthened and intensified by a sexual pride which is either hereditary, or which, from long established erroneous views as to the nature and duties of woman, has become a second nature, and which revolts at the idoa of being placed on a level with “the weaker sex.”’ Professional pride is exceedingly formidable, then, be- cause it is to some extent laudable, because it is deep- rooted, closely entrenched in the strongholds of our very nature, and doubly fortified by a mighty breastwork of hoary errors and prejudices, Professional pride, within proper bounds, is commend- able ; itis the only real bond of union between physicians, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, A and as things now exint, ia the greatest safeguard and protection to the profession, But it is only ecommend- able when it prompts to noble deeds, and restrains from everything that is mean and derogatory to the character of a learned and liberal profession, Thus far it is legitimate, and worthy of all praise, But when this noble principle is perverted from noble ends, and degenerates into that pitiful self-conceit and supercilious scorn which would refuse a woman admission into the temple of Medicine when she is proved to be worthy of the honor, and when it is demonstrated that the welfare of the race demands it; it then becomes a great evil, and a disgrace to the profession. Ashamed to acknowledge fraternity with a woman, indeed !—Is this not supremely ridiculous, when we recognize as brothers, half educated, and wholly uneducated licentiates of one-man medical boards; newspaper puffers ; cross-road posters; patent medicine yenders, certifiers, and prescribers; and, in short, men who are destitute of every intellectual, moral and professional claim to respect! Some of us (we men doctors) may be disposed to deny the “soft impeach- ment,’’ and disown our relationship to such a disreputa- ble swarm as we have mentioned, Yet we are all placed on pretty much the same platform by the laws, and often by public opinion. Let others indulge their false pride, then, in excluding women from the profession, but as for us, give us well-educated, virtuous, honorable, orthodox female physicians, in preference to the legion ofempirics with whom we now acknowledge fraternity. Sieerina Rooms ror CaiLpren.—The nursery room should be large, well aired, and elevated as far as possi- ble above the ground floor. From this room plants and flowers should be excluded, as they tend to vitiate the air. The beds of children should be considerably elevated, to guard against the impure air which naturally settles near the floor. Still, if the room is kept scrupulously clean (as it should be) and properly ventilated, impure air will find no place within it, but will be swept away by the free currents of air circulating through it. The beds of children should not be put under other beds during the day, but should be exposed to the air so that impure secretions with which the bedding may be im- pregnated may be dissipated. To guard more effectually against danger from this source, the beds and bed-cloth- ing should be exposed as much as possible to the sun as well as to the air Curtains should never be placed around the beds of children, and their faces should not be covered while If any one has any doubts about the interruption of a free circulation of air, even asleep, even with a veil by the thinnest veil, those doubts can soon be removed by placing one of these coverings over the face, and in contact with it. The warm stifling air will soon produce a very disagreeable and even painful feeling of oppres- sion. Manca. Exercise ror InrANts.—By manual exercise we mean gentle rubbing with the hands of the mother or For the first few weeks of their existence infants should be allowed to indulge their natural in- clination for repose to the fullest extent, and they should be handled as little as possible. But after the first month or two, they should be gently rubbed all over with the hand at least once a day. The best time for this is after the daily washing or bathing before recommended Passive exercise or friction with the hand communicates nurse. a very pleasurable sensation which is evinced by the movements of the child ; and those exercises promote a

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LITERARY free and equal cireulation of the blood, and thus con- tribute to the full and regular development of every part of the body Rep-Gua.—This is a skin disorder of early infancy ; and, if we mistake not, itis what is commonly known among the people as “hives,"”’ It consists of little pim- ples of a vivid red color, appearing most commonly on the cheeks, arms, and backs of the hands, and jater- spersed with diffused red patches, It has some resem- blance to the eruption of measles, Red-gum or “the hives’ is generally connected with sour stomach and some derangement of the bowels, caused by improper and excessive feeding. In some cases, it is doubtless the result of irritation of the skin from too great an amount of bed covering and clothing. It is a very common opinion that hives is caused, or greatly aggravated by cold, and hence children are often smothered up in aclose room, and most unmercifully drugged, with the intention of driving out the hives, and to guard against imaginary dangers. Instead of close con- finemert and stimulating teas, a child with hives should have free air, avoiding cold currents directly on the body, however; and a warm bath should be used once ortwiceaday. An occasional dose of chalk or magnesia may be proper in some cases; but generally, bathing, pure air, and the right kind and quantity of food, will be sufficient without any druogging and dosing. Toorn-Rasa.—This is connected with the irritation of teething—bears a very clese resemblance to the disorder After bath- ing, the irritation of the skin will be allayed by dusting above, and is to be treated in the same way with flour ‘or starch. The gums, if swollen, should be lanced, Sores BEHIND THE EArs.—This is another eruption While no attempt should be made todry up the sores by the use which seems to be connected with teething. of ointments, salves, &c., they should not be neglected. They should be carefully washed every day with warm water, or milk and water; and then anointed witha little oil and powdered chalk, mixed to a proper consistence, is sweet or glycerine. A plaster made of glycerine very good, These sores are often made much worse by applying ali kinds of stimulants, and by keeping the head too warm, Caps have much to do with these dis- All attempts to dry up eruptions about the head should be orders, and should never be worn in any case. studiously avoided, as convulsions, and the most serious affections of the brain have resulted from such ill-advised efforts CoLumBus, Ga. iterarp dlotices, Books By Mait.—Now that the postage on printed matter is so low, we offer our services to procure for 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 posta, When ordering a book, please mention the name of the publisher, From T. B. Perersoy & Brorners, Philadelphia:— THE CROSSED PATH; er, Basil: A Story of Modern Lift By Wilkie Collins, author of “‘The Woman in White,” “ Dead “After Dark,” “Queen of Hearts,” ete. When Wilkie Collins wrote “The Woman Secret,”’ in White,"’ he achieved for himself a reputation, to the | NOTICES, 561 brightness of which it would be difleult to add new lustre, The volume before us, though we cannot consider it as surpassing all his former efforts, in yet worthy of the pen from which it emanates cessful in his attempt to illustrate the characteristic He has been mort sue pride of the English aristocracy in birth and blood; and, taking this inherent pride for the woof of his romance, he has woven a most intricate web of misfortune and th, $l 25 tragedy. Price, paper, $1 00; cl From Harper & Brorners, New York, through Perer- son & Brotners, Philadelphia:— THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND from the Accession of James Il, By Lord Macaulay. Vol. V. Edited by his Sister, Lady Trevelyan, With a complete index to the entire work. This volume of the “ History of England’’ is given to the world just as it was left by its celebrated author, “no connecting link das been added," says the preface, ‘‘no reference verified; no authority sought for vr obtained.”’ The period of time embraced in this vol- ume of the history is from 1697 to 1702, including the death of King William III. $1 50. THE ORDEAL OF FREE LABOR IN THE BRITISH WEST INDIES. By Wm. G. Sewell. Mr. Sewell takes in turn the Windward Islands, Trinidad, the Leeward Price 25 cents, 40 cents, Islands, and Jamaica, and gives his impressions of their His work many important facts and statistics in regard to free and social and commercial condition embraces tlave labor, exports and imports, and the general and comparative prosperity of the islands, As far as weare capable of judging, he appears fair in his statements, and attempts no comparison between these islands and the United States. His readers cau draw their own con- clusions in any manner they see fit. Price $1 00 TRUMPS: A Novel. By Geo. Wm, Curtis, author of “Nile Notes of a Howadji,’’ “‘The Potiphar Papers,”’ “Prue and I," ete. Splendidly illustrated by Augustus Hoppin Novel readers have here somet ng really worth reading to occupy their time, and, if they choose, their thoughts also; for there is more than one moral that inay be deducted from its pages, It is a story of American life, which if it were n It holds up to shipping aristocracy of our country, and deals unspar- their foibles Polit those never-wearied ‘‘servants of the people,” t quite so true might be called a satire, view the money-wor- jagly with and vices iclans, too, are not forgotten, but occupy a prominent position in the story. It is a book that everybody will read and enjoy ; every- body laugh over, and many, who stop to reflect, sigh We ought rity of the illustrations which so profusely ornament over also not to omit mention of the supe- ri this volume, over those usually found in books of ite class. They are lifelike and full of character. Price #1 50. PUBLI VERGILI MARONIS OPERA. Ex Recensione J. Conington, A. M apud Oxonienses Professoris THUCYDIDES aldson, 8. T. P., Coll. ss. Trin. apud Cantabr tterarum Latinarum 40 cents Lingua et L Price Receansuit Joannes Gulielmns Don Quondam Socius. Intwo volumes. Price 40 cents All those who are availing themselves of the excellent opportunity offered them by the Messrs. Harper to ob- tain a classical library, will be pleased to learn of the publication of these works. From CHar.es Scripyer, New York, through J. B Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia :— THE POETICAL WORKS OF SAMUEL WOOD-

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62 or WORTH. Edited by his son. tained in two volumes, elegantly bound in blue and gold. There are many, who have heretofore seen only an occasional poem by the author of “The Old Oaken Bucket," that will gladly add to their poetic treasures these books containing his complete works. These poems are con- From Crossy, Nicnois, Lee, & Co., Boston, through G. G. Evans, Philadelphia :— THE HISTORY OF ENGLAND, from the Accession of James IT, By Lord Macaulay. Vol. V. Edited by his sister, Lady Trevelyan. This volume, the same as the one we have already noticed as published by Harper & Brother, of New York, contains, besides what is found in the latter’s publication, additional notes to volumes I., IL., IL, and IV., a Sketch of Lord Macaulay's Life and Writings, by 8. Austin Allibone, and a fac-simile of Lord Macaulay's memoram@a for his History of England. Price 40 cents, From Tickwor & Fie.ps, Boston, through 8. Hazarp, Jr., Philadelphia :— THE LIFE AND CAREER OF MAJOR JOHN ANDRE, Adjutant-General of the British Army in America. By Winthrop Sargent. Everything that pertains to the history of any of the leading characters in the American Revolution, whether tory or rebel, will find thousands of interested readers, for the facts and incidents of their separated lives, united, form the narrative of the pri- mary event of our national history. The author of this volume has made extensive research for every fact and tradition that has a bearing upon the life of his hero, and has thus discovered and, by giving it a place in his work, preserved from loss much curious matter con- cerning the André The book contains a fine steel engraving of Major André, copied from a miniature by himself. Price $1 50. TWELVE SERMONS, Delivered at Antioch College. times in which lived. By Horace Mann. These sermons, which will find nume- rous readers among the admirers of the late President of Antioch College, the Hon. Horace Mann, are on the following subjects: God's Being, the Foundation of Hu- man Duty; God's Character, the Law of Human Duty; God's Law, the Principle of Spiritual Liberty; Sin, the Transgression of the Law; Testimony against Evil, a Duty; The Prodigal Son; The Prodigal Son; Tempta- tion; Retribution; The Kingdom of Heaven; Immor- tality; Miracles. Price $1 00. THE SABLE CLOUD: A Southern Tale, with Northern By the author of ‘A South-side View of The title of this book sufficiently indicates comments Slavery.” its subject and the view which it takes of this subject. It is argumentative in style and ably We do not feel calied upon to pass sentence either for or against written, it, but leave each reader to judge for him or herself of its merits. Price 75 cents. Godeys Arm-Chair. Tne exquisitely engraved steel plate in this number is in illustration of the old ballad, ‘‘ Nobody axed you, We give it in the old English and in air!’’ she said medern words “NOBODIE AXED YOU, SIR!" Where are you goinge, my prettie maide? I'm golnge a milkinge, sir, she saide, GODEY’S LADY’S BOUK AND MAGAZINE, Who is your fader, my prettie maide? My fader 's the miller, sir, she suide. Will you marrie me, my prettie maide? You offer me freelie, kinde sir, she saide. What is your fortune, my prettie maide? My face is my fortune, sir, she saide. Then I can’t marry you, my pretty maide. Nobodie axed you, sir, she saide. ‘““NOBODY ASKED YOU, SIR!” Where are you going, my pretty maid? I’m going a milking, sir, she said. Who is your father, my pretty maid ? My father’s the miller, sir, she said. Will you marry me, my pretty maid ? You offer me freely, kind sir, she said. What is your fortune, my pretty maid? My face is my fortune, sir, she said. Then I can’t marry you, my prettie maid! Nobody asked you, sir! she said, a We have heard these lines very prettily sung, and with great archness, to a very simple air. We make no comments upon the engraving of the plate, as that speaks for itself. WELL, we don’t like to say anything more about our large fashion-plates, but if the one in this number is not pronounced prettier than any that have preceded it we shall lose all confidence in our own judgment. Thou- sands of commendatory notices from the press and from letters praise our fashions. Five figures against two of any other magazine ‘Scent Case for Note Paper’’ will be found a very use- ful article for ladies. More Impostors.—A person writes from Buffalo, but does not say what State, that he paid Andrew Mulvany for the Lady's Book, and received the January and February numbers. We think he was fortunate in get- ting those two numbers. We never heard of Mr. Mul- vany, and for the hundredth time repeat that we have no travelling agents. The writer does not say what he paid for the Book, but we will undertake to say that it was offered for less than what we charge. That is the way—it is the low price that induces persons to be duped. Still another! A letter from writer paid $2 (that ’s it, the low price) to a female, who The writer Maine states that the was giving premiums even at that price. received a breastpin which he supposes is worth about twenty-five cents. We think he puts rather a high value on it. Tue Germantown Telegraph wes established thirty- two years ago, in the month of March. In the succeed- ing July of the same year, the Lady's Book made its bow to the public. Major Freas has been the sole editor and publisher all that time, and the Lady's Book during its career has had but one conductor; no chopping and changing in either of these publications, The Telegraph has always been a first-class paper, eagerly sought after for ita agricultural intelligence, and most reliable for the same jold and independent, truckling to no man and no party, Major Freas is the personification of the fearless, independent, good-hearted, able, and, we can add, hospitable editor. Long life to him and continued prosperity

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. We have received orders for the Book, and in con- siderable quantities, from Buenos Ayres and Bermuda, and we give a copy of a letter received from Rio de Janeiro :— Brazit, Santa CATHARINA, Nov. 17, 1860. L. A. Gopey: Dear Stin—Having had the pleasure of reading one number of your Lady’s Book, which, in my humble opinion, is unquestionably the best work of the kind now published, I have resolved to become a sub- scriber, for which purpose I beg you to inform me, when convenient, not only bow much the subscription will be, including postages, but also whether you have any ce:respondent in Rio de Janeiro to whom the amount of said subscription can be paid. I desire also to know which is the most convenient way to forward the said work, whether by the English packet via Southampton, or direct from you to the care of some house here. Your most obedient servant, * # &, A Motnenr’s Love.—Children, look in those eyes; listen to that dear voice; notice the feeling of even a single touch that is bestowed upon you by that gentle hand! Make much of it while yet you have that most precious of all good gifts—a loving mother. Read the unfathom- able love of those eyes, the kind anxiety of that tone and look, however slight your pain. In after-life you may have friends—fond, dear, kind friends—but never will you have again the inexpressible love and gentle- lavished upon you, which but a mother bestows. Often do I sigh, in my struggles with the hard, uncaring world, for the sweet, deep security I felt when of an evening, nestling to her bosom, I listened to some quiet tale, suitable to my age, read in her tender and untiring voice. Never can I forget her sweet glances, cast upon me when I appeared to sleep; never her kiss Years have passed away since we ness none of peace at night! laid her beside my father in the old churchyard; yet still her voice whispers from the grave, and her eye watches over me as I visit spots long since hallowed to the memory of my mother.—Macaulay. Tuat is what we have always said :— “There is no lady’s magazine published that equals Godey's, and those who have Godey's need no other. It is the ladies’ magazine.”’ The Sunbury American agrees with us exactly. Tue following we copied from a churchyard in this State :— The Me mory-oF-J ORGEW Ashin gtond Avis The Memory of George Washington Davis. SENSIBLE ADVICE :— “Get a number of Godey's Lady's Book and look at it. Don't borrow it, but go, like @ person of prudence and good judgment, and subscribe for it at once.” This sensible piece of advice is given by the Journal and Statesman of Wilmington, Delaware. Aut letters relating to the Musical Department must be addressed to the editor thereof, J. Starr Holloway, Philadelphia. 563 PRAISE FROM CANADA :— Godey's fashion-plates no other magazine can come near, for in that particular branch it has never had an equal; in truth, it is the first of magazines, and need fear no competition. The Lady's Book is unquestion- ably the favorite.—Spectator, Hamilton, Canada. What shall we say of Godey? save to reiterate what we have already said, that, as a reliable ladies’ maya- zine, Godey’s Lady’s Book is far ahead of anything that has ever been attempted either in England or any other country. Why, we have no doubt that every lady who takes Godey would conscientiously declare the two page fashion-plates alone to be worth far more than the whole cost of the Book! What lady, then, would be without it ?—Herald, Ingersoll, Canada. How To Treat A Wire.—First, get a wife; secondly, be patient. You may have great trials and perplexities in your business with the world, but do not carry to your home a clouded or contracted brow. Your-wife may have many trials, which, though of less magni- tude, may have been as hard to bear. A kind, concili- ating word, a tender look, will do wonders in chasing from her brow all clouds of gloom. You encounter your difficulties in the open air, fanned by heaven's cool breezes ; but your wife is often shut in from these health- ful influences, and her health fails, and her spirits lose their elasticity. But O bear with her; she has trials and sorrows to which you are a stranger, but which your tenderness can deprive of all their anguish. No- tice kindly her little attentions and efforts to promote your comfort. Do not take them all as a matter of course, and pass them by, at the same time being very sure to observe any omission of what you may consider due to you. Do not treat her with indifference if you would not sear and palsy her heart, which, watered by kindness, would, to the latest day of your existence, throb with sincere and constant affection. Sometimes yield your wishes to bers, She has preferences as strong as you, and it may be just as trying to yield her choice as to Do you find it hard to yield sometimes? Think you If you never you it is not difficult for her to give up always? yield to her wishes, there is danger that she will think you are selfish and care only for yourself, and with such feelings she cannot love as she might. Again, show yourself manly, so that your wife can look up at you and feel that you will act nobly and that she can coniide in your judgment. Whaat commends Godey’s Lady's Book, however, to the favor of medical men and their families is the very excellent papers on health, nursing, diet, children, air, exorcise, etc. etc., from the pen of Dr. Wilson, of Georgia We have heretofore noticed this feature of Godey, and repeat it with commendation.—Lancet and Observer, Cincinnati, O “ Doverass, 711."'— Dear me!" said Mra. Snooksby, as she was reading the Congressional news, “it was just so all last year. It isa wonder ho don't die. He seems to be sick all the time Mrs. Snooksby did not seem to know that the Ill. was Illinois. ” Biaspuemova Bany Srontes.—Ie it not time these manufactured sayings that purport to come from the mouths of children should bestopped? They aresimply blasphemous.

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OUR MUSICAL COLUMN, Music in the City.—There isa decidedly pleasant fiut- ter in the musical world of this music-loving city, telling of a more brilliant finale to the season than we looked forward to in the musical column a month or two ago. What with opera, and soirée, and concert, we are almost overcome! The former is dawning in unexpected bril- liancy at the Academy, the principal force comprising Colson, Brignoli, Susini, Stigelli, and others of the As- sociated Artists. Halevy'’s La Juive, Flotow’s Martha, and Verdi's Un Ballo in Maschera are among the operas. The last is a new work. Overpraised in New York and Boston, we shail be surprised if it pass the severer ordeal of Philadelphia criticism, After the usual eoncerta, soirées, and matinées, the chief feature of the past two months has been a sort of imitation of the monster Jullien Concerts of a few years back, christened by the name of the People’s Concerts, avd brought out at the old place, Concert Hall. Herr Eugelke, who was sous chef d'orchestre under Jullien, was the musical director, and the orchestra, forty per- formers, comprised the best talent !n the city, Though tried as an experiment, these concerts will doubtless become a fixed institution, Such ts the intention; and, as the artists are all resident here, and have their hearts in their work, with crowded audiences to fill up the exchequer, we have no doubt of the result, The over- ture to Zampa and the Trovatore selections at the first concert, Engeike's solo on the violoncello at the second, and the exquisite Notturno from the Midsummer Night's Dream at the third were admirably rendered, though the want of proper rehearsal in some other pleces was painfully apparent ‘ New Sheet the list of Mr. J. H Hidley, Albany, N. Y.: Galop di Bravura, by Bassford, 25 cents, and Governor Morgan's Re-Election Quickstep, by Un Vusic,—In derner, 30 cents, both easy and effective compositions Also the following songs and ballads; Lucy's Flittin’, beautiful Scottish ballad, by the author of Jessie, the Flower o' 1 Shake be Friends, by George Washburne Morgan, 30 cents; One inblane, 25 cents; Hands and Story 's Good till Another’s Told, same composer, 25 cents; The Harpist’s Death, a touching song, 25 cents; The Miller's Daughter, poetry by Tennyson, 30 cents ; and Separation, song, by And. Boyd, 25 cents. Messrs. Russell & Tolman's new list includes the ele- gant songs and ballads of B. Augusto, highly praised in the Musical World: lithographic title, 35 cents ; Far, Far Away, 25 cents; It Was the Early Win- None Shall Breathe a Sigh for Me, 25 cents; Sweet Bride of Sleep, with handsome My Song Shall be of Thee, 25 cents ; ter, 25 cents; The Quiet Eye, 25 cents; and Bless’d Land of Leve and We cheerfully indorse the commenda- Also, Thoughts of Thee, by H. P. Danks, 25 cents ; Cottage Behind the Hill, same composer, Liberty, 25 cents. tion of these songs. 25 cents ; A Home in the Hills for Me, quartette, 25 cents ; Ella May, song and chorus, by Charles Hess, 25 cents; Where shall I Find Thee? sung by Madame Fabri, 35 cents; I am Contented, by Flotow, 25 cents; and I’m but the Withering Flower, serenade, by Conant, 30 Also for piano, without words: Her Bright Smile Haunts me Still, by Brinley Richards, 35 cents; Annie o’ the Banks o’ Dee, same composer, 35 cents; cents Prayer in the Chapel, Neustadt, 30 cents; Nocturno, by C. Galos, 25 cents ; and Mountain Echoes, by F. Spindler, 30 eents. These pieces are well worthy the attention of our friends. We can send any of them on receipt of price, GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Music orders and musical communications to be sent to Philadelphia, addressed to J. Stann Hoitoway. PLANT SYMPATHY AND ANTIPATHY.—Our readers may take the following, by a correspondent of the American Farmer, for what it is worth; we do not vouch for it:— Sympathy. The vine likes the nearness of cherry trees and elms, A white vine planted immediately beside a blue gets blue grapes. Chestnut trees among mulberry trees get twice as large fruit. Lemon, orange, myrtle, cypress, and laurel trees grow and succeed best among one another. The asparagus increases much better near the he- deoma pulegioides, which gives the pennyroyal. Will you reinforce the smell of the roses?—plant some garlic or onion among them. If you plant seme roses and white lilies together in one bed, both get much more sweet scent, If you have a valuable flower, which commences to fade by an accident, put next to it a chamomile, with its roots in the same pot, and you will see revive the fading flower from day to day, Will you produce extraordinarily big turnips, beet- roots, carrots, or red beets?—excavate a few of these, put the seed into the hole, and, after a few days, sow it, Will you attain a considerable fertility of the vines? —strew some powdered tartar, mixed with a little ox blood, among thelr roots, and you attain an incredible BUCCERS, Antipathy. The walnut tree is hostile and noxious to every other fruit tree in its near neighborhood, Enemies against one another are the olive and the oak, the vine and the laurel tree, Cucumbers planted among olive trees perish, An oak tree beside a walnut tree dries up. Colocynths are noxious to every herb or flower in the same bottom Hemlock beside a vine dries up. Rose and orange water loses its sweet scent during the time of blowing of those plants. (?) The vine becomes unquiet, and ferments in the casks while the vine blooms. True.—* Nearly all the ladies of our town have dis- carded every other, and alone take Godey, declaring one number of it to be worth a year’s issue of all the others,” The Princeton Bulletin confirms our own opinion. Tue publishers of “ Art Recreations” (that valuable guide to all the beautiful arts and fancy works ladies delight in) supply all materials for wax work, and, in fact, for all the various arts taught in the book. For information, ete, address Messrs. J. 2. Tilton & Co., Publishers, Boston. A city orricer in Seotland was celebrated for his cunning and wit. His mother having died in Edin- burgh, he hired a hearse and carried her to the family burying-p!acein the Highlands. He returned, it is said, with the hearse full of smuggled whiskey, and being teased about it bya friend, he said—‘‘ Wou, man, there's nae harm done. I only took awa the body and brought back the speerit.”

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Ks is- ne rle ies in ‘or his in- ily id, ing e's ght GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. Tue Marcu or Mepicat Scrence !—When an article is required, either in housekeeping or trade, persons with ‘ny pretension te prudence apply to the individual who best understands its manufacture and the various uses to which it is to be applied; and if this be so as regards the ordinary matters with which we have to do, how much more necessary is it that in the derangements which perpetually occur in the wear and tear of life to the bodily frame, we should have recourse to the man of science, who has made our “ wonderful construction” the subject of his study and the pursuit of his life! But thousands act otherwise, and while moving on with tolerable philosophy in other things, taking every pre- caution as regards their business affairs, yet in the mat- ter of life and health throw themselves unreservedly into the hands of the quack, But some amount of dis- crimination is required to judge of what is orthodox and what is quackery—the latter may possibly lie con- cealed even under a diploma; nor does a regular educa- tion always answer all the conditions, The man in whose hands one should fearlessly intrust one’s life should be a man of intellect, enthusiastically devoted to his profession, and following it from a conviction that to promote the comfort or to assuage the sufferings of his fellow-creatures is the noblest and most exulied employment to which to dedicate his time and his science, Amongst medical men, as amongst other classes, there are of course now and then exceptions to be met with ; and the following anecdote, translated from the French, is abundantly amusing, as affording an instance of that simulated profundity which too frequeatly passes current with the unthinking and unreflecting, but which, of course, serves the temporary purpose of the knave and the quack, We really think it a smart joke:— It appears that a gentleman, a short time since, made & Journey, by railroad or steamboat, we do not recollect exactly by which of these modes of travelling; at all events it is of little importance to the matter with which we have to oceupy ourselves, as you will soon per- ceive, However, it occurred that at the moment of starting the boiler exploded, and the poor fellow was transfixed by a thin rod of iron belonging to some por- tion of the machinery, and which was about seven feet long. The iron penetrated his abdomen a little above the navel, and came out at an opposite point through the back in such a manner that three feet protruded in front and about the same length behind. He was with difficulty conveyed home, and his position was considered one which required the immediate aid of science. A doctor wa« therefore called in, who first began by feeling the patient's pulse; and, by way of gaining time, the scientific luminary wished to do two things together, and therefore asked his poor patient where he suffered. ‘In my stomach, sir.” “Ah, very good,” says the doctor. happened to you?” The exhausted patient then relates, as well as he is able, the circumstances of the explosion. This account finished, the doctor thinks it his duty to follow up his questions. “Are your family subject to this kind of accident, sir?” “How has this “No,” answers the patient, “for all I know, they are not. Both my father and mother are very old, and they have never been so unfortunate. My brother and sisters’ also enjoy the best of health, hardly ever having known a day's illness, and I can also say the same for my uncles and aunts VOL. Lx11.—48 565 “Very well, sir,’’ auswers the doctor, “It was °f the first importance to gain that information for the purpose of forming a prognostic.’ And now the doctor, in order to prove to his patient that he completely understands the complicated nature of his complaint, thus continues ;— “You must find it very difficult to lie upon your back ?”’ “O yes, sir, I find it impossible,’’ is the answer, ac- companied with a deep groan of anguish. “Tl apprehend you must experience the same amount of difficulty to lie upon your stomach ‘Indeed, sir, I have exactly the same difficulty with regard to that position.” ‘*Sclentifically speaking, it ought to be mach easier for you to lie upon your side," * Oh, indeed, sir, it is just so ; that is the only position that I can bear,"’ “ Very well, sir, this information is quite auficient for me; it now only remains to decide upon the mode of treatment. In this case the incications are very precise, indeed—very! We have to select between these two things—we can either leave this rod of iron, which I am aware must feel painful and inconvenient, just where it is, or, if possible, pull it out Now I beg of you to make up your mind for the one or the other, and I will call and see you in the morning.’ Tue editor of the Sptrit af the Age, at Woodatock, efter very kindly praising the Book, says: “We are not blessed with a better hulf.’’ Then, why, may we ask, are you not? Secret or Comrort.—Though sometimes small evils, like invisible insects, inflict pain, and a single hair may stopa vast machine, yot the chief secret of comfort lies in not suffering trifles to vex one, and in prudently caltivat- ing an undergrowth of small pleasures, siuce very few great ones, alas! are let on long leases Mvsk IN Ratt-Roap Cars anp Crurncurs.—We con- tend that no woman should be allowed to enter a car or church who is covered with this vile perfume, It is sickening to many, and to mauy ladies it causes the headache. In places where there is little ventilation, the smell is very offensive and heavy. The general suppo- sition is, that those who use it have some very powerful motive for doing so—something upon the counter-irrita- tion principle. The same reason that accompanies gout, a person having that does not heed a lesser pain. We do net like to be more explicit. Secret or No Secret.—G. P. R. James, Esq., in his late historical novel, entitled ‘‘ The Cavalier,’’ page 145, says: “‘ Like words inscribed in that sympathetic ink of which we read, it can only be deciphered by those who have the secret,”’ ete. Now I have the secret, and I will send to any person, at any place, full instructions how to write a secret or invisit/e letter, which no one is able to read or decipher except the writer and his corre- spondent; and also how to render said letter visible at will. Inclose fifteen cents in post-stamps to W. 8. Gare- ney, Box 100, Washington, Daviess County, Indiana A port asked a gentleman what he thought of his last production, “‘An Ode to Sleep."’ The latter replied: ‘You have done so much justice to the subject that it is not possible to read it without feeliug its whole weight.”

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566 DescriprTion OF Dresses Woxn AT THE LATE DRAWING- Room RecertTion or Her Masesty Queen VicToria:— Mas. Henry WIits.—Rich pomme moire train, lined with white satin, trimmings of fire Brussels point lace, ondé, surmounted by wreaths of thulle and vert de satin ribbon, corsage A drapé with same fine lace ; petti- coat of rich satin blane thulle bouillon, en tablier, with wreaths of fern leaves and bouquets of lilac and white azeleas. Headdress, azeleas in lilacand white, feathers, and fine Brussels lace lappets; a tiara of diamonds. Mas. Kexewicu.—Train of rich white watered silk, lined with glacé, and trimmed with Honiton lace and bows of violet velvet ribbon; skirt of violet and white watered silk, trimmed with thulle and ribbon. Head- dress, feathers, and Honiton lace lappets; ornaments, diamonds. Mrs. 8. R. Kreert.—Train of rich white broché moire antique, ornamented with band of rose du roi velvet, bordered on each side with a fine gold band corsage to correspond, with deep gold blond fall and sabots ; dress of thulle illusion, with spotted gold veil, looped up at the side with gold cables and rosettes of rose du roi vel- vet ments, gold and diamonds. Mra. Witmer Wii.Mer.—Costume de cour composed of a train of gray velvet, lined with silk, and trimmed Headdress, plume, gold cables, and veil; orua- with guipure and silver lace; corsage to correspond ; skirts of white glacé, with guipure lace flounces and sil- ver trimmings. Coiffure of ostrich feathers, veil, and diamonds. Mrs. Rickard Trencu.—Train of gray moire antique, lined with glacé and trimmed with old point lace ; petti- with flounces of lace over thulle, orna- Headdress, feathers and lap- coat of giacé, mented with satin ribbon. pets. Mrs. Hopson.—Train of black moire antique, lined with glacé and trimmed with velvet; skirt of black giacé, trimmed with thulleand velvet. Headdress, fea- thers and thulle veil. Mas. Henny SANDFoRD.—Train and corsage of rich white moire antique, ornamented with plaitings of the same; dress of rich white poult de soie, with tunic of fine Brussels point lace and garniture of pink ribbon and marguerites. Headdress, plume, lappets, fine flowers, &c. ; ornaments, diamonds, Mas. L. Powys.—Train of rich pink moire antique, trimmed with Honiton lace, festooned over plaitings of crape, and trimmed with white azeleas. Headdress, fea- thers, lappets, and flowers; ornaments, diamonds. Mas. 8S. Curisty wore a train of rich petunia poult de sole, with garniture of fine Honiton lace, and ruches of petunia and white silks; corsage to correspond; dress of white thulle illusion, with narrow flounces and tunic of fine Honiton Headdress, plume, lappets, and flowers; ornaments, diamonds Miss Vicrorta Rvsset..—Train and bodice of rich white poult de soie, richly trimmed with blue taffetas lace and silver braid, ornamented with bows of silver; petti- coat composed of alternate flounces of blue and white thulle over white glace ; corsage drapé. Coiffure, plumes, lappets, and silver flowers, Mias Tuyxyxe.—Train of rich white glacé, trimmed with thulle, blond lace, and ruches of Solferino glacé silk ; petticoat of white thulle, over silk, trimmed with ruches and bouquets of red and white camelias. Head- dress, feathers and camelias; thulle veil. CaN @ man take) fire in his bosom and yet not get burued? GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, We give a postseript to a letter we recently received. It is a hard case. Sr. Louis, Mo. P. 8. Iam boarding with several other ladies, and I am bothered nearly to death, because they all borrow my Lady's Book, and do it before I can get the leaves cut. Now I do not like to refuse to lend, but I do liketo have the reading of my books while they are fresh and new. Whatshall ldo? Would you, if you were me, take two copies and give them one and keep the other, or, would you refuse to lend them your copy and say tothem that they can buy them at Gray & Crawford’s, Fourth Street? Yours, truly, + # #, Undoubtedly tell them to go to Gray & Crawford's— and very nice people are G. & C. Summer Soves.—Physiological research has fully es- tablished the fact that acids promote the separation of the bile from the blood, which is then passed from the system, thus preventing fevers, the prevailing diseases All fevers are “ bilious ;’’ that is, the bile Whatever is antagonistic to fever is of summer. is in the blood. “cooling.’’ Itisacommon saying that fruits are “ cool- ing,’’ and also berries of every description ; it is because the acidity which they contain aids in separating the bile from the blood ; that is, aids in purifying the blood. Hence the great yearning for greens and lettuce, and salads in the early spring, these being eaten with vine- gar; hence also the taste for something sour, for lemon- ades, on an attack of fever. But, this being the case, it is easy to see that we nullify the good effects of fruits and berries in proportion as we eat them with sugar or even sweet milk or cream. If we eat them in their natural state, fresh, ripe, perfect, it is almost impossible to eat too many, to eat enough to hurt us, especially if we eat them alone, net taking any liquid with them Hence, also, is buttermilk or even common Sweet whatever. sour milk promotive of health in summer time. milk tends to biliousness in sedentary people, sour milk The Greeks and Turks are passionately fond of sour milk. The shepherds use rennet, and the milk dealers alum to make it sour the sooner. Butter- milk acts like watermelons on the system.—Hall’s Jour- nal of Health. is antagonistic. *“Gopry always has one or more steel plates which are very attractive in a scrap book after the magazine is worn out.” But, friend Democrat of Freehold, the magazine should not be allowed to “wear out.’’ It ought to be bound. It will be as valuable as a book of reference twenty years hence as it is now. Crper.—“ That, sir, is the spirit of the press,” said Mrs. Bigelow, as she handed a glass of cider to her neighbor, Mrs. Brown. A Worp To tHe Over Sensitive.—A. strikes me with a sword and inflicts a wound. Suppose, instead of bind- ing up the wound, I am showing it to everybody; and after it has been bound up, I am taking off the bandage continually, and examining the depth of the wound, and making it fester till my limb becomes greatly in- flamed, and my general system is materially atfected— is there a person who would not call mea fool? Now such a fool is he who, by dwelling upon little injuries and insults, or provocations, causes them to agitate or inflame the mind. How much better were it to put a bandage over the wound, and never look at it again.

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os FR or Fe we ONT Se 7-77 of NS GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 56 Org evening a stranger drove pot into a German city, and desired fresh horses, to procecd immediately. The horses were put to, and a tall, strong fellow mounted as postillion, and away they went. The road led them through a solitary wood of many miles in extent, and night came on, so that it was pitch dark. The horses, as if influenced by a peculiar uneasiness, went with great speed, so that the wheels seemed to fly. Suddenly, however, all was brought to a stand-still; three robbers assailed the carriage, and demanded from the traveller his money and treasure, advising him to give up all freely, or it would be taken from him at the cost of his life. He was not a man disposed to obey such a com- mand readily, and called to the postillion for help. But the postillion took no notice, nay, even smoked his pipe with perfect composure, as if it were an affair that did not concern him in the least. What -was the traveller to do? He alighted, and was compelled to look on whilst the robbers pillaged all he had, and prepared to carry off his money and his money’s worth. At length, when the work of spoliation appeared to be about completed, he said to the robbers: “ Permit me to make one request; oblige me by one little service, for which I am willing to pay you. I have still in my carriage a concealed box containing a considerable sum of money; you shall have this, on condition that you unseat the postillion, and give him a sound thrashing.” The robbers did not need twice bidding for such ser- vice. They dragged the postillion from his saddle, and laid upon him lustily. By this time and by these means a little life was put into him; he turned upon his as- sailant«, and dealt around him such blows that their hearts trembled within them, and first one and then another lay senseless on the ground, like flies in autumn When the stranger saw this, he took courage, and, with the help of some other people who came up, the money and valuables were restored to the carriage, and the robbers bound and conveyed back to the city. In the mean time, the gentleman said to the postillion:— “Tell me, in the name of common sense, why you have behaved so strangely? why you allowed me to be plundered, and my life threatened, and never moved a finger to help me, nay, even let yourself be attacked before you defended the right?” “T always want warming up,”’ replied the postillion. ** As soon as my blood gets warm, I’m a match for any three of them!” Many people look on perfectly unmoved when a neigh- bor isin difficulty ; but let the trouble come :to them- selves, and they have strength enough for any three. How easy it would be to help our neighbors, if we had only the will for it, and did not need, like the postillion, to be warmed up first! Witt the Fonda Democrat present our compliments to Angelina, and request her to return to her allegiance, as there is a mortgage upon us. Krrosene.—We continue to hear that this oil is dan- gerous. Kerosene is not dangerous, if pure; but how is the purchaser to know that? Those who sell it will adulterate it with explosive material. Gopry’s Premium P.Lates.—“ Godey offering prem!- ums!’’ we think we hear onr subscribers say. We an- ewer, yes. Inevery number our double fashion plate is worth more than any of the so-called premiums offered by any magazine. Hark ORNAMENTS. — Ladies wishing hair made into bracelets, pins (which are very beautiful), necklaces, or ear-rings, can be accommodated by our Fashion Editor. A very large number of orders have recently been filled, and the articles have given great satisfaction. We cive the prices at which we will send these beauti- ful articles :— Breastpins, from $4 to $12. Ear-rings, from $4 50 to $10. Bracelets, from $3 to $15. Rings, from $1 50 to $3. Necklaces, from $6 to $15. Fob-chains, from $6 to $12. The Charms of Faith, Hope, and Charity, $4 50. Hair Studs from $5 50 to $11 the set. Sleeve Buttons from #6 50 to $11 the set. Harr is at once the most delicate and lasting of our ma- terials, and survives us like love. It is so light, so gentle, so escaping from the idea of death, that, with a lock of hair belonging to a child or friend, we may aimost look up to heaven and compare notes with the angelic nature—may almost say: *‘ I have a piece of thee here, not unworthy of thy being now.” THAT I8 IT—THAT I8 THE TRUTH !-—Hear the Miltonian, of Milton :— ** Were each of its readers a eubseriber, it would keep all the paper manufactories and printing presses in the Union in a perpetual hurry for the demand of this popu- lar monthly.”’ The only trouble about it is, we should get rich too soon, We should have about a million of subscribers a year, and it would even be a difficult matter to get them all printed. Perhaps it is best as it is, for with that namber of subscribers, the receipt of one year would be enough for us. A supae in Indiana threatened to fine a lawyer for contempt of court. ‘I have expressed no contempt for the court,’’ said the lawyer; “on the contrary, I have carefully concealed my feelings.”’ Ir has been thought that people are degenerating, because they don't live as long as in the days of Methu- selah. But the fact is, provisions are so high that no- body can afford to live very long at the current prices ** Boy, what ’s become of that hole I saw in your pants the other day?"’ (Young America, carefully examining his unmentionables), ‘‘ It's worn out, sir.” Ir a very rich old lady is dangerously ill, her dutifal relatives are sure to remember that age and disease en- title one to every possible attention. The postage on the Lady's Book, if paid three months in advance at the office where it is received, is four and a half cents for three monthly numbers.

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DANCING DOLL, Draw the face, hair, and shape of Fig. 2 on card-board, color it, and cut it out carefully ; pierce with a pin the four holes, and cut half through the dotted lines on the face of the card, Cut Fig. 2. and bend the sides backwards, out the two arms the shape of Fig 3, piercing the holes as already de- Then cut out the two legs the shape of Fig. 4; the the stockings pink in imitation of silk, and the boots blue or pink, accord- Take a piece of thread, make a knot at one scribed, and color them. again pierce holes, paint ing to the color of the dress end, and the other must be inserted through the hole at the shoulder, aud the one at the top of the arm; at the back of this, to allow the arm to move, and nother knot Fig. 4. make do the same with the other arm, and also the legs. Cut out another piece of card-board of the shape of Fig. 5, for a support for the dress, ete. ; put this round the waist of the doll, and fix white tarlatan, and make a double skirt or ounces, and gather the top of it round the waist of the doll, but before it with gum. Procure a piece of Fig. 5. Fig. 6. doing so put under this a pink or blue silk slip. Then cut ont two of Fig. 6, and the same material; gum one back and front on the body of the doll; then fix over these a piece of tarlatan the same shape. Next take four bristles, about an inch and a quarter in length, and gum one end of each on to the inside of the card, forming the skirt; place them at equal distances apart and allow them to dry. Making a few of these in the same man- ner, and placing them upon rather a thin piece of card- board, and by gently tapping this with a pencil or your GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, fingers they will dance about in a very amusing style to any favorite tune. Ix connection with this department, we will give from time te time some amusing little games for our young friends, to fill up their hours of play, or pass away anevening. The first we give is— PORCO, OR ITALIAN BLIND-MAN'S BUFF. Several persons, male and female, join hands so as to form a circle, and one persov, who is blindfolded, is placed in the centre, with a small stick in his or her hand. Tha players dance round the hoodwinked per- son, who tries to touch one of them with the wand, and if he succeeds, the ring of people stops. The player then grunts like a pig—hence the name of the game— crows, or imitates some animal, and the person touched must endeavor to imitate the noise as closely as possi- ble, without discovering him or herself. If the party touched is discovered, then the hoodwinked player transfers the bandage and the stick to that player, and takes the vacant place in the ring of persons, who once more resume their dance, until another player is touched. THE HOME BAZAAR, This game requires some prepcration, but is produe- tive of much amusement. A stall is erected at one end of a large apartment, by means of a slight frame like a window ; coarse print hangings «nd pink calico drapery over the table. It should be madeto resemble, as much as possible, the beoth of a fair, and the articles to be sold should also partake of that character. The larger ones, which have reqaired considerable trouble in their fabrication, may be drawn for, and this adds not a little to the general amusement. Bonbons, toys which are ingenious, and droll pictures, caricatures, ete., are ex- cellent subjects for the sale, which should be conducted by two or three young ladies, in some pretty or droll costume; and instead of actual money, each guest should be presented on their entrance with an equal number of caraway-comfits in a little bag, the articles being priced to correspond, and every one thus placed on an equal footing as to their means of expenditure. Various amusements may be contrived by an ingenious arrange- ment of articles; and the author can vouch for the screams of delight, and the prolonged fun, which this mode of passing an evening has occasioned. ITALIAN SHADOWS. This very laughable amusement requires nothing in the way of preparation, except a white sheet suspended between the audience and the performers, and a candle or lamp placed upon the floor, so as to illuminate the screen, The performers pass between the lamp and the screen, 80 as to throw their shadow upon it, and in this manner an infinite variety of grotesque scenes may be exhibited. The assumption of female attire by some of the performers will greatly increase the ludicrous effect of the shadows, Peace or Mixp.—Though peace of mind does not con- stitute happiness, happiness cannot exist without it, our serenity being the result of our own exertions, while our happiness is dependent on others; hence the reason Our wisdom, therefore, is best shown in enltivating all that why it is so rare; for, on how few can we count! leads to the preservation of the negative blesssing, which, while we possess it, will prevent us from becoming wholly wretched,

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ae were ee ke se Ve Ve we V GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 569 A LAKE OR RIVER VILLA IN THE ITALIAN 8TYLE, Designed expressly for Godey's Lady's Book by SAMUEL SLOAN, Architect, Philadelphia. PERSPECTIVE VIEW. Ay example, showing the adaptation of this style to the requirements of a refined mode of living, and to the peculiarities of snrrounding scenery, PRINCIPAL FLOOR, Principal Floor.—A entrance ; B vestibule; C dining- rvom, 20 by 27 feet; D drawing-room, 20 by 27 feet; E sitting-room, 20 by 15 feet; F library, 18 by 18 feet; G hall; H butler’s pantry ; I lower entrance; J kitchen, 24 by 16 feet; K back kitchen, 15 by 15 feet; L L L piazzas. Second Floor.—O 0 0 O chambers; M hall; N lobby; P bed-room ; Q bed-room; R tower, 48* BECOND FLOOR, -_-—— A FELLow of atrocious ugliness chanced to pick up a good looking-glass on the road ; but when he looked at himself he flung it away in a rage, crying, ‘If you had been good foranything you would not have been thrown away by your owner.” SterP.—The amount of sleep requisite in a state of health has been stated by the best authority to be, ac- cording to age, the following: For an infant, from fifteen to twenty hours; from the age of five to twelve, twelve hours: from the age of twelve to sixteen, ten hours ; from sixteen to twenty-four, nine hours; afterwards seven hours are sufficient, Mvsic.—It is all original in the Lady's Book,

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570 | GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE,

What ove Fasnion Eptror can Svuppiy. Address Mrs. A. V. Du B.—Sent package 5th. Fashion Editor, care L. A. Godey, Philadelphia. Mrs. A. E. B.—Sent Brussels net 5th. Hale is not the fashion editress, Mrs. A. E. B.—Sent patterns Sth. Hair-work, patterns for all inds of garments, and for Miss B. C. L.—Sent gold and silver beads 5th. Mrs. W. R. M.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket 5th. women and children, jewelry, caps, bonnets, cloaks, Mrs. R. K. J.—Sent pink working cotton and needles mantillas, talmas, mantles, headdresses, shawls, bead- _ work, materials for wax and paper flowers, embroidery, 6th. collars, capes, worsteds, Shetland wool, infants’ ward- Mrs. D, H.—Sent infant’s wardrobe by Adams's ex- robes or patterns for the same, stamped collars, orné press 6th. balls, canvas for working, etc. ete. Mrs. J. M. L.—Sent spring bonnet by Harnden’s ex-

— press 6th. PHILADELPHIA AGENCY. Mrs. J. M. C.—Sent net for hair 6th. " Mrs. A. D. L.—Sent apron patterns 8th. No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it. Mrs. G. 8. J.—Sent hair ring and bracelet 8th All persons requiring answers by mail must send a oma C. V. C.—Sent cloak pattern 8th 2 a 5. —ws . post-office stamp ; and for all articles that are to be sent Mrs. W. H. T.—Sent patterns infant's wardrobe 9th by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. w J M —Sent lady’s black kid slippers 9th Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, Miss 8 E V.—Sent sleeve pattern 9th iss 8S. E. V.—Se lee 9th. county, and State you reside in, Nothing can be made Mrs. E. J. J.—Sent pattern Zonave jacket 9th out of post-marks, x at ae — — . Mrs. A. J. F.—Sent dress pattern 10th. ~ - 7 Ww — plaid goods, & —_ 20th Miss 8. D.—Sent cloak and sleeve patterns 10th. 8 —Se ) arm dc *cvown 2 a . ~ 0. H . nt pattern double gown 22d. Mrs. M. L. B.—Sent patterns boy’s clothes 10th. rs —Se j . ) ra jacket ¢ Mrs. J. H. D.—ent pattern Souave jacket 234. Mrs. S. M. F.—Sent pattern Renfrew jacket, &c. 10th, Miss M. E. D.—Sent Shetland wool, zephyr, &c. 22d. Mrs. Y. M. C.—Sent net for hair 11th one C.F Ge iain s. Y. M. C.— th. Ir Se F. G.—Sent patte vi 22d. Mrs. B. 8.—Sent bonnet by Adams's express 11th. H. E. G.—Sent patterns of infant's clothes 22d. Mrs, O. T. H.—Sent apron pattern 12th , . rs, UV. —wt i ath. Mrs. A.V. Du B.—Sent box by Harnden’s express 22d. W. S. D.—Sent hair charm for chain 12th M. L. G.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket 22d. Miss L. S.—Sent hair bracelet 12th. Mrs. J. J.—Sent pattern spring mantle 22d. J. A.—Sent glass beads 12th L. A. W.—Seut patterns 23d. ae —_ M. W.—s ase ame + ne len’ - H. K. A.—Sent pattern Garibaldi suit and needles 12th. : “ my ~ ae ry pe en’s express 23d. H. M. B.—Sent patterns for children’s clothes 12th. ir . +. &.—de a > rt, sack y . . ’ oa ent flannel skirt, sack, tating, &e. | wry yw E, J.—Sent patterns for boy's summer clothes auth | 12th. } ’ Sent dre ‘ ratte § 26 Mrs. J be . - dress butt ude ke. 26th. | Mrs. G. R. B.—Sent dress and jacket pattern for girl Mrs. T. 8. C.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket and tassels 12th OR . é anh Mrs, W. J. C.—Sent net for hair 13th. L. B. H.—Sent hair bracelet and sewing silk 26th, Mrs. P. McM.—Sent patterns 13th Mrs s > —Se orsted 2st! P : = - : : ; - H. 8. P.—Sent worsted 2sth H M. B.—Sent pattern Andalusian cloak 13th. a } >, “er Ap omy 9 oe. Mrs. M. K.--Sent infant's clothes 16th. - rs. M. ge pattern Zou ave jacket, &c. 30th. Mrs, J. R. S.--Sent patterns for boy's clothes 17th. Mrs. R. B.—Sent pattern Garibaldi suit 30th. Mrs. C. W. W.—Sent hoop skirts by American ex. 17th. Mrs. M. B.—Sent pattern Zouave jacket 30th. si Mrs. I. A. H.—Sent pattern boy's pants April Ist.

Mrs. H. 8.—Sent pattern infant's dress, &c. 1st. Chemistry for the Poung. Mrs. M. Y. M.—Sent tatting shuttle, &c. Ist. T. M. R.—Sent hair sleeve button Ist Mrs. J. M. M.—Sent summer mantle by Kinsley’s ex- LESSON XIX. ane Int | Carbon. Miss A. C.—Sent clasps and needles 2d, Mrs. P. J. R.—Sent silk net for hair 2d. | Mrs. L. L.—Sent patterns 2d CHARCOAL; marble; litmus paper; Florence flask, bent Miss M. A. G. F.—Sent pattern dress body, &e. 2d. glass tube, and cork ; pneumatic trough, or a substitute Mrs. Y. B. J.—Sent sack pattern, &e. 2d. for it; lime-water; hydrochloric acid, 404. Carbon is one amongst many substances which APPARATUS AND TESTS REQUIRED. Mrs. J. J. L.—Sent apron pattern 2d Mrs. J. M. J.—Sent spring mantle, &c. by Adams's ex- fails to impress us tvith its numerous beautiful qualities, | because of its universal distribution. No element, how- press Sd Miss M. J. C.—Sent spring hat 3d | ever, isconcerned in more beautiful natural operations, or Mrs. J. V. C.—Sent red working cotton 3d, | is more strikingly adapted to perform its appointed func- Mrs. 8. R. M.—Sent cloak pattern 3d. | tions, The most common form under which carbon pre- Mrs. A. B. J.—Sent sleeve pattern 4th. | sents itself to our notice is charcoal; but coke is almost Mrs. T. L. A.—Sent pattern Garibaldi suit 4th. | pure carbon, so is plumbago, or black lead; and when Mrs. F. G.—Sent pattern Garibaldi suit, &c. 4th, | erystallized in the form of the diamond it occurs in a Miss D,.—Sent gloves, as directed 4th | state of the most complete isolation from every other

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CENTRE-TABLE GOSSIP. element. Charcoal is best prepared by exposing vege- table matters to intense heat in close vessels ; the result of which is the driving away of every volatile element, and carbon alone remains. This operation sufficiently teaches us the unchangeableness of carbon under the influence of mere temperature, atmospheric air being excluded ; but if heated in contact with the atmospheric, or generally in contact with any gas containing oxygen, then it is dissipated, as we all know, into invisible gas. Had this not been so, had carbon yielded by combustion a solid, as iron does (368), then it could no longer have been employed ae fuel, for its ashes would have been so voluminous, so rapidly cumulative, that all our industry could not have cleared them away. Ceutury after cen- tury they would have increased, until the whole world would have been encumbered with them, the atmosphere would have been exhausted of carbonic acid, and plants could not have grown. But had not the compounds of carbon with oxygen been volatile, animals could not have lived; for it will hereafter be demonstrated that the function of respiration is only a sort of slow com- bustion; that carbon is being ever consumed in our lungs and evolved in a gaseous form; hence, if the re- sults of its combustion had not been volatile, our lungs would have become clogged with ashes! 405. The result of buruing carbon in the oxygen is carbonic acid gas; the result of burning it in atmos- pheric air may be either carbonic oxide gas or carbonic The latter I aloue It has already been formed by burning acid gas, according to circumstances. shall notice. charcoal in oxygen gas, and demonstrated to be carbonic acid by the whiteuess occasioned when agitated with lime-water (371). of geverating carbonic acid gas will now, however, be mentioned. 406. Take a Florence flask, with cork and bent tube attached (115), put into the flask some fragments of white marble, pour upon them some hydrochloric acid, replace the cork, allow the first portions of gas to escape, A more practically convenieut method and collect the remainder in bottles over water in the usual manner. Remark that it has no color, but that it possesses a smell like that of the gas which escapes from soda-water or ginger beer. Take a bottle full of the gas, and, lowering into it a burning taper attached to a hooked wire, observe tha: not only is the flame immediately extinguished, bui even the incandescent wick, neither does the gas itself take fire, hence it is neither a combustible nor a supporter of combustion. 407. Take another bottle, equal in size to the last, but empty, as we should say in ordinary language, or, in other words, filled with atmospheric air. Lower the burning wire into this, and, bending the copper wire hook-like over the edge of the bottle’s mouth, allow the taper to remain. Take now another bottle of carbonic acid, remove its stopper, and pour its contents as though you were pouring a liquid into the so-called empty bottle. The burning taper which it holds will be imme- diately extinguished, thus proving carbonic acid to be a heavy gas, and to have been transferred from one vessel to the other. 408, Into another bottle full of carbonic acid gas im- merse a slip of moisteued litmus paper, and observe the reddening which takes place, thus proving the gas ope- rated upon to possess ove leading quality of an acid, 409. Take now a glass tube, plunge ore end of it through some lime-water, and blow through the tube The lime-water will pre- several times in succession. sently grow milky, thus demonstrating carbonic acid to have passed away from the lungs. Thus lime-water, which is a clear, transparent liquid, is not only a test Jor, but a separator of carbonic acid. However, pro- vided the latter function be alone required, that which is termed cream of lime is a better agent than lime-water, simply because of its containing more of the separating Cream of lime is merely quicklime agitated To demonstrate the power of cream of lime in separating ageut, lime. with sufficient water to make it into a thin paste. carbonic acid, proceed as follows :— 410. Having taken a bottle full of carbonic acid— first demonstrate that it really contains this gas, by means of a burning taper (405); then pour in about two tablespoonfuls of cream of lime, supposing the bottle to be of about the capacity of half a pint. Press an oiled glass valve down upon the bottle’s mouth, and agitate well for the space of a few minutes. On now reimmers- ing a lighted taper its flame will be extinguished. 411. But cream of lime is by no means the most con- Chemists Re- peat, therefore, the experiment, employing some liquor venient agent for removing carbonic acid. more frequently employ potash or liquor potasse. potassa, or, still better, a stronger solution of potash, prepared extemporaneously by throwing a stick of po- All the carbonic acid will also in this manner become absorbed, tassa fusa (pure potash) into a little water. Centre-Gable Gossip. NEW PARLOR MUSIC, For young students of the piano, we find in the Juven- ile Album, a selection of favorite melodies arranged by E. F. Reinbault among them we note ‘Overland Mail Galop’’ (D’Albert), ‘Robert toi que j’aime,” “ Batti Batti,"’ “Carnival of Venice,” “Traviata Polka Mazourka’’ (D’Albert), and They are published separately, at one shilling (English)each. Among D’Al- bert’s new music is the ‘‘ Kathleen Mavourneen Waltz,"’ the “Erin go Bragh Quadrille,’’ “‘ Florimelle Waltz,” and “ Prince of Wales Galop.” A dance book for the piano-forte is published by Chap- Itincludes galops, polkas, waltzes, ete many other good and popular airs. pell, London, containing fifty quadrilles, polkas, ete. etc., by D’Albert, Strauss, Lanner, and Labitzky. Chappell also publishes a new and elegant library edition (music size) of the whole of Chopin's celebrated mazourkas, with a portrait of Chopin, life, and critical notice, by the editor, J. W. Davidson; a volume many of Chopin's admirers will be glad to get, and which may be ordered through Hall, New York, or any large musi- cal house, Price in plain binding eight shillings (English). Another volume less classical, but likely to be very popular, is a large volume, published by Boosy & Sons, London, 100 waltzes by Strauss, Lanner, and Labitzky, their best compositions, Price 3¢ 6d (English). And still another, which should be placed side by side with Chopin's. A new edition of Beethoven's Sonatas, in two elegant volumes, complete for one guinea, with life and portrait. Published by Boosy & Sons. Among the newest and most popular English songs and ballads, we notice: ‘Sad Brown Leaves,"’ “ Merrily Over the Snow,’ “‘ The Queen of the Sea.”’ A new set of songs by the ever favorite Stephen Glover, suggested by the popularity of his ‘Songs of the Sea- eo

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sons.”’ ‘Songs of the Elements.’’ No. 1, The Beautiful No. 2, 1 dreamt I was Queen of the Air. No. 4, |’ma Roamer These charming songs will be Jast- Earth for me. No. 3, Ising of a Wondrous Thing o'er the Mountain. ing favorites, being both sparkling and pleasing. by W. V. Wallace. By the Sea,” and “Old Friends and Other Days,” White Longton Williams's songs, a set of five, “Snow Blossoma,"’ ** Down None of the above are to be had without a special order, which we shall be glad to undertake for any of our musical friends, to Chappell, or Bouosy & Sons, London, MINIATURE EDENS. So many tiny villas are springing up in the neighbor. hood of our large cities, that ‘miniature gardening,” or the art of making two acres look as well as ten, will A small place may have a style of ite own, and not bea Who has not seen a cottage surpass & mansion in real taste, and the soon be reduced to a distinct branch of horticulture crowded copy of some larwe country seat suburban villa grounds should abide by the one rule of cottage elegance—neatness end simplicity We copy some admirable hints on this subject from an article entitled “ Rural Taste in North America;—"' * To owners of very small places, who still wish them to look well, the safest counsel is, do not plant large trees—not one even: keep your grass continually shorn, your hedge evenly trimmed, your little flower bed in perpetual order, Set out such flowering shrubs as will from spring to autumn give you a constant renewal of blossoms, So continually are new varieties now intro- duced from all parts of the world by scientific botanists, that it is quite unnecessary to name a choiee; and, when differences of climate and soil are to be considered, much better advice can be given on the spot by a practical seedsman, than by a review destined for all latitudes. Still, of hardy ornamental shrabs we may safely suggest the double Althwas, the Deutzias, the Persian lilac, the Pyrus Japonica, and especially the Mountain peonies and the Weigelas, the last two introduced lately from China, by Mr. Robert Fortune. Evergreen shrubs, on the contrary, we cannot recommend ; unless the cultiva- tor has ample space and shade for them, they will not, in spite of all that has been said in their favor, stand our New England autumn and winter suns, but turn brown and dingy when we most want them bright. The flower-garden in its perfection is of course unattain- able without great care and expense ; but five dollars a year, judiciously laid out in seeds and bulbs, will, from one tiny plat, yield, from the first crocus to the last chry- santhemum, a perpetual joy.” As to hedges, we here find that the privet is very de- sirable where merely an ornamental growth is desired. Our author says :— “For a northern climate we think an evergreen hedge is always preferable. The Norway spruce, for example, is perfectly hardy, a dense and rapid grower, forming an impenetrable guard when closely trimmed, and very But of Whether as a tree orashrub, left to wave its delicate, graceful branches in full luxuriance, or closely clipped, we scarcely know It takes any shape from the shears, becomes thicker and thicker by trimming, preserves its rich, cheerful hue through the longest winter, aud in the spring presents beautiful covered with its young spring shoots. all hedges, commend us to the hemlock. ofany plant, surely no evergreen, more to be prized, @ truly enchanting aspect, as its young tonder leaflets GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. of brightest tint fringe every spray, seeming literally transiucent and floating, like the foam on the deep sea- green wave.”’ “* Bvergreens in groups.—Long and severe northern winters make evergreens very desirable, and to those who cannot afford conservatories we suggest a winter garden, which is very simply constructed by planting avariety of the floer evergreens together, in such a man- ner as to afford a variety of foliage at one view. The trees should be set arouud three sides of a square, the fourth left open toward the house, and the space in- closed, if large enough, broken by tveo or three of the finest standing single trees. So planted, the winter garden has a bright and cheerful took, giving the oceu- pants of the house a pleasing scene when every decidu- ous tree is bare, and the ground deep buried in snow. But even where the finer and rarer sorts do not readily grow, a very interesting and beautiful collection can be formed by the white pine, the hemlock, the Norway spruce, the Austrian pine, the black and white spruces, and the arbor vitw—all of which are very cheap and abundant, Such a garden, even ona small and hum- ble scale, may be made very successful aud most consola- tory in the winter.” NOTES AND QUERIES. 1, The Handsomest Fan in the World \s probably the one given by the Jewish ladies of Algeria to the Empress Eugenie the past year, It is formed of white ostrich feathers of about fifteen inches in length. The feathers are fixed in a golden disk, which is ornamented round the outer edge with fine pearls, rubies, and emeralds; and in the centre with arabesques in enamels, on gold, of different colors, and with rubies, emeralds, and dia- monds. In the centre is a Hebrew inscription, mention- ing the conquest of 1830, a date not agreeable to the Moors, since it was that at which their domination in Algeria ceased, The handle is in coral, fluted with gold and ornamented with fine pearls, The upper part is divided into two branches, ornamented with arabesques, and having the imperial crown in gold; the other end terminates in a golden ball, studded with stars in dia- monds, and bearing a ring ornamented with rubies and emeralds. On one side of the handle is a large emerald surrounded with a double triangle forming a star with six points, ornamented with arabesques, rubies, and brilliants. There are also two circles in fine pearls, relieved with arabesques, and bearing the following inscription: ‘‘ Les dames Israélite d’Alger a 8. M. 1'Im- pératrice Eugénie, 1860." This magnificent fun is in- closed in a beautiful Arab case. 2. A Tidy Household.—A sensible writer upon the now universal sanitary movement declares that, so far as his experience has gone, tidiness and morality are always in direct proportion. You can see at once when you entera poor man’s cottage (always with your hat off, my friend) how his circumstances are, and generally how his charac- teris. If the world is going against him, if hard work and constant pinching will hardly get food and clothing for the children, you see the fact in the untidy house ; the poor mistress of it has no heart for that constant effort which is needful in the cottage to keep things right; she has no heart for the constant stitching which is needfal to keep the poor little children’s clothes on their backs. Many a time it has made my heart sore to see, in the relax- ation of wonted tidiness, the first indication that things are going amiss, that hope is dying, and the poor strag- gling pair are feeling that their heads are getting under

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FASHIONS. water at last. Ah! there is often a sad significance in the hearth no longer so cleanly swept, in the chest of drawers wanting a handle, in little Jamie's torn jacket, which a few stitches would mend, but which I remem- ber torn for these ten days past. 3. A List of the Best Crocuses.—In selecting a stock of crocus corms for next season, we would recommend the following kinds; La Neige (large snow-white), La Puri- taine (cream, with purple tube), Sulphureous (pale yel- low), David Rizzio (deep purple), Pourpre superbe (globe-formed purple), Urania (the richest of the purples), Sir W. Scott (the largest cf all the species, white-striped lilac), the Great Dutch Yellow (rich gold color), and lastly the Cloth of Gold (yellow, striped rich brown). 4. Bridal Wreaths still affect the round form, slightly elongated before and behind. The last creations of Mme. Bonier-Cherre were, first, one of lilac and orange-flower, coming rather low at the sides; then one of narcissuses and orange-flower ; and lastly, ove of orange-flower and jessamine. We have seen a few entirely of some large white flower, like the narcissus, the pink, or the prim- rose, and having only a tuft of orange-flowers added on one side, Fashions, NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBURS., Having had frequent applications for the purchase of Jewelry, millinery, ete., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research required. Spring and autumn bonnets, materiais 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 tasie; and boxes or packages forwarded by express to any part of the country. For the last, distinct directions must be given. Or‘lers, accompanied by checks for the proposed eapen- diture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq. No order will be attended to unless the money is first received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account- oble for losses that may occur in remitting. Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goods from Evans & Co.'s; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, from Brodie’s, 51 Canal Street, New York ; bonnets from T. White & Co.'s; jewelry from Warden's or Caldwell’s, Philadeiphia. When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here govern the purchase; therefore, no articles will be taken back. cousidered final. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR . JUNE. Fig. 1.—French muslin dress, with seven flounces graduated. Francis lst waistband of ribbon, richly and artistically embroidered. Coiffure of Valenciennes lace daisies. Parasol of light green silk lined with and white. Fig. 2.—White mull spencer, puffed lengthwise, and intersected by rows of black velvet sleeves to match the body, headed by two puffs, running crosswise, and an epaulette of velvet. Embroidered velvet waistband, d 573 la Louis XV. Light blue ercpe Maretz skirt, with three rows of goffered ribbon sewed in waves at the bottom of the skirt, Fig. 3.—Piqué Zouave embroidered ; very full muslin skirt falling over the dress. A fluted ruff is round the neck of the shirt, and the skirt is of pink silk. Fig. 4.—Dress formed of alternate rows of purple and mineral gray silk; Tunic skirt of the gray, edged with a narrow quiiled ribbon; body low, with bretelles of gray silk, with two flounces, one of purple and one of gray silk, crossing in front and ending at the side with two falling loops and long ends, The bretelles give the dress the appearance of being square Kid gloves, fastened at the wrist with two but- Point lace barbe, It is a becoming style. tons, and trimmed with pink roses, Fig. 6.—Rich grenadine dress, with four flounces ; Embroidered sash to having scalloped tops. the upper one sewed on the body, Long flowing sleeves and body drawn Coiffure of flowers and lace, match the dress, with cords to form a yoke, CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADEL- PHIA FASHIONS, FOR JUNE, We have given the general character of goods and toilets for the present season; they will undergo little change. he new tissues are very substantial and rich; bright or lively colors share the general favor with black and white, Among the handsomest tissues we will especially notice one having black stripes on a white ground, and powdered all over with stars; the same pattern can be had also in organdy of various We note among our importation of French One dress was white or- colors. dresses several as excellent, gandy, with broad lilac Chevron stripes; another the same, with blue stripes. The skirts were, of course, plain, bodies made ad la vierge, with a double shawl matching the dress, trimmed with a deep flounce. The sashes were wide white ribbons, with narrow lilac and white We must not overlook one important particular, which is, that all dresses are now accompanied by a brooch bow to match the trimming of the dress, Square muslin shawls are much worn; some of them are richly embroidered, and trimmed round with a deep frill, also embroidered; others are surrounded by a delicate wreath of embroidery, and only have bouquets or blue and white ribbon quilled round them. in the corners. A very simple and elegant shawl may be made of muslin edged with two tucks about an inch wide and one inch apart, crossing each other at the corners and trimmed round with a frill about six inches deep, having on it a hem and one tuck to match the shawl. Quilting dresses in all colors, with pardessus to match, are the most distingué walking-dress for the country or seaside this season. Zouave jackets are worn both for morning and full dress ; for the former they are made of the same material as the skirt, or else of white piqu/, braided or embroi- dered. We have seen some very pretty ones with a narrow vine running all round them, and large bunches at each corner in front, smaller ones being placed at the neck where the jacket is fastened, also in the middle of the neck behind, and just above the hem or scallop at the back, directly in the centre. Colored braids are much used on the piqué, and the effect is good. the shirts havea frill down the front plaited like a shirt frill and decorated with velvet. For children of both sexes, these Zouaves are all the raye; they are made of Some of

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57 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, all kinds of materials, thick and thin, but the white piqué suit with bread, gay ribbon sash and the little turban hat with plume, makes a very pretty and stylish costume. The evening Zouaves are made of mull mus- lin, embroidered, with shirts to match, or figured blonde lace trimmed with ruching or narrow blonde edge; the skirt is also of lace. This last style of Zouave is quite new, particularly light and graceful, and at the same time stylish. Surplice dresses with revers, or the dresses crossing in front and fastening at the side are much worn. Rib- bons seem to be the favorite trimming. They are gof- fered and placed at the bottom of the skirt, either sloping or in lozenges, sometimes of two colors in alternate Some of the charming spring dresses are bordered by five rows portions about a quarter of a yard in length. of narrow satin ribbon, plaited, others are ornamented with a front trimming consisting of bows of ribbon of the same color as the dress, passing one above, another from the edge to the point in the centre of the corsage. A bow of the same ribbon is fixed at the top of the cor- the tight Puffs seem much sage in front. Sleeves are, of course, loose; sleeve will not be resumed until fall in favor, elther running the length of the sleeve or Crossing it. Sleeves in the bell shape are pretty looped up in front by a strip of silk edged with lace, under which plaits are formed, Some of the sleeves are gath- ered at the top and drawn inte pufings below, Bands piped with black aud white, an inch and a quarter wide, are laid lengthwise on the full part of the sleeve between the pulls For young ladies, moat of the dresses aro made low in the neck, in order to wear the very becoming spencers These dered, or else puffed, the puffs are of muslin, embrol- running lengthwise or or olee puffed only to The one iu our plate la intersected length- now #0 much in vouue crosswise as taste may dictate, form a yoko wise with velvet, which gives it more style; ribbons or black lace can be substituted, or the spencer ean be The sleeves can be lony or short, but mont of them are puffed sprinkled with small bows of ribbon or velvet, to the wrist, Black and white lace spencers are also much worn, and are very preity for evening, particu- larly so when worn with a Spanish corsage of black velvet or some bright-tinted silk The Antoinette fichu, with ends crossing either behind or before, is also very much worn with muslin, barge, or jJaconet dresses, This fichu supplies the place of a high body, and makes, with spencers, a variety in the toilet. either black or white lace. It is composed of white muslins, sometimes of A very pretty one can be made of alternate rows of black and white lace, a broader row than those employed on the fichu being set on in fulness at the edge, aad a ruche of blonde with a nar- row row of black velvet in the centre passes round the throat and down the front. Cloaks for watering-places are made of a material with & long ply on it, the ground being a bright, solid color and the raised part white, which makes the material They are circles, with large hood lined with silk and trimmed with heavy tassels. Another style much in request Just now is mostly of white, blue, or fuchsia-colored cashmere, with a sleeve puffed in the fashion of Henry VIII., and trimmed with gold passe- menterie, which makes a very distingué wrap. changeable. Indoor dresses for little girls are made with low cor- sage, open in front, confined by barrettes of quilled ribbon. Within the corsage is a chemisette of muslin Sleeves formed of bouillons of muslin separated by ribboys or velvet. Thin muslin spencers, with the little laced corsage either of black velvet or of material to match the skirt, will be one of the most recherché costumes of the season. For hats the turban or Tudor style prevails, and with its soft and plumy feathers, that float downwards from the hat or else cur! prettily round its circumference, adds greatly to its beauty, and makes it a really graceful and becoming headdress, The round hats are, this season, almost entirely confined to riding hats. For boys the Washington and tourist's hats share the general favor with the page's cap. Bonnets continue to be made high in front and straight on the sides, admitting of a very full trimming over the forehead. Plain and soft crowns are about equally di- vided among the newest styles. Black and white hair and white straws dotted with black stars or beads are much in favor, also fine Neapolitan straws. Curtains or capes of white thulle or erape, covered with a rich black lace or point appliqué, are the favorites this season. Pink ts recovering favor in bonnets; one of the prettiest bonnets we have seen consists of a fancy straw crown end centre, with a drawn front of rose sublime silk and crape, puffed over and fastened on the front, on each side, and on the curtain with black rosettes dotted with white; inside was a ruching of rose sublime «ilk, The general form of headdre«ses partakos rather of the diadem and the elehe peigne, connected by a very slen- der wreath on each aide, The newest wreaths are com- posed of two sorte of flowers; we notice some very pretty ones for young ladies; one in which violets were blended with roses, In front wasa round tuft of rose buds, and behind a similar tuft in the middie of a double cordon of violets, made to part #0 as either to inclose the hair orto be placed underneath, Another wreath was of tea roses and pansies, and another of pinks mixed with grapes and geraniume with foliage Some of the summer mantion are quite straight, in the form of a scarf, others are more of the shawl shape, either pointed or square, and elaborately trimmed with borders, tassels, bows, pendants, and crochet and lace trimmings of every description, We see points, circles, aud mantles in every variety of real and imitation black lace, and this season they come in a very fine quality of mohair, very stylish and light, and at the same time more durab's than lace, But the most recherché article brought out this season is a bournous in imitation of old Honiton point, the pattern consisting of fuchsias, snow- balls, lilacs, and lilies of the valley, so naturally disposed that the pendulous stem appears almost to wave. In the midst of these groups a bird with outspread wings is darting on a butterfly half hidden among the flowers. Barége shawls and mantles will also be in favor, as they are a cool, pretty, and inexpensive wrap. In parasols we notice both the canopy and plain shape, in the former the peaked part is covered with a crochet netting, terminating in points trimmed with tassels. The other styles are mostly black centres with a bias border of a rose sublime silk set up on the parasol, ornamented with fancy trimmings, and having the lower edge pinked. All the parasols are lined with white silk, some are trimmed with lace, a fringe of marabout feathers, or goffered ribbon. The Josephine gloves, of a peculiar cut, and the Ma- thilde glove, bordered at the wrist with « row of dablia- leaves, stamped out, are to be seen on the hands of all our belles. FasHion.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS. LXITI. VOL. A Black Silk Apron for a Child (Illustrated), 168 A Craped Neck-tie (J/ustrated), 164 Acting Charade. —Stratagem, by 8. Annie Frost ([1.), = A Day in a Pastor's Life, by 7. P. W. After Many Days,” by Alice B. Haven, 132 ‘*A Great Bargain,’ * by Mery W. Janvrin, 418 A Lake or River Villa ts the Italian Style (7Uust’d), 569 Alphabet of Fancy Letters (1Uustrated), 16, 204, 300, 396, 651 A Needle-book and Pincushion combined (/Uustrated), 70 An Editor's Troubles, 612 A Netted D'Oyley (/lustrated), 260 A New Style of Bib (/lustrated), 165 anaes Love, by Anne L. Muazy, 408 A Nice Neighborhood, by Alice B. Heaven, 34 A Norwegian Morning or Bonnet Cup (/l/ustrated), 161 A Nursery Thought, mee A Pointed Yoke Chemise, trimmed with Plaite and Broderie Anylaise (JUustrated), 72 A Simile, by 2. Z., 828 A Spring Memory, by Libhte 8. Crowell, 490 A Summer Scene (/l/uatrated), 481 Aunt Sophie's Visita, by poy | N. Godfrey, 20 A very simple Atyle of Short Night-dross, easily made, and very comfortable (//luatrated), 497 A Whisper to a Newly-Married Pair, 27 Hag to be Braided on Velvet or Cashmere (7llustrated), 160 Head Mat (///uatrated), aw Heautifai Things, Qu Hibs (/1/natrated), 144, 44 Bonnets (/linatrated), 104, 1607, 987, 202, B88, 447, O44 Border in Broderie Anglaise (/Uvetrated), sel Boreas, the Manine King, by Myrtle, 41 Bourse linperatrice (I uatrated), cn) Braided Slipper Patterns (//ustrated), 200, 261, 490 Braiding for un lafant's Cloak (JUuatrated), 60 Braiding for a Boy's Blouse (//lustrated), l4 Braiding Patterns (/Uuatrated), 14, 60, 200, 480 Bridal Pineushion (/Uustrated), 190, 260 Broad Line Drawing Lessons (//luatrated), 190, 343 Brussels Embroidery on Net (JUuatrated), 10 Bury me in the Valley, by Mra, Vordelia H, Turner, 61 Butterfly Pen-wiper (JUustrated), 207, 357, 492 Butterfly Slipper (/lustrated), aut Capes (/llustrated), 158, 255, 952, 446 Caps (/ustrated), 63, 157, 158, 161, 351, 446, 542, 543 Carriage Shoe (///ustrated), 63 Centre-Table Gossip; containing— A True Friend, 190 Bargains in ** Diamonds, Pearl, and Gold," 73 Children's Playthings, 189 Hanginy Gardens, 89 Holiday Gifts—from Japan, 89 Home Happy, 285 List of Garden Flowers, 381, 478 Miniature Edens, 572 Musical Items of General Interest, 285 New Parlor Masie, 571 Notes and Queries, 90, 190, 286, 382, 479, 572 Parlor Pets, 381 Cheese D'Oyley in Crochet (Illustrated), 198 Chemise Patterns (/l/ustrated), 72, 162, 489, 542 Chemisettes (/llustrated), 447 Chemistry for the Young, 189, 284, 380, 477, 570 Chenille Net for the Hair (Jllustrated), 63 Child’s Braided Gaiter Boot (JUWustrated), 546 Child's Gaiter (///ustrated), 264 Chiid’s Legging (Jllustruted), 264 Children’s Fashions (Illustrated), 1, 91 Children’s Department (/Wustrated), containing— Bassi nette, 187 Dancing Dolls, 281, 568 House, 377 Fate Lady, 474 Children’s Joys and Sorrows, 411 105, 253 108, 158 Christening Robe (/l/ustrated), Cinderella Slipper (JUustrated), Cioaxs, Davsses, MAntiLAs, TALMAS, &. Child's Garibaldi (7Wustrated), 264 Dress for a little Boy (JUustrated), 104 Dress for a little Girl (Jllustrated), 107 Dress of French Merino (//lustrated), lost Dress of striped Poplin (/Uustrated) 104 Infant's Christening Robe (/l/ustrated), 105 Infant's Pique Cloak (//lustrated), 304 Infant's Short Dress (/Uustrated), 107 Latest Fashions (/llustrated), 484, 485 Morning Robe (/lnstrated), 395 Party Dress for a little Girl (7Ulnestrated), 106 The Andalusian, from Brodie (/1/ustrated), 289 The Chevron Organdy Drews (/llustrated), $87 The Kuphemia (/l/ustrated), 10% The Evelyn tliuatreated), é The Medora, The Garibaldi, The Imogen (//lust'd), 101 The Mouaceda, from Brodie (/llusrated), 193 The Promenade Dress (/luatreted), 102 The Saragossa, from Brodie (/l/ustrated), osy The Valencian, from Brodie (/Uustrated), 6 The Victor Cont (/1/uatrutet), 348 The Vittoria, from Brodie (1iuatrated), 445 The Zouave, from Mrodie (/Uuatrated), 100, 191 Walking-drews for a Young Lady (/Uuatrated), 4 White Muslin Mantle (/luatrated), HAN Collar aod Cui in Imitation of Honiton Lace (///ua'd), 1 Collar in Embroidery (/Uuatrated), Wl Collare (//luatrated), 11, 62, 201, 204, 851, 440, 642, 545 Coming and Golng, by Wille BR. Pahor, nia Corners for Poekeot Handkerchiets (/l/uatreted), 14, O41 Cottages (///uatrated), 87, 184, Bed, B70, 474, 600 Cottage tn the Brackettod Style (/lluatrated), Qs2 Cotton Wagon (/lustrated), a7 Crochet Flowers, ob Crochet Tidy (/lustrated), 454 Crochet Work, by Rnul, lil Dawning of Genius (/Unstrated), find Design in Berlin Wool-work for Mata, ete,, (7'd), 800 Designa for Patchwork (/luatrated), 448, 458 Dirge, 146 Doing her own Washing, by A. 2., bd Domestic Management, 313 Doubt no More, by Murry ar wood Leech, 474 Do you Remember, by @, 7' 26 Drifting Fragments, by Mra. 4. MM. Butter feld, Suv Editors’ Table, containing— Art in America, 269 A Tribute to the Memory of Henry Vethake Totten, by Francis de Haes Janvier, 174 Beauty, and How to Gain it, 367, 462 Beauty Gained, 657 Books for Family Reading. Cheap Literature, 271 Books worth Reading, 175 British Periodical Literature, 175 Children and June, 658 Conversation and Reading, 173 Example: what it Teaches, 463 Good Listeners, 464 Mission Crumbs, 464 Missionary (or Ministering) Women of England and America, 270 Missionary Women: The School at Tounghoo, 173 Missionary Women: Mrs. Ellen B. Mason, 78 Our Plates and their Lessons, 77 Our Subscriptions for Woman's Mission, 369 Places of Education for Young Ladies, 71 Scraps from a Note-Book, 659 Sewing Machines, 75 Swiss Husbands, 369 The Fairies, 658 The Piano in the Family 79 To H. Vethake Totten, by Lucy H. Hooper, 463 Women’s Union Mission Bands, ete., 368 Women’s Union Mission Society of America, etc., 659 Women’s Union Society of America for Heathen Wo- 71 men, iii

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iv Women whose Names will live, 463 Work! what Work shall we du? 404 Economical Plant Protectors (JUustrated), 451 Embroidered Overlapping Collar and Cuff (JU'd), 294, 356 Embroidered Watch-oase (Illustrated), 492 Embroidery Border (I/listrated), l4 Embroidery for a Skirt (/Wustrated), 4.56 Embroidery for Pillow and Bolster cases (Jlustrated), 562 Embroidery, Inserting, &c. (Illustrated), 4, 5, 7, 12, 14, 15, 63, 71, 105, 108, 160, 160, 166, 167, 203, 299, 359, 361, 393, 394, 453, 454, 456, 490, 545, 548, 552 Esther Thorne, by Mrs. Dunlap, 249 Fancy Baskets (/U/ustrated), 455 Fancy Belt (/llustrated), 34 Fancy Tidy (/Uustrated), 362 Fashions, 90, 191, 286, 382, 479, 573 Flowers, whet may be iearned from them, by Har- land Coultus 605 Gentleman's 8° irt (JUastrated), 395 Getting up Clubs in the Far West, 470 Godey’s Arm-“hair, 83, 182, 562 Graudmother s Garden, by Celeste, 445 Habit-shirts (///ustrated), 62, 446 Happy Women, 326 Headdresses (iilustrated), 63, 293, 351, 383, 447 Health Department, 80, 176, 272, 370, 465, 560 Heart-shaped Scent Sachet (Illustrated), 546 Hoops and Farthingales (//lustrated), 109 Hope, by J. Howard Smith, 122 Hopes, by E. Conwell Smith, 248 How a Woman Loves! by Mary Maitland, 210 How it Came About, by Eleanor C. Donnelly, 378 Husbands and Wives, 506 Imagination and Fancy among the Arabs, by James de Mill 4, 425 Impe rial Basqniue for a Lady (Jllustrated), 258 Impromptu, by 7. L. S&., $33 Indian Canoe Work Busket (1llustrated), 163 Infant's Bib (JUustrated), B54 Infunt’s Embroidered Shoe (7Wustrated), 298 Instractions in Persian Painting and Painting on Wood (Illustrated), Iatellect, the Twin Sister of Christian Character, by Winnie Wallace, Jessamine Pattern Embroidery on Tape-work (/Uustrated), 12, 67 262, 449, 550 71 77 277, 372, 466, 397 621 Knitted Artificial Flowers, Knitted Buby’s Shoe and Sock (Illustrated), Knitting Basket (J/lustrated), Knitted Cuif in Brioche (/l/ustrated), Lady's Companion (Jllust7 ated), 549 Lamp Mat in Crochet (/llustrated), 360 Large Country Residence in the Italian Style (J1l’d), 475 Lessons in Moss Painting, by C. B. (1 Uustrated), 155, 247, 52 20 » 165 164 Lines for an Album, by S. A. Blakeley, ap iterary ay 81, 177, Lola Leigh, y B. lward Estang, 28 273, 371, 466, 561 241 Lounger’s C mAs yn or Pillow (Wustrated), 68 Love, by Harriet Foy, 534 Lute Pincushion (Ilustrated), 262 Magnetized into Marriage, by Metta Victoria Victor, 496 Modern Music (/l/ustrated), 97 Mr. and Mrs. Rasher, by the author of “ Mise Slim- mens,”’ 42, 140, 236, 345, 440, 536 _ Ward’s Visit to the Prince, by Mary W. Janvrin, 54 usic— Ah! Do I love Thee? by C. Everest, 390 A Knight Clad in a Dark Disguise, by J. Starr Hol- loway, Iam Dreaming of Thee, Dearest, by Edward Am- buhl, 194 La Pecheuse, by Edward Ambuhl, 486 My Heart no More in Rapture Swells, by J. H. M’ Naughton, 93 The Little Cradle and the Little Grave, by 0. Brew- ater, s My Birthday, by Mrs. M. M. Hines, 156 My Forte, by S. Annie Frost, 412 My Guardian, by Mary W. Janvrin, 507 My Ward, by Maria Duke, 29 Names for Marking (JUustrated), 263, 264, 358, 447, 452, 41 Neck-ties (/llustrated), 164, 256, 257 New Style of Drawers (Illustrated), 453 New Style of Puinted Yoke Chemise (JUustrated), 489 New Styles of Aprons (/lustrated), 8, 9, 168, 255 Night-dresses (/Uustrated), 13, 91, 166, 168, 206, 356, 457 Night-dress with Plaited Yoke (/Wustrated), 166 Not alia Wail, by W. S. Gaffney, 25! Not Lost, vy Clara augusta, 261 | TABLE OF CONTENTS. Novelties for the Month (JWustrated), 62, 157, 253, 351, 446, 541 Ocean ai) Opera "Hood (1Uustrated), 7, 91 Our Family Horse, by Dorothea, 409 Our Musical Column, 85, 183, 278, 373, 469, 544 Patchwork (/l/uatrated), 44d, 485 Parnassus, by Wm. Alexander, Pattern for a Lounging Cap (/Uustrated), Pattern for a Lady's Wrapper (/llustrated), Pattern for a Night-dress (/Uuastreted), 296, Pattern in Braiding and Broderte Anglaise (///ust'd), Patterns from Madame Demorest's Establishment (JUlustrated), 35: Plain Morning Slip for an Infant (JUustrated), Quilting Designs (Jllustrated), 202, 36 Read Aloud, Receipts, &c., 73, 169, 265, 963, 453, 55 Romance at Centre Harbor, by Mary W. Janvrin, Sabbath Evening, by Rev. H. A. Guild, Saint Valentine’s Day, by Mary Moore, Sampler Patterns (/ustrated), Saving Purse (/Uustrated), Scent Case for Note Paper (//ustrated), Slipper Patterns (/llustruted), 108, 158, 200, 393, Shoes (Jllustrated), 63, 2 Short Hair for Ladies, Small Reticule or Purse, in Application (/l/ustrated), Sofa Pillow in Long-Hook Crochet (/Uustrated), Song, Spectacle Case (/l/ustrated), Spring Bonnets (Illustrated), 196, 197, 287, 292, 383, 388 Spring, by Lillian, 408 Studio Pictures, by Jessie Garland, 315 Summer, by Lillian, 540 Sunshine and Shade; or, The Governess, by Funnte Warner, 17, 112, 215, 334, 426, 523 Taper-stand (Illustrated), 357 Teapot Inkstand (//lustrated), 297, 356 The Bereaved Mother, by Mrs. Julia Mille Dunn, 221 The Black Sheep, by Marion Harland, 47, 145 The Chintz Work Basket (JUustrated), 66 The Cities of Refuge, by M@. W. B., 229, 319 The Dead Dove, 506 The Emigrant's Farewell, by Annie M. Beach, 417 The Flower Garden, 279 The Garibaldi Suit (Jllustrated), 257 The Human Hand, The Knitted Winter Spenser (Z/ustrated), Tho Little Hands, The Manafactnre of Gunpowder, The Miss Dinah Pen-wiper (//lustrated), The Moonbeams, by Eva Evergreen, The Name in the Sand, by Mrs. Cordelia H. Turner, The Novelty ey d), The Old Home, by BE. N. H., The Old Turnpike Road, by Virginia F. Townsend, The Pennsylvania Central Railroad, The Picture on the Wali, by Mra. Anna H. Dorsey, The Plough-Boy, by Wm. F. Wood The Railway Stocking ([llustrated), The Record of a Moment, by Willie E. Pabor, The Romance of a Hidden Heart, by Clara Augusta, There is Something still to Cheer us, By W. G. Mills, The Steam-Engine Familiarly Explained (/lustrated), The Village Bell, by R The Woodland Flower, by ‘Apple-blossom, Tidies (JUustrated), Thoughts suggested by “‘ Memoirs of Thomas Hood,’ by Dorothea, Toilet Mat (Illustrated), 358, Toilet Sachet (//lustrated),- To my Better Spirit, by Gay H. Naramore, Top of Toilet or Pincushion in Embroidery, or Braid- ing in fine Gold Thread (JWustrated), To Young Men, True Politeness, Turban Bag (J/lustrated), Turkish Lounging-Cap (JUustrated), Twelfth-Night, by Franz Franco, Undersleeves (/Uustrated), 62, 158, 351, 354, 446, ¢ Under the Suow, by M. W. Hackleton, Villa in the Bracketted Style (Jl/ustrated), a in the Gothic Style (Jlustrated), Villa in the Oriental Style (JUustrated), Weaving, by Isidore, What-Not.—Braided in a new style (77/ustrated), Winter Cuffs in Double Knitting (/U/ustrated), Winter Winds, by Nettie Lee Crandall, Woman in Adversity, Work and Play, Zouave Jacket for a little Girl (7Uustrated), 70, 261 362,

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Fo a Da.