Godey's Lady's Book And Magazine 1866-07: Vol 73

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CATALOGED v.73 GODEY’S dws Book and AMlagasine PHILADELPHIA, JULY, 1866. RIZPAH’S IDOLS. BY MARION HARLAND, “To make your idols, and to find them clay.”” [Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by Lovrs A. Gover, in the clerk’s office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.] (Continued from page 500.) CHAPTER VII. Tue Lowries had been settled in their own land and city for two months, and on Christ- inas eve Mrs. Lowrie issued cards for a large party. The plate-glass windows of the handsome mansion blazed with lights, in the glare of which a string of carriages set down their oc- cupants with the customary degree of bustle, pomp, and circumstance. The throng and noise, the glitter and confusion were at their height, when a hackney-coach drove up to the curb-stone, as near the front entrance as the press of other and grander vehicles per- mitted, and a solitary gentleman alighted from the modest equipage. He mounted the broad steps slowly, and with the air of one who was surprised by or unaccustomed to the scene and place, halted an instant without the open door in hesitation whether to enter or retire; but ended his indecision by ascend- ing to the gentlemen’s dressing-room. His overcoat and hat removed, he presented to the eyes of such as cared to inventory the general features of a stranger’s appearance, the figure of a tall, well-made young man-of five and twenty, fashionably attired, and pass- ably good looking. He exchanged salutations with no one, yet did not seem in any haste to go below, for he dallied over the trifling pro- cesses of the toilet demanded by the occasion, until the chamber, which had been crowded to suffocation when he entered, was nearly de- serted. His dilatoriness had no show of bash- fulness in it. He looked like one in a maze of uncertainty, who debated the propriety of his own action, without a misgiving as to the reception in reserve for him. Even after he had finally smoothed out every finger and wrinkle of his white kids to his satisfaction, and descended the stairs to the very thres- hold of the stately drawing-rooms, he stayed his steps while he made a stealthy but keen reconnoissance of the interior. It was a brilliant, and, to uninitiated eyes, a bewildering pageant; the chandeliers rain- ing lustre more dazzling than that of high, sunny noon, upon a moving mass, where silks and satins, steeped in all the prismatic tints, blended with draperies, sheer and pure as fleecy clouds, and were lighted by starry gems; where fair faces looked beamingly from beneath coronals of flowers, and faded faces wore their stereotyped smirk under dia- dems of glittering jewels, or tufts of costly plumes; while, from the heaving, sparkling sea arose a murmur, not loud, but hilarious, and to him who waited without the door, con- fusing and unintelligible as if the revellers had spoken in an unknown tongue. He soon perceived that the waves had a steady motion towards some point midway in the spacious 23

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24 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, apartments, and, by slightly altering his place of observation, he saw what was the attractive power to the tide of humanity. Three figures stood within the arch dividing two of the parlors: an elderly gentleman with iron-gray hair, and a grave, intelligent face; a matron of gracious and noble presence, whose velvet robe and diamond parure en- hanced her queenly appearance, and, at her side, a young girl, upon whom the eyes of the stranger rested in astonishment that forced from him an audible exclamation, ‘‘Good heavens! can it be possible!’’ Her stature did not equal that of her mother, or chape- rone, whichever the matron might be; but her bearing was that of a princess—proud, yet gentle. The dusky hair was wound in classic folds around the finely-shaped head, leaving exposed the perfect outlines of a brow that matched well the speaking eyes; her cheek was full and round, and the play of expres- sion about the mouth could be likened to nothing so truly as imprisoned lightning. The stranger grew giddy in watching the flashes of feeling, humor, and thought, that succeeded one another, as she returned the salutations of fresh arrivals, recognized ac- quaintances, and chatted with those who stood nearest her. Her dress heightened the strik- ing effect of her countenance and manner. Crimson silk, rich in texture and soft of fold; its warm coloring subdued by a tasteful abundance of white lace, it was, as two con- noisseurs in front of the stranger declared, ‘** Parisian in conception and workmanship— in fit and becomingness to the wearer, abso- lutely inimitable !’’ Kither fearful lest he might subject himself to,an undesirable amount of public attention by remaining stationary upon the outskirts of the assembly, or forced from his position by the inward pressure of the still-coming guests, the spectator suffered himself to float with the current until he was within a dozen or fifteen feet of the host and his feminine supporters. There he made another stand, and availed himself of a covert formed by a group who had already paid their respects to the presid- ing genii of the scene, to make further ob- servations. The knot of party-goers who screened him were similarly engaged, but they exchanged comments with each other in voices that, fashionably and cautiously modu- lated though they were, yet reached the auri- culars of the lurking spy. **She does not look like a blue!’’ remarked a young lady, fluttering her jewelled fan, and looking sedulously in the opposite direction from the spot where stood the object of her criticism. ‘* Have you read her sketches ?”’ ‘Of course! who has not?’’ rejoined the gentleman she addressed. ‘‘ Our ablest critics commend them highly, while they handle their faults very tenderly, as the ‘ unavoida- ble crudities of an unpractised writer ;’ the ‘harmless exaggerations of youth,’ and the like. She has really penned some capital articles.’’ ‘* What right has she to good looks and a fortune, if she is a bas bleu ?’’ growled a mid- dle-aged man, who could be taken for nothing except what he was—a misanthropical bache- lor. ‘‘Isn’t it, after all, the clink of papa’s dollars that sounds like the inspired tones of Genius in the popular ear? You see, we know so little about this sort of thing in our set! I am very dubious as to the possibility of the existence of a lofty grade of talent ina lower stratum of air than that which circu- lates in a garret.’”’ ‘*You would not say or think so, if you knew Miss Lowrie. You have never talked with her freely, or you would be impressed forcibly by her intellectual strength and the superior culture of her mind,’’ said the fourth member of the group—a gentleman in air and speech. ‘‘I honor her talents. She writes well—more than well! but I admire her in the private circle, most of all in her home.”’ ‘‘Ah! you know her intimately, then?’’ queried the young lady, eagerly. **T should overstate the truth were I to as- sert any claim to intimate acquaintanceship. I did have the privilege, however, of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Lowrie, with their daughter, abroad; was their compagnon du voyage for a fortnight. I have known Mr. Lowrie well for several years.’’ He separated himself from his questioners, as unwilling to enter into further particulars of his intercourse with the party under dis- cussion, and his movement left the eaves- dropper exposed to the view of the trio of entertainers. He was seen and recognized immediately by one of these. A half step forward—the rapid fluctuations of the uncontrollable tide that had, up to this instant, painted her cheek in rosy but temperate hues; the ab- rupt clasp of the hands; more than all, the

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RIZPAH’S IDOLS. 25 startled welcome that leaped from the dilated eye, proclaimed to him that concealment and irresolution must cease, whether he willed it or not. His only course was to advance before her changed demeanor drew general attention to them both. The careless crowd witnessed his approach, rather deliberate than flurried; the touch of the extended fingers; his profound bow over the united hands, and the magical illumination of her every feature, and sur- mised, with the usual shrewdness of most selfishly-engrossed crowds, that Miss Lowrie had encountered an old friend, whom she was pleased to see. The vigilant step-mother alone heard the cautious or stifled exclamations that were exchanged. **Gerald !”’ ** Rizpah !”” She, and she only marked and was moved by the tremulousness that presaged the rise of rapturous tears, in the tones that presented her lover. ‘*Mr. Hopeton, mamma! Papa, you re- member Mr. Hopeton, do you not?’ Gerald had experienced more agreeable sen- sations than were his, as the dark, penetrating eyes of the self-possessed hostess seemed to read his inmost thoughts, and the stateliness of the father’s salutation reminded him that there were certain unfortunate passages in the record of the past year that would require an explanation on his part, ere he could hope to be admitted to those privileges in the family which his relation to Rizpah might entitle him to expect. But one would have sought vainly for any symptom of the trepidation that gene- rally accompanies the consciousness of guilt, in the suavity of his address and happy re- pose of feature. The Hopeton temperament was not excitable, and he had the additional advantage of being entirely prepared for the interview, while he had taken the Lowries by surprise. Mr. Lowrie’s opening observa- tion notified the younger gentleman of this difference in their positions. ‘“‘This is an unlooked-for pleasure, Mr. Hopeton! We had not heard of your arrival in New York. We thought that you were still in Savannah.’’ ‘‘In which city I left my mother and sister but four days since,’’ was the reply. ‘‘Ah! you have travelled rapidly,’’ com- mented Mr. Lowrie, drily, with no diminution of stiffness. ‘‘By what steamer did you ar- rive ?’’ **In one of the Baltimore line. I travelled from that place to New York by rail, without even stopping at home, although I imagine that affairs there demand my presence,’’ he added, semi-confidentially to Rizpah. ‘‘I was particularly desirous to join my congratula- tions with those of your other friends upon this, your birth-night. But I own that I was surprised at the number of your guests, and the general brilliancy of the scene, much as I have heard and read of the magnificence of New York festivities.’’ This, to Mrs. Lowrie, accompanied by a complimentary bow. ‘*I3 your mother better ?’’ Rizpah controlled her agitation to ask, in a quiet manner. **She. is, thank you! or I should hardly have dared to leave her, even to be here!’ sinking his voice, yet looking unutterable things. The advance of another sqgquad—then a bat- talion of revellers, interrupted the colloquy, and Gerald, in dutiful imitation of the lamb in the ballad— “lingered near, And waited patiently about, Til’ — Rizpah could, without violation of polite law and order, again grant him a show of atten- tion. I say ‘‘a show,’’ for he wrapped him- self up in the comfortable persuasion that her thoughts dwelt continually upon him, as his were occupied with her, while, outwardly, she lent serious or smiling heed to the greetings and felicitations of others ; sympathized with the impatience he knew must be devouring her ardent spirit at the necessity of foregoing her secret desire to be with him, him only— while she must submit to the inexorable mandate of fashion. For himself, he wag really glad of the chance thus opportunely afforded him of collecting his wits and plan- ning his future policy. When the Lowries landed in America they found letters awaiting them, apprising Rizpah that the Hopetons—mother, son, and daugh- ter—had sailed for Savannah a week before. ‘¢ We delayed our departure for more than a fortnight,’’ wrote Ada, sorrowfully, ‘in daily expectation of your arrival. Indeed, this hope was the sole cause of our selecting New York as our port of embarkation, in pre- ference to the nearer and more convenient one of Baltimore. Our dear mamma had set her heart upon seeing you—her other and well-beloved daughter—previous to her leav- ing home, perhaps for the last time, for she is very ill, sweet sister! I fear alarmingly ill!

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26 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Not that I encourage her in the forebodings that beset her with regard to the final issue of her malady. She will have it that she is already far gone in an incurable type of con- sumption, and that it is needless to make any effort to save her. Gerald and I turn a deaf ear to her dissuasions, and are resolved to leave no means untried for the preservation of her precious life. We are sanguine, espe- cially our darling Gerald, in our anticipations of the salutary effects of an immediate change of climate. The sea breezes at Hopeton Hall, however delightful they may be in summer, tear her tender lungs terribly at this season. You must spare him to us for a little while longer, Rizpah darling, until our dear parent can be comfortably established in her new quarters, and we can form some idea of what is her real condition when she shall have re- covered from the fatigue of the voyage. Poor fellow! his frame of mind is most pitiable. Between his intense longing to see you, and the strict sense of filial duty that forbids him to protract his mother’s sojourn in this bleak, inhospitable region, he is sometimes on the verge of distraction. Mamma says, in her faint, sweet voice: ‘Tell her to forgive me for robbing her of him for a few days, and say that such a good son must be a treasure of a husband.’ Isn’t that just like our blessed mamma?’ Rest assured, my dear, patient, long-suffering child, that he will wend his flight homeward at the earliest possible mo- ment. I trust to send you shortly a more cheerful bulletin of our mother’s health.’’ Such did come to hand from week to week. The invalid had borne the voyage surprisingly well, and her son had succeeded in securing delightful lodgings for her. She rode out every fine day, and clear, mild days were the rule, not the exception, in that climate, even in winter. Altogether the experiment pro- mised to be a most fortunate venture. Yet Gerald tarried at the South, and both Mr. and Mrs. Lowrie began to look portentously grave whenever allusion was made to his expected coming; were agreed, in their private coun- cils, in the opinion that the young Mary- lander’s ‘‘deathless and impetuous attach- ment,’’ thus vaunted by his sister and trumpeter, was of asingular order, and should be straitly tried before they surrendered into his keeping their child’s happiness. But here he was, at last, and Mrs. Lowrie could not controvert the fact that his eager, exulting survey of Rizpah, his manifest desire to win a responsive glance from her, his chafing restlessness to usurp the place at her side, and renew the conversation broken off by the demands of the hour and occasion, were presumptive evidence of his lively in- terest in his betrothed. His admiring gaze was sincere in its expression. A firefly, wedded by ties of self-interest and habit to the glow-worm that yet could not participate in the higher flights of his taste and ambition, if he should, upon some propitiously dark evening, suddenly espy his humble and slighted companion gyrating near him, up- borne by pinions elastic and diaphanous as his own, and emitting larger and brighter sparkles of electric flame than those emanating from himself, might undergo, in some feeble degree, the mutations of feeling through which our human hero was now passing. The emo- tion that superseded overwhelming surprise was primarily one of unmitigated discontent with one towards whom his habitual sentiment was highly favorable. He called Gerald Hope- ton, heir of Hopeton Hall, and the darling of the fairer sex, ‘‘a fool—a shortsighted, in- tolerable fool!’? with unheard, but vehement mental emphasis, at least twenty times in as many minutes, as he executed a rapid review of his past behavior towards the girl whom he had wooed heartlessly, whose love and truth he had held idly as a child would a painted toy it more than suspects is of paltry value. His had been worse than Dutch stupidity ; for Mynheer had the acumen to predict the outburst of gay and wondrous convolutions from the unsightly bulb, while Gerald, like the boorish sailor, esteemed his prize as no better than a common kitchen plant. His blood curdled within his veins in the recol- lection of the many risks he had run of losing that which now stood revealed to his amazed perceptions as a treasure he, or any other man, might be proud to wear in his bosom. This unwonted spasm of humility and angry self-upbraiding soon melted under the power- ful rays of rekindled and gratified vanity, the buoyant rush of ambitious dreams. In spite of former neglect and imperfect valuation, Rizpah was still his affianced wife! An hour spent in his companionship, and improved as he knew so well, although no ‘‘ busy bee,’’ how to improve the ‘‘shining hour,’’ would suffice to restore his olden influence, if indeed it had waned. This accomplished—and all looked auspicious for love and hope. Yes—love! Gerald knew the sentiment when he felt it, and, by the hurrying throbs of the heart that had never given one beat the more per minute when Rizpah leaned against it in the specious courtship of that thrice-lucky sum-

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v RIZPAH’S IDOLS. 27 mer-time ; by the thrill and flush that went tinglingly through every nerve and muscle of his corporeal system ; the exhilaration of spirit that made him repeat over to himself, like the glad refrain of some delicious song—‘‘ She is mine! she is mine!’’ he recognized the truth that Cupid had revenged himself for his miser- able pretence of having fallen a victim to his arts, in days that were gone, by sending a winged arrow clean through his harness. At length the current of arrivals was stayed. Mr. Lowrie moved away in one direction in quest of opportunities of contributing to his friends’ comfort and pleasure; Mrs. Lowrie’s fine form was lost to view in another trough of the living waves, and Rizpah had not to turn her head to be assured that Gerald was her nearest neighbor. Without a word he prof- fered his arm, and she took it, for a slow promenade’ through the rooms—a saunter fraught with delight to both, although the continual proximity of others, and their ex- posure to an incesgant fire of eyes and remarks, prevented the interchange of a sentence or glance that might convey to the company in general, or a single amateur detective of the face, an intimation of the peculiar and inter- esting relation they sustained to one another. They halted, by and by, in the conservatory, and Gerald, true to his mercenary instincts, was not too much absorbed by his newly-born passion to fail to note here, as in the other rooms he had visited, the traces of abundant wealth, and the invaluable but unfortunately rare accessory to the same of an elevated and refined taste—the eye and love for the beauti- ful. In the centre of the marble floor arose a silvery jet of water that broke into diamonds under the gaslight, as it tinkled musically back into the basin where trailed and bloomed all manner of graceful aquatic plants. The glass roof was a dome, and from all sides to the lofty apex were trained bush creepers and sprays of feathery foliage. **Titania’s bower!’’ said one gentleman to another, just as Gerald entered with his com- panion. ** Behold the fair genius of the enchanted spot!’’ said the person addressed, bowing to Rizpah. The first gentleman turned with a pleasant smile, and Gerald saw that he was the one who had once before that night spoken, in his hear- ing, in respectful admiration of his betrothed —the Lowries’ ci-devant fellow-travelier. **T will not insult you, Miss Lowrie, by the question I have heard put by every cavalier who has escorted a lady within these charmed precincts, since I have been here myself,’’ he said, playfully. ‘‘The watchword seems to be—‘ Are you fond of flowers?’ Your floral pets are mute but irrefutable witnesses to your partiality for them and skill in rearing them to perfection.”’ **T cannot claim the credit for their excel- lent condition,’’ replied Rizpah. ‘‘ Mamma selected our large and blooming family, and she divides the care of them with me. Her love of flowers may not surpass mine, but it is more intelligent in its exhibition. She is a wise horticulturist, lam an untaught amateur, and certainly no connoisseur in the pretty, bewitching lore. In pity for the ignorance I do not affect to disguise, I hope that you will not ask me the botanical name of a single plant.”’ Seeing that her Continental acquaintance was disposed to remain in his present location, while the gentleman with whom he had been talking at their entrance had joined himself to another party a little -way off, she let go Gerald’s arm, under pretence of picking a flower from a neighboring shrub, and intro- duced the two. ‘Mr. Armitage, Mr. Hopeton.’’ A simpler form of presentation could not have been conceived or spoken, and her man- ner was unaffected as composed in uttering it. But Gerald, grown suddenly watchful and unreasonable, inwardly resented her style of naming the stranger. He would have been far better pleased had she pronounced the words icily, had some subtle inflection testified to her participation in his vexation at having their duet changed into a trio. She ought to have been piqued at the interruption, and sig- nified her displeasure in a ladylike way. Judging the case from these premises, he had a right to feel further aggrieved that she con- tinued to converse with the audacious inter- loper, and with politeness as cheerful as though he, her long-absent lover were not by, silently but violently faming at Mr. Armitage’s presence and the consequent distraction of her attention. When he deigned to cool down sufficiently to pay partial heed to their dia- logue, they were still upon the subject of flowers and the barbarously unpronounceable names insisted upon by professional botanists. ‘¢ The severest trial of that nature that I have ever experienced befell me two days ago,’’

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28 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. said Rizpah, in the pure, sweet articulation that made listening to her lightest observation a positive delight. ‘*I had accompanied mamma to an eminent florist’s to order flowers for this evening, and, mignonette being one of my favorite weaknesses, I requested that it should be liberally represented in the bou- quets he was instructed to prepare for the parlors and dressing-rooms. He noted the suggestion with a gold pencil case upon a set of ivory tablets, then asked, condescendingly: ‘*Do you wish an extraordinary supply of any other flower excepting the Reseda odorata ?’’ ‘*That was indeed hard to endure,’’ re- sponded Mr. Armitage. ‘‘Yet these high- sounding, sesquipedalian appellations serve a good purpose, now and then, in hiding names so homely as to be vulgarly grotesque. ‘Johnny-jump-ups,’ and ‘cat-o’-nine- tails,’ and ‘ Jamestown-weed’ would cut a poor figure in sentimental prose or heroic poetry. You remember Pope’s reply to the friend who asked him what asphodel was. ‘Oh, a common field flower! the daffodil, I think. But ‘ asphodel’ suited my purpose better. It would not have sounded so well to say that The invincible Achilles Stalked through a field of daffydowndillies!’”’ Rizpah, laughing at the little anecdote, turned to Gerald, and was surprised by the sight of his lowering brow. He was pulling a sprig of geranium to pieces, nipping savagely at each leaf, then mincing it into smaller bits with his nails, his protruded lip and half frown those of a cross and spoiled child. Had she appeared to neglect him, or had some thoughtless word jarred upon his feeling ? ‘*Have you noticed that passion-flower ?’’ she said to him, pointing to a vine above his head. ‘‘ We are very proud of it. In growth it rivals Jack’s bean-stalk, and before very long we may expect the weird, mystic blos- soms with their purple fringe and central cross.’’ ** never saw one!’’ rejoined Gerald, curtly, snapping the stem of the odorous spray, and not vouchsafing a glance in the direction she designated. Mr. Armitage had acute perceptive faculties, and, after examining the lineaments of the irate Southerner for one second, obeyed the impression made by his hard, sharp tone, and, bowing slightly tothe twain, walked away. An awkward pause followed—then Gerald dropped the luckless geranium, and extended his arm. ‘* Shall we move on ?”’ They bent their steps mechanically towards the music-room. The dancing had not yet commenced. Mrs. Lowrie had determined to give no exclusively Terpsichorean entertain- ment. This noble apartment was divided from the rest of the suite by silken curtains held back on one side by a bronze statue of Apollo, laurel-crowned, on the other by a companion figure of Orpheus. Grand piano, harp, and guitar were there, and, built into the arch corresponding with the door, was an organ. Again Gerald, recovering from his fit of sulks, took a stealthy survey of the girl at his side, and strove to identify her with the ill-de- veloped runaway of the forest, the badly dressed, ‘‘ homely hoyden’’ of his mother’s parlors, whose gaucherie and seeming bashful- ness had made her the butt of Emily Challo- ner’s ridicule. ‘‘Em Challoner, ‘forsooth !’’ he thought, spitefully. ‘‘She could not holda candle to this superb creature! It was lucky, after all—’’ He arrested even mut- tered thought there. There were subjects that were not quite safe themes for contemplation in existing circumstances. So he fell to ad- miring his betrothed anew. Every motion and tone, the veriest minutie of her appear- ance were in such perfect consonance with the appointments of her house, that the satisfied eye took in these as a needful part of the beautiful whole. Gerald started from his maze of reverie as she accosted him. **Do you love music as dearly as ever ?’’ She spoke with effort—he imagined in timidity, and the thought enabled him to adopt at once his old deportment of affectionate patronage. ‘*More dearly, if that be possible! And you? I suppose that you had little leisure for practising while you were on the wing.’’ ‘*We were often stationary for weeks to- gether. We passed four months in Florence, four more in Paris,’’ Rizpah replied, evasively. Sooner than she expected he was to have proof how diligently she had striven to become a proficient in his favorite art. There were other travelled people present, several of whom had met the Lowries abroad, and one of these now assailed Rizpah with entreaties fora song. The petition was seconded by a dozen voices, and, more to allay the tumult and to avoid the imputation of insincere ob- stinacy than to please any of the applicants,

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Milnes. RIZPAH’S IDOLS. 29 she seated herself at the piano. Gerald would have maintained the post nearest her, but fashionable members of “our best circles’’ can be rade occasionally, and he was gradu- ally forced to give way to the impetus of thronging music or novelty lovers, and was pushed back beyond the fifth or sixth tier of the would-be audience congregated about the instrument. In this unceremonious way, he was deprived of the knowledge of the intro- ductory steps to the next movement which arrayed itself before his malcontent vision, the form of Mr. Armitage standing behind Rizpah, and bending over her to adjust the Sheet of music upon the rack, or to confer with her about the desired song. The prelude over, the listeners were hushed into breathless stillness by the exceeding sweetness and power of the strain that arose above the ac- companiment. It was an Italian song selected by one of the importunate petitioners. Gerald had never heard it or of it until now, and his ignorance of the language left him dependent upon the music for the meaning of the aria. Nevertheless, he enjoyed the spectacle of the sensation produced by his affianced bride. If he were not a competent judge of operatic minstrelsy, many of those about him were, and they hung upon each note with flattering delight that was choice incense to his greedy vanity, for did not the performer belong to him, 2nd would not the whole world soon learn this ? A change begloomed his spirit, as deep, manly tones mingled with the clear carol of the songstress; bore up hers like the steady surge of a strong river, full, flowing, harmo- nious; and the two, blent in one rich cur- rent, filled the spacious rooms with a volume of melody. ‘‘ Brava! brava!’’ and the soft clapping of white-gloved hands greeted the conclusion of the song. Then, earnest beseeching for ‘‘ another— just one, Miss Lowrie! That divine morceau I heard you sing in Florence with Mr. Armi- tage! Do persuade her, Mr. Armitage! and be complaisant yourself—please! We so sel- dom enjoy such a treat!’’ were showered in upon the musicians, until refusal would have been an aggravated species of rudeness. They sang again, but there were no deeps of passionate meaning; no melancholy breath- ings of unhappy love and nameless wretched- ness in the barcarole chosen by Rizpah— a light, Venetian air—a gondolier’s ballad, VOL. LXxu1.—3 whispering of moonlight and laughing waves and care-free hearts. Those of the hearers who, like Gerald, did not comprehend a word that she uttered, yet felt the inspiriting in- fluence of the tripping measure, and smiled, as they spoke their thanks when she finished. She had deposited her gloves, fan, and bou- quet in Gerald’s keeping, upon going to the instrument, a trust received with no small show of gratified pride by him. In reclaim- ing these articles, she glanced up archly, yet shyly, at him, One who had the key to the recesses of her character, which he had never sounded, would have interpreted justly, and been touched by the tacit inquiry— ‘Have I made you proud of me? If adu- lation brings me pleasure, it is only because of this hope!’’ was the burden of the blush, the smile, the wistful questioning of the beau- tiful eyes. The man thus referred to—thus blessed and honored—construed the swift look into the triumph of satisfied self-love; a call upon him, as her vassal, to witness her success, and to be grateful for the distinction conferred upon him by her acceptance of his devoirs. He was weak in some points, but his passion for power was stubborn, and it rebelled at the instigation of offended pride. Love her, as he acknowledged that he already did; adore her, as he might in time learn to do, he must not be beguiled into forgetting, or allow her to lose sight, momentarily, of the cardinal doctrine that he was her master. As such, she had joyfully received the intelligence of his pre- ference for her unworthy self; acceded him willing allegiance in ‘‘lang syne,’’ and no improvement in her surroundings, no wealth of development in her physical or mental being could alter the immutable relations of leige and fiefship. He recalled, in this con- nection, an observation she had once made to him: ‘I could never love a man whom I did not thoroughly respect!’’ And he set about augmenting her veneration for him. Delays were dangerous in this as in other important concerns. ‘“Who is that fellow?’ he asked, super- ciliously, leading her apart from Mr. Armi- tage, and out of the heart of the crowd. The speaking eyes had a stare of bewilder- ment in them, as they again sought his. ** Whom do you mean ?’’ ‘“‘That Armitage—the man who sang with you!’’

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80 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. **Oh!’’ said Rizpah, slowly, and still seem- ing not to gather the purport of his query. ‘*We met him inthe conservatory, just now.’’ ‘*T know !’’ Gerald interposed, petulantly ; ‘*but I am no wiser with regard to what and who he is, than if I had never seen him.’’ ‘*He is an old friend of mamma’s—a law- yer, and a resident of this city. We fell in with him while travelling on the Continent, and spent two weeks in company.’’ ‘*He is blessed with an exalted opinion of his own talents and accomplishments !’’ Gerald was so demented as to say. ‘‘Of all cox- combs, the travelled monkey is to me the most odious !’’ ‘*You wrong him! You were never more mistaken in your life!’’ replied Rizpah, eagerly. ‘*You would change your mind en- tirely, if you knew him well! His talents are of a high order, and few gentlemen in this country are more accomplished—if that signi- fies a fair knowledge of music and other fine He is an able scholar—a fine linguist, and a polished gentleman—but he is singu- larly free from self-conceit.. That is one rea- son why we like him so much, and enjoy his society.’’ ‘* We?’ repeated Gerald, interrogatively. ** Yes — papa—mamma—all of us!, And you will coincide in our judgment when you come to see more of him.”’ ** Which I have not the slightest inclination todo! My home occupations will hinder my spending much time in New York, this winter, and my wish is to devote that little to the im- provement of my acquaintance with you. Even your paragon step-mother will be, to me, an unwelcome addition to our group—in point of fact—a bore |’’ Rizpah did not blush, as he meant she should at the lover-like declaration. She was calm and very grave. ‘*I do not like the term ‘ paragon!’’’ she said, honestly. ‘‘It is so often employed in derision of pharisaical pretensions! But taken in its literal definition of supreme excellence, it is applicable to mamma, if it is to any one of mortal mould. She is the best woman I know—the loveliest I ever saw. My personal obligations to her can never be cancelled.” ‘**f am rejoiced that you have succeeded so well in overcoming the very pardonable pre- judice you once indulged against her,’’ re- marked Gerald, ironically. ‘I congratulate you upon your victory.”’ arts. Rizpah answered as if he had spoken in good faith. ‘‘That I have done so, is not owing to any effort of mine. I fought so long as I could with the innumerable evidences of her goodness—her infinite superiority to my- self—that proved how irrational and unjust, how wicked had been my notions of her unfit- ness to be my companion, much less my guide, my mentor, my best friend! But she was irresistible !’’ ‘*T shall become jealous, if you praise her so extravagantly,’’ tenderly gallant. ‘‘Ienvy her already !’’ ** Conscience and gratitude would not allow me to say less!’’ seriously sententious. ‘‘ And I have not begun to do her justice.’’ This remarkable specimen of love-talk was terminated by the outbreak of music from the German band engaged for the benefit of the dancers, and Rizpah’s partner for the first set approached to claim her hand. She danced but once, and that at a late hour of the even- ing, with Gerald, and he seized the oppor- tunity to ask her at what hour the next day he could see her. ‘*Not before evening, I am afraid,’’ was the response. ‘Until then, everything will be in confusion here.”’ Gerald bit his lip at her straightforward statement of the case. **The odious step-mother has everything under her starched rule!’’ hathought. ‘‘ And I, too, must conform to her ladyship’s caprices, must come and goat her pleasure. At least,’’ he added, aloud, ‘‘let me beg that our inter- view may be free from interruptions. I cannot learn unselfishness in a single lesson, where the question at issue affects my association with you.’’ ‘*Of course, I shall deny myself to other visitors,’’ rejoined Rizpah, ‘‘ and, equally of course, papa and mamma will expect to see you, for a little while. To refuse them this pleasure would indeed be selfish and discour- teous in us.’’ Gerald assented with « decent show of ac- quiescent grace. The time had passed when it was his duty and prerogative to enlighten her upon matters pertaining to social usages and the nicer particulars of polite etiquette. His taste in this regard would never be again offended by her; but, while every instant’s observation of the perfectly-bred and graceful woman heightened his admiration and stimn- lated his desire to make her his own, he

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LOVE LITERATURE.-—POETRY. 31 hated her to whose instructions and example the metamorphosis was to be attributed ; chafed, in jealous chagrin, at each token of deference and love awarded her by her pupil. (To be continued.) LOVE LITERATURE. BY REV. DANIEL BMERSON, From time immemorial love has been the theme of all novels, romances, and many other writings. No matter how the story might be otherwise arranged, through all its endless combinations there has run one thread —that of love; and almost always there has been one consummation—that of marriage. The Laoy’s Boox itself, your peerless and beauteous queen, is framed on this model, and its every story has-for its, burden—love. Now, why is it that this is ever the theme; that it so interests; that it will bear such endless repetition; that it never tires; and this all through epic, song, story, drama, and the romantic tale? Is it because of the in- trinsic nobleness. of the passion itself? is it from a ruling bias in our nature towards that passion? is it because of the ascending de- gree of the story, and its climax, as being a writing of the most artistic kind? or is it be- cause of the sensibility of fair readers, espe- cially, and that they are made up in a great degree of affection? or is it also; sometimes, in part, because of that other taste which led too curious Eve to transgress, that she might satisfy her longing taste? This were a most interesting analysis, and the abundance of such writing and reading makes it also a most important one. I think its most import- ant points have here been hinted at; perhaps they all come in play in their several degrees. It is certain that this passion affords a ground for fine and skilful writing ; that it excites the curiosity ; that it engages the heart.. Hence it has always lived ; hence it always will live; for every such tale gives a little epitome of the life of man. We then certainly cannot cail such writing unnatural. Nor need it, of necessity, be dan- gerous. It is true that too fiery and dissolute writers may kindle a flame that may destroy, and a taste that will corrupt. It is no less t.ue that the imagination of the reader, his or her not unspotted heart, may taint and turn to death the intense, yet pure and lofty words of Milton, Keats, Swinburne, and other masters of Love’s language and of love. Let writers consider, and take heed how they write; and let readers guard their hearts and their thoughts when they read. The passion itself of love, when pure, is most noble, and most worthy of the highest descriptive art. This it is that is the burden of God’s message to man; of his Book; of the visit of our Saviour to the earth; of his ever blessed and glorious Gospel. Here is Love's climax; here its intensest flame; here its deepest and its purest story; here are none of its dangers, and all of its sweets. Touched by so pure a flame, following so divine.a light, no writer, or no reader can go astray. PLAINT. BY NEALE BERNARD. On the heyday of my youth! Years ago yet I remember ; Earth was filled with light and truath— Love was all a sunset splendor! She was young and I wes young, And we deemed that love was glory; How the heart leapt to the tongue, Murmuring leve's delightful story! All the world was bright and real— (I was young, and she was younger)— We could not be taught to feel Aught could force our hearts asunder. Wisdom comes with years, they say— If not wisdom, sorrow surely ; She had named our nuptial day— We that loved so fond and purely. What may chance *twixt sun and sun! Time was loitering to our bridal ; Still I knew her heart was won, She would be for aye my idol! "Twas the heyday of my youth, And the zenith of her beauty ; We had plighted troth and truth— Pledged our hearts to tenderest duty. Oh that soul to soul should link With a changeless love forever! Oh that I could cease to think— Cease to grieve, and cease to love hert Youth has flown, but manhood’s prime Still repeats the hallowed story— Mocks with bliss I deemed was mine— Taunts with love akin to glory! Oh the weary, laggard years, Phantom-like that o'er me hover! Oh the bitter, bitter tears Shed upon the mould above her. Ah, her sleep is sweet and low, With the daisies blooming o’er her: But my life no peace may know— All is powerless to restore her!

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I HAVE somewhere seen an account of the inmates of the Millbank prison, in England, and, among other things, it was noted how women’s instinctive love of dress clung to them through all the difficulties of their situ- ation. Some of them displayed wonderful in- genuity in the arrangement of their prison dresses, making them appear as graceful and becoming—or, rather, as little ungrace- ful and unbecoming—as possible, aud gave the keepers much trouble by their continual efforts to alter the prescribed uniform into something like a faint shadow of prevailing fashions. One would electrify the little community by some cunning device for a hoop-skirt; another drove it wild with the discovery of a way to make corsets out of bed-ticking ; while a third raised an excite- ment which might rival that produced by the introduction of the waterfall, when she rouged her cheeks with red threads, cunningly drawn from some cloth on which she was sewing. The matrons, and other officials, whose busi- ness it was to prevent these little infringe- ments of prison regulations, were baffled and outwitted in spite of their most rigid disci- pline. Although shut out from the world, with none to note or care how they were dressed, these poor reprobates took the same pleasure in exciting the envy and admiration of each other, that any city belle feels in out- shining a rival. They would slyly twist their wiry locks into fanciful coiffures, purloin tal- low candles for pomade, and a bit of looking- glass was more precious in their sight than gold. The struggles of these humble worshippers of fashion are a faint representation, on a small scale, of what we southern women went through with during the blockade. Let those who have never experienced it set their ima- ginations to work, and conceive, if they possi- bly can, what must have been the condition of ladies in society—and very gay society, too —cut off for four years from their supplies of new dresses, shoes, gloves, linen, buttons, pins, and needles, ribbons, trimmings, and laces, not to mention the more urgent neces- sities of new bonnets, hoop-skirts, and fashion- 32 DRESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES; OR, PASSAGES FROM THE BLOCKADE EXPERIENC’S OF REBEL WOMEN. BY ELZEY HAY, OF GEORGIA. plates! How we gatched, and pieced, and ripped, and altered; how we cut, and turned, and twisted; how we made one new dress out of two old ones; how we squeezed new waists out of single breadths taken from skirts which could ill spare a single fold; how we worked and strained to find out new fashions, and then worked and strained still harder to adopt them—all these things form chapters in the lives of most of us, which will not be easily forgotten. Those who wish to learn economy in perfection, as well as those who interest themselves in curious inventions, will do well to study the experience of a blockaded de- votee of fashion. We managed pretty well during the first year of the war, for although we were too **patriotic,’’ as we called it, to buy any “‘new Yankee goods,’’ most of us had on hand a large supply of clothing. Planters were rich men in those days; and their wives and daughters always had more clothes than they could wear out. As soon as we became tired of any article, we would give it to some of our servants, and often, towards the close of the war, have I seen my ‘*mammy’’ or my maid in cast-off dresses that I fairly grudged them, wondering how I could ever have been 80 foolish as to give away anything so litthe worn. Before the blockade was raised, we all learned to wear every garment to the very last rag that would hang on our backs. In the first burst of our ‘‘ patriotic’’ enthu- siasm, we started a fashion which it would have been wise to keep up. We were going to encourage home manufacture—we would develop our own resources, so we bought homespun dresses, had them fashionably made, and wore them instead of ‘‘ outlandish finery.’’ The soldiers praised our spirit, and vowed that we looked prettier in homespun than other women in silk and velvet. A word from them was enough to seal the triumph of homespun gowns. Every device was resorted to for beautifying a material, in itself coarse and ugly. Our homemade dyes, of barks and roots, gave poor, dingy colors, that would have made a pitiful show among the dazzling hues in Northern bazaars, but the blockade

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DRESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES, ETC. 83 effectually shut off all the fine things that might have put our ‘‘patriotism’’ out of coun- tenance. One old lady made a really brilliant dye by dipping wool in pokeberry juice, and then inclosing it for several days where Peter put his wife—in a pumpkin shell. The color obtained was a brilliant red, but this process was too tedious for anything that had to be dyed in large quantities. Various shades of brown and drab, with some very ugly blue, were the chief colors used by us in our home- spun dresses. Before things came to be very bad, we used to buy Turkey red, and have our homespuns striped with it. Some had the patience to ravel out scraps of red flannel, which was respun and used for striping dress goods. It is almost incredible, the number and variety of patterns that could be manu- factured by an old woman with a hand-loom. Homespun travelling dresses, of modest color and make, were really very pretty and appropriate; but some had the bad taste to try to make them fine with red cards, flounces, velvet buttons, etc., which was a very un- suitable and incongruous way of trimming them. Some enthusiastic country ladies spun and wove, with their own hands, full suits of Clothing for themselves; and a famous present for soldiers was a pair of gloves, or socks, ' made, from beginning to end, by the fair hands of the donor. Such gifts pleased the soldiers, and led us to believe that we were following in the footsteps of our revolutionary ancestresses, who, we had been told, were mighty at the spinning-wheel and knitting- needle. Those of us who were not inclined to industry, testified our “‘ patriotism’’ with much outward show and parade. We had ball-dresses of white factory cloth, such as our negroes used to wear for under-clothing. By candlelight, it had very much the effect of white merino, and worn with necklace and bracelets of strung corn, and coiffure cotton balls, constituted an eminently Southern dress, which would make its wearer the star of any ball-room. All this was well enough while the novelty lasted, but that wore off in a season, and when summer came, we found our homespuns in- sufferably hot. Still, the blockade did not pinch us very hard: there were a few dry- goods left in the shops, and we pounced upon these with greedy fingers. There began to be, however, a marked change in our style of dress. Instead of kid gloves, we wore silk, or lace mits; we had no fresh, new ribbons ; our summer dresses were no longer trimmed with rich Valenciennes lace, and our hats and bonnets were those of the last season ‘‘ done over.’”’ In a word, we began to grow seedy, and we felt it; but our southern soldiers still swore that we looked prettier and dressed better than they had »ver seen us, so we were consoled—while their dazzling uniforms gave that brilliancy to our ball-rooms which our apparel failed to supply. In time, however, things began to grow des- perate. There were no goods in the shops, save a few old-fashioned robes 2 lé, double-skirts, and other marvellous prints, in huge patterns, which the skill of the best modistes could not render presentable. Buttons, needles, and pins began to fail. Imagine a dearth of pins in a lady’s toilet box! Think of it, my fair reader, the next time you dress for a bali, and know what we southern women endured! Laces, ribbons, flowers, and trimmings were out of the question, We could not even freshen an old dress with a new bow or a cam- bric ruffle, and everybody knows how much such little trappings assist and brighten the most indifferent toilet. We had to patch up something out of nothing—to make bricks without straw. Happily, Fashion favored us, where Provi- dence did not—that is, such fashions as came tous. We knew very little of the modes in the outer world. Now and then a Godey or a ‘*Bon Ton’’ would find its way through the blockade, and create a greater sensation than the last battle. If it was rumored that Annie or Julia had a book of fashions, there would be an instant rush of all womankind for miles around, to see it. I remember walking three miles once to see a number of the Lady’s Book, only six months old; then learned that it had been lent out, and, after chasing it all over town, found it at last, so bethumbed and crumpled that one could scarcely tell a fash- ion-plate from a model cottage. However, the vague rumors that reached us were all favorable to patching. The blessed Garibaldi came in, which must have been invented ex- pressly for poor blockaded mortals, whose skirts had outlasted their natural budies. Havoc was made of old merino shawls, sacks, silk aprons, scarfs, etc., and then we all ap- peared in waists of every conceivable shade and color, with skirts of every other conceiv- able shade and color.

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34 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. The same fashion was continued through the summer in white spencers, which we wore with faded old skirts, whose bodies had gone the way of all human productions. There was great scarcity of material for making them, but we found an ingenious method for increasing the supply. Faded, worn-out mus- lins, which were too far gone to be worthy of a place, even in our dilapidated wardrobes, were boiled in lye or acid so as to remove all the color, and then they were ready to be manufactured into white spencers. It is true, this material was very flimsy and rotten, but we had learned to take tender care of our clothing, and to make the frailest fabrics last. I have seen an organdy muslin dress worn five summers without washing, ard crépe bon- nets last three seasons. The introduction of tight sleeves also fa- vored us greatly, for it was very easy to cut our old ones down; but the greatest blessing of all was the fashion of trimming dress skirts round the bottom. It was so convenient to hide rags, or increase the length of a skirt, by putting a puff or flounce round it. This style of trimming was very highly appreciated, for we could use one old dress to puff and flounce another. Some of our ladies would have presented a grotesque appearance on Broadway or Chestnut Street, in a tri-colored or tri-patched costumo, with perhaps a crim- son merino Garibaldi waist, a blue alpaca skirt, and black silk flounces. But, fortu- nately, we had no fashionable rivals to make our shabbiness worse by comparison, and although painfully conscious that we were very, very rusty, we really did not know the full extent of our own seediness. All were in the same condition, patched and pieced alike. Sometimes a blockade runner or a rich specu- lator would give his daughter a pair of gloves, a piece of ribbon, a dress, or, perchance, even a bonnet, of some of the dazzling new colors, which would drive the rest of us to frenzy for a little while, but such cases were too rare to give tone to the prevailing fashions. Piecing, and patching, and squeezing was the general rule, so that we who could not emulate those who caught glimpses beyond the blockade, consoled ourselves with the sight of each other, and with the comforting assurances of our soldiers, who stood it out manfully that they could not desire to see us better dressed. I suppose the men really thought us very fine, for, in order to hide stains, and rents, and patches, we piled on trimmings to such a degree as to make our clothing extremely gay, and practice made us so skilful at patch- ing, that we often did it very gracefully. If we wished to lengthen a skirt, instead of putting the trimming on in a straight row at the bottom, we would cut it in waves or fes- toons, slip the lower part down an inch or two, and put the trimming on so as to pro- duce an effect, which was pretty enough, when we saw nothing better. But to my dying day, no matter what the fashion may be, I can never look upon a skirt of one color and waist of another, or see the lat- ter decorated with any solid trimming, without instantly suspecting a patch or a make-shift, and I believe most southern ladies have the same prejudice. We feel so guilty of such practices, that the most beautiful little jacket, or the most elegant lace flounces, even when worn by the daughter of a New York or Phila- delphia merchant, who surely ought to be above suspicion of patching, only remind us of the scant patterns and covered flaws, of ** Confederate times.’’ Occasionally, when very hard pushed, we would have two old dresses, of hopelessly in- congruous colors, dyed black, and pieve them together into a new one. Sometimes the same dress was dyed two or three times, the hue being darkened as stains deepened, and it was not uncommon to see skirts that had been turned inside out, upside down, and hind part before. I well remember one faith- ful old jacconet, which, after submitting to various alterations as dress and petticoat, was finally, when too much worn for either, cut up and hemmed for pocket-handkerchiefs. All old linen served the same purpose, while our fine handkerchiefs were made of Swiss or mull muslin—the sleeves of worn-out spen- cers, or best parts of old petticoats trimmed with footing ruffles and transferred work. When the ruffles were fluted or crimped, they made a very pretty edging. The prettiest trimming gotten up during these times for a dress skirt, was made of transfer work cut from a piece of coarse, black Chantilly lace, and sewed on in medal- lions, with steel beads. The skirt was cut in scallops at the bottom to get rid of certain little snags and dingy places, with a medal- lion in each scallop. It was really beautiful, and did not appear to disadvantage among the novelties introduced at the end of the war.

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DRESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES, ETC. 35 - = Black silk was the favorite material for piecing out our old clothes, because it suited everything. Dresses of all colors and tex- tures were eked out with flounces, puffs, cords, quillings, folds and ruches of black silk, and when that failed, as it very soon did, alpaca and merino took its place. We had many things dyed black for the purpose of using them as trimmings. I wonder if there be a woman in the South who has not owned two or three dresses with streaks of black round the bottom. An old black silk skirt with nine flounces was a treasure in our family for nearly two years, and when that store was exhausted, we fell back upon the cover of a worn-out silk umbrella. The finest travelling dress I had during the war, was a brown alpaca turned wrong side out, upside down, and trimmed with quillings made of that same umbrella cover. I will venture to say that no umbrella ever served so many purposes or ever was so thoroughly used up before. The whalebones served to stiffen cor- sets and the waist of a homespun dress, and the handle was given to a wounded soldier for a walking-stick. The waists of our dresses were no less patched up than the skirts. I have seen a tight sleeve pieced in sixteen places, and so ingeniously that one could not detect a single seam. It was done by means of puffs and quilling put on in points from the armhole to the elbow, so that the foundation of the sleeve could be cut out of very small pieces, the trim- ming hiding seams and covering deficiencies. I also remember a cavalry jacket that was pieced in ¢hirty-six places with equal skill. Cavalry jackets were in high favor with us, for two reasons: first, because they answered the same purpose as the Garibaldi in helping out bodiless skirts, and secondly, because they were so military. We ladies were per- fectly daft about gold lace and brass buttons, and would all but break our necks to get a jacket trimmed with them, thinking, I sup- pose, that they would be as bewitching on us as they were on the men. Sometimes a gene- rous Officer would despoil his sleeve of the admired Hungarian knot in order to gratify the whim of some fair one, and many a little brother has pouted all day over a Sunday jacket robbed of its brass buttons to decorate the waist of a sister. Gold lace was so scarce, so dear, and so highly prized, that we would rip it-from old, battle-worn uniforms, and rub it with soda, vinegar, alcohol (when we could get it), chalk, and ashes, in order to brighten it for further use, and sometimes its tarnished lustre would faintly revive. Elaborate decorations were used on waists for the same purpose as on skirts, which has prejudiced me against much trimming as giving ground for a suspicion of patches. Strange to say, none of us were ashamed of the shams we practised, for we had what Caleb Balderstone so ardently coveted—a good ex- cuse. It was a blessed thing, having every- body in the same situation. We used to laugh together at our own devices, and give one another the benefit of our experience. She who was most skilfully patched up was ad- mired for her ingenuity. The only things that really mortified us, in spite of excuses and plenty of company in our misfortunes, were the horrible shoes and stockings we had to wear—stiff, shapeless, clumsy things, so different from the beautiful little French boots and sea island thread stockings to which we had been accustomed. Some women contracted an awkward, uneasy manner of walking from the constaut effort to hide their lower extremities. All kinds of fancy stitches were invented, and Southern women became expert knitters, but the more fancifully they were made, the more vulgar did our coarse stockings look, as coarse finery always will. No Balmoral petticoats and looped-up dresses for us! If the mud were ankle deep, we dared not lift our skirts an inch for fear of revealing those frightful shoes and stockings. We all felt like peacocks who, it is said, are so ashamed of their ugly feet that if they happen to catch a glimpse of them, even when most proudly flaunting their gay feathers, will instantly drop all, and as- sume a humiliated, mortified air. We had no fine feathers to flaunt, but, such as they were, our ill-shod feet and gloveless hands were too bad forthem. No lady feels herself wholly lost to good taste with neat shoes, gloves, and collar, nor well dressed without them. -In fact, these little things are the real test of whether a lady knows. how to dress. We managed very well for collars, as small ones were worn, and linen lasts a long time, but the introduction of large cuffs staggered us for a while. We could not afford so much linen. Necessity, however, was the mother of invention in this case as in many others. We learned to make cuffs of white cotton.

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86 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. —<ttillen.

shirting, which looked very well as long as no one else had linen to put them out of countenance, Our heads fared little better than our feet. As bonnets grew larger they were pieced with ribbon or silk borders round the front, as our skirts were lengthened with puffs and flounces. We were ignorant of the reign of waterfalls till the blockade was raised, and went #n in- creasing our sky scrapers with great labor and difficulty. Ribbons soon gave out, and all kinds of villanous substitutes appeared. Artificial flowers made of goose feathers became very fashionable, and were sold at enormous prices. They were not so ugly as one might suppose, especially when they did not have to stand a comparison with French flowers. Bonnets at last became almost an utter impossibility. I have known fashionable milliners pay one hundred and fifty dollars for an old velvet bonnet which was-renovated and sold for five hundred. During the last year of the war, $1000 (Confederate money) was not con- sidered an unreasonable price. Hats made of palmetto straw were very much worn, and were in as high favor as homespun dresses, because they were entirely southern make. Veils, even of the coarsest barége, were very scarce and dear; seventy-five dollars was the price of a very ordinary one. Of course, many inventions were started by ladies desirous of preserving their complexions. I have seen veils made of the remains of a pink tarletane evening dress, dyed brown with walnut hulls, and they were a pretty good imitation of gre- nadine. An old barége dress was a treasure, and its inevitable fate was to be cut up for veils. But it was in underclothing that we suffered most. When our linen wore out, as the best of linen will sometimes do, there was nothing to replace it but the coarse factory cloth manufactured at the South, which had here- tofore been used only for clothing the negroes. What Georgia girl has not a feeling reco!lection of Macon Mills? In vain we corded, stitched, and trimmed with white ruffles, it was coarse and yellow still. No matter what there was outside, we covid not help feeling ill dressed in those coarse underclothes. If any one had a nice dress, she felt liko a whited sepulehre— very fair without, but yellow homespun and otton yarn within. Evening dresses were unheard of towards

the close of the war: even brides, unless they were the daughters of quartermasters or blockade-runners, never aspired higher than Suisse muslin, and many contented them- selves with humbler fabrics. I saw the waist to one wedding dress made out of the flounces of an old tarietane skirt. They were sewed together and drawn at the seams, so as to make one of the pretty puffed waists so much in fashion two or three years ago. Any kind of simple muslin dress, and even thick, dark skirts with white muslin spencers, figured in elegant ball-rooms without seeming out of place. As many things may pass muster by candle-light which cannot stand the glare of day, it was comparatively easy to dress for evening. I have seen ladies look very well in old silk petticoats trimmed with black lace or white tarletane ruches. Of course all things are by comparison, and what looked very fine in those days would be in- tolerable now. Our style of dressing degene- rated so gradually that we could scarcely perceive the change from one season to another, and did not fully appreciate our own destitution till the blockade was raised, and we compared ourselves with the rest of the world. The pretty fashion of frizzing the hair was introduced at the beginning of the war, and many of us adopted it, both on account of its beauty, and because hair-pins and braids were not to be bought. It was impossible to obtain false curls, so we cropped off our own hair, and made free use ot curl-papers and irons. Imagine our consternation, fair reader, when rats, and mice, and waterfalls, came in, and caught us with short hair. The war did not trouble us much as to evening head-dresses, for our land teems with myriads of beautiful flowers, fairer than any ever displayed in the shop windows of Demorest or Olympe, and it was not in the power of man to blockade Nature. Neither was it possible entirely to blockade Fashion. Godey, Madame Demorest, and Frank Leslie would find their way to places where the most daring raider would never venture. Whenever a bold soldier ‘‘ crossed the lines,’’ he was sure to bring back a book of fashions as the most acceptable present to his lady. We toiled, we struggled, we contrived, and generally managed to come in at the fag-end of every new fashion. I have heard more than ene pater familias, when importuned for

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DRESS UNDER DIFFICULTIES, ETC. 37 All a piece of ribbon or a yard of muslin, costing from sixty to one hundred dollars, groan out: ‘‘Oh, if the Yankees would only blockade the fashions, I’d forgive them everything else !’’ But women will dress so long as there is a particle of woman’s nature left in them. I verily believe that when our mother Eve first pinned the fig-leaves around her, she took pleasure festooning them as gracefully as possible, and that she hailed the coat of skins as the advent of a new fashion. We southern women labored under peculiar difficulties during the war, for, strange as it may seem, never did we need dress more. Every little town was a military post, crowded with strangers—refugees, exiles, and fasci- nating officers—what man in brass buttons is not fascinating to woman’s eyes? There was no end of balls, parties, picnics, fétes of every description. I once heard a young belle, fresh from a circle of dazzling beaux, express pity for the poor girls who lived in stupid, peace- fal countries, away from the ‘‘pomp and circumstance of war,’’ and I think a good many of us held the same opinion, but that was before the horrors and devastations of war had fallen upon our own homes. Think, then, of the temptation we were under to dress, while the power was denied us. We were compelled, by necessity, to apend so much time in plotting and planning and scheming for something to wear, that we had little time to think of anything else. A lady who had run the blockade was stared at as a natural curiosity, and her wardrobe made the subject of conversation for weeks after- ward. The simple fact that new things were so much noticed, made us al! desirous to have them. This much experience has taught me—that the way to make a woman devote her whole soul to dress, is not to give her everything she needs, but to make it necessary for her to plan, and think, and study what to wear; how to ‘‘Gar auld claes amaist as weel’s the new.’’ And this we had to do for four long years. We never thought as much about dress in ail the rest of our lives put together, as while the blockade was upon us, and I am sure none of us ever dressed so little. For my part, I spent three days and nights in meditating how to trim the only new dress I had, and a much longer time in thinking how to patch and alter old ones. At lgst the struggle ended; the blockade was raised, and goods flowed in. Our eyes were dazzled with brilliant new colors, in comparison with which all we had ever seen before seemed faded and dull. Fabrics of marvellous texture, trimmings and ornaments of flashing brilliancy put to shame our poor old make-shifts, The rest of the world had taken a long stride during the four years that we had been going backwards. Were articles of woman’s attire really more beautiful than they had ever been before, or did they only seem so to our starved Confederate eyes? Cer- tainly, new goods and new fashions never had appeared so exquisite to us, nor our old rags so forlorn. We looked as if our clothes had been bought before the days of Noah. One might have mistaken us for fossil women, so faded and mouldy were we. Northern ladies came out a-blaze with finery, and some few of our own people, who had escaped the general shipwreck, arrayed themselves in ‘‘ blue, and purple, and scarlet,’’ but the rest of us could only look, long, and wonder. Our riches had taken to themselves legs and walked away; our pockets were as empty as our wardrobes, so we had to turn from feasting our eyes in the shops, to rack our brains with thoughts of how to make ourselves presentable at home. But cheap substitutes and contrivances will never be permissible again as they were dur- ing the blockade, I suppose the only resource left us is to live in sublime poverty, like the Faubourg St. Germain, and turn up our noses at everything rich or fine as parvenu. OUR FAIRY. BY SALLIE BELLE BARTON, Two dimpled arms my neck entwine, And cast on me are tender glances ; A rosebud mouth is pressed to mine, And now away the fairy dances. Yes, joyously away she skips, Aud clasps her hands in merry glee, A sunny smile wreaths those sweet lips, And she is glancing back at me. That glance, so fall of love and mirth, And her free tone of laughter wi'd; She is the sunshine of our hearth, Our own, our darling fairy-child. How dear to us her smiling face, Sweet photograph of love and truth! And dear each winsome, childish grace, But dearer far her soul of truth. Oh! may she thus through life remain, And ne’er ber beauty fade, nor youth, And still within her heart retain, Undimmed, the glowing pear! of truth,

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ISHMAEL. BY DAISY HOWARD. *‘T’zu bet you ’ll be homesick before two | days, both of you.”’ ‘* What will you bet ?’’ **My diamond ring against your picture.”’ The girl’s color came and went at mention of the picture, and she glanced quickly to- wards a dark, bright girl sitting beside her. **Promise him, Elsie; there isn’t any dan- ger of losing your bet. Homesick! I never was half as sick of any place in my life as New York city. I hope no one will follow us out there.”’ ** Not even the elegant Le Ray,’’ her brother said, teasingly. **Bah! the very name of the man sickens me.”’ ** He is rich, Nora, and you know you are going to marry a rich man.”’ **Yes, but vulgar in the extreme. I shall never marry a poor man, neither shall I ever marry beneath me.’’ Ned shrugged his shoulders. ‘‘I shouldn’t wonder if you would marry a farmer yet, Nora, and make your own butter and cheese.’’ The haughty lip curled as she said: ‘‘ There isn’t the slightest danger. I have no fancy for a rural life. It does very well for a few weeks in the summer when one has nothing to do but enjoy the fresh air and sunshine.”’ The girls sat on the grass, and Ned, man- like, was perched on the fence—a post-and- rail fence, too, at that. They were waiting at the railroad station of D for the carriage of a country aunt whom they were goitg to visit, and whom they had not seen since they were children. The little station house was close and dusty, and they chose rather to wait outside. The waiting was not tedious to Ned and Elsie, for they were betrothed lovers, and the passing of time is always rapid to such as they; but Nora kept wishing the carriage would come every few minutes. At last it came in sight— a low, uncovered wagon, such as are used a great deal in New England, a tasty little affair, but still unlike any carriage Nora had ever seen before. That young lady arched her haughty brows, and looked daggers at Ned, who was helping Elsie in as though it were the handsomest barouche New York could boast. ‘*Is my aunt expecting us to-day ?” curtly to the driver. **She is, but your letter only reaching her yesterday, she could not spare the time to come and meet you, but she bid me say a warm welcome awaited you at the farm.’’ ‘* A well-turned speech for a person in his position, for I suppose he is only a farm hand.’’ This Nora thought to herself, and once comfortably seated, she fixed her bright eyes upon him, taking notes. He wore a pair of dark pantaloons and a white linen blouse ; and a plaited straw hat, something the worse for wear, was crushed down over the blackest curls she had ever seen. Ned and Elsie were sitting very close to- gether, Ned holding her hand under cover of her “‘duster.’’ Nora turned round quickly. **You two are entertaining, I must say. Ned, I should think Elsie would roast with you sitting so close to her this July day.”’ ‘‘ Nora, don’t you feel a little bit sickish, homesickish like, already ?’’ ‘*No, I don’t, and I haven’t the least idea of being so. Elsie, I am only sorry for one thing—that we let Ned come along. There’s never any peace were there ’s a man, never.”’ The handsome driver now arched his eye- brows, and would have whistled if he dared, and Ned looked tenderly into Elsie’s eyes, and whispered: ‘‘ Do you, Elsie, do you wish you hadn’t ‘let Ned come along.’ ’’ Elsie blushed crimson, and the driver said :-— ‘*You can see the house yonder through the trees.’’ A moment more and they were at the gate. ‘*Long, low, and rambling—I like it ;’’ and Nora, gathering up her skirts, placed her dainty feet upon the wheel, and was out before the astonished driver came to her assistance. Aunt Mary met them warmly for their mo- ther’s sake, and soon they were seated around the ample board with very uncitylike appe- tites.. Mr. Brewster, Aunt Mary’s, husband, was a well-to-do farmer with a broad, kindly face and a large heart, but, in spite of a life- time’s training, he would sometimes forget and put his own knife in the butter. Aunt Mary saw the look of supreme disgust with

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ISHMAEL. 89 which Nora viewed the proceeding, and she whispered softly and tenderly to her husband: ‘*Simon, dear, try and remember to use the butter-knife while the girls are here.”’ His manners were so geutie, and his voice so kindly, when he said to Nora: “ Here, childie, let me give you some more of the strawberries. You must eat just as many as you can while you are here,’’ that she almost forgave him the affair of the butter-knife. ‘‘Father, where is Ishmael?” ‘*He went home; he will be back by sun- up in the morning.’’ ‘*You should have made him stay to tea, father,’’ a name Aunt Mary still called her husband, though six little graves in the churchyard were all that was left of the children she had borne him. ‘*T wanted him to stay, but he said he had promised Madge to help her with her lessons. Examination is coming on.’’ This was Monday. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday passed very pleasantly to Nora. She explored the house and grounds, and read her favorite poets. Friday she felt very lone- some, and if Ned had been in Europe or some other country, she would have said homesick. Ned and Elsie were passing their time in a way very agreeable to themselves, forgetting in their selfishness all about Nora. On Satur- day she was lonelier than ever, for Aunt Mary was always busy in the kitchen on that day. **O, Aunt Mary, I’m so lonely !’’ **It’s too bad, child. Suppose you put on my big sunbonnet, and carry this pie and a little pail of milk out to the field to your uncle.’’ Anything for a change, so Nora tied the sunbonnet over her brown curls, and went over the fields to where the haymakers were turning over the fragrant hay. Among the haymakers she noticed the young man who had driven them over from the station on the day of their arrival. He lifted his rough straw hat with a quiet grace that surprised the city belle, and she said to herself, walking home- ward over the fields—‘‘I never thought hay- makers were so picturesque looking.’’ That evening the young people sat on the porch talking with Aunt Mary, when Nora spied the handsome haymaker coming up the lawn. ‘‘Good-evening Aunt Mary, good-evening, ladies.’’ ‘Girls, this is my nephew, Ishmael Brew- ster, my husband’s brother’s son. Why have you not been over lately, Ishmael? Studying your eyes out, as usual, I suppose ?”’ Meanwhile Nora was surveying him from head to foot. ‘*The handsomest man I ever saw, in spite of his craft,’’ was her mental comment, ‘‘and he is my cousin-in-law, it seems !’’ As usual, Ned and Elsie wandered off among the trees, and by and by Aunt Mary went to superintend the tea steeping. There was an awkward silence for a moment, and then Ish- mael said :-— ‘* You are reading Tennyson, Miss Nora ?’’ ** Yes, ‘Idyls of the King.’ You have read it 2”? ‘* Yes, again and again.”’ **You admire Tennyson, then ?’’ **T need scarcely answer that question; it would be hard to find any one who did not. I like ‘In Memoriam’ best, though; that poem alone should have crowned him Poet Laureate.”’ It seemed as if their mutual admiration for Tennyson broke down all the barriers of con- ventionalities, and, till the tea-bell rang, their favorite authors were discussed, their voices going pleasantly through the window to where Aunt Mary was laying the table. Ishmael stayed to tea, and somehow, watching him walking over the fields to his home, Nora felt sorry to see him go. Sabbath morning dawned bright and beau- tiful. The little village of D was startled into open-eyed wonder as our stylish New Yorkers sailed into the quaint. little church, Nora and Elsie in their ‘‘ loves of bonnets,’ and rich dresses, and Ned in his long-tailed coat and choker. Ishmael Brewster sat in the pew before them, and Nora blushed prettily at his grave bow. The village youth and maidens heard little of ‘‘ Elder Allen’s’’ discourse, they were too busy watching the party from Deacon Simon Brewster’s. And Nora, too, heard little of it; she was busy watching Ishmael’s splen- did face light up as he followed the reverend speaker’s words. Ishmael, with his whole soul bent on the sermon, saw nothing of this by-play. Even the beautiful face of Nora faded from his memory, as his mind took in the mighty truths the minister was laying before the people. ‘*Come home with us, Ishmael,’’ Ned said, as they met in the aisle after service.

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40 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. **I cannot to-day, Edward. I will go over to-morrow evening. I never leave home on the Sabbath.’’ Nora’s.red lip curled, and she bowed haugh- _ tily in passing, never thanking him as he as- sisted her into the wagon. Evening after evening Ishmael came to the farmhouse. Sometimes Nora was in the mood to cavil at him, but with all her pride and haughtiness, she did not dare to look down upon this workingman, this young New Eng- In intellectual attainments he was her peer, and she knew it. Ishmael Brewster was a nan of great mental strength, noble and brave as the bravest. He was the son of a poor man, and had climbed upwards as best he might. His father had employed a tenant to work the farm on the shares, during the years: Ishmael had been away at school. The tenant’s term expired in the spring, when Ishmael was to take the farm. Meanwhile he was lending his strength to his Uncle Simon through the harvest, for the old man’s strength had failed of late. So, on through the purple lushness of the summer time these two walked blindfolded, and knew not till the time of parting drew near that they were more to each other than cousins-in-law. But there came a time of awakening, when Nora took herself severely to task. ‘‘Was she learning to love this handsome farmer? this ‘poor man?’”’ If not, what meant this fluttering of the heart, and strange content when he was by her side? She was treading on dangerous ground—she must be wary. But it was easier said than done. There was a magnetic power in Ish- mael’s dark eyes that overpowered her, and won her heart in spite of her reason. It was the night before they were to return to New York. Elsie and Ned had ridden over to the village for the mail, and Nora was up stairs packing up. Ishmael came slowly across the fields, and sat down wearily on the steps beside Aunt Mary. Nora saw him, and hef heart fluttered strangely. She knelt by the window and laid her head upon it, and listened to their talking. ‘You are tired, Ishmael; you work too hard.”’ **Oh, no, Aunt Mary, work never tires me.”’ **You study too much, then, and what’s the use? You are the smartest farmer in the country now. I am glad you are going land farmer. 7 on the farm—you will be obliged to study less.’” ‘*T love study, Aunt Mary, and when I get my farm started, I will find time for study.’’ ‘*To what end ?’’ ‘*My own gratification and improvement. Besides, who knows, Aunt Mary, but what I may yet be called upon to legislate for my country, or, perhaps, I may be a senator,’’ and he laughed, gayly. ‘*Do you really like those dry studies, Ish- mael f’’ ‘*T really like them, Aunt Mary. I am never happier than when I am fagging at Schiller and Klopstock. I will yet master them.”’ Ishmael was dear as an own son to the childless woman, and she laid her hand ten- derly on his. ‘‘If it gives you pleasure, Ish- mael, it is all right.’’ ‘* Where is Nora, Aunt Mary ?’’ Nora sprang to her feet in time to hear her name called. ‘¢ Nora, come down; Ishmael wants you.’’ A white dress soon replaced the wrapper, and twisting some scarlet verbena in her dark hair, Nora went swiftly down stairs. Aunt Mary had gone in, and Ishmael sat there alone. Nora laid her haad lightly on his shoulder. ‘‘I am glad to see you, Ishmael.’’ For answer, he drew her down beside him on the steps. ‘‘ You are going away to-mor- row, Nora. I will miss you more than I ever missed any one in my life.’’ Nora’s head lowered a little, but she dared not trust herself to answer. ‘“‘If I thought you could ever be happy as a farmer’s wife, I would tell you just how much I love you, just how dear you are to me’’—not one word of not being her equal, not one word of his poverty; he did not un- derstand the meaning of such words. Ish- mael Brewster was never poor, men like him never are, and in his manhood and rich afflu- ent nature, he felt himself equal to all men, bowing his spirit only before his Maker. ** You may tell me just how much you love me, Ishmael, for I could be very happy as a farmer’s wife.’’ Nora was surprised at her- self, but she felt as if she could share even poverty with Ishmael Brewster. He sprang to his feet. ‘‘ Nora, it needed buf this to make me one of the happiest men that ever walked God’s beautiful earth. It is a grand thing to live, Nora. Oh, I enjoy life.

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DRAWING LESSONS. I can see in it neither the sorrow nor care the people tell of! God has blessed me in every- thing. I should never have been called Ish- mael.”’ *‘ And yet you have had trials. Have been always poor; have had to toil for an educa- tion, and—and—’’ **Do you call these things trials, Nora? I do not. O Nora, you are the crowning bless- ing! I thank my God for this last great blessing.’’ He was a novel wooer, but he was just the man Nora needed to guide aright her noble but undisciplined nature. 41 Elsie said, ‘‘Darling Nora, I am glad you are to be happy like myself,’’ and Ned said: ‘*What! marry a common farmer! a ‘poor man?’ Nora Lee, I am ashamed of you.’’ But Nora, with her hand in Ishmae]’s, could defy a dozen Neds, and she did not heed his banter. though he was merciless. A year later Nora went to the farm to live with Ishmael. All the long winter evenings they studied together, to the evident annoy- ance of Aunt Mary, wha predicted blindness and early gray hairs. Ishmael did master Schiller and Klopstock, and to-day is a senator of the United States. DRAWING LESSONS.

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THE DAVIDSONS. BY CLARA P. WILLISTON, Trmotny Davipson was bred a farmer, albeit he did not hold to the time-honored proverb which says that “He who would till the soil and thrive, Must either follow the plough or drive.” He detested work, but he had a peculiar faculty for obliging those under his authority to obey. the divine injunction. He was no money-coiner, but he had sufficient calcula- tion to enable him to keep the broad, rich acres his father had given him. His farm lay on an intervale of the Mohawk River, and had been in the family nearly two centuries. It was bought by his great-great-grandfather of the aboriginal owners of the soil. The pastures, the meadows, and the margin of the river were dotted with fine old ancestral trees, upon whose splendid heads the dew and sun- shine of uncounted years had fallen. It had been the earnest wish of Timothy Davidson’s father to give his son a liberal education, but the youth despised books even more than he did work; therefore he grew to be a narrow-minded, illiterate man. ‘These authors were a pack of conceited numskulls,’’ he said, oracularly, when hold- ing forth to a circle of kindred spirits in the bar-room of a neighboring inn. For his part, if a new idea was born in his brain, he wasn’t anxious that all should get the benefit of it. No! let folks think for themselves—that was his way. He wouldn’t read the trashy stuff that other men wrote, and, what was more, he wouldn’t allow a wife or child of his to do it. He was a severe and tyrannical man in his family, and Hester Thorne, his wife, had not known a happy day since the brief honeymoon of her married life had passed away, and yet she had come to his home with a loving, hoping heart, without one thought of the life- long misery that was tc follow. Mr. David- son’s mother was yet living, though it was upon borrowed time, for she had already passed the allotted “‘three score years and ten’? of life. She was a well-jointured widow, and lived with her only daughter in a distant part of the State. She was not a pattern old lady, although she was very good in her way, which 42 way was an exceedingly selfish one. Her children were incapable of doing wrong in her eyes; and her opinion of her “‘ children-in- law’’ can best be expressed in her own words. ‘* Wal, good sort of folks enough, but, then, not like our folks, ye know.’’ She was sharp at making bargains, and would banter for the odd penny until the peddler—for she invari- ably chose to trade with that class of commu- nity whom she honored with the title of ‘*cheats of the world’’—was fain to yield the point, and take his leave. At this time she was making one of her periodical visits to her son. She had just driven a hard bargain with a peddler, and was inspecting her purchases with admiring eyes, when her son entered in his usual abrupt, bustling way, ‘‘See here, Timothy,’ said she, eagerly, grasping at his coat skirts. ‘' What a great bargain I have made. Tew dress patterns for *leven dollars an’ thirty-seven cents—I made ’em give me the other cent, or ’twould’ve been thirty-eight cents. Hester thinks I’ve made an ex’ lent trade, an’ sol have. They ’re dretful cheap.”’ Her son had listened to her first words with a good-natured smile, but when she men- tioned Hester’s approval, a scowl darkened his face, and glancing angrily toward the pale, patient mother of his children, who sat patch- ing a coat for Tom, their eldest son, he said, in sharp tones: ‘‘ Hester thinks! Hester thinks! What has Hester to do with your bargains, I’d like to know? She’s always meddling with things that don’t concern her!’ He did not heed the expression of patient suffering that his unprovoked harsh- ness had drawn in still deeper lines about the mouth of his much-enduring wife, but chang- ing his mood as suddenly as the shifting wind, he said, with a short laugh :— ‘*You didn’t need any more dresses, mo- ther, and I’d rather take my share of your property in money than old clothes.’’ The old mother, nothing shocked by this rough speech, pushed back the false hair which had fallen low over her forehead, peered up over her spectacles at her son, while her mountainous mass of flesh shook like a jelly with inward laughter. ‘‘A chip of the old

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THE DAVIDSONS. 43 _— block, a chip of the old block !’’ she mumbled, as he closed the door in retreat. Mrs. Davidson had quietly taken refuge in her own apartment to conceal the tears that would flow after the cruel and unmanly at- tacks of her husband, and which she knew would provoke him beyond the bounds of reason if he saw them. Madge Davidson, a fine, high-spirited girl of fifteen, sat by a dis- tant window, with her small fingers deftly engaged in braiding leaves and rosebuds upon a lmen sack for her baby brother, Charlie. She had witnessed this little scene in silent bitterness ; and would have given worlds to have been permitted to follow her mother, and to pour the balm of sympathy into that grieved and wounded spirit. But so keenly sensitive was Mrs. Davidson upon the subject of her husband’s unkindness that she could not bear the slightest allusion to it, even from Madge. ‘¢¢A chip of the old block,’ grandmother,’’ Madge scornfully repeated, incensed beyond coutrol by her grandmother’s doting blind- ness. ‘‘Do you think his speaking to my mother in the way he invariably does is a credit to your son? Oh, it breaks my heart,’’ she added, while a flush of pain passed over her fresh, beautiful face, and her fine eyes were filled with tears. ‘‘It breaks my heart to see what mother endures. I could weep tears of blood, if it would be of any avail!’’ ** Nonsense, Madge! take heart, child. It’s his way, and always was,’’ said the fond old mother. Your gran’ther was just so—quick as a flash, and as quick over. Your mother don’t mind it—not she.”’ ‘*Mother does mind it, grandmother, and it’s killing her. Oh, I see it every day, and dare not speak a word to comfort her!’’ ‘Wal, she ’ll be a long time in dyin’, if that kills her,’’ responded the old lady, lightly, still passing her hands, with an af- fectionate, lingering touch, over the beloved dress patterns ; then suddenly fixing a reprov- ing look upon her grandchild, she said: ‘‘ The Bible, your mother’s favorite book, commands children to respect their parents.”’ Madge blushed; and conscience whispered that this reproof was not unmerited, but she would not heed the ‘‘ still, small voice.’’ ‘It also is quite plain upon the duty of parents to children, if I can understand it,’’ she said, pointedly. ‘‘I do not complain of his harsh- ness to me,’’ she added, hastily checking herself. ‘‘Oh, no, I could endure anything, everything, if he would only be kind to my mother, my poor, patient, dying mother! You know every wrong that is done he lays at her door! Only last week, when Tom ran away, and went in to bathe below the falls, and came so near being drowned, instead of giving thanks because the calamity was averted, he scolded mother half a day: if she’d bring up her boys better—if she ’d teach them to come to him for counsel, there wouldn’t be so much trouble—as if all the care and responsibility belonged to her! Oh, dear, dear, it seems to me there’s nothing but thorns and. thistles in this world !’’ Poor, undisciplined heart! Asad conclusion for one so young to arrive at, yet how many who may see this sketch have had that period which should have been the brightest in all their lives clouded by the unhappy tempera- ment of some member of the home circle! Happy is it for such unfortunates if the bitter lessons of a divided household do not leave traces which the healing hand of time can never obliterate ! It was as Madge had said—her mother was dying, dying of a slow, lingering, but in- tensely painful disease, an internal cancer. Her life could not have been saved, but it might have been prolonged, and the fearful, passage to the grave brightened by the kind- ness and appreciation of one for whose sake she had suffered much. But she bore her ard lot in uncomplaining silence, and not until she was laid upon a bed of death did that heroic woman confess the fiery torture which had nearly burned her life strings asunder. Poor Hester, meek, faithful wife, unloved and unappreciated during your sor- rowful life, mourned with bitter remorse when Death had placed his solemn seal upon your brow, who shall say that yours was an un- timely end? Not one; it is a blessed thing for the good to die. Like many another, Mr. Davidson saw too late that he had “entertained an angel un- awares.’’ ‘‘O, my daughter, your mother was the best of wives, the tenderest among mothers! How can we live, now she has left us ?’’ he cried, yielding to an irrepressible burst of grief, and going to his almost heart- broken daughter for sympathy. She could say nothing to comfort him, do nothing but weep with him in a grief too deep for words. At times the thought of his unkindness to the lamented one would obtrude itself upon her

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44 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Mien and turn her sorrow into a fountain of bitter- ness, until her mother’s last words would pass in letters of living fire before her mental vision, when all resentful feelings would be buried beneath an overwhelming torrent of love and tenderness toward the mother who, with dying breath, had taught her that ‘‘to err is hu- man, to forgive, divine.’”? ‘‘My darling,’’ said she, gently, ‘‘I have read your heart like a written scroll. Forgive your father, as I do: he knows not what he has done.’’ That was all she had ever breathed to mortal ears in referenge to his harshness, but she had felt it as keenly as she would a murderer’s knife, and it had done its work quite as effectually. The grief of her husband at her death was sincere, and almost greater than he could bear; but after a very little time he began to find solace in the society of the new housekeeper he had deemed it necessary to employ. She was a little, artful widow, still young, and pos- sessing a certain degree of unrefined beauty, which passed as the true metal with her new admirer. She had small, bright, black eyes, cheeks in which the peony outwitted the rose ; beautiful pearl-white teeth, which had been set with great care by the dentist; while un- derneath her widow’s cap were fastened bands of silken and abundant hair which scorned to take root in the foreign soil to which they had been transplanted. **She was not driven to this place by neces- sity,’’? said Mrs. Growe, holding her scented handkerchief to her eyes, while her frame was tremulous with an agitation intended to represent grief; ‘‘but for the sake of her dear friend, the departed Mrs. Davidson, she would take charge of the house and children until a better substitute could be found.’’ Old Mrs. Davidson had long since returned to her distant home, and Madge was too young to assume the management of so large a family, so at least her father said, though the poor girl, with a dim sense of impending evil, had earnestly and repeatedly assured him she knew she could get along excellently well with old Katy’s long-tried assistance. But he insisted upon having Mrs. Growe’s su- pervision, and it was not long ere Madge had cause for a deeper sorrow than she ever before had known. Like her mother, she had learned to bear her troubles in silence. She had no power to change the course affairs were tak- ing ; she could only cherish her brothers with a deeper, kinder love. Little two years’ old Charley, his mother’s living picture, would follow her about with a wistful look in his sweet blue eyes, that went to her very heart, and, when unobserved, she would strain him frantically to her breast, and feel with a deep, shuddering horror, that she had almost rather fold the burial robes about his little, darling form than have that woman placed over him as amother. ‘At least,’’ she thought, while her tears glistened like diamonds in his curls of golden brown, ‘‘at least, I never will leave my baby, never, never. Nothing but death shall separate us, Charley, darling.’’ ‘*The funeral baked meats might hare served cold for the wedding,’’ so rapidly sped the wooing of Mr. Davidson and Mrs. Growe. The neighbors were indignant at such haste, and shook their heads sadly, in anticipation of the sorrowful future that lay before the children of their beloved friend and neighbor, the first Mrs. Davidson. Indeed, so strong was the popular feeling against this sudden match, that every door and window was closed, and even the most curious resolutely, refused to look out as Mr. Davidson, arrayed in a shining new suit, accompanied by his in- tended bride, all smiles and triumph, dashed by in a gay, red wagon, drawn by a pair of spirited horses, on their way to a neighboring minister’s. And when they came back, hus- band and wife, the doors were still closed, though it was in the balmy spring time. Madge felt the disgrace.as only a delicate, sensitive spirit can feel, while Tom, angry and eloquent, poured the measure of his wrath upon her unconscious ears, as she sat with pale cheek and dilated eye, watching the pro- gress of her father and his companion through the village. ‘*Come, Madge, pack up my clothes right off. I shall run away to-night,’’ said he, in a loud voice. The sentence was scarcely finished ere he blushed scarlet before a glance half comical, half reproving, from a pair of eyes which had the power of looking deep intu his soul. These eyes belonged to Mr. Edward St. John, a young gentleman whose good opinion Tom highly prized. He had been there several times before, seeking to purchase the pair of splendid ‘‘ black hawks’’ Mr. Davidson drove. At least this was his avowed mission, though Tom had hinted to Madge, with a roguish grin, ‘‘that he guessed it wasn’t horses he was after.’’ Madge Davidson was a simple country girl,

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THE DAVIDSONS. 45 as sweet and graceful as a lily, and she was possessed of arch, winning, graceful ways that were as natural to her as perfume to a pink. The sudden appearance of Mr. St. John at so inopportune a moment quite destroyed her usual ladylike ease. Her poor little heart was so full of shame and woe, she could searcely lift her eyes or speak a word. Tom, as usual, was very free and communicative, and, in utter disregard of Madge’s imploring glance, he bluntly informed the visiter that his father and ‘‘ Missis Growlery’’ were gone to get married. Mr. St. John, although really ignorant of the fact, received it quietly, and changed the theme with an unobtrusive tact that was inexpressibly grateful to the suffering girl. After his departure, Madge attempted to reprove Tom for his ill-timed revelations ; but the youth, nothing daunted, steadily de- clared he had done no wrong, that he always told Ned St. John his affairs, though he ad- mitted, under his breath, that he had not in- tended to apprise his tall confidant of. his travelling intentions. He went to his room and packed his slender stock of wearing apparel in an old black va- lise, then taking out a bead purse his sister had netted for him, he counted over his means. One silver dollar and three rusty pennies was all it contained. Tom sighed, and wished he had back the sums he had fooled away on skates, and sleds, and ammu- nition the preceding winter. He thought if he could sell his muskrat traps and his rifle, he might realize sufficient funds to pay his passage to the nearest sea-port, where he hoped to find a berth upon some vessel, but he had no time to look up a purchaser. ‘‘If wishes were horses, beggars might ride,’’ quoted he, putting his purse in his pocket, with a look of philosophic resignation. He was in utter ignorance of the fact that Katy’s inquisitive eyes were watching his operations from behind the half-open door. As he closed and locked the valise, her broad feet pattered down the back stairs with unusual celerity. ‘*Poor boy!’’ she muttered, ‘‘he is gaun to run away, an’ he without the manes to pay for a ride. Sure, Katy Conolly can help ’im a bit, an’ she wull.”’ There had been a sort of antagonism be- tween Tom and Katy for some time, but her generous Irish nature now forgot the grudge, and she was as eager to serve her old foe as if she had no wrongs to remember. Months VOL. Lxxui.—4 ago she had scolded the careless boy for track- ing her snow-white floor and for disarranging her tidy pantry; these things he had passed over with a few impudent, boyish tricks, such as making faces, looking cross-eyed at her, putting his thumb to his nose and twirling his four fingers in the air; but when she went so far as to complain to his father of his neg- lect in filling the wood-box and preparing the kindling-wood, his indignation took a more active form. He put a wasp’s nest in her bed; he put salt in the teapot, from which he knew she alone was to drink; he even went so far as to draw a picture of the evil one upon her chamber wall, according to his idea of the gentleman of horns and hoofs. To be sure, his effort betrayed no great artistic skill, but it frightened poor, superstitious Katy almost into convulsions. It was a head with great, staring eyes, a wide mouth filled with enormous teeth, a great shock of hair rising from the top like the scalp-lock of a warrior. From each temple rose a horn of wondrous length, while from behind the ears sprang a pair of long, lean arms, finished with terrific-lookigg claws. This wonderful struc- ture was supported by a pair of limbs of a most unnatural shape, which were furnished with great cloven hoofs. Katy went to bed suspecting no evil, but the moment her light was put out, the flaming spectre rose before her with horrid distinctness. The house was aroused by her shrieks, and Master Tom re- ceived such a castigation at the hands of his incensed father, as forever extinguished the dawning light of a genius which, if suffered to expaid, might have astonished the world by its power and originality. From that hour a hollow truce was established between these two. He dared not molest her, and she was equally afraid of him; but each hated the other with a bitter intensity. After the death of Mrs. Davidson their resentful feelings gradually softened, but they were both too proud to take the first steps toward a recon- ciliation. Katy manifested her returning good-will by leaving pieces of pie, doughnuts, cookies, and tarts, in Tom’s way, while he saved her many a weary step by covertly per- forming some little serviceable deed which country lads are called upon to do. The night after his father’s marriage, as he groped his way through the long, dark pas- sage that lay between the kitchen and outside door, he was startled by the touch of a human

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46 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. hand. Now, Tom was scarcely fifteen, and it is not strange that his young blood curdled at this unexpected rencounter, while visions of thieves, murderers, and hobgoblins passed like lightning through his brain. He hastily threw open the door, and the moon sending in her friendly light, revealed the figure of old Katy, with a shawl over her head, crouch- ing like an evil-doer behind thedoor. ‘Why, Katy, what in the world’’—began Tom, when she cut short his sentence by throwing her arms around his neck and almost smothering him in a close embrace. Tom submitted to her affectionate demonstrations with as good a grace as was possible, but he secretly gave thanks that none of the boys witnessed so ri- diculous a scene. ‘“‘I must go now, Katy, said he kindly. ‘*God bless you; forgive’’—he choked, hesi- tated, stopped. It is a hard thing to humble ourselves before another, but his better feel- ings prevailed, and he went bravely on. ‘*Forgive me, Katy, I’ve been a bad boy to you.”’ ‘*No! no! no! It’s I have been cross and wicked. I have made ye throuble wid yer father. It’s I sh’uld ask forgiveness, not you,’’ cried the noble-hearted old creature, while tears of contrition and self-accusation streamed down her wrinkled face, and she actually went down upon her knees on the broad stone step. ‘‘Poor darlint! poor, poor darlint, that I, Katy Conolly, who tended yer earliest hours, sh’uld be so wicked as to turn against ye. Ohone! I’ll niver forgive mysilf, niver.’’ Tom wept, though he furtively drew his eoat sleeve across his eyes, lest Katy should detect the unmanly weakness. At length he started hurriedly, and pointing to the faint, rosy streaks that began to rise in the east, reminded Katy that his time was limited. **Holt! holt!’’ she said, grasping his arm in eager haste; then, with a hesitating air, she said, ‘‘ Ha’ ye ever a penny ?’”’ Tom drew himself up with the importance ofa millionnaire. ‘Yes, Katy, plenty. I’ve more than a dollar.’’ She slipped a ten dollar bill into his reluc- tant hand ‘* Here, darlint, take this; ye can repay me when yer able,’’ she said. Thus quieting the whisperings of avarice, which said it would take ten long weeks to regain what she was now wasting upon a runaway boy. There had been a fierce conflict between the gene- rous and the selfish qualities of her nature, but generosity gained the victory, and the money was pressed upon her young master. Tom went away with great apparent indiffer- ence, but tears of mingled love and bitterness burst from his eyes as he stood upon a crooked, projecting root of the stump fence which in- closed the back garden, and took a last look of the dear old homestead. He could see the windows of Madge’s room, with their grape- vine lattice-work, as well as the chimneys, the roof, and the painted wooden lions that kept guard over the gables; but the plum, apple, and cherry trees which lay between in one vast field of sheeted bloom, hid all the rest from his straining vision. Then, with valise in hand, he set off for the nearest rail- way station, brushing the dewdrops from the grass with reckless, impatient feet, thinking only of the thorns in this life, for of roses, he thought, poor boy, that there could be but few.. Madge was sleeping in happy unconscious- ness of his flight from the old home-nest, for she had not given a second thought to his boldly uttered threat of running away; in- deed, it had been repeated so often, and so often broken, that it did not cause her the slightest uneasiness. She had passed through a severe ordeal upon the arrival of her father and his newly-married wife, but she had met the trial with a paiient sweetness which was fast becoming habitual to her, and which was making her character as beautiful and as lovable as her face. It was scarcely six o’clock the morning after Tom's flight, when the second breakfast bell was rung by the vigorous hand of Katy, whose little twinkling eyes were none the duller for her vigil in the back entry. She had strained and set away in the cool dairy- room the milk of ten noble cows. "The two farm laborers had already taken their break- fasts, and were hard at work in a neighboring cornfield. Madge came down earlier than was her usual custom, looking a little pale, lead- ing Charley, whose bright, rosy face tempted the busy Katy into the bestowal of half a dozen hasty kisses. Madge attended to the breakfast-room herself, anxious that the table arrangements should be scrupulously exact, for her father, notwithstanding the many roughnesses in his character, was exceedingly fastidious in such matters. Her care was

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THE DAVIDSONS, 47 quite unnecessary, for no one could exceed Katy in order and neatness; indeed, Tom de- clared she always went about the house with a broom in one hand and a dust-pan in the other, and a wing in her mouth; but she submitted to the quiet amendments of her young mistress with a patience quite com- mendable. As the bell rang, Madge flew to the poultry-yard to call Charley, lest her irri- table father should be angered by his absence upon this important occasion. She found the little fellow perched upon :a water-trough haranguing a troop of half-fledged chickens and their gray old mother. He was express- ing his disapproval of the selfish course taken by the chickens in devouring his contribu- tions of corn without waiting for their mother, whose generous self-denial in not taking a grain until their hunger was appeased, filled him with admiration, and drew from his un- tutored tongue a strain of childish eloquence. Madge listened a moment with an amused smile, then calling the young orator to her side, hastened into the house. She was a second too late; her father and his new wife had taken their seats at the table when she entered. Mrs. Davidson was dressed in the most showy manner imaginable. All the colors of the rainbow were called into requisition to make up her adornments of bows and ribbons. Her richly-embroidered collar was fastened by a large cameo brooch; cameo ear-drops dangled from her ears, and her thin, yellow fingers were loaded with rings. Sensible Madge, in her simple morning dress of black print and plain linen collar, was more inclined to weep than to laugh over the absurd ap- pearance of the woman she was henceforth to call by the sacred name of mother. Mrs. Davidson did not look up from the coffee she was pouring at the entrance of Madge, and the young girl saw by the frown that lowered dark as a thunder cloud over her father’s heavy brows, that something was amiss. She thought her tardiness had dis- pleased him, and she began a gentle apology as she placed Charley in his high chair. ‘*7 know very well the cause of your delay; it never happened before, long as I’ve been here; but it’s just what I expected, just ex- actly what I expected,’’ interrupted Mrs. Da- vidson, in an injured voice, not allowing her husband time to speak. Madge, naturally quick tempered, felt the blood rush in angry haste to the very roots of her hair at this undeserved attack, and bitter recriminating words struggled for utterance, but the lessons of her revered mother, whose place was occupied—not filled—by one so un- worthy, restrained her, and after the first quick rising of resentment was over, she found self-control an easy matter. After waiting a moment for her reply to his. wife’s attack, Mr. Davidson brought his clenched hand down upon the tabie with a violence that caused the dishes to shake as though seized by a sudden ague fit. ‘‘I see it all, too!’’ said he, prefacing his sentence with a dreadful oath. ‘I see it all, but it shall not happen again—Charley taught in the beginning to show disrespect to the wo- man who has honored us too much, and Tom run away! I’ve no doubt, girl, but what you ’re at the bottom of it, for there’s more mischief in one girl than in ten boys; and you shall repent your deed to your dying day !”’ There was something so fierce and vindic- tive in his look, that Madge almost shuddered at beholding it. The news of the flight of her inexperienced young brother out into the wide, wicked world, almost petrified her, and she sat pale and still, unable to utter a word in self-defence. At this juncture Katy, ever watchful over the welfare of her ‘‘ darlints,’’ found occasion to enter the room with a plate of steaming rolls. She hastily deposited her burden in a convenient chair, and with arms akimbo, announced herself to be the aider and abettor of Master Tom’s escape. Katy was a privileged person; no one could serve Mr. Davidson as well as she did, and her of- fence was passed over as speedily as possible. ‘‘He’ll be driven home by hunger in a few days then he ’ll get such a lesson as will last him all his life,’’ said Mr. Davidson, with a significant nod. Mrs. Davidson hoped not. She openly fe- licitated herself upon being rid of the trouble- some, self-willed boy. She thought she could manage Madge and Charley without much difficulty. She did not proceed to any open warfare against her step-daughter, for there was a dignity and refinement about the young girl which prevented any occasion for such attacks, but she secretly set about undermia- ing ‘Madge in her father’s regard. Scarcely a day passed without her endeavoring to get Madge into disgrace with her unreasonable

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48 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, parent. This was easily accomplished, for Mr. Davidson was ready as powder to explode at the slightest spark of fire. The poor girl felt that a life of the lowest drudgery would be blissful compared with that which she now endured. Still, she did not so much mind her own grievances as those of little Charley, who grew thin, pale, and spiritless under this new regime. Do what he would, he could not do right, and his anx- ious sister feared his sweet and amiable tem- per would be utterly ruined by the captious course of those in authority over him. He soon came to steal into the house with the cautious, cat-like step of a thief in the night, and was happy could he but remain undis- turbed in Katy’s hospitable domains. The way in which this unprincipled woman abused the sacred trust she had accepted is not without its parallels. Many a poor, mo- therless child is growing up with even less joy in its young life than these children knew. But, Heaven be thanked for all its mercies, there are many others blessed beyond expres- sion by the loving kindness of those noble, self-sacrificing beings who tenderly and faith- fully perform their duties toward their hus- bands’ children, too often, alas, receiving naught but ingratitude and misconstruction for their best earthly reward, yet understood at last, and repaid with a crown whose glori- ous brightness the cares, and trials, and false judgments of earth can never dim. Mr. Davidson soon found the domestic sceptre had slipped from his hand into that of his new wife. It soon came to be wielded with unmerciful severity; and he who had shown no mercy, no kindness, to the weak and submissive companion of his youth, had now no mercy shown to him. Madge noted, in silent surprise, the power this woman acquired over him. He crouched before her frown like a beaten hound, and never ven- tured to address her in other than the most obsequious and submissive tones. It was a sad, sad life for the lonely and unappreciated girl ; but for Charley she felt she would gladly exchange her cheerless future for the blessed repose of the grave. A pair of twins had been added to the family. Mrs. Davidson would not employ a nurse, she said, while Madge had so little to do; and so the noble, patient girl was held, like a galley-slave to the oar, in strict attend- ance upon the wants of two puny, fretful little ones. But she was not entirely destitute of enjoyments. She had kind friends who lent her books, and these she read and studied while the household slumbered. One day Mr. St. John called upon business. Mr. Davidson was absent, and Mrs. Davidson, with her usual independence, insisted upon having the young gentleman shown into the nursery. She was standing before the mirror, admiring a new cap she had just received, a very gay affair, with even more bows and flowers than usual. Madge sat with one of the twins in her arms, and was rocking the other in its double cradle, when Mr. St. John entered. Mrs. Davidson seated herself in her rocking-chair opposite the visitor. ‘‘ Now, Mr. St. John, I’m real glad you've called,” said she, bluntly. Mr. St. John bowed. ‘‘ Be- cause,’’ continued she, rocking quietly to and fro, ‘‘ because I’ve a question of importance to ask you.”’ Mr. St. John said he should be happy to answer her question, while Madge, with an intangible feeling of dread, looked wistfully down the line of blooming lilacs which led from the nursery door to the garden, and quietly endeavored to get little Timmy out of her arms, but the pertinacious little thing clung to her with the tenacity of a burr. ‘*T wish to know whether you ever thought of marrying our Madge ?’’ ‘*Mother!’’ exclaimed the astounded and mortified girl, almost sinking with shame. Edward St. John was so surprised by this point-blank question that he actually blushed as deeply as poor Madge herself, and, what- ever might have been his sentiments, he could find no words to express them. **T see,’’ resumed Mrs. Davidson, with the most provoking unconcern, ‘‘I see you do not care for her, and I’m sorry, for I believe she loves you, and—’’ With a cry of agony the tortured Madge dropped little Timmy shrieking upon the floor, rushed cut the open door, and down the line of lilacs, like a hunted deer. She darted on and on, nor paused to rest until she came to a little rustic arbor, built by Tom’s ingenious hands of pieces of hemlock bark, and overrun with a flourishing bittersweet vine. She threw herself upon a green, mossy cushion, and buried her face in her hands, while tears of keenest humiliation flowed beneath the small and tapering fingers that covered her cheeks. ‘'O my mother, my sainted mother,

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THE DAVIDSONS. 49 you never could have foreseen all your child has to suffer!’’ she murmured, while her deli- cate frame was convulsed with sobs: ‘‘Madge, my dearest one!” was uttered, in a low, tender voice, while a manly arm en- circled her waist, and her throbbing head was laid against the breast of St. John, who had followed her. She withdrew herself from his clasp, and, with head erect and flashing eye, proudly confronted him. ‘‘It is neither kind nor manly in you, sir, to take advantage of my mother’s unpardonable folly! I wish you to understand Madge Davidson is no weak and love-sick girl pining for your regard! Leave me, sir! Your presence is an insult !’’ St. John arose to his feet, and looked down into those blazing eyes. His own were full of tears, and his manner was inexpressibly ten- der. ‘My poor Madge! will you not trust me?’’ he said, in a voice as soothing as a mother wouid use toan excited child. ‘‘Blush not for what has passed. I only awaited an opportunity to tell you how dear you were to me.’’ He said this, and much more which it is not necessary to repeat. It was very grati- fying for the motherless girl to be assured that one of St. John’s exalted character cher- ished sentiments of a tender nature toward her. For a moment she yielded to the tide of blissful joy that swept over her soul, then came a sudden reaction, leaving her as deso- late as before. She thought of poor little Charley. He would be ruined if she forsook him; for even now, at his tender age, he was accused of profanity, of uttering untruths, and of many other sins, which grieved her to the heart. Not that she believed them; no, but her father did, and she felt that, if deprived of her sustaining hand, her gisterly encourage- ments, the child might be driven into com- mitting the very evils of which he was as yet innocent. After thinking over the subject for a little time, she gave her suitor a gentle though firm refusal, adding the reasons, when she saw the grieved and disappointed look that passed over his face. **Is that all?’ he asked, his eyes bright- ening with a new hope. ‘We will see if this obstacle is insurmountable,’’ added he, drawing her hand through his arm with one hand, and lifting, with the other, a long, thick-leaved chain of the bitter-sweet vine which had fallen before the entrance. As they left the arbor, St. John discovered Mrs. Davidson snugly coiled up under a cranberry bush at the corner, and listening intently. She had not even the grace to blush at this exposure of her eavesdropping propensity. **St. John, you’ve been a puppet in my hands,’’ said she, with a low, jeering, dis- agreeable laugh. ‘‘I resolved two years ago that you should marry Madge.”’ ‘*So did I,’’ replied St. John, quietly, though Madge shrank from her remarks as she would from fire. **So you can’t marry your true love because you daren’t leave Charley to my tender mer- cies,’’ she said, mockingly, to Madge. The young girl was silent. ‘‘ Well, I’m sure you’re welcome to him—a thousand times welcome, and I’ll see that your father does not oppose the arrangement.”’ And thus the matter was settled. Mr. Da- vidson acquiesced with a good grace. Madge was transplanted to a more genial home, where all was pleasantness and peace; where the birds sang sweetest all day long; where sweet- scented flowers bloomed from the earliest spring till the frosts of autumn came. St. John called Charley one of~the best of boys, and the happy little fellow was a blessing to his faithful sister. Soon after Madge was married, the cunning Katy involved herself in a desperate quarrel with Mrs. Davidson, and was unceremoniously discharged. Mr. Davidson interfered and en- deavored to make peace, but he was merely a cipher in the establishment; so Katy, élate and triumphant, became a fixture in the house of her beloved young mistress. Madge felt that but for the uncertainty re- specting Tom’s fate, she might be as happy as the birds which sang about her dwelling. In another year, however, he came back, broken in health, depressed in spirits, and utterly penniless. His glowing visions of wealth and station had not been realized, and he came to his sister’s door with the humility of the prodigal son. He was welcomed by his fine, large-hearted brother-in-law with a cordiality which laid forever at rest his jealous fears lest his sister had contracted a hand and not a heart mar- riage, and after the first greetings were over, he said, with his old, roguish squint, ‘I told you, Madge, that it wasn’t horses Ned St. John was after.”

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BY 8. I nap been Mrs. Daffodil’s guest about a week, receiving from the dear old lady the kindest treatment her lavish hospitality could suggest, when one morning, having a letter to write, I left the family in the sitting-room, and went to my own apartment. ‘‘When you’ve finished your ritin’ come into my room,”’ said the old lady, *‘ and we ’ll have a little conversion before luncheon.”’ Accordingly, as soon as my letter was sealed and directed, I presented myself at the door of the quaint apartment. No Mrs. Daf- fodil was there, so, taking up a magazine that was lying on the table, I sat down to await her coming. Very soon hurried footsteps came up the stairs, and the old lady rushed in, breathless with excitement. ‘* Here’s another !’’ she cried, sinking into a chair. ** Another what ?’’ I inquired. “They ll run me right off my feet,’’ she continued, ‘‘for we're on the go now from mornin’ till night. What with exipitchins, and galaxies of picters, an’ parties, an’ lovers, an’ criketizing this, an’ examplin’ that, an’ dressin’, an’ goin’ here an’ there, an’ seein’ this thing an’ that thing, an’ jog-trottin’ ever- lastin’ly, I thought our hands was about full, but, bless my heart, here’s another !”’ ‘** Another what ?’’ I again inquired. ‘*Fuss, rumpus, gallivantin, what ye call ’em. I declare to goodness I was e’en a most daft afore, and now I’ll be an incendiary afore long, if they keep on!’’ ‘*But what is it?’ Very slowly, with each syllable emphasized to give it its full effect, the old lady an- swered :— ‘* A great fancy fair, for the indignant wid- ders and orphunts of deseased soldiers and sailors, and our Ninny ’s engaged to take a table.’’ ‘* When does it open ?’’ ‘*Lor me, I don’t know. It begins next week. You see there’s been a commital of ten ladies here this mornin’, all a-talkin’ at once like hens in a barn yard, and one of the ladies that was to have took a table’s got to go away, and they came to dissuade Ninny to be a destitute in her place. They sed they 50 THE DAFFODILS PREPARE FOR A FANCY FAIR. ANNIE FROST. repealed to her malevolence, and symphonies, and a lot more coaxin’; and, for my part, I thought they was a-wastin’ breath, for Ninny was a-dyin’ to except, only she talks so high- falutin’, that they couldn’t for the life of them tell whether she was sayin’ yes or no till Pete turned it into English for ’em, and then they pretty nigh eat her up they was so pleased. You see they calkelated Ninny ’d spread her- self, and attribute hA4ndsome, and so she will, or I miss my guess. Soshe’s took a table, and there’s to be ten young lady persistents, and I’m to be along to patronize "em; and Pete, he’s to be generally useful, like the one gal in a small family; and you—”’ **Ti”? I cried, aghast. ‘* Yes, you are to be smashier.”’ **To be what ?”’ **Take care of the money,.”’ **Oh, cashier.”’ ‘*Yes. All them gals that’s so fond of me is to be pervited to help. Nin’s writin’ notes now for ’em to come to tea to-night, an’ she’s ordered an early dinner, and we’re to go out this mornin’, and buy stuff for "em to sew up inter fallals this afternoon and evenin’; and it’s a mercy there’s something specific for them gals to do to preoccupy themselves, for they ’re to come every evenin’ this week, and prehaps Pete ’ll get some let up, if they ’ré got to sew, though dear knows if a gal’s bent on makin’ a man contentive to her, she ’ll do it somehow, sew or no sew. They’ll be gogglin’ their eyes at him, or deluderin’ him with their waterfalls and rat-catchers, if their fingers is busy. Ninny’s about half fermented, though she’s that anyhow ; but the way she ’ll trig off that table with dedications and trimmins ’ll be a caution to fancy fairs or any other con- stitute. The whole kit of the managers— though, for the matter of that, they ’re all- women—is to come this afternoon, an’ the house ’ll be as full as an egg! Laws a me, ain’t it fun ?’’ At this moment Evangeline came in. ‘*Mamma says she’s ordered the carriage, and you 'd better get ready.”’ a ** You ’ll go, Miss Annie ?”’ said the old lady. ‘*Of course I will, but I can dress in five minutes.”’

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Sc 7 oe OD OO eee eee ee —— eee OS ee. THE DAFFODILS PREPARE FOR A FANOY FAIR. 51 nti ** Well, the dear knows it’s more’n I can. It took me longer ’n that when Elise was here, and I’ve stuck out so far that I won’t have Ninny’s new maid, an’ between you’n I’n the gate post, I don’t know how to put on half my things. It’s a mercy I ain’t got to foot it in these new gaiters,’’ she continued, tugging at the boot till she was crimson, ‘‘for they scrouge my feet till millennium ain’t nothin’ to it! There, I’ve got ’em on at last! Now for the corsits, and if the strings wasn’t as strong as Hercu what ye call’em, they ’d bust every time I took a breath, and as for one long per- spiration, I couldn’t git it no more ’n I could fly from here to Cantharides! Ain’t this Bal- doral a beauty? Ido like the conflagration of colors in it so much; and as for its bein’ short, why, if my feet’s big im them gaiters, why it’s makin’ a martin of yourself for nothin! Now shall I wear my green silk or the imperious purple ?”’ ‘‘ Which is most comfortable ?”’ **Well, it’s hard to deride atween ’em. I think the purple’s a wee mite the tightest.’’ ‘*Then I would wear the other.’’ **So Iwill. It’s rale nice to have some- body to devise you what to wear! Now for my cloak. Deary me, Miss Annie, that cloak cost five hundred dollars. It’s rale tiger velvet.’’ “Tiger? Oh, Lyons velvet!’’ **Lions, so it is. I knowed it was some kind of roarin’ critter, and that’s real Valerian lace all over it, to say nothin’ of bugles, an’ gimp, and trimmin’s. Now which furs ’]] look best—my Rushing sables, or the Siberior vermin ?”’ **The sable, by all means.’’ **Though how they makes muffs and tip- pets out of vermin is a histery to me, unless it’s white mice, an’ I never saw none of them with black an’ yaller dabs on’em. Now, Miss Annie, do put on my bonnet for me, there ’s a dear, an’ then I’ll be sure ’taint hind side front; an’ here’s the cap to go under it, trimmed up to fill the waterfall place. There, now, run off and put on your own fixin’s, for I’m all ready, ’lowin I ean git on them kid gloves without splittin’ out all the fingers, an’ as for hookin’ ’em at the wrist, I give that up long ago. *Twon’t show in my muff.” When I joined the old lady again I found Euphrosyne and the Captain were to finish our party. I iooked at Ninny in silent horror, A few days previous, in a discussion on dress, I had ventured to suggest that one bright color with black, white, or neutral tints was pre- ferable to the variegated style. This was what I drew upon my devoted head :— ‘*Miss Annie, in pursuance of your sugges- tion, I procured this attire of uniform tint.’’ Her gaiter boots were of dark blue cloth; above them was visible a Balmoral skirt of black, with broad bars of a lighter shade of blue. Her dress was a Marie Louise blue silk profusely trimmed with white; a mazarine blue velvet cloak, with black lace falling from the shoulders, came next; then a sky- blue bonnet, with flowers of still another shade; all being finished by dead China blue gloves. Something in my face caused the old lady to cry :— ‘“*Why, I’m sure it’s all blue!”’ **Yes,’’ I said, faintly. ‘** Deeply, darkly, beautifully blue!’”’ quoted the Captain. ‘‘Come, ladies, are we ready? Mother, will you take my arm?’ And we proceeded to the carriage. ‘* As your nativity in this metropolis confers upon you a superior knowledge of its empo- riums, will you kindly dictate our migra- tions ?’’ said Ninny tome. ‘¢ What do you wish to purchase first—ma- terials for fancy articles f’’ I inquired. ‘You interpret correctly my intentions.’ I thought a moment, then gave the order for M ’s, and we drove off. “I’m a goin’ to buy things too,”’ said Mrs. Daffodil to me, ‘‘for I don’t want ter look mean, seein’s Pete’s a soldier, though he ain’t got no desease ’ceptin’ a trifle ball in his arm, an’ don’t own no widders nor or- phunts, though there’s no sayin’ what he may come to, an’ I ain’t right clear in my own mind if a nofficer’s a soldier anyhow, but I’m a-goin’ to attribute something, an’ you ’Il help me make it up, won’t you ?”” I readily promised. ‘* Pete ’s like me,’’ she continued; ‘‘don’t care ’bout bein’ responsive for too much, but willin’ to persist all he can, ain’t you, Pete ?’’ ‘*1’ll do my share,”’ said the Captain. “‘T knowed you would; an’ your fust rate at dissecting colors, an’ you can help us to- day, tellin’ us’’— ‘¢ How many yards of silk it takes to make a pocket pincushion,”’ said the Captain, laugh- ing. ‘It was an unfortunate admission [ made this morning, Miss Annie.’’ ‘* What was that ?’’

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52 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ‘* That I once officiated as doorkeeper for a church fair,’’ ‘* And he’s goin’ to fish in all sorts of pro- visions for us,’’ said his mother. ‘*The ladies discovered instantly that I was the very man they wanted,’’ he continued. ‘*Some of ’em found that out long ago,’’ muttered his mother, upsetting my gravity entirely, and causing the Captain to see something very interesting from his window, until the carriage stopped. I followed the blue attire and ‘‘ Rushing”’ sables into the store. A young lady stepped forward to wait upon us. ‘* Now, Miss Annie, what goes off quickest ?’’ said the old lady. ‘*Hair-trigger pistols,’’ muttered the Cap- tain. **You quit pokin’ fun,’’ said his mother. ‘* What sells fastest, Miss Annie ?’’ But Euphrosyne was already giving the order. ‘‘We premeditate scrutinizing the para- phernalia suitable for the fabrication of com- modities vendible at an emporium for benevo- lent purposes.’’ The young saleswoman fairly gasped. ** Will you please look round, ma’am, and see if you see it here,’’ she said. Ninny drew herself up, And replied, grandly : ‘*7t! My prospective volition is not circum- scribed to the expenditure for the acquisition of an insulated substance. Plurality of pur- chase is my eontemplation.”’ **Dear me, Ninny,’’ said her mother, **you’re enough to bejuggle the wits of a philosopede, let alone a pretty gal. My dear,’’ she added, to the saleswoman, ‘‘we want things to make up for a fancy fair.’’ A beaming smile rewarded her. ‘Oh yes, ma'am, we have everything, zephyrs, patterns, canvas work, trimmings, needles, everything. Will you look round and make your own selections ?’’ ‘*There, Ninny, we’re to look round and make our own erections. Now, Miss, you ’re sellin’ these things all the time, what’s the best thing for us to buy ?’’ ‘* Well, worsted work is very salable at a fair.’’ ‘That ’s?’— ‘* Mats, and hoods, and zephyr articles.’’ ‘Oh yes! Miss Annie, wouldn’t some of them anti-moccasins sell ?’’ ‘* Anti-moccasins ?’’ said the young lady. ‘* White cotton derangements for the backs of cheers, to keep the sarcophagus that’s on your hair off the velvet.’’ ‘Oh, anti-maccassars, They are always salable. You want crochet cotton and nee- dles for that.’’ “Do we, my dear? Well, you git ’em for us, will you ?’’ That selection made, Ninny said to me :— ‘¢ Are not the various nocturnal caparisons for the cranium disposable ?’’ It was my turn to be puzzled now. **Do you mean nightcaps?’’ I inquired. ** You misapprehend me, Promenading in- vestments for twilight.’’ What was she trying to say? ‘*l refer to the coiffure envelopes for eve- ning wear!’’ Here the Captain had a gleam of light. ‘*You mean those worsted arrangements for the head that make a pretty girl so bewitch- ing.’’ ‘Oh, Nubias and rigolettes. We want zephyrs for those. What colors, Mrs. Squ- rus ?’’ ‘The roseate hue, cerulean tint, emerald dye, pearly mistiness, ebon tinge, snowy translucency, erubescent, aureate, verdant, in brief, polychromatic.’’ So with ‘‘ carte-blanche,’’ the Captain and I went to work, and a brilliant pile we made with our selections; needles of various sizes being added, we were ready for the next sug- gestions. ‘The time for sewing and knitting,’’ I said, ‘*is so short, that it is useless to think of large pieces of work, shawls, sofr, cushions, or anything that will take much time.’’ ‘*How about dolls?’’ inquired the Captain. ‘*They are easily undertaken. We must go to a toy shop.’’ So our gocds being paid for and strict orders left for punctual delivery, we drove to D.’s to buy dolls. ‘*T like a toy shop ever so much,’ said Mrs. Daffodil. ‘‘I never go into one without wish- in’ it was Christmas once a week, and I had forty-eleven children to buy toys for.’’ And truly no child ever peered about or enjoyed the sight of the pretty display more than the old lady did that morning. ‘* When I was a gal,’’ she said, ‘‘if we had a rag baby and some broken Chiney for a tea set, we was sot up, but now-a-days there’s as much to diffuse children as grown folks.

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THE DAFFODILS PREPARE FOR A FANCY FAIR. 53 Jest look at that baby-house. All the fur- bishing complete, chanticleers in the parlor, an’ all the bed-room fixin’s an’ the kitchen utendrils from the coal skuttle up, as they say in the ’tisements, for here ’s all the model imprudeuts, concluding a fryin’-pan; an’ just look at them Chinese dinner-sets and tea-sets— there ’s everything ever was seen from a soup marine to a preserved dish, spoons and all. And oh, do look at the soldier things for boys. I know ’em all, don’t I, Pete!’ ‘You certainly wanted an explanation of all my accoutrements,’’ said the Captain. ** And they ’re all here,’’ said the old lady, eager to show her acquirements, ‘‘ain’t they, Pete ?”’ ** There is certainly a wonderful assortment in miniature,’’ he replied. ‘See, Miss Annie, I know ’em. This is the musketry, crammer and all, and the part- ridge box, and here’s the bayonet scaffold, and belt and letters for the cap; ain’t they eute? Dear me, Pete, when you was a boy you ’d a-gone crazy over ’em.’’ ‘“*T come very near that now, sometimes,’’ was the reply. But Mrs. Daffodil was off looking at other treasures. ‘Do look at the dogs, and horses, and crit- ters, as national as life, and here’s a monkey don’t want nothin’ but an organ to make him complete. Oh, my senses, ’Vangeline’s got everything on the ’varsal airth, or I’°d ruin inyself in a toy shop. Her pa buys her all the new conventions in toys from screwed-up mice, to cryin’ babies, though, dear knows, quiet ones was good enough for her ma when she was a toddler.’’ ‘*Have you selected your dolls, Euphro- syne ?’’ inquired her brother. ‘“‘Oh!’’ said the young lady who was wait- ing upon Ninny, ‘‘is it dolls the lady wants ?’’ ‘* Yes, you have them ?”’ said I, seeing that Ninny had been indulging in her usual ob- securities of language to the saleswoman’s complete bewilderment. ‘Oh, yes, Miss, all sorts of dolls. kind shall I show you ?”’ We explained their destination, and dolls of all sizes and sorts were spread before us. ‘Now,’’ said Mrs. Daffodil, ‘‘why wouldn’t it be nice to dress ’em up in natural charac- ters!’ ‘* Why, how else would you dress them ?’’ asked the Captain. What ‘*But I mean like different country folks, kinder theatre like, pheasant girls an’ Chinese Mandolins, an’ /talics, an’ Rushers, an’ Span iels, an’ Polishers, an’ all the rest. “I forgit the places; it’s a good piece back since I larned joggerphy, but you know what I mean. Now, here’s sich a pretty one with a wreath of roses in her hair, and we might rig her out for a flower gal, with a basket of garden truck on her arm, an’ a bucket of flowers in the other hand, and a white gown, with a hat.” ‘* Capital !’’ said Pete. ‘*A first-rate suggestion,’’ I said heartily, ani we began to select with an eye to costum- ing, until our pile of dolls was rather alarm- ing. Mrs. Daffodil said :— ‘*T do hanker orful arter them toys.’’ ‘*Why not buy some, then,’’ I said, ‘‘to sell again? They are always sure to sell.’’ ‘*Are they? Well, so let’s,’’ and she made & generous selection. Our next visit was to a dry-goods store to purchase materials for dressing our dolls. Ninny’s order to the saleswoman was :— ‘*Draperies for national costuming various specimens of miniature humanity.”’ Pete becoming convulsed and useless, Ninny became dignified and more incomprehensible. ‘*T desire,’’ she said, with stately emphasis, ‘*contexture for fabricating habiliments to drape the configuration of a multiplicity of mannikins,’’ ‘*Materials to dress dolls for a fair,’’ I said. ‘Oh, yes, ma’am! Silk, merinos, chintzes, white goods? we have every variety,’’ and roll after roll of pretty fabrics were rapidly opened for our inspection. ‘*Now,’’ said Pete, touching séme blue silk, ‘*there’s the Goddess of Liberty.’’ ‘Where ?’’ inquired his mother. “In our pile of dolls. Why won’t she carry out mother’s idea ?”’ ‘*Dear me, Pete, my ideas ain’t so plenty they need to be carried off,’’ said his mother. Pete laughed, but continued: ‘‘I am sure you could dress one of those dolls as a God- dess of Liberty.’’ ‘* National colors, sir?’’ inquired the sales- man. ‘*Lor, yes,’’ said the old lady; ‘‘ dress her all up in the natural colors, with a liberal cap on her head, and a flag-staff in one hand, and some other patriotism in the other, and all rigged out in red, white, and blue stars and stripes, and we’ll dissect a doll with blue

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54 GODEY’S LADY’S BUOK AND MAGAZINE. eyes and red cheeks, so as to have it all uni- corn.”’ ‘*While you are buying national colors,’’ said the Captain, ‘‘ get enough for some Zou- aves and Vivandieres.’’ “Dear knows, there’ll be airs enough among them gals without puttin’ any on the dolls,’’ said his mother. ‘* Now, what next?’’ It took a long time to answer this question, and we drove from store to store, making a long, rather wearisome shopping, arriving home just in time for Ninny’s early dinner. I was lying down, when the buzz of young, fresh voices in the spare room next mine warned me that the expected guests were gathering, and making a hurried toilet. I went to the sitting-room. Here I found Mrs. Daffodil clearing the table, and the Captain busy piling upon it our morning’s purchases. ‘*Don’t it look shoppy, Miss Annie ?’’ said the old lady. ‘*That big basket ’s got all the sewin’ things, thimbles, scissors, and sich. I got a whole lot, for I never went to a sewin’ circle in my life but there was one woman for- got her thimble, and another disremembered her needle-book; and another wanted to bor- row scissors, so there’s a lot for all short memberies. Just hear them gals chatter. Oh, Pete, I wouldn’t be the only feller for a heap! Here they come!”’ Ninny sailed in at the head of a troop of ladies, the majority of them young and dressed ‘‘to kill,’’ as the old lady muttered. With much laughing, chattering, rustle of silk flounces, settling of Grecian curls and waterfalls, they found seats, the Captain mak- ing his one arm do the duty of a dozen in passing chairs; the pile of materials was pronounced wonderful, faultless, just the thing, in every tone of delighted admiration. Needles, woal, silk, were selected, dolls por- tioned out, and in about half an hour each one had some material in her hands, which was destined to transformation into something unsurpassed in beauty. Mrs. Daffodil volun- teered to do plain sewing for an army of dolls, I assisting her, while a corps of young ladies took the ornamental parts of the same. As the flutter and fuss subsided, Ninny sud- denly amazed us all by standing erect, and calling out in a loud voice: ‘Silence !’’ It was evident to all that she intended to make a speech, and a hush of curiosity fell over the room, Clearing her voice, Ninny thus commenced : ‘*Beloved maidens: We have congregated within the circumvallation of this pavilion this afternoon, to exert our endowments for a glorious undertaking, to alleviate the men- dicancy of the relict and infantile tenderness ; to realize the circulating medium, to mitigate the deprivations of humanity suffering by the dissolution of their preordained protectors. I therefore enjoin upon you a punctilious in- defatigability, to acquire a stupendons aggre- gate for this magnanimous destination.”’ How much more she might have said, I cannot imagine; but here the old lady ‘‘ took the floor.’’ ‘*What’s the use of confiscating folks fac- tories in that way, Ninny? Gals, there ’s the staff! Go to work, knit, an’ crochet, and make pin-cushings, and sofy-cushings, and baby raga, an’ anything you ’ve a minter.”’ ‘*That’s the idea!’’ said the Captain. There was a moment of silence, then the Babel of tongues commenced again. Every moment I heard some sweet voice. ‘*Captain, won’t you hold this zephyr for me?"’ ‘*Captain, which is the prettiest for a cosey, pink or blue ?”’ ‘*Captain, would you put roses or lilies in this pincushion ?”’ ‘*Captain, you will be sure to buy my pulse- warmers, won’t you?” And in the midst of it the old lady whis- pered in my ear :— ‘*Miss Annie, he’s jest the very man they all want.’’ ‘“‘If I knit a smoking cap, Captain, you must buy it!’’ said one damsel. Which last reached Mrs. Daffodil. ‘*Laws, sakes!’ said she, ‘‘ how do you make it smoke ?’’ ‘* For the Captain to smoke in,’’ said she. **He don’t smoke.”’ And then a torrent of commendation from all the rosy lips. ‘*We’ve got quite a number of pretty things now for our table,’’ said one lady. **T have two boxes of assorted scents.’’ ‘* Dear me,’’ said Mrs. Daffodil, ‘‘ are they any different from other cents. Perhaps they ’re coppers; these new kind is what ye call ’em—knuckles ?’’ **I- mean perfamery—Jockey Club, and Magnolia, Jonquil, Kiss me Quick, True Love, and all the rest of them. I like Jonquil as well as any, don’t you, Mrs. Daffodil ?’’

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' Ss » = THE DAFFODILS PREPARE FOR A FANCY FAIR—POETRY. 55 ** Never met him,’’ was the reply. ‘* What are you making, my dear?’’ toa pretty blonde seated at her feet. ** A sea foam !’’ lisped the fair one. “Eh?” ** To wearon the head, you know; sea-foam, out of split zephyr.’’ **T shouldn't think anything split was good; can’t you find any whole ones? It would give me snuffles for a month to put sea foam on my head.’’ The young lady simpered, and was silent. ‘* And you, my dear, what are you doing ?”’ said the dear old lady, turning to another one, whose principal employment, as far as I could judge, was making Pete wait upon her. ‘*I1’m crocheting a Hug-me-tight!’’ was the reply. ‘*Well, if ever! What’s that!” “Don’t you know? A worsted jacket to wear underacloak. I’ll make you one if you will wear it.’’ ** Well, I don’t know,’’ said Mrs. Daffodil, dryly, ‘‘as I can afford it,’’ with a glance at Pete, that sent him to the other end of the room to examine a lamp mat in process of manufacture. It was a lively scene, and before the tea- bell rang raw material was assuming shape and form in a manner very encouraging to Ninny. The escorts of the ladies dropping in after tea, sewing and knitting flagged some- what; but still much was accomplished, and it was late when, with an arrangement to meet every evening, the party separated. I was bidding Mrs. Daffodil a sleepy good- night at her own door, when she d: ew me in. “See here, Miss Annie,’’ she said, ‘I was thinkin’ this evenin’ that what I can do in the flammery line ain’t of much ’count; and as for most of them fancy fixin’s, I can no more make ’em than a pig can knit stock- in’s; but there’s Elise, she’s main handy at that sort of work, and they ain’t fair started, you know, and I reckon Frenchy ’s a ne'er do well, any how ; sposin’ I give her some of this work and pay her well, ain’t that doin’ good two ways !’’ ‘Indeed it is!’? I said, warmly. ‘‘If ali who work for fairs did it in your spirit’’— ¥Tut! tut! Miss Annie, don’t you flatter me. I git enough of that from folks that say it for talk. Will you go with me to-morrow to see Elise ?’’ I assented, and left her. It would be too tedious to dwell upon each phase of our preparations. Suffice it that we all worked to such good purpose that, on the appointed day, we were all ready for the Great Fancy Fair. SPIRIT-LOVE. BY JULIA A. BARBER. Sprine has faded into summer, Years have down life’s vista rolled, Since they passed the shadowy arches Of death's river, still and cold; Since we saw that silent boatman Entering our open door, Saw him clasp our dearest treasures, And return with them no more. There they vanished in the twilight, While we listened long in vain, Till the grieving wind went moaning *Mid the pauses of the rain; And the moon had veiled her forehead Weeping many tears of woe, There we listened for the voices That were silent long ago. And our hearts grow weary, waiting, Standing on the barren shore, Listening vainly in the darkness For the boatman's mufiled oar ; Seeking still their starry pathway, Hidden by our blinding tears, Welcome as some desert fountain Sought for many weary years. Oft we know that the departed, Weary of our long delay, Call us, with their well-known voices, From the realms of earth away ; Often when, with high endeavor, Nearer we approach to Him, Then the shrouding mist is lifted From death’s river, broad and dim. And we see their crowns of glory, Who will dwell on earth no more, They who o'er the troubled waters Safely reached the farther shore ; And with outstretched hands they beckon O’er the river they have pass'd, While we wait the tardy boatman Who will bear us home at last. Mary persons fancy themselves friendly when they are only gfficious. They counsel not so much that you should become wise, as that they should be recognized as teachers of wisdom, —Trvtna is coy and retiring; and to be fairly won must be ardently wooed; but, though shrinking from the gaze of the world, she rarely flies from her sincere and devoted worshippers.

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56 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. DOMESTIC EDUCATION. BY MRS. FRANCIS, Tue education of children cannot be begun too soon: even the very infant is susceptible of some sort of training and restraint. As in the plant bad shoots may be rubbed off by the application of a finger-point, and which, if left to grow, require a very serious application of saw and knife, leaving an ugly and ungainly sapling or tree behind, so it is with the training of children. If you do not rub out the bad buds early enough, one of two things happens: either you have to eradicate actual vices at a later day by a very serious opera- tion, productive of vast trouble and pain—for the buds are but the germs of vices—or, what is far more likely, the weakness which could not make up its mind to check the airs and tantrums of Master or Miss Baby, ‘‘ because it is such a poor little innocent love, you know, and mustn’t be worried or crossed,’’ looks on with fear and trembling, as the sprouts which indicate self-will, idleness, pas- sion, obstinacy, untruthfulness, greediness, and all the young vices, strengthen and grow up with a vigor which svon puts them beyond the slightest control of the parent. Then en- sues bad conduct, quarrels, recrimination, misery, and hatred, instead of reverence, mutual confidence, and love. The sooner the work of cultivation, no matter in what direc- tion, or to what end—is commenced, the easier it becomes. Oh, what a weary fight it is! with the dreadful stamp of nurses which pervade the country nowadays; and how constantly one hears, ‘‘ Now, nurse, why do you let that chiid kick, and roar, and scream like that?’’ ‘Poor little dear, mum, that’s only his fan.’”’ Perhaps the child is scream- ing for some toy, or to have its own way in some matter, and instead of being mildly checked or restrained, and thus taught, that screaming and passion will not produce the object sought for, the whole house is dis- turbed to procure the gratification for the child; whatever it may be, and it is thus taught to scream and roar, and pinch and scratch, and to obtain its desires by flying in a passion. Then, if it be fretful, nurse (if no worse thing be applied, such as Daffy, God- frey, or what not) gives it a lump of sugar, or some filthy production in the toffey depart- ment, just to keep it quiet. The fact being, probably, that the fretfulness is produced by the child’s stomach being already out of order, and the remedy given merely perpetuates the evil and aggravates it. But it is quite useless to point all this out to nurses—they will have their own way, and all that. you can hope to do is to take Master Albert or Miss Alexandra in hand at a somewhat later period, and to apply the pruning-knife pretty vigorously, and this you never do, or do not half do, and so families make their own miseries. Thus much for the morai point of view, but the domestic and the moral are very closely connected, as, if children are usefully engaged, a sense of reliance or responsibility is instilled into them, a strong safeguard against the germs of many vices and bad habits is set up. Now the child cannot too soon be taught that this world is not all toffey and self-gratifica- tion, and that it has some definite part and duties to fulfil in it. Almost as soon as the little giri can talk and toddle, it likes to make itself of some account, and to give itself little airs of importance. Needles and pins, and scissors and thread become its natural play- things, and, instead of being checked and so taught to obtain its desires surreptitiously, when the coveted objects are sure to be mis- chievously employed, for children are like monkeys in their imitative faculties, it should be taught how to turn them to some useful end. It likes to watch mamma or nurse sew- ‘ing, and to imitate its elders, and what can be more natural? and instead of, ‘‘O, Miss Jane, give me that needle, or them scissors ; you will cut or prick your fingers,’’ and the coveted implement being snatched away, it should be taught how to use them properly, and what the aim and object of their use is. Suppose the child does chance to prick its fin- gers, it is neither burglary, nor felony, nor wilful misdemeanor; it has gained a lesson from experience in the use of the needle, ete., which it will not immediately forget, and with a little encouragement and teaching, and a little praise (and what a valuable agent praise is with children, how far more potent than blame, few parents or nurses have any conception), it soon becomes ready in the handling of the tool which it is expected to employ for so large a portion of its subsequent existence. If a child was never to be put down to walk for fear it should tumble down, would not that be considered an absurdity ? But walking is a necessity, and so the lessons are early taught, at no matter what cost of

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DOMESTIC EDUCATION. 57 tumbles and bumps, and are persevered in. But to a girl so is sewing, though mothers think much less of it nowadays than they did formerly. A child had better be em- ployed usefully in learning something, than mischievously ; and, if it be not employed in the first, it certainly will in the last. The sense of being useful having once been in- stilled, there are many ways of encouraging and enlarging upon its experience. The next point, as the little girl grows a little older, perhaps, may be to allow it to see puddings and pies made, and to encourage it to actually try its own dumpy fingers at original cookery. The usual plan is to forbid all such attempts, and to punish the child for smearing its hands with paste. Children have almost as natural a taste for cookery as they have for preferring good, well-cooked dishes to bad ones, and it is the height of folly to check it if the child is ever to know anything about it at all. As it grows older, and its experience and knowledge increase, it takes more and more interest in what can- not but be considered a very delightful and womanly occupation, and many a child of ten or eleven could and can make very good pies and cakes, and other such simple matters, if taught and permitted, as I know from experi- ence. Cook, of course, does not like little girls in the kitchen ; to this I have only to say that my cooks are obliged, if not to like it, yet to submit to it, and the result is, that I have little hands that can make such things, and can make them well. The next point in the housekeeping department is to let the little one be sole mistress and keeper of a key of some cupboard or other, and this is always a wonderful step. The importance it confers, and the grand air of missus-ship the little girl assumes when her key is required, and something is needed out of her cupboard, are worth something to see, and the strictness with which she keeps account of its contents is quite wonderful. As time goes on, other keys are added, and the young person is mis- tress over the closets, and even the cellar, perhaps, to the great advantage of everybody concerned. The next great step is in allowing little miss to make the tea, which is a very great promotion indeed, and ere many years go by she presides at the tea and breakfast table with a perfect sense of what is required of her; and to the great relief of mamma, who knows that if she goes out to tea she leaves some one behind who is quite capable of con- ducting things satisfactorily in her absence. The first handkerchief hemmed for papa, or the first shirt made are always matters of serious festival and solemn reward and con- gratulation. Now, having got thus far in my own experience, I can speak with certainty that the plans I have sketched out answer well. The cookery knowledge will, perhaps, be difficult to pursue into the higher ground ; but, as I determine to so pursue it, I shall fit up some small corner, in the most convenient place I can find, with a little hot plate and gas stove, by which a great deal of ‘cookery can de learned and done without much intru- sion on the kitchen. When these things are tolerably perfected, and some notion of how to market be added, and a capability of mak- ing her own necessaries and those of others is fully developed, I shall consider that, let what will come, the young woman will be fairly fit to have and to manage a house of her own. Now all this domestic education need not interfere one whit with the acquirement of general knowledge and accomplishments— that I know full well from experience also. For I may say that I know a little girl of twelve who can make tea well, likewise pies and cakes excellently, also shirts, and so forth —who does keep keys, etc., who knows her Geography, who can write and almost talk French, who can play the piano very fairly indeed for her age, and who would not find herself at all out of her element in any com- pany, and yet who has never been to school at all, and whose education so far has not cost above half of that which it usually costs in girls of her age and station. Such simple rules and plans cannot but be, at any rate, better than three-fourths of those acted upon nowadays, and I can assure my readers that to bring up children usefully is, in the long run, very much less trouble than to make them useless members of society. Hs is a great simpleton who imagines that the chief power of wealth is to supply wants. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred it cre- ates more wants than it supplies. —A NoBLE anger at wrong makes all our softer feelings warmer, as a warm climate adds strength to poisons and spices.

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I was terribly tired when, after sixteen hours’ ride, alone, and without even the so- lace of a cigar to beguile the tedium of the road, I arrived, at about four o’clock in the afternoon, in the old town of Messelburg. Messelburg is probably unfamiliar to many of my readers, even to my travelled readers. It is out of the ordinary route ef tourists, Clustered in a small triangular valley, in one of the windings of the river Maine, it is known chiefly, if not only, for two peculiarities, viz., its wonderful wood-carvings, and its mania for music. The Messelburgers are absolutely insane on the subject of music. They have no less than two opera-houses and five concert-halls for a town of less than seven thousand in- habitants. Every man, woman, and—I was almost going to add—child, is a connoisseur and amateur, frequently both. It is not often, indeed, that Messelburg is favored with a visit from any great artistes. But when it is! Why, it was at Messelburg that Jenny Lind—but I must not digress. Suffice it to say, that the Messelburgers are ever on the qui-vive for the passage through their town of some fugitive primo-tenor or donna assoluta, and that, if they get wind of such an advent, all the terrors of the Kaiser’s ven- geance would not prevent their laying such gentle violence upon the stranger as should compel her or him to give them at least one night’s rapture, by singing some favorite chef-d’ euvre before them. Meantime they are obliged to content themselves with an indi- genous company, who, partly amateur and partly professional, alternate between their two opera-houses, with an occasional varia- tion in the way of an oratorio or symphony, or similar musical diversion at one or the other at their concert-halls. So, on the memorable 17th of October, 185-, I, Frank Burrell, a literary and semi-artistic Bohemian, on my way to Vienna, for—no matter what—arrived, tired, dirty, and dis- gusted, at the town of Messelburg. My lug- gage, marked ‘‘F. B.,’? being deposited on the long counter of the inspecting-room at the depot, I was, in my turn, asked for my passport. Now, it chanced that I had lost 58 SUPPER, BUT NO. SONG.—A TRAVELLER'S STORY. BY CHARLES D. GARDETTE, my original passport (which was written in French), and had obtained one, in English, from our consul at Genoa. I handed it up. The official, a burly man with blue specta- cles, looked at it gravely for a moment, then, suddenly, his face broadened into a smile, and he took off his cap to me, with a short speech, which was no doubi intensely complimentary, but which, being in German, was wholly in- comprehensible. There was, however, quite a rush of passengers that afternoon, and I did not think any translation of his words at all necessary, so I looked calmly on while he made some cabalistic mark on my trunk, without offering to open it, and when, after speaking a few words to another official out- side the counter, this gentleman invited me to follow him. I went without the slightest re- sistance, and was handed into s vehicle under circumstances of what I certainly thought ex- aggerated pcliteness, ‘The Royal Hotei,’’ said I, mildly, to the driver. ‘*Ya, ya,’’ replied that functionary, cheer- ‘ily, as though he knew it beforehand, and off we drove. There was a hurried interchange of gut- tural confab between the coachee and the white-aproned waiter who opened my car riage-door and ushered me obsequiously into the hotel; but I did not pay any attention thereto. The more so that, if I had, I should not have understood a word of it. Mine host greeted me with unusual ex- pansion. ‘‘The Signor Borelli is weleome,’’ exclaimed he, in a language he apparently mistook for French. ’ ‘*Why,’’ thought I to myself, ‘‘ will these foreigners always denaturalize our names in this ridiculous way? My tailor sent me his bill, in Paris, addressed to ‘M. de Burella.’ ’’ But I only said, in fair French, ‘‘Thank you; I am fatigued; I would voluntarily retire to bed for a while.’’ ‘*I comprehend,”’ replied mine host, and, with singular courtesy, took, himself, a wax candle from the ‘‘rack,’’ and marshalled me to my chamber. It was on the principal floor, and apparently the best in the inn.

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SUPPER, BUT NO SONG. 59 “Excuse me,’’ said I, ‘‘but a more mo- dest—’’ ‘*O—h!’’ cried mine host, holding up his hands, ‘‘for the signor! I regret that itis not in my power to do more honor to his illus- trious presence in my poor pot-house.”’ Perhaps—nay, surely—at any other time these accumulated evidences of servility would have awakened my curiosity, not to say my suspicions ; but I was very tired, very sleepy, and yawned for rest. So I bade the inn- keeper a somewhat hasty ‘good den," and in a few minutes was snugly ensconced beneath the bedclothes. ‘Entrez! Come in!’’ cried I, not more than fractionally awake, in response to a sono- rous knocking at my door, after a period, of I know not what duration, during which I had slumbered peacefully. The door opened, and to one, recumbent, entered, first mine host, second, my burly custom-house officer with the azure specs, third, three gentlemen with a grave-digger look, that I had not the honor of knowing. ‘“‘The committee, signor,’’ quoth the inn- keeper. ‘¢ And our director,’’ added the first grave- digger, bowing toward the burly official. I stared from one to the other in blank stu- pidity. ‘*We beg the signor to remark that it is past seven o’clock,’’ suggested the heavy **director,’’ in a singularly affable voice. (This conversation, by the by, was carried on in a sort of gibberish compounded of Ger- man, French, and Italian, in unequal propor- tions.) **Well! eh bien! va bene!’’ muttered I, still struggling in the bonds of Morpheus. ‘¢The house is full,’’ said grave-digger No. 1. “The curtain is annovnced to rise at eight o’clock,’’ observed grave-digger No. 2. ‘*The signor has barely half an hour,’’ re- marked the ‘-director,’’ locking at a watch as big (for a watch) as himself. From this extraordinary jumble, an idea suddenly flashed across my puzzled brain. ** Ah, I have it!’’ cried Ito myself. ‘‘These good Messelburgers mistake my identity. They suppose me some distinguished stranger —an Ambassador, perhaps, or a Secretary of Legation, at the least—bound to the court of their Kaiser. My name has deceived them. They have probably read it Borelli, or Barolli, and there is doubtless some Continental di- plomat of this name. Then they are music- mad, and so are resolved to do the honors of their opera-house for me, whether I will or not. Oh, yes, I see the thing! What a capital joke! Egad! I’ll humor them to the top of their bent. It’lI be a first-rate story to tell.”’ All this passed in an instant through my brain, and smiling blandly upon the anx- iously expectant gentlemen, I said :— ‘*A thousand thanks for your flattering at- tention. In less than half an hour I will be at your service.”’ Herenpon they bowed themselves out, and I arose, and, making an elaborate though rapid toilet, joined them in the salon. ‘*The earriage attends,’’ said the ‘ direo- tor.”’ ‘*T am ready,’’ replied I, gracefully putting on my hat. In another moment we were roll- ing through the narrow streets toward the grand opera of Messelburg. Fancy my mystification, when, instead of being ushered through the front portals, and into the brilliant auditorium of the edifice, I was taken into the opera by a gloomy back entrance, along dark, narrow corridors, up and down short, steep flights of steps, and finally, into a chamber which, by the hetero- geneous articles round it, I at ‘once recog- nized as a dressing-room. ‘‘Ha!’’ thought I, ‘‘1 am to be introduced to the fair cantatrice. How delightful.’’ But a second glance convinced me of my error. The articles of apparel lying about in disorder were unmistakably of the male gender. ‘‘‘ It is the first tenor, then,’’ said I to myself. ‘‘If the signor does not find all he wants, he will be good enough to touch this bell,’ said the ‘‘director.’’ ‘‘The signor has still eighteen minutes,’’ and before I could reply, he had retired and left me alone. ‘* Now, what the deuce is all tnis?’’ cried I, testily. At this moment my eyes fell upon a champagne bottle and glasses standing on a toilet table. ‘‘ Here is something compre- hensible, at all events,’’ said I; and pouring out a brimmer, I drank it slowly to the last drop. ‘‘It is good company!’’ quoth I, doing honor to a second bumper. Then I sat me calmly down to await the event, with a third full glass before me. It came, shortly, in the shape of a knock at the door. ‘‘Enter!’’ said I, tipping my last ‘‘ heel-tap’’ of wine. ‘*The stage waits for Signor Borelli,’’ said

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60 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. a voice in excellent Italian. I looked and be- held a tall, gray-haired man with a military air, standing, cap in hand, before me. ‘*Well,’’ answered I, in French (for my Italian was very shaky in an emergency), ‘‘I have not seen the signor you speak of.’’ “You are pleased to be merry,’ replied the old man, in tiptop French. ‘‘M——, the director, sent me with his compliments to the signor—but you are not even dressed, sir!’’ exclaimed he, interrupting himself, as he observed, for the first time, my evening cos- tume. *‘On the contrary,” said I, ‘‘it appears to me that I am fully dressed.’’ I began to see a glimmer of the truth, however, and, ‘*ah, ga! come, now,’’ cried I, ‘‘just explain all this to me, if you please, sir. For whom do you, or your sapient committee, take me, pray? Why am I left alone in this dressing- room with a bottle of champagne and a lot of theatrical clothes? And why—what have I to do with Signor Borelli’s keeping the stage waiting ?’’ so questioning, I looked with im- perturbable eyes into the face of the old gen- tleman. Such a blankness of amazement as stole over that face, succeeded by a slight frown, as of indignation at being trifled with, wind- ing up with a faint and flickering smile, as he exclaimed :— ** But—but—but, Monsieur, it is you who are—do you mean—en/fin, I assuredly have the honor to address the Signor Borelli, the illustrious baritone from the grand opera of Genoa ?’’ ‘*Not the least in the world, Monsieur!” said I. ‘**But who—but what— but where—?’’ stammered the stage manager (for such he was), in dismay. ‘*Pardon me, sir, ’’ I replied; ‘‘but all this is simply an absurd mystification arising out of the ignorant blunder of your custom-house inspector, who also seems the director of your opera. Had he been able to read English, or even taken the trouble to make any inquiries of me, he would have learned that my name is Frank Burrell, that I am an American, that I came from Genoa with my Consul’s passport, en route to Vienna; that I am travelling for my pleasure, and that I am no more capable of singing in opera than—than he is of flying.” **Cré nom de nom! mille tonnerres! What shall I do?” cried the unhappy manager. ‘It is fifteen minutes past the hour. The house is jammed, the audience grow impa- tient—there! you hear them? You have— that is, Signor Borelli has—been announced since yesterday. Oh, curses on that stupid telegram! I—”’ “Since yesterday? telegram? What do you mean ?’’ exclaimed I, again puzzled. ‘Yes! your passport was hurriedly looked at on the frontier—the error of name was first made there—our agent telegraphed us of your —that is, of Borelli’s approach, and added, to have him announced for to-night in Don Pas- quali; we supposed you—I mean he—had consented, and so—Oh, sacra—! It is an in- famous trick, sir! The opera will be dis- graced! I shall be hooted at! I—” **Stop!’’ said I, another brilliant idea oo- curring to me, as a capital climax to this strange ‘‘lark,’’ and at the same time as a novel way of helping the manager out of his dilemma. ‘‘Holda moment! I have thought of a plan—risky, but, I think, pretty sure— of getting all hands out of the scrape. Have you an artiste to take my—that is, Borelli’s— place at a moment’s warning, if necessary ?”’ ‘Yes! but the audience—”’ ‘‘Hear me! Do you think any one in the house is personally acquainted with the ap- pearance of the real Borelli ?”’ **T am sure there is no one. The Signor Borelli was never in Germany, and we Mes- selburgers are no travellers out of our own Kaiserlich.”’ ‘It is well. Go you, now, and make a short apology to the house for my delay; say Iam unwell, but rallying, and hope to be ready to commence in a quarter of an hour; then pri- vately bid your native barytone prepare to sing the part if called upon; then come back here. I will save you; but on one condition only, mind !’’ ‘‘And that is?’ queried the manager, breathlessly. ‘*Not one word to the director or the com- mittee, till I have left the town, which I shall do early in the morning.”’ **Yes! but how—?”’ ‘‘Trust me! You shall know on your re- turn. It is a very simple trick.”’ The wondering but semi-hopeful manager departed, and I hastily donned the costume of my supposed part, which was all laid out forme. Presently the manager returned. ** Allis ready,’’ said he ; ‘* the honse is good-

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SUPPER, BUT NO SONG. 61 humoredly waiting ; my barytone is on hand; the director and committee are gravely at- tending in their box. What are you going to do ?’’ ‘You told them I was momentarily indis- posed ?”’ ‘*] said the fatigue of the journey, the ex- citement of having to appear, at such short notice, before so highly critical an audience, the want of rest, had given you a fainting spell from which you were fortunately re- covering.’’ ‘‘Capital! Now, then, I am familiar enough with the opera te know how to make my entrance at the proper moment. I shall go on, accept the welcoming plaudits, appear to struggle with my emotion for an instant, then, as if by a violent effort, open my mouth to sing, when, lo! not a note, not a sound, save @ hoarse whisper, will issue from my chest! Oh, misfortune! my fatigue, my excitement, my faint, have, for the time at least, wholly extinguished my voice! I shall make an agonized attempt to go on—in vain—and then stagger and fall in a second deadly swoon! You will rush on, order the curtain down, bear me back here, lock the door—and the first act of the farce will be played. As to the second and—’’ “‘T see! Isee! If you can act it, it will be admirable, admirable! But—’’ ‘* Never fear. Though I am no singer, I am a tolerably fair comedian in an amateur way. It shall be done to the life !’’ ‘* Allons, then, in the name of Haydn!”’ cried the excited manager. The prompter’s bell tinkled. The moment had come! ‘*Hurrah! I give you joy! The farce is played so far as you are concerned, and I think you will acknowledge it was a success !’’ exclaimed I, as I hobnobbed with the de- lighted manager in the little dressing-room, where we had securely locked ourselves in after my ‘‘ scene.’ ** Admirable ! famous! stupendous!’’ cried he. ‘‘ The house are in tears. I can do any- thing with them now. But the director, the eommittee, the doctor, a thousand people, will be thundering at the door in another moment. There jhey come! What shall I say ’’’ ‘*Say—through the keyhole—that I am better, but desire perfect silence and solitude VOL. LXx11.—5 for half an hour; that I positively will admit no one; that, as soon as I feel able, I shall re- turn to the hotel ; that I beg the committee to send a carriage for me to the private door; and that I shall be most happy to have the honor of seeing them in the morning, but by no means before.’’ The manager delivered my message to the anxious crowd outside the door. They argued, pleaded, but he was inexorable, and they finally obeyed and left us. In less than an hour I was once more safely stowed beneath the coverlid of my luxurious bed in the Royal Hotel of Messelburg, after having, with great difficulty, gotten rid of the importunate services of mine host, who, how- ever, sent me up a profuse supper, flanked by several bottles of sparkling Liebfraumilch, to which I did efficient honor. The next morning, when the burly director and his solemn committee called, I was ready dressed and accoutred for travel. I replied gracefully to their sympathetic questions, but resisted firmly all attempts to entice a further stay or the shadow of an ovation. Was I to keep the kaiser waiting, forsooth? So, in spite of entreaties in many tones, and even of the shade of a threat on the part of the di- rector-custom-house officer, I persisted in leaving the musical monomaniacs of Messel- burg instanter, and my illustrious signorship was therefore escorted to the railway depot in state, between lines of eager, bearded, and blushing, beardless faces, and I left the scene of my singular adventure amid a storm of parting vivas, or whatever strange sound serves to denote the Germanic enthusiasm on such occasions. What were the feelings or actions of the Messelburgers, official and other, when they learned the farce that had been put upon them, or even whether the manager ever had the courage to undeceive them, I never knew, that remote corner of the Teutonic Empire having never been again found upon the leaves of my Continental itinerary. I trust, however, that ere this they may have enjoyed the rapture of hearing and /éteing the genuine barytone—the illustrious Signor Borelli. Tue greatest wisdom of speech is to know when, and what, and wher€@ to speak; the time, matter, manner. The next to it is silence.

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LIFE’S CONTRASTS. BY THE AUTHORESS OF “TWO YEARS OF HOSPITAL LIFE.” CHAPTER I. ‘*How I detest French verbs,’’ said Alice Lee, as she bent wearily over her desk, in the room appropriated for study, in Mrs. Norton’s boarding-school. ‘‘They were certainly in- vented for the torment of school girls.”’ ‘*How funny,’’ said Florence Egerton, the acknowledged leader of the school; ‘‘I had a perfect nightmare last night, and French verbs were a leading portion of the dream.”’ ‘Oh, what was it! dotellus,’’ said several of the girls, at once exchanging the listless air with which they were leaning over their desks in ‘‘study hour,’’ for one of keen intesest. “Oh, it was not particularly clear, and I was probably sleeping in an uncomfortable position. I was in a horrible place, full of countless horrors, and in the midst of them, seated at a table, I saw Alice’s friend, Mons. Meontholon, teaching his verbs, and a cluster ef miserable wretches trying to repeat them after him.”’ “Oh, but Florence, I don’t see why you should have dreamed that, for it is never any trouble to you to learn them, or anything else, for that matter; if I had dreamed it, now, nobody would have wondered.”’ “IT remember thinking the other day,”’ said Florence, ‘‘ when I saw him hopelessly ham- mering her terminations for the fiftieth time into poor little Clara Elbert’s head, and tell- ing her not to sign her ‘ dictée’ ‘votre affec- tionnée pupitre;’ I remember, I say, thinking then that such a life must be wofully stupid, perhaps that gave rise to it.’’ “Did you meet any of your fniends there?’’ said Anna Norton, tle daughter of the lady who kept the school, and the special friend of Florence Egerton.” ‘*Was the algebra class there?’’ asked a poor, little pale girl, from a corner, who was vainly puzzling over a sum in simple equa- tions. ** No. I was complimentary enough to my friends not to recognize them in the wretched group I saw there. No, Lottie, dear, the al- gebra class was not there, at least as far as my observation went; I didn’t even see Miss Steel there. Anna, has the postman brought this evening’s letters yet ?’’ 62 “Not yet, dear, I think, but I will go and see, for the hour is over,’’ said Anna, as she left the room. **Only one week more! Isn’t it grand? Florence, is Anna really going home with you? How perfect!’’ said Kate Stuart, wish- ing she might have been the favored one; for the honor of staying at Egerton Manor seemed to her the acme of human happiness, and, indeed, most of the girls envied Anna Norton not only this pleasure, but the privilege of being the chosen friend of Florence; and yet, to her credit it must be said, that she had managed to make herself beloved by the girls, in spite of her unpopular position, as daugh- ter of Mrs. Norton, and therefore likely to be regarded as a spy upon their actions. ‘* Yes, Mrs. Norton gives consent, and I’ve written to say that I mean to bring her. I am looking for the answer now. I hope Anna will bring it to me.”’ “T suppose somebody else goes too, of course, or at least will take you on?”’ A bright blush suffused Florence’s cheek, as she answered, quickly: ‘‘ Nobody else goes, too; there’s no ‘of course’ about it. Papa will come for me, and I am waiting to know if the day I named will suit him.”’ “Well, don’t be angry; I’m sure it was only natura! to think so.’’ “‘Tt’m not the least angry, but you’re so silly, Kate.” ‘“Why don’t you lock up your beautiful bouquets in your trunk, then, and not leave books with people’s names in them, in open closets, and then you wouldn’t get so much teasing ?”’ But in spite of her quick answer, it did not seem that Florence was altogether displeased at the teasing, for, as she shook back her rich brown curls from her face, a gratified smile played over those finely-cut features. Florence Egerton, the favorite and leader, as we have said, of Mrs. Norton’s boarding- school, was an only child. Her parents’ enor- mous wealth had supplied every luxury, and anticipated every wish from earliest infancy. Spoiled and petted, she had never known con- tradiction, and when the fancy srggested it- self to her of a short period at a boarding-

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LIFE’S CONTRASTS. 63 school in one of our large cities, her parents consented that she should leave her beautiful home on the North River, for the sake of ac- quiring a few ‘‘accomplishments,”’ or to gain, as she said, a ‘‘ finishing polish,’’ which she deemed the masters, who had thus far con- ducted her education at home, were unable to give her. Hers was just the nature to gain an influence over those around her. Proud and high-spirited, yet warm, generous, and impulsive. Ever ready to do a kindness; ever prompt to assist any one in trouble, the girls had learned to know to whom to apply, when they stood in need of a friend to *‘ help them ‘out of a scrape,’’ and rarely sought her aid in vain. She had come to be the oracle of the school, and accepted the adulation and hom- age she received as a matter of course, and yet with a winning grace, which only in- creased her popularity; her large means, which were very frequently brought into re- quisition for those whose ‘‘ pocket-money”’ fell short, adding no little to the estimation in which she was held. Her position at the school was that of parlor boarder, which gave her much time to herself, and led to her inti- macy with Anna Norton, who had the charge of the house, merely going into the school for certain classes. ‘*Here is the wished-for letter, Florence, dear,’’ said Anna, flying into the room, ‘‘ and mamma says, girls, it is time for us to get ready to walk.’’ Florence, who was not required to walk with the girls, went to her room to read her letter. While she is thus engaged, let us take a look into Mrs. Norton’s room, where she is seated in deep and earnest conversa- tion with a young man, whose flushed face and troubled expression tell that the subject of debate is far from agreeable. ‘*Hang her paltry money! How did I know she was rich? She might have been a beggar for all I knew or cared! I knew that she was lovely, fascinating, perfect, and that was enough forme. I mean to win name, fame, and wealth for myself, and as for family, I can tell her parents, though they may be proud as Lucifer, that they can boast no prouder blood, no higher ancestry than our own.”’ ** You are very young, Alfred, and, as I tell you, do not know how these things are looked upon in the world, you do not see—’’ ‘*But, mother,’’ broke in Alfred, impa- tiently, “‘you are taking, I must think, a most exaggerated view of the whole thing; you are assuming that her parents will be so much displeased ; you cannot know it.’’ Mrs. Norton shook her head, sadly. ‘No, Alfred, it is no exaggerated view; the Eger- tons are very worldly people, and I am sure they would think few young men worthy of such an heiress as their daughter; what, then, can they think of a penniless youth as- piring to her hand? More than this, you do not see how I am compromised by such an act; nothing will ever convince them that it is not a scheme of mine to bring about such a result.’’ **O mother! how can you say so, when you even forbade my living in the house f’’ **To small purpose, it seems,’’ said his mo- ther, with some bitterness, ‘‘if an affair of this kind could go on all the time without my knowledge, till you had actually sought and gained the love of one of my pupils, for whom, of course, whilst under my roof, I am held re- sponsible. O Alfred, you do not know how pained and grieved I am at your want of con- fidence !’’ ¥: ’ Alfred dearly loved his mother, and her words stung him to the quick. He had been rash, imprudent, hasty, but not intentionally deceitful; he had gone on almost without considering what he was doing, visiting con- stantly at the house, and finding fresh delight each day in the society of the beautiful parlor boarder, till he had been suddenly betrayed into a declaration of his feelings, only a few days before, on hearing that the vacation would begin in a week, when Florence must return to her home; and had been much de- lighted to find that his love was returned. In accepting him, it had never occurred to Flo- rence, who had hitherto been allowed to be completely her own mistress, that her parents might possibly view the matter in a very dif- ferent light from that in which it presented itself to her, and she had resolved, as she was so soon to be at home, to write nothing upon the subject, preferring to tell her mother when they met, but anticipating no opposition: she had therefore merely mentioned her intention of bringing her dear friend, Mrs. Norton’s daughter with her, to pass the vacation at Egerton Manor. Alfred had sprung to his feet, and was walking hastily up and down the room. His impatient strides came to a sudden halt as he

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66 GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, cattle DOMESTIO EDUCATION. BY MRS. FRANCIS, Tue education of children cannot be begun too soon: even the very infant is: susceptible of some sort of training and restraint. As in the plant bad shoots may be rubbed off by the application of a finger-point, and which, if left to grow, require a very serious application of saw and knife, leaving an ugly and ungainly sapling or tree behind, so it is with the training of children. If you do not rub out the bad buds early enough, one of two things happens: either you hav6 to eradicate actual vices at a later day by a very serious opera- tion, productive of vast trouble and pain—for the buds are but the germs of vices—or, what is far more likely, the weakness which could not make up its mind to check the airs and tantrums of Master or Miss Baby, ‘‘ because it is such a poor little innocent love, you know, and mustn’t be worried or crossed,’’ looks on with fear and trembling, as the sprouts which indicate self-will, idleness, pas- sion, obstinacy, untruthfulness, greediness, and all the young vices, strengthen and grow up with a vigor which soon puts them beyond the slightest control of the parent. Then en- sues bad conduct, quarrels, recrimination, misery, and hatred, instead of reverence, mutual confidence, and love. The sooner the work of cultivation, no matter in what direc- tion, or to what end—is commenced, the easier it becomes. Oh, what a weary fight it is! with the dreadfal stamp of nurses which pervade the country nowadays; and how constantly one hears, ‘‘ Now, nurse, why do you let that child kick, and roar, and gcream like that?’’ ‘Poor little dear, mum, that’s only his fan.”’ Perhaps the child is scream- ing for some toy, or to have its own way in some matter, and instead of being mildly checked or restrained, and thus taught that screaming and passion will not produce the object sought for, the whole house is dis- tarbed to procure the gratification for the child, whatever’ it may be, and it is thus taught to scream and roar, and pinch and scratch, and to obtain its desires by flying in a passion. Then, if it be fretful, nurse (if no worse thing be applied, such as Daffy, God- frey, or what not) gives it a lump of sugar, or some filthy production in the toffey depart- ment, just to keep it quiet. The fact being, probably, that the fretfulness is produced by the child’s stomach being already out of order, and the remedy given merely perpetuates the evil and aggravates it. But it is quite useless to point all this out to nurses—they will have their own way, and all that you can hope to do is to take Master Albert or Miss Alexandra in hand at a somewhat later period, and to apply the. pruning-knife pretty vigorously, and this you never do, or do not half do, and so families make their own miseriese Thus much for the moral point of view, but the domestic and the moral are very closely connected, as, if children are usefully engaged, a sense of reliance or responsibility is instiled into them, a strong safeguard against the germs of many vices and bad habits is set up. Now the child cannot too soon be taught that this world is not all toffey and self-gratifica- tion, and that it has some definite part and duties to fulfil in it. Almost as soon as the little girl can talk and toddle, it likes to make itself of some account, and to give itself little airs of importance. Needles and pins, and scissors and thread become its natural play- things, and, instead of being ehecked and so taught to ebtain its desires surreptitiously, when the coveted objects are sure to be mis- chievously employed, for children are like monkeys in their imitative facalties, it should be taught how to turn them to some useful end. It likes to watch mamma or nurse sew- ing, and to imitate its elders, and what can be more natural? and inatead of, ‘‘O, Miss Jane, give me that needle, or them scissors ; you will eut or prick your fingers,’’ and the © coveted implement being snatched away, it should be taught how to use them properly, aud what the aim and, object of their use is. Suppose the child does chance to prick its fin- gers, it is meither burglary, nor felony, nor wilful misdemeanor; it has gained a lesson from experience in the use of the needle, ete., which it will not immediately forget, and with a little-encouragement and teaching, and a little praise (and what a valuable agent praise is with children, how far more potent than blame, ‘few parents or nurses have any conception), it soon becomes ready in thé handling of the tool which it is expected to employ for so large a portion of its subsequent existence. If a child was never to be put down to walk for fear it should tumble down, would not that be considered an absurdity ? But walking is a necessity, and so the lessons are early taught, at no matter what coat.of 6 tum But thin did ploy mis sens still littl pud to all sm hav dis foll it not a fo} QuarEroReg ew eSBsgSeEe Ss — — — egrermrrae®z eA Paaw eH

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but ely led she iat DOMESTIC EDUCATION, BT tumbles and bumps, and are persevered in. But to a girl so is sewing, though mothers think much less of it nowadays than they did formerly. A child had better be em- ployed usefully in learning something, than mischievously ; and, if it be not employed in the first, it certainly will in the last. The sense of being usefal having once been.in- stilled, there are many ways of encouraging and enlarging upon its experience. The next point, as the little girl grows a little older, perhaps, may be to allow it to see puddings and pies made, and to encourage it to actually try its own dumpy fingers at original cookery. The usual plan is to forbid all such attempts, and to punish the child for smearing its hands with paste. Children have almost as natural a taste for cookery as they have for preferring good, well-cooked dishes to bad ones, and it is the height of folly to check it if: the child is.ever to know anything about it at all. As it. grows older, and its experience and knowledge increase, it takes more and more interest in what can- not but be considered a very delightful and womanly occupation, and many a child of ten or eleven could and can make very good pies and cakes, and other such simple matters, if taught and permitted, as I know from experi- ence. Cook, of course, does not like little girls in the kitchen; to this I have only to say that my cooks are obliged, if not to like it, yet to submit to it, and the result is, that I have little hands that can make such things, and can make them well. The next point in the housekeeping department is to let the little one be, sole mistress and keeper of a- key of some cupboard or other, and this is always a wonderful step. The importance it confers, and the grand air of missus-ship the little girl assumes when her key is required, and something is needed out of her cupboard, are worth something to see, and the strictness with which she keeps account of its contents is quite wonderful. As time goes on, other keys are added, and the young person is mis- tress over the closets, and even the cellar, perhaps, to the great advantage of everybody cancerned. The next great step is in allowing little miss to make the tea, which is a very great promotion indeed, and ere many years go by she presides at the tes and breakfast table with a perfect sense of what is required of her; and to the great relief of mamma, who knows that if she goes out to tea she leaves some one behind who is quite capable of con ducting things satisfactorily in her absence. The first handkerchief hemmed for papa, or the first shirt made are always matters of serious festival and solemn reward and con- gratulation. Now, having got thas far in my own experience, I can speak with certainty that the plans I have sketched out answer well. The cookery knowledge will, perhaps, be dificult to pursue into the higher ground ; but, as I determine to so pursue it, I shall fit up some small corner, in the most convenient place I can find, with a little hot plate and gas stove, by which a great deal of ‘cookery can be learned and done without much intro- sion on the kitchen. When these things are tolerably perfected, and some notion of how to market be added, and-a capability of male ing her own necessaries and those of others is fuily developed, I shall consider that, let what will come, the young woman will be fairly fit to have and to manage a house of her own. . Now all this domestic education need not interfere one whit with the acquirement of general knowledge and accomplishments— that I know full well from experience also. For I may say that I know a little girl of twelve who can make tea well, likewise pies and cakes excellently, also shirts, and so forth —who does keep keys, etc., who knows her Geography, who can write and almost talk French, who can play the piano very fairly indeed for her age, and who would not find herself at all ont of her element in any con» pany, and yet who has never been to school at all, and whose education so far has not cost above half of that which it usually costs in girls of her age and station. Such simple rules and plans cannot but be, at any rate, better than three-fourths of those acted upon nowadays, and I can assure my readers that to bring up children usefully is, in the long run, very much less trouble than to make them useless members of society. Hz is a great simpleton who imagines that the chief power of wealth is to supply wants. In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred it cre- ates more wants than it supplies. —A NOBLE anger at wrong makes all our softer feelings warmer, as a warm climate adds strength to poisons and spices.

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SUPPER, BUT NO SONG—A. TRAVELLER'S: STORY. BY CHARLES D. GARDETTE. I was terribly tired when, after sixteen hours’ ride, alone, and without even the so- Tace of a cigar to beguile the tedium of the road, I arrived, at about four o’clock in the afternoon, in the old town of Messelburg. Messelburg is probably unfamiliar to many of my readers, oven to my travelled readers. It is out of the ordinary route of tourists. Clustered in a small triangular valley, in one of the windings of the river Maine, it is known chiefly, if'not only, for two peculiarities, viz., its wonderful wood-carvings, and its mania for music. The Messelburgers are absolutely insane on the subject of music. They have no less than two opera-houses and five concert-halls for a town of less than seven thousand in- habitants. Every man, woman, and—I was almost going to add—child, is a connoisseur and amateur, frequently both. It is not often, indeed, that Messelburg is favored with a visit from any great artistes. But when it is! Why, it was at Messelburg that Jenny Lind—but I must not digress. Suffice it to say, that the Messelburgers are ever on the qui-vive for the passage through their town of some fugitive primo-tenor or donna assoluta, and that, if they get ‘wind of such an advent, all the terrors of the Kaiser’s ven- geance would not prevent their laying such gentle violence upon the stranger as should compel her or him to give them at least one night’s rapture, by singing some favorite chef-d’ euvre before them. Meantime they are Obliged to content themselves with an indi- genous company, who, partly amateur and partly professional, alternate between their two opera-houses, with an oceasional varia- tion in the way of an oratorio or symphony, or similar musical diversion at one or the other at their concert-halls. So, on the memorable 17th of October, 185-, I, Frank Burrell, a literary and semi-artistic Bohemian, on my way to Vienna, for—no matter what—arrived, tired, dirty, ‘and dis- gusted, at the town of Messelburg. My Iug- gage, marked “Ff. B.,” being deposited on ‘the long counter of the inspecting-room at the depot, I was, in my turn, asked for my passport.. Now, it chanced that I had lost 58 my original passport (which was written in French); and had obtained: one, in English, from our consul at Genoa. I handed it up. The official, a burly man'with blue specta- cles, looked at it gravely for a moment, then, suddenly, his face broadened into a smile, and he took off his cap to me, with a short speech, which was no doubt intensely complimentary, but which, being in German, was wholly in- compreheneible. ‘There was, however, quite a rash of passengers that afternoon, and’'I did not think any translation of his words at all necessary, so I looked calmly on while he made somé cabalistic mark on my trunk, without offering to open it, and when, after speaking a few words to another official out- side the counter, this gentleman invited me to follow him. I-went without the slightest re- sistance, and was handed into a vehicle under circumstances of what I certainly thought ex aggerated politeness. **The Royal Hotel,” said I, mildly, to the driver. “Ya, ya,”’ replied that functionary, cheer- ily, as though he knew it beforehand, and off we drove. There was a hurried interchange of gut- tural confab between the coachee and the white-aproned waiter who opened my car- riage-door and ushered me obsequiously into the hotel; but I did not pay any attention “thereto. The niore so that, if I had, I should not have understood a word of it. Mine host greeted me with unusual ex- pansion. ‘‘The Signor Borelli is welcome,’’ exclaimed he, in a language he apparently mistook for French. ‘‘ Why,’’. thought I to myself, ‘‘ will these foreigners always denaturalize our names in this ridiculous way? My tailor sent me his bill, in Paris, addressed to ‘M. de Burella.’’’ But I only said, in fair French, ‘‘Thank you; I am fatigued; I would voluntarily retire to bed for a while.’’ . ‘*T comprehend,” replied mine host, and, with singular courtesy, took, himself, a wax candle from the ‘‘ rack,’’ and marshalled me to my chamber. It was on the principal floor, and apparently the best in the inn. - err f& kee dig pid pas «e d on tio: thei The

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a i % Fae? See | ld SUPPER, BUT NO SONG. 59 **Excuse me,’’ said I, ‘*but:a more mo- dest—”’ “O—h!’’ cried mine host, holding up his hands, ‘‘for the signor! I regret thatitis not in my power to do more honor to his illus- trious presence in my poor pot-house,’’ Perhaps—nay, surely—at any other time these accumuiated evidences of servility would have awakened my curiosity, not to say my suspicions ; but I was very tired, very sleepy, and yawned for rest. So I bade the imn- keeper a somewhat hasty ‘good den,’ and in a few minutes was snugly ensconced beneath the bedclothes. ‘Entrez! Come in!’’ cried I, not more than fractionally awake, in response toa sono- rous knocking at my door, after a period, of I know not what duration, during which I had slumbered peacefully. The door opened, and to one, recumbent, entered, first mine host, second, my burly custom-house officer with the azure specs, third, three gentlemen with a grave-digger look, that I had mot the honor of knowing, “The committee, signor,’’ quoth the inn- keeper. ‘** And our direotor,’’ added the first grave- digger, bowing teward the burly official. I stared from one to the other in blank stu- pidity. ‘*We beg the signer to remark that it is past seven o’clock,’’? suggested the. heavy **director,’’ in a singularly affable voice. (This conversation, by the by, was carried on in a sort of gibberish compounded of Ger- man, French, and Italian, in unequal propor- tions.) 4 **Well! eh bien! va bene!’’ muttered I, still struggling in the bonds cf Morpheus. **The house is full;’’ said grave-digger No. 1. “The curtain is announced to-rise at eight o’clock,’’ observed grave-digger No. 2. ‘*The signor has barely half an hour,’’ re- marked the ‘*director,’’ looking at a watch as big (for a watch) as himself. From this extraordinary jumble, an idea suddenly flashed across my puzzled brain. ‘‘ Ah, I have it!’’ cried | to,myself.. ‘‘These good Messelburgers mistake. my identity, They suppose me some distinguished stranger —an Ambassador, perhaps, or a Secretary of Legation, at the least—bound to the court of their Kaiser. My name has deceived them. They have probably read it Borelli, or Barolli, and there is doubtless some Continental di- plomat of this name. Then they are musio- mad, and so. are resolved to do the honors of their opera-house for me, whether I will or not. Oh, yes, I see the thing! What. a capital joke! Egad! I’ll humor them to the top of their bent. It’ll be a first-rate story to tell.” All this passed in an instant through my brain, and smiling blandly upon the anx- iously expectant gentlemen, I said :— ‘*A thousand thanks for your flattering at- tention. In less than half an hour I will be at your service.”’ Hereupon they bowed themselves out, and® I arose, and, making an elaborate thoughl rapid toilet, joined them in the salon. ‘*The carriage attends,’’ said the ‘‘ direo- tor.”’ ‘*T am ready,’’ replied I, gracefully putting on my hat. In another moment we were roll- ing through the narrow streets toward the grand opera of Messelburg. Fancy my mystification, when, instead of being ushered through the front. portals, and into the brilliant auditorium of the edifice, I was taken into the opera by a gloomy back entrance, along dark, narrow corridors, up and down short, steep flights of steps, and finally, into a chamber which, by the hetero- geneous articles round it, I at once recog- nized as a dressing-room. ‘*Ha!” thought I, ‘‘I am to be introduced to the fair cantatrice. How delightful.”” But a second glance convinced me of my error, The articles of apparel lying about in disorder were unmistakably of the male gender. ‘‘It is the first tenor, then,’’ said I to myself. ‘If the signor does not find all he wants, he will be,good enough to touch this. bell,’’ said the ‘‘director.’’ ‘‘The signor has still eighteen minutes,’’ and before I could reply, he had retired and left me.alone, 7 ‘Now, what the deuce is all this?’’ cried I, testily. At this moment my eyes fell upon a champagne bottle and glasses standing on a toilet table. ‘‘ Here is something compre- hensible, at all events,’’ said 1; and pouring out a brimmer, I drank it slowly to the last drop. ‘‘It is good company !’’ quoth I, doing honor to a second bumper. Then I sat me calmly down to await the event, with a third full glass before me. It came, shortly, in the shape of a knock at the door. ‘‘Entert’’ said I, tipping my last ‘‘ heel-tap’’ of wine. ‘The stage waits for Signor Borelli,’’ said

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60 - G@ODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. a voice in excellent Italian. I looked and be- held a tall, gray-haired man with a military ‘fir, standing, cap in hand, before me. “Well,” answered I, in French (for my Italian was very shaky in an emergency), ‘‘I have not seen the signor you speak of.’’ “You are pleased to be merry,” replied the old man, in tiptop French. ‘‘M——, the director, sent‘me with his compliments to the signor—but you are not even dressed, sir!” exclaimed he, interrupting himself, as he observed, for the first time, my evening cos- tume. n k “On the contrary,” said I, ‘‘it appears to me that I am fully dressed.’’ I began to see a glimmer of the truth, however, and, ‘ah, sa! come, now,’ cried I, ‘just explain all this to me, if you please, sir. For whom do you, or your sapient committee, take me, pray? Why am I left alone in this dressing- room with a bottle of champagne and a lot of theatrical clothes? And why—what have I to do with Signor Borelli’s keeping ‘the stage waiting ?’’ so questioning, I looked with im- perturbable eyes into the face of the old gen- tleman. Such a blankness of amazement as stole over that face, succeeded by a slight frown, as of indignation at being trifled with, wind- ing up with a faint and flickering smile, as he exclaimed :— ** But—but—but, Monsieur, it is you who are—do you mean—en/in, I assuredly have the honor to address the Signor Borelli, the Milustrious baritone from the grand opera of Genoa 7°? **Not the least. in the world, Monsieur!” said I. “But who—but what — but where—?”’ stammered the stage manager (for such he was), in dismay. **Pardon me, sir, ’’? I replied; ‘but ail this is simply an absurd mystification arising out of the ignorant blunder of your custom-house inspector, who also seems the director of your opera. Had he been able to read English, or even taken the trouble to make any inquiries of me, he would have learned that my name is Frank Burrell, that I am an American, that Teame from Genoa with my Consul’s passport, én route to Vienna; that I'am travelling for my pleasure, and that I am no more capable of singing in opera than—than he is of flying.” * Oré nom de nom! mille tonnerres! What shall I dof” ‘cried the unhappy manager. “It is fifteen minutes past the hour. The house is jammed, the audience grow impa- tient--there! you hear them? Yov have— that is, Signor Borelli has—been announced since yesterday. Oh, curses on that stupid telegram! I—’’ **Sinee yesterday? telegram? What do you mean ?”’ exclaimed I, again puzzled. ‘* Yes! your passport was hurriedly looked at on the frontier—the error of name was first made there—our agent telegraphed us of your —that is, of Borelli’s approach, and added, to have him announced for to-night in Don Pas quali; we supposed you—I mean he—had consented, and so—Oh, sacra—! It is an im famous trick, sir! The opera will be dix graced! I shall be hooted at! I—’’ ** Stop!’ said I, another brilliant idea oo- curring to me, as a capital climax to this strange ‘‘lark,”’ and at the same time as a novel way of helping the manager out of his dilemma. ‘‘Holda moment! I have thought of a plan—risky, but, I think, pretty sure— of getting all hands out of the scrape. Have you an artiste to take my—that is, Berelli’s— place at a moment’s warning, if necessary?’ ‘* Yes! but the audience—”’ “‘Hear me! Do you think any one in the house is personally acquainted with the ap- pearance of the real Borelli ?”” ‘*T am sure there is no one. The Signor Borelli was never in Germany, and we Mes- selburgers are no travellers out of our own Kaiserlich.”’ **It is well. Go you, now, and make a short apology to the house for my delay ; say I am unwell, but rallying, and hope to be ready to commence in a quarter of an hour; then pr> vately bid your native barytone prepare to sing the part if called upon; then come back here. I will save you; but on one condition only, mind!’’ ‘‘And that is?’ queried the manager, breathlessly. ‘*Not one word to the @irector or the com- mittee, till I have left the town, which I shall do early in the morning.” “Yes! but how—?’’ ‘Trust me! You shall know on your re- turn. It is a very simple trick.’’ The wondering but semi-hopeful manager departed, and I hastily donned the costume of my supposed part, which was all laid out forme. Presently the manager returned. ** Allis ready,”’ said he ; ‘‘the house is good- ~~ a, be eed & a> nn-’_st - mo wt nteerranpenp»,»neaesed lnal — a It

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The ced pid the ap- nor es wn ort ion er, ial ger me out ~ SUPPER, BUT NO SONG. 61 humoredly waiting ; my barytone is on hand ; the director and committee are gravely at- tending in their box. What are you going to do ?”’ ‘*You told them I was momentarily indis- posed ?’” ‘¢T gaid the fatigue of the journey, the ex- citement of having to appear, at such short notice, before so highly critical an audience, the want of rest, had given you a fainting spell from which you were fortunately re- covering.”’ ‘Capital! Now, then, I am familiar enongh with the opera to know how to make my entrance at the proper moment. I shall go on, accept the welcoming plaudits, appear to struggle with my emotion for an instant, then, as if by a violent effort, open my mouth to sing, when, lo! not a note, not a sound, save a hoarse whisper, will issue from my chest! Oh, misfortune! my fatigue, my excitement, my faint, have, for the time at least, wholly extinguished my voice! I shall make an agonized attempt to go on—in vain—and then stagger and fall in a second deadly swoon! You will rush on, order the curtain down, bear me back here, lock the door—and the first act of the farce will be played. As to the second and—”’ **T see! Isee! If you can act it, it will be admirable, admirable! But—’’ ‘Never fear. Though I am no singer, I am a tolerably fair comedian in an amateur way. It shall be done to the life!’’ ** Allons, then, in the name of Haydn!’’ cried the ex¢ited manager. The prouspter’s bell tinkled. The moment had come! ‘*Hurrah! I give you joy! The farce is played so far as you are concerned, and I think you will acknowledge it was a success !’’ exclaimed I, as I hobnobbed with the de- lighted manager in the little dressing-room, where we had securely locked ourselves in after my ‘‘ scene.’ ‘* Admirable! famous! stupendous!” cried he. ‘‘The house are in tears. I can do any- thing with them now. But the director, the committee, the doctor, a thousand people, will be thundering at the door in another moment. There they come! What shall I say ?”’ ‘‘Say—through the keyhole—that I am better, but desire perfect silence and solitude VOL. Lxxi.—5 for half an hour; that I positively will admit no one ; that,.as soon as I feel able, I shall re- turn to the hotel ; that I beg the committee to send a carriage for me to the private door ; and that I shall be most happy to have the honor of seeing them in the morning, but by no means before.” The manager delivered my message:to the anxious crowd outside the door. They argued, pleaded, but he was inexorable, and they finally obeyed and left us. In less than an hour I was once more safely stowed beneath the ecoverlid ef my luxurious bed in the Royal Hotel of Messelburg, after having, with great difficulty, gotten rid of the importunate services of mine host, who, how- ever, sent me up a prefuse supper, flanked by several bottles of sparkling Lieb/raumilch, to which I did efficient honor. The next morning, when the burly director and his solemn committee called, I was ready dressed and accoutred for travel. I replied gracefully to their sympathetic questions, but resisted firmly all attempts to entice a further stay or the shadow of an ovation. Was I to keep the kaiser waiting, forsooth? So, in spite of entreaties in many tones, and even of the shade of a threat on the part of the di- rector-custom-house officer, I persisted in leaving the musical monomaniacs of Messel- burg instanter, and my illustrious signorship was therefore escorted to the railway depot in state, between lines of eager, bearded, and blushing, beardless faces, and I left the scene of my singular adventure amid a storm of parting vivas, or whatever strange sound serves to denote the Germanic enthusiasm on such oceasions. What were the feelings or actions of the Messelburgers, official and other, when they learned the farce that had been put upon them, or even whether the manager ever had the courage to undeceive them, I never knew, that remote corner of the Tentonic Empire having never been again found upon the leaves of my Continental itinerary. I trust, however, that ere this they may have enjoyed the rapture of hearing and féteing the genuine barytone—the illustrious Signor Borelli. Tus greatest wisdom of speech is to know when, and what, and where to speak; the time, matter, manner. The next to it is silence.

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LIFE’S CONTRASTS. BY THE AUTHORESS OF “TWO YEARS OF HOSPITAL LIFE.” CHAPTER I. ‘*How I detest French verbs,’ said Alice Lee, as she bent wearily over her desk, in the reom appropriated for study, in Mrs. Norten’s bearding-school. . ‘‘They were certainly in- vented for the torment of school girls.’’ ‘* How fanny,’’ said Florence Egerton, the acknowledged leader of the school; “‘I had a perfect nightmare last night, and French verbs were a leading portion of the dream.”’ ‘*Oh, what was it! dotellus,’’ said several of the girls, at once exchanging the listless air with which they were leaning over their desks in “study hour,” for one of keen interest. “Oh, it, was net particularly clear, and I was probably sleeping in an uncomfortable position. I was in a horrible. place, full of countless horrors, and in the midst of them, seated at a table, I saw Alice’s friend, Mons. Montholon, teaching his verbs, and a cluster of miserable wretches trying to repeat them after him.’ “‘Oh, but Florence, I don’t see why you should have dreamed that, for it is never any trouble to you to learn them, or anything else, for that matter; if I had dreamed it, now, nobody would have wondered.’’ “*T remember thinking the other day,”’ said Florence, ‘‘ when I saw him hopelessly ham- mering her terminations for the fiftieth time into poor little Clara Elbert’s head, and tell- ing her not to sign her ‘dictée’ ‘votre affec- tionnée pupitre ;’ I remember, I say, thinking then that such a life must be wofully stupid, perhaps that gave rise to it.’’ **Did you meet any of your friends there?” said Anna Norton, the daughter of the lady who kept the school, and the special friend of Florence Egerton.’’ ‘*Was the algebra class there?’’ asked a poor, little pale girl, from a corner, who was vainly puzzling over a sum in simple equa- tions. “*No.. Iwas complimentary enough to my friends not to recognize them in the wretched group I saw there. No, Lottie, dear, the al- gebra class was not there, at least as far as my observation went; I didn’t even see Miss Steel there. Anna, has the postman brought this evening’s letters yet ?’’ 62 **Not yet, dear, I think, but I will go and see, for the hour is over,’’ said Anna, as she left the room. “Only one week more! Isn’t it grand? Florence, is Anna really going home with you? How perfect!” said Kate Stuart, wish- ing she might have been the favored one; for the honor of staying at Egerton Manor seemed to her the acme of human happiness, and, indeed, most of the girls envied Anna Norton not only this pleasure, but the privilege of being the chosen friend of Florence; and yet, to her credit it must be said, that she had managed to make herself beloved by the girls, in spite of her unpopular position, as daugh- ter of Mrs. Norton, and therefore likely to be regarded as a spy uyon their actions. ** Yes, Mrs. Norton gives consent, and I’ve written to say that I mean to bring her. I am looking for the answer now. I hope Anna will bring it to me.”’ “I suppose somebody else goes too, of course, or at least will take you on?’’ A bright blush suffused Florence’s cheek, as she answered, quickly: ‘‘ Nobody else goes, too; there’s no ‘of course’ about it. Papa will come for me, and I am waiting to know if the day I named will suit him.”’ ‘Well, don’t be angry; I’m sure it was only natural to think so.”’ “T’m not the least angry, but you’re so silly, Kate.’’ ‘*Why don’t you lock up your beautiful bouquets in your trunk, then, and not leave books with people’s names in them, in open closets, and then you wouldn’t get so much teasing ?’’ Bat in spite of her quick answer, it did not seem that Florence was altogether displeased at the teasing, for, as she shook back her rich brown curls from her face, a gratified smile played over those finely-cut features. Florence Egerton, the favorite and leader, as we have said, of Mra. Norton’s boarding- school, was an only child. Her parents’ enor- mous wealth had supplied every luxury, and anticipated every wish from earliest infancy, Spoiled and petted, she had never known con- tradiction, and when the fancy suggested it- self to her of a short period at a boarding- a ee te tl me es

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and she nd ? rith ish- for ned nd, ton . of ret, had rls, ) be "ve na of ek, Ise to 10t ed ch ile LIFE’S CONTRASTS. 63 school in one of our large cities, her parents consented that she should leave her beautiful home on the North River, for the sake of ac- quiring a few ‘‘accomplishments,’’ or to gain, as she said, a “‘ finishing polish,’’ which she deemed the masters, who had thus far con- ducted her education at home, were unable to give her. Hers was just the nature to gain an influence over those around her. Proud and high-spirited, yet warm; generous, and impulsive. Ever ready to do a kindness; ever prompt to assist any one in trouble, the girls had learned to know to whom to apply, when they stood in need of a friend to ‘‘ help them out of a scrape,’’ and rarely sought her aid in vain. She had come to be the oracle of the school, and accepted the adulation and hom- age she received as a matter of course, and yet with a winning grace, which only in- creased her popularity; her large means, which were very frequently brought into re- quisition for those whose ‘‘ pocket-money”’ fell short, adding no little to the estimation in which she was held. Her position at the school was that of parlor boarder, which gave her much time to herself, and led to her inti- macy with Anna Norton, who had the charge of the house, merely going into the school for certain classes. ‘*Here is the wished-for letter, Florence, dear,’’ said Anna, flying into the room, ‘‘ and mamma says, girls, it is time for us to get ready to walk.’’ Florence, who was not required to walk with the girls, went to her room to read her letter. While she is thus engaged, let us take a look into Mrs, Norton’s room, where she is seated in deep and earnest conversa- tion with a young man, whose flushed face and troubled expression tell that the subject of debate is far from agreeable. ‘*Hang her paltry money! Howdid I know she was rich? She might have been a beggar for all I knew or cared! I knew that she was lovely, fascinating, perfect, and that was enough for me. I mean to win name, fame, and wealth for myself, and as for family, I can tell her parents, though they may be proud as Lucifer, that they can boast no prouder blood, no higher ancestry than our own.”’ ‘* You are very young, Alfred, and, as I tell you, do not know how these things are looked upon in the world, you do not see—’’ ‘*But, mother,’’ broke in Alfred, impa- tiently, ‘‘you are taking, I must think, a most exaggerated view of the whole thing; you are assuming that her parents will be so much displeased ; you cannot know it.’’ Mrs. Norton shook her head, sadly. _‘‘ No, Alfred, it is no exaggerated view; the Eger- tons are very worldly people, and I am sure they would think few young men worthy of such an heiress as their daughter; what, then, carl they think of a penniless youth as- piring to her hand? More than this, you do not see how I am compromised by such an act; nothing will ever convince them that it is not a scheme of mine to bring about such a result.’’ **O mother! how can you say so, when you even forbade my living in the house ?”’ ‘*To small purpose, it seems,’’ said his mo- ther, with some bitterness, ‘‘if an affair of this kind could go on all the time without my knowledge, till you had actually sought and gained the love of one of my pupils, for whom, of course, whilst under my roof, I am held re- sponsible. O Alfred, you do not know how pained and grieved I am at your want of con- fidence !’’ Alfred dearly loved his mother, and her words stung him to the quick. He had been rash, imprudent, hasty, but not intentionally deceitful; he had gone on almost without considering what he was doing, visiting con- stantly at the house, and finding fresh delight each day in the society of the beautiful parlor boarder, till he had been suddenly betrayed into a declaration of his feelings, only a few days before, on hearing that the vacation would begin in a week, when Florence must return to her home; and had been much de- lighted to find that his love was returned, In accepting him, it had never occurred to Flo- rence, who had hitherto been allowed to be completely her own mistress, that her parents might possibly view the matter in a very dif- ferent light from that in which it presented itself to her, and she had resolved; as she was so soon to be at home, to write nothing upon the subject, preferring to tell her motherwhen they met, but anticipating no opposition: she had therefore merely mentioned her intention of bringing her dear friend, Mrs. Norton’s daughter with her, to pass the vacation at Egerton Manor. Alfred had sprung to his feet, and was walking hastily up and down the room. His impatient strides came to a sudden halt as he

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64 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

passed before his mother, and said abruptly : ‘*I’m very sorry, mother, but the thing can’t be helped; it’s done and can’t be un- done. For your sake, and after what you have said about its involving you, I would give up my own wishes; but you must see that I am not free to do so. I have (no matter now how wrongly) sought and won Miss Egerton’s love, and I cannot give her up simply on the idea that her parents may not approve of the connection. Look at it from my stand-point, and tell me seriously what, under the circumstances, you think I ouglit to do.”’ **T see all the difficulties of the case, my son,’’ said Mrs. Norton, sadly, ‘‘and I must say, although I pain you in doing so, that I fear yon have done Florence a grievous wrong by entailing suffering upon her which you might have borne alone. As the case now stands, it is very evident that it is a duty to her to ascertain her parents’ views upon the subject, and, whilst I oan have very little doubt what they will be, still, under the cir- cumstances, I cannot withhold my consent from your seeking them for yourself. Her father will be here in the beginning of the week to take her home for the vacation, when you can lay your case before him. Be per- fectly frank with him, but, in telling him of your present want of means, mention also what you told me the other day of the high compliment Mr. Ellis paid to your business talents, and of his prophecy of your future success. This is only due to yourself as a proof that you are not counting upon Flo- rence’s fortune, which I fear he may think. Our family is, as you say, quite equal if not superior to his own, though I cannot tell how far my present position may overbalance that fact in his mind. We will hope, however,’’ said she, kindly, as she noticed Alfred’s de- jected aspect, ‘‘that I may be mistaken, and that he will judge you less harshly than I have done.’’ A kind word would do far more at any time with Alfred than any severity, and he was touched by the conclusion of his mother’s sentence, more particularly when he thought of her being injured by his course. **But mother, dear motlier, only say that you believe me when I tell you, when I de- clare to you that it never crossed my brain that my action could in any way affect you. I never saw it in that light. I thought only of

Florence, and little dreamed what would re- sult from what I now see was a rash and hasty act. And yet, were it not for you, I could not wish it undone. She is worth it all—worth waiting for; worth bearing, worth enduring anything for; and I should be only too proud and happy to go through any amount of suffering, so that I might only win her at last.’’ **I do firmly believe you, my dear Alfred, without your solemn declaration. Your word thus far has been quite enough for me through life, and, though you have been most impru- dent, I do not think either that you meant to deceive me, or that you would have gone on with this entanglement had you seen it in its true light. But there is one thing that I must now insist upon, and that is that you and Florence have no communication of any sort till you have seen her father, and know his determination on the subject.’ — **But, mother—”’ ** My son, I require this, I exact it from you; and I think you will see that compliance on your part is due to me. As it is, I shall have to bear Mr. Egerton’s reproaches.”’ ** You shall never be blamed !”’ said Alfred, vehemently; ‘“‘you had nothing to do with it!” **Do you think he will be more or less likely to believe that if he hears that from the time i did know it I permitted you and Florence to meet as though I fully approved it?” Alfred was silent for some time, his head buried in his hands, and then said: ‘‘It is scarcely kind, mother, to put me to such a severe test. No communication! What will she think ?”’ **T will take care of that. You have done wrong, both of you, and must suffer for that wrong. I require it, as the only atonement you can make to me.”’ **On that ground, mother, I must promise; but will you not tell her nothing shall ever make me give her up? It might look like it.” **No, Alfred, I will not tell her that, for her father’s will may oblige you to do so; but I will tell her that it was my action, and mine alone, which prevented your meeting.”’ A knock at the door, and matters requiring Mrs. Norton’s superintendence, broke up the interview, and Alfred left the room and the house, a sadder if not a wiser man than he had entered it two hours before.

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LIFE’S CONTRASTS, 65 CHAPTER II. Tue soft summer breeze is playing over the smooth bosom of the North River, rippling its waters into tiny waves, which seem as though hurrying up, one after the other, to give welcome to a lady and gentleman who are sauntering quietly on the beautiful lawn of Egerton Manor, which slopes gently down to the water’s edge. The easy indolence of their whole air and manner proclaims at once that they are merely walking here ‘‘ pour passer le témps,’’ and not to admire the beauties around them, or to revel in the glories of that setting sun, which they do not even appear to see, as it sinks behind those grandly-wooded hills. Character may be as easily detected in a gait, an attitude, an expression of counte- mance, as in any words, and we therefore cannot fail to form our own conclusions upon that of Mr. Egerton as we watch the proud turn of his head, his lofty bearing, and the scornful curl of his lip, even before we catch his words. ** Willie Fletcher, indeed! What nonsense you do talk! Why, Ficrence is a perfect baby, and he is nothing but a mere boy fit to be playing marbles. It seems to me that the very moment children are out of long clothes, women must be making up matches for them. It is ridiculous nonsense !”’ ‘*They must be making up matches for themselves, you had better say,’’ replied Mrs. Egerton, a tall, commanding looking woman, very elaborately dressed, and with a studied airand manner. She was evidently not much pleased by her husband’s reception of her communication that the son of their next neighbor had just been over to know when Florence was expected home, adding her own views upon his interest in the question. ‘‘I have nothing to do with it. I merely told you how constantly they were together last sum- mer—riding, boating, and fishing—and how eagerly he expects her return. In these days, children of sixteen and eighteen are pretty well out of ‘long clothes,’ 1 can assure you, Mr, Egerton; and though, of course, I intend Florence to see something ofhe world before she settles, if, after that, ; like Willie Fletcher, there would be no 4 n that Ican see. On the contrary, the tw estates. joining of Fletcher Park and Egerton Manor is quite an advantage, for, of course, as an only son, he mast inherit the whole ot his father’s immense wealth. Their family, too, is equal to ours. What more could you ask ?’’ **T don’t object to the boy or his family,’’ said Mr. Egerton. ‘‘George Fletcher and I have been friends since we were boys, and perhaps it might do ten years hence, but the utter folly of naming such a thing now is too preposterous. I want the child at home, and mean to keep her when I once get her back. Maria, listen to me; I will have nosuch notions put into her head. She is much too young ever to have thought of such things for her- self, and I won’t have her put up to them.”’ ‘‘Dear me, Mr. Egerton, how seriously you take things! Who ever meant to mention it to Florence? But I think you’ll soon be undeceived as to her extreme innocence. A girl of eighteen, as beautiful as she is, gene- rally receives enough attention to let her know at least what the thing means; for that mat- ter, I have two friends who were married be- fore they were eighteen.’’ ‘*A fact which I particularly request may not be mentioned to Florence; you can scarcely desire it in her case?’’ ‘*No; unless it should be a very brilliant offer, which it wouldn’t do to lose. Of course I should consent, if it. were for her good, otherwise I should wish her to be in society for a year or so, and then to go abroad.”’ ‘Brilliant humbug!’ said Mr. Egerton; ‘*there’s no offer in the land that I would accept for my little Florence at her present age; there’s not much danger but that my daughter will make a brilliant match when- ever she chooses. She need only select; she will be likely to have adorers enough, and too many, for that matter. But there should be a letter from her to-night. Let us walk towards the house, and see if Stanley has brought one.’’ We will join them and take a glance at that solid-looking stone house, shaded and shel- tered by those fine old trees, which seem as though they had just stepped aside to make room for the house, and then closed up their ranks again to protect and defend it. Let us mount the steps of that green terrace bank, and enter with them the wide hall, hung round with paintings, old armor and imple- ments of the chase; follow them still as they turn into that exquisitely-furnished drawing- room, where every luxury which wealth and taste combined can devise, seems gathered together; look out from this window and see

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66 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. what a sweep of the river it commands, and then turn to this one, where those lovely hills rise one behind the other, and tell me if Flo- rence Egerton may not well be eager to show her friend this enchanting spot, which she is privileged to call her home ? But whilst we have been taking this glimpse of Egerton Manor, Florence herself has been most differently occupied. We left her, as she went to her room to read her letter, eager and anxious to tear it open and devour its contents. A letter! Who amongst us does not know all that that word may bring to us? Is there aught inanimate upon this earth pos- sessed of such treniendows power as those sanie white, oblong messengers which come to us with their mysterious freight of joy or sorrow, making or marring, blessing or ban- ning, cheering or chilling—a very part of those most dear; the sweetest thing a friend ean send; the bitterest a foe can frame; a hearts-ease plucked from Love’s bouquet; a stab which leaves the poison in; a cup of joy which nothing palls; a cup of grief which nothing soothes? We scarce can doubt which eame to Florence in that scented sheet, if we look in upon her now, dashed upon her sofa and weeping bitterly. Those eyes are little used to tears, still less to such hot, angry ones as she is shedding now. What can have called them forth? The conversation we have just listened to may give us a clue to the mat- ter, and that open letter lying on the floor will confirm our suspicions. ** Ecertox Manor. **Your most welcome letter, my dearest Florence, has just reached us, with the glad intelligence that Egerton Manor will soon be brightened once more by your presence. Your father bids me tell you that he will be with you at the appointed time, but that you mast be ready to return immediately, as he does not wish to remain in the city longer than is ab- solutely necessary. But, my dear child, I must confess that we were both perfectly amazed at the conclusion of your letter, and were obliged to read it over to assure our- selves that we had made no mistake. That you, Florence Egerton, the daughter of the Hon. Henry Egerton, should so far forget yourself and your position, as to make a friend of a boarding-school teacher’s daugh- ter, and actually propose to introduce her into your home as a guest, passes belief. I did not warn yon, when you left home, against improper intimacies, for I could not have con- ceived it necessary, after the manner in which you had been.brought up from your birth. I presumed that you uuderstood social distinc- tions sufficiently to know that. any such ac- quaintance must be quite out of the question for one in your station, even if inclination should prompt it; but as it seems that I was mistaken, it only remains for me to request that you will inform the young person that it will be quite impossible for her to return with you to Egerton Manor. You can put it in any form that you please; those kind of people are never sensitive, and she must have been very pushing to have proposed such a thing, for lam very sure the idea never could have originated with my Florence. Your father entirely agrees with me, and only excuses your having consented to such an arrange- ment on the ground of your extreme youth: ** Hoping to welcome you very soon, I re- main your very affectionate mother, **Maria EcErton. ‘*P.S. Willie Fletcher comes over every day to know when you are expected home.’’ Burning indignation and a keen sense of her mother’s gross injustice to her friend, were Florence’s first feelings as she read her letter, but the next instant it flashed upon her that it involved far more than this; if Anna Norton might not even enter the proud walls of Egerton Manor as the guest of a few weeks, how would Alfred be received as her accepted lover? For the first time, she real- ized that she was not a free agent, that others had the right to control her actions; others to decide her fate, and these thoughts gave bitterness to her tears, for, althoagh her own will had as yet never been crossed, she knew her father’s disposition, and that there could be little hope for her if such were his views. And yet, with the hopefulness of youth she thought, if they could only see Alfred, only know him, their objections must vanish; but as she once more read the offending letter, the hope seemed to die out. Conscious as she was, that Mrs. Norton and her family pos- sessed every right but that of wealth, to a position equal to her own, the harshness and eruelty of speaking of them in that depreciat- ing manner wounded her deeply ; but, pain- ful—humiliating as it might be to tell Anna that she could not receive her at her house, after having invited her there, this seemed trifling compared with the question regarding Alfred, and the Jroud self-will of the nature which she inhepited from her father asserted itself, and she privately vowed that nothing should ever make her give him up. She loved him, she had promised to marry him, and she would keep her word. A knock at the door. ‘‘ Miss Egerton will a a ae a ae a aa ae a ee He oe OO tne ea —

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LIFE’S CONTRASTS. 67

please come down to Mrs. Norton’s room, she wishes to speak to her,’’ said the servant. ‘*Poor Florence! What was to be done? She had thought of going to Mrs. Norton, who was much beloved by all the girls, and telling her the whole matter, instead of speak- ing to Anna, but a bitter sense of mortification had made her hesitate, as well as the dislike she felt to make her parents appear in such alight. But this summons, which must be obeyed, complicated everything. Crumpling the letter, however, into her pocket, and hastily wiping her tear-stained face, she de- scended the stairs and entered the room without having made up her mind what course to pursue. “‘Come in, dear, I want to talk to you,’’ said Mrs. Norton, as Florence closed the door behind her. The kind word and tone, which it seemed to Florence that she so little deserved, when she thought of what she had to communicate, were too much for her in her present state of feeling, and, throwing herself upon a footstool, she buried her face in Mrs. Norton’s lap, and sobbed aloud. Mrs. Norton was taken by surprise. This was quite unlooked for. She knew Florence’s high spirit and determined will, and was prepared to be met with oppo- sition and self-justification: but what could this mean? A painful thought suggested it- self instantly; she must have seen Alfred— she must have been informed of their conver- sation, and this in spite of his promise. She could not have believed that her son would break his word. This was worst of all, and gave her acute suffering. Under this impres- sion, therefore, instead of entering gradually upon the subject, as she had intended to do, she said quickly, almost sternly :— ‘*Florence, have you seen my son ?’’ ‘*Mr. Norton? No, not this whole day,’’ said she, feeling that somehow even that comfort had been denied her, and little rea- lizing all that was involved in the question. What a weight did those few tearful words, uttered between sobs, lift from that mother’s heart. He had kept his word: how could she have doubted him? and with that assurance came a greater inclination to pity and pardon Florence, whose excessive grief touched her greatly. ‘* Don’t ery so, my child,’’ said Mrs. Nor- ton, tenderly soothing her. ‘‘ You and Alfred have both done wrong, but I am willing to

believe that you acted thoughtlessly, and did not mean to deceive me."’ ‘*Wrong? deceive you? How, dear Mrs. Norton?’ said Florence, whose tears were stayed to ponder upon her words, for, acctis- tomed as she had been from childhood to follow her own inclination without reference to others, it had not oceurred to her that Mrs. Norton was to be considered in the matter. “You must know, Florence, that it was very wrong indeed for Alfred to offer himself to you, and for you to accept him, under my roof, without my knowledge or consent. His announcement of it to me to-day has given me great pain.’’ Here was a fresh blow to Florence. Sup- posing, as I have said, that she had only her own pleasure to consult, when Alfred had told her that he meant to inform his mother, she had simply said, as we know, that she should wait tiil she could do the same in person to her own parents; but the idea of deceit had never entered her mind, as she saw no objec- tion to the arrangement, and had only had her eyes opened to the fact that others could do so by her letter of the afternoon. -To find that Mrs. Norton also received the idea with ‘* reat pain’? was a surprise and disappoint- ment which she had net by any means antici- pated. The connection not desired by either side—this was hard to bear indeed, and, once more laying down her head, she sobbed out :— ‘*O, Mrs. Norton, I didn’t think you would object, whatever’’—but she could go no far- ther, and left her sentence unfinished. Much as Mrs. Norton was moved by the hopeless- ness of her tone, Florence’s words gave her a key to her grief, and she concluded at once that the letter which she had given Anna for her had forbidden the affair. ‘*Then your parents do not approve of it, Florence ?’’ said she. But this was the last thing that Florence had meant to say, and had little thought of all her words conveyed. ‘*O, Mrs. Norton, they don’t know it. I waited to tell them, instead of writing, but—-but—”’ and her tears increased. ‘*Be quiet, dear, and wait till you are calm, and you can tell me all. Don’t excite yourself so.”’ ** But I can’t tell you all; and I don’t know what to do, and I am so unhappy!”’ and poor Florence certainly did not show any signs of growing calmer. Mrs. Norton was mach per-

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eg 68 GODEY’S LADY’S BUOK AND MAGAZINE. plexed. There was evidently something more here than met the eye, Florence’s grief was unaccountable; it did not appear to arise from any feeling that she had done wrong with re- gard to her engagement, and yet her whole manner denoted suffering, and her words gave her a thousand vague fears of she knew not what. She hesitated how to act, and finally said, in a grave and altered tone :— ‘*There must be something very wrong, Flo- rence, if you cannot tell me all, I am sorry that you are so unhappy, but your only hope, it seems to me, is in being perfectly frank, when I will try to make every excuse for you, but not if you persist in concealing any- thing.” . ** Dear Mrs. Norton,’’ said she, slowly draw- ing the letter from her pocket, ‘‘I don’t know how to tell you or dear Anna, but won’t you remember that mamma doesn’t know either of you personally, and can’t tell that—that— you are just as much of a lady as she is?’ A light seemed to break upon Mrs. Norton's mind, and, trying to guess at the truth, she said: ‘‘ Don’t be so troubled, dear Florence ; I think I understand the case now. Your mother objects to the connection because I am, as she probably thinks, merely a school- teacher, and therefore wy son is no fit match for the Hon. Mr. Egerton’s daughter. Am I right? If so, there is no need for such great grief. You must know that the consciousness of my own real position and standing prevents my feeling any annoyance at a thing of this kind. It is a natural view, and one that I have assured Alfred the world would take; and my reason for saying that the idea gave me pain was that your parents might think that I had sought to bring it about.’’ ~ “0, Mrs. Norton! how can you even put such a thought into words !’’ **They will think so, my dear, and I have told Alfred that I am prepared to bear that, unjust as itis. But I understood you to say that you had not told them of your engage- ment. How, then, can you be aware of their views ?’’ Florence colored deeply, twisted the letter in her hand, and was silent. **Perhaps you will iet me read the letter, and that will enlighten me.”’ “OQ, Mrs. Norton, you would be so hurt. What shall Ido? You will be won’t you, that if she knew dear Aune, she would feel differently ?’? ( ae. . ‘If you have mo other objection to my read- ing it, I will answer for my not being much hurt,’’ said she, drawing the letter from Flo- rence’s hand. But, inspite of this assurance, she could scarcely read in calmness the charge against her refined, gentle, and sensitive daughter; and Florence saw the indignant flush, as she eagerly watched her face. **You ought not to have read it; it was wrong, it was cruel to give it to you, but I didn’t know what todo. Dear Mrs. Norton, if you only knew how it troubled me.’’ But the struggle was. a short one in Mrs, Norton’s mind; she had long been accustomed to looking for the highest strength, in every act of life, and ruling herself by the highest standard. The discipline of a life, the later years of which had been filled with suffering and trial of various kinds, had taught her great self-command, and remaining perfectly quiet till the anger called up by those insult- ing words had passed, she said, quietly :— ‘* You are in no way to blame for this, my child; and all I have to request is, that you will most distinctly and clearly make your mother understand that it was your proposal and not Anna’s that she should return with you.” ‘* Indeed I will, and I am so sorry, so very sorry.’’ ‘*No matter for that, my child, that is com- paratively a trifle; but you must see that everything must be at an end between you and my son. After this, my consent, as well as that of your parents, must of course be withheld."’ ‘*Mrs. Norton, dear Mrs. Norton, don’t say so! please don’t say so! Oh, promise me that you will try to forget this. When I see mamma, and can talk to her, she will feel so " different! \ ‘*It would be no kindness to you, Florence, to let you hope, after this; it cannot be, and it only proves that I was right in the promise which I exacted from Alfred to-day, that he should not attempt to see you till your father arrives and he has asked his consent to your engagement.’’ **O, Mrs. Norton! he would not agree to that. Papa is not coming till next week, and I must see him,’’ said Florence, little used to restraint, and imagining that her wish as usual must be law. ** Tt cannot be, my dear, I do not choose it to appear that I have given any countenance tothe affair. Alfred has yielded to my wishes,

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' o- fo & TT Fr = rT - ew Ff = el OO POETRY.--CHILDHOOD. and I have assured him that I would make you understand clearly that it was entirely my ac- tion; this was iue to him. But there are the girls returning from their walk; run up stairs, and say nothing to any one upon the subject. I will undertake to tell Anna, and to spare you as much as possible. Lie down, ‘now, and I will send up your tea, for you are quite unfit to come down to the table.”’ Florence paused, hesitated; then throwing her arms round Mrs. Norton’s neck, said, “Just once—just five minutes; I must, in- deed I must see him.’’ But Mrs. Norton was firm. ‘No, not once, not a single minute; no meeting of any sort or kind. Go; here come the girls.’’ Poor Florence hurried up to her room, locked the door, and threw herself upon her bed in another burst of passionate weeping. (Conclusion next month.) ' THE VOICE OF THE SEA. FY BEB. B. BOBINSORN.,. I wear thy far-off voice, Solemn, mysterious sea! And from thy hidden caverns dim Come whispered words to me. In thy eternal moan I read a tale of woe; It tells of bright hopes once afloat, Now fathoms deep below. It speaks of conflicts fought, When darkness veiled the sky ; It tells of brave hearts struggling long But bitterer deaths to die. It says the young and fair, Who trod thy treacherous waves, Have left this glorious world of light For cold, dark, watery graves. It tells of genius rare, It tef® of beauty bright, That like white wreaths of sea-foam sank Forever from our sight. It tells of manhood's prime, Of feeble, hoary age, That perished—how, no record tells; Thine is an unwritten page. It tells of breaking hearts, Of weary watching eyes, Of happy homes left desolate, Of radely sundered ties. Restless and troubled sea! I hear thy low, sad tone; I see dim shadows pace thy strand Who swell thy ceaseless moan! O deep, unfathomed sea! Our priceless dead are thine; Thy gems we seek not—but to us Those cherished forms resign! Greedy, insatiato sea! Thou hast our noblest—best ; Then cease thy plaint; for one brief hour Let thy vexed waters rest. SORROW. BY FIDELIA A. JACKSON. Ou, why am | so sad? Oh, why these tears that flow ? And where are all the joys That crowned me long ago? And where, oh where the smile That on my features shone? The girlish, happy heart, Oh, tell me, have they fown? The kiss I loved so well, The hand that smoothed my brow, ‘ Sweet mother, where are they? And where thy music now? The wild bird's song alone Wafts back its answer here, While from my drooping lids There lingers still a tear. The breeze that fans my brow, The streamlet’s gentle moan, The lone bird's sad, sweet notes Sob forth that I'm alone. There is no gentle hand To soothe my brow once more, No kiss to press these lips As once there was of yore. —~7eoe CHILDHOOD. CurupRey are but little people, yet they form an important part of society, expend much of our capital, employ a greater portion of our population in their service, and occupy half the literati of our day in labors for their in- struction and amusement. They cause more trouble and anxiety than the national debt; the loveliest of women in her maturity of charms, breaks not so many slumbers, nor occasions so many sighs, as she did in her cradle; and the handsomest of men with full grown mustaches, must not flatter himself that he is half so much admired as he was when in petticoats. Without any reference to their being our future statesmen, philoso- phers, and magistrates, in miniature disguise, children form, in their present state of pigmy existence, a most influential class of beings ; and the arrival of a bawling infant who can scarcely open his eyes, and only opens its mouth, like an unfledged bird, for food, will effect the most extraordinary alteration in a whole household ; substitute affection for cold- ness, duty for dissipation, cheerfulness for gravity, bustle for formality, and unite hearts which time has divided.

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NOVELTIES FOR, JULY. HATS, JACKET, CORSET COVER, COLLARS, CHILD'S DRESS, ETC. ETC. Pig. 1.—White chip turban, trimmed with Fig. 4.—Fancy jacket of white alpaca, dotted Benoiton chains of jet. The hatis boundwith | with black beads, and braided with black Fig. 1. braid, Fig. 4 Fig. 5.—Corset cover, made of eambriec green velvet, and’ trimmed with © tuft of muslin, and trimmed with worked insertion green feathers, caught by a jet medallion. and edging Fig. 2.—Dress hat of light green silk, or- r F namented with chains and agrafes of silver ; Fig. 5. mu. Fig. 2. pur the broad green strings’ are edged with white blonde. ral r vj ; the | Fig. 3.—Shakspeare collar of linen, trimmed Fig. 6.—Shakspeare collar, made of linen, ever) with Cluny lace. richly embroidered. land 70

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NOVELTIES FOR JULY. Fig. 8.—Dress of fine French muslin, richly ornamented with Cluny insertion and lace. The bands of insertion are lined with a bright- Fig. 7.—Shakspeare collar, made of thin colored ribbon. muslin, ornamented with stars of Cluny gui- Fig. 9.—This very pretty apron is made of pure. white mull muslin, and is trimmed with seve- m brie ertion ral rows of narrow black braid. It fastens at wool, either scarlet or black, can be substi- the back with small buttons. If required for tuted for the braid. inen, everyday wear, it can be made of brown Hol- Fig. 10.—For collars, cuffs, or handker- land ; and chain-stitch worked in single Berlin | chiefs.

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Fig. 11. Fig. 11.—A shirt for a little boy from two to four years old. This is a good pattern for a little boy’s shirt, because it is plain at the top, and all the fulness is thrown into the lower part. To effect this a square piece is cut out in front at the top; the side edges are then sewn together, but left open a little way at the top, where the shirt fastens with a but- ton, and the bottom is plaited. A nar- S: NR row strip of the material put double is Se a — stitched on firmly over the top of the plaits. are put on in the shape of a plastron in The shirt is trimmed with a scalloped and embroidered edging round the neck and sleeves. Four rows of the same trimming front. Fig. 12.—Embroidery for the end of a col- | lar. See page 542, Fig. 6. |

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ron in a col- WORK DEPARTMENT. 73 CROCHET CAPE. Materials.—One pound of colored 4-ply fleecy, and a quarter pound of black; tricot needle, the stem of which measures No. ¢ bell gauge. Wrrs the black wool make a chain of 244 stitches, worked very loosely. Foundation row. Miss the last chain stitch, and work a row of plain crochet; at the end cut off the wool, and draw it through, to fasten it. 1st row.’ With the colored wool. Leave an end and work a chain stitch, then commence with a ‘‘treble stitch,’’ thus—turn the wool round the needle, put the needle into the first black stitch, bring the wool through it in a loop; there will now be 3 turns or loops of DNYD va B a HD DOVYVDD wool on the needle; take up the wool and bring it through 2 of the loops, take up the wool again and bring it through the remain- ing 2 loops. Then, in the next black stitch, work a ‘‘long stitch,’’ thus—turn the wool twice round the needle, put it in the 2d black stitch and bring the wool through, when there will be 4 loops.on the needle; take up the wool, bring it through 2 of the loops, take up the wool again and bring it through 2 loops, take up the wool and bring it through the re- maining 2 loops. Work 2 long stitches more in the same black stitch as the first, and in the 3d black stitch work a treble stitch; * then work a single stitch in each of the 3 fol- lowing black stitches, then in the next stitch work 1 treble, then 3 long all in the next stitch, then 1 treble in the next stitch. Repeat from *to the end. Cut off the wool and draw it through. This finishes the 1st raised row. 2d. Black. Commence with 1 chain, put the needle into the 1st treble stitch of the last row, bring the wool through and also through the loop on the needle, then take the next 3 stitches together, thus—put the needle into the lower or front edge of the next stitch on the right side of the work, then take up the next stitch, and then a 3d stitch, take up the black, bring it through these 3 stitches and also through the loop on the needle, * then work 5 single stitches on the 5 following stitches, taking both edges; take 3 together and work 1 single stitch as before. Repeat from *, ending with 1 single. Draw the wool through and fasten off. The 3 stitches taken together are the three long, increased in the previous row. At the beginning and end of every other row knot the two ends together. 3d. Colored wool. Commence with 1 chain and work 3 single on the first 3 stitches of the last row, * 1 treble, then 3 long stitches all in one; and in the next stitch 1 treble, then 3 single. Repeat from *, and fasten off. 4th. Black. Commence with 1 chain, then 1 single on the Ist stitch of the last row; then 3 single more, taking both edges, * take 3 of the stitches together and work a single stitch as in the 3d row, then 5 single, taking both edges. Repeat from * and fasten off. These 4 rows form the pattern, and are to be repeated for about a third of a yard, except that to form the black dots, every 3d time the

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74 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, colored raised row is worked the 3 long stitches are to be worked in black, and the wool slipped at the back so as to use it after every third raised pattern of the colored row. When the above depth is made the work should be decreased to form the shoulder— thus: In making the colored raised row, miss a stitch, and work only 2 single instead of 3 single each time, and in the following black row work 4 single instead of 5 single each time. Repeat the colored row with only 2 single stitches, and then the black row with 4 single stitches, until six patterns more are worked. Then work six patterns, missing another single stitch and omitting it in the same man- ner as those previously decreased, then work a few rows plain to draw it in for the neck. The Border; with the Black wool work along the foundation chain, commencing at the first stitch, make 5 chain turn, and on these 5 chain, miss 3 and 2 treble, then miss 3 of the foundation stitches and work 1 plain on it, repeat these points to the end, work the same up the side, across the neck, and down the other side. Finish with a cord and tassels. STAND FOR PAPER LIGHTS. Tus pretty little stand is very easy to make. The shape mast first be cut out in card-board. It consists of a strip 9 inches long, 3} deep, which is joined into a circle for the rim; and a ronnd piece measuring 3 inches across, which is added to it for the bottom. The cro- chet work with which the card-board shape is covered is made of fine red and black che- nille, over round gold cord. Cast on 119 stitches and work in open crochet, that is, alternately 1 double, 1 chain, miss 1, so as to let the gold cord show between the stitches, Our engraving shows every stitch of the work distinctly. The centre is black, and the pine patterns bright red. The card-board shape must be lined with a coating of cotton wool covered with red silk, neatly quilted; the outside should also be covered with red silk previous to the crochet work being placed over it. A ruching of red ribbon round the top and bot tom, and a bow of the same on each side, completes the trimming. CROCHET BORDER. Commence by working a chain the required length. lst and 2d rows. 1 chain, miss 1, and work ‘- . °teeaaeseeaeerees ee ee ee ee oe | ee ee ee i Repeat tothe end. At the end df each row cut off the cotton. ; 3d. Work 8 plain stitches *, 2 chain, miss 1 treble.

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WORK DEPARTMENT, 75 2, then 3. treble all in one stitch, 2 chain, miss 2, 13 plain. Repeat from * to the end. 4th. Commence on the first stitch of the 8 plain, and work 6 plain *, 3 chain, miss 4, 3 treble in one stitch, 3 chain, miss 1, and 3 treble in one stitch, 3 chain, miss 4, then 9 plain on the 13 plain, which will leave the stitches on each side of it. Repeat from * to the end. 5th. Commence on the first stitch of the last row, work 4 plain *, 3 chain, miss 5, 3 treble over the 3 treble of last row, 2 chain, miss 1, 3 treble in one, 2 chain, miss 1, 3 treble, 3 chain, miss 5, 5 treble on the 9 plain. Repeat from * to the end. 6th. Work 1 plain on the lst, stitch; then $ chain, miss 5, 3 treble on the 3 treble; 3 chain, miss 2, 3 treble in one; 3 chain, miss 1, 3 treble in one; 3 chain, miss 2, 3 treble; 3 chain, miss 5, 1 plain on the centre of the 5 plain. Repeat, 7th, Work 1 treble on the Ist stitch (3 chain, miss 3, and 3 treble on the 3 treble, twice); * 2 chain, miss 1, 3 treble in one; 2 chain, miss 1, 3 treble; 3 chain, miss 3, 3 treble; 3 chain, miss 7, 3 treble; 3 chain, miss 3, 3 treble. Repeat from * to the end. 8th. Work 1 treble on the Ist stitch; 2 chain, miss 4, * 1 treble, 3 chain, miss 4, 3 treble on the 3 treble; 3 chain, miss 2; 3 treble in one; 5 chain, miss 1, 3 treble in one; 3 chain, miss 3, 3 treble; 3 chain, miss 4, 1 treble; 3 chain, miss 5. Repeat from * to the end. 9th. Work 1 plain on the Ist chain stitch ; * 2 chain, miss 5, 3 treble on the 3 treble; 4 chain, miss 3, 3 treble (3 chain, miss 1, and 8 treble twice); 4 chain, miss 3, 3 treble; 2 chain, miss 5, 1 plain. Repeat from *. 10th. Work 1 plain on the Ist stitch; 1 chain, miss 2, 3 treble on the 3 treble; 5 chain, miss 4, 3 treble; (5 chain, miss 3, and 3 treble, 3 times); 1 chain, miss 2. Repeat to the end. llth. Work 3 plain on the 3 treble; then on the 5 chain work 2 treble in 1, 5 times; repeat from the commencement 3 times more, then 6 plain. Repeat from the beginning of the row. BRAIDING PATTERN FOR A WRAP.

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76 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. USEFUL BASKET-BAG FOR THE WORK- TABLE. (See engraving, page 21.) Materials.—Very fine brown leather, blue silk, blue and brown purse silk, and blue and brown ribbon ; blue braid ; aud a blue gimp cord and tassels. To make this pretty work-basket, a paper pattern should first be cut out. This pattern should be a perfect circle, of the size required, folded 16 times double, and then cut into a point; the paper is then unfolded, when 16 points or vandykes will be seen. The same pattern is then cut out once in brown leather for the outside, and once in blue silk for the inside. The outside is bound all round with brown ribbon; and over every second van. dyke a pattern is worked in fine blue silk braid, with a small black bead at the points where the strips of braid cross one another. Small pieces of strong blue ribbon or double strips of blue silk are firmly stitched upon the inside—that is, the pattern cut out in blue silk—for holding the different articles which are necessary in a lady’s work-basket ; then sew the edges of both the leather and the blue silk together, and hide the seam by placing a piece of blue silk braid round the edge of the vandykes. The gilt eyelet-holes should be put on by a corsetmaker, as holes merely sewn over all round would not be firm enough. A double blue silk cord is run through the eyelet- holes, and finished off with tassels. A small round basket of brown wick- er-work is placed in the centre, and trimmed round the top with a double quilling of blue ribbon. The accompanying illustrations ren- der unnecessary any farther description. The engraving above shows the basket-bag when drawn up; and the one on page 21 shows it when open and ready for use. PANCY LETTER FOR MARKING PILLOW-CASES. (x at ( A : N PANCY HERRING-BONE STITCH.

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RECEIPTS. Receipts, We. MISCELLANEOUS COOEING. Knxvckrte or VEAL, on Sain on Leo or Beer Soup —A knuckle of veal of six pounds weight will make a large tureen of excellent soup, and is thus easily prepared: Cut half a pound of bacon into slices about half an inch thick ; lay it at the bottom of a soup-kettle, or deep stewpan, and on this place the knuckle of veal, having first chopped the bone in two or three places; furnish it with two carrots, two turnips, a head of celery, two large onions with two or three cloves stuck in one of them, and a good bundle of lemon-thyme, winter savory, and parsley. Just cover the meat with cold water, and set it over a quick fire till it boils; having skimmed it well, remove your soup-kettle to the side of the fire; let it stew very gently till it is quite tender, ¢. ¢., about four hours; then take out the bacon and veal, strain the soup, and set it by in a cool place till you want it, when you must take off the fat from the sur- face of the liquor, and pour it (keeping back the settlings at the bottom) in a clean pan. If you like a thickened soup, put three tablespoonfuls of the fat you have taken off the soup into a small stewpan, and mix it with four tablespoonfuls of flour, pour a ladleful of soup to it, and mix it with the rest by degrees, and boil it up till it is smooth. Cut the meat and gristle of the knuckle and the bacon into mouthfuls, put them into the soup, and let them get warm. You may make this more savory by add- ing ketchup. Mctron Brota.—Take two pounds of scrag of mutton ; to take the blood oat, put it into a stewpaa, and cover it with cold water; when the water becomes milk-warm, pour it off; then put it in four or five pints of water, with a teaspoonful of salt, a tablespoonful of best grits, and an onion ; set it on a slow fire, and when you have taken all the scum off, put in two or three turnéps; let it simmer very slowly for two hours, and strain it through a clean sieve. BorLep Brays.—Soak over night any small white beans in soft water, put them in a strong bag, leaving room to swell ; let them boil in a potfal of water, until done; hang them up to let all the water drain off, and season with butter, pepper, and salt, to the taste. CoLLARED Catr’s Hzav.—Boil half a calf’s head in Just enough water to cover it; let it boil for two hours; re- move it from the broth and cut all the meat from the bones; return the bones again to the broth, and let them continue to stew; put into the broth some sage leaves; take out the brains, and put the meat into a jar with some slices of ham, pepper, and salt, and the tongue. Set the jar in a good oven for two hours; let it be closely covered. Beat up the brains with two eggs,and pour themin. Re move the whole to a mould, and fill it with the strained broth. Dish when quite cold. CavLirLowER.—Soak the head two hours in salt water, and cook until tender in milk and water ; drain, and serve whole with drawn butter; this makes the best appear- ance, but it will be found to suit the taste better cut up and seasoned rich!y ‘with butter and a littie salt and pep- per. In either case it must be well drained, Green Conn Cages.—Grate the corn; make a rich bat- ter with cream, or according to directions given for batter cakes. Use just enough of the batter to hold the corn to- gether, and lay the cakes on the griddle, as you would a common griddle-cake ; serve with butter. VOL. Lxx11.—6 BrersteaK Puppixc.—Prepare a good suet crust, and line a cake-tin with it; putin layers of steak, with onions, tomatoes, and mushrcoms, chopped fine, a seasoning of pepper, salt, and Cayenne, and half a cup of water before you close it. Bake from and hour and a half to two hours, according to the size of the pudding, and serve very hot. To Dress Saur Fise.—Lay the fish to soak over night in cold water with a little vinegarin it. Wash it thoroughlys put it into a fish-kettle, with sufficient cold water to cover it. Let it heat gradually, but not boil quickly, or the fish will become hard. A large fish will require to be kept boiling half an hour. Before taking out the fish, remove all the scum from thetop. Drain the fish, Parsnips may be laid round the edge of the dish, and hard-boiled eggs, cut in halves or slices, to be placed on or between the parsnips. Parsnips and egg sauce in ‘separate tureens should also be served with salt fish. To Bow Bexts.—Beets must not be cut before boiling, as the juice will escape, and the sweetness of the vege- table be lost. Select small-sized smooth roots, wash them nicely, and boil them in clear water until tender. Wien sufficiently cooked, skim them into a pan of cold water, and slip off the outside; cut them in thin slices, and while hot season with butter, salt, a little pepper and sharp vinegar, and serve hot. They can be sliced lengthwise, and put in strong vinegar to use cold. Beets svon kill Vinegar; it should, therefore, be very strong. CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC. Crisp Bisccrrs.—One pound of flour, the yelk of one egg, milk. Mix the flour and the yelk of the egg with sufficient milk to make the whole into a very stiff paste ; beat it well, and knead it until itis perfectly smooth. Roll the paste out very thin ; with a round cutter shape it into small biscuits, and bake them a nice brown in a slow oven from twelve to eighteen minutes. Rep-Currant Prppixe, Baxep.—Red-currant pudding may be made in the usual way, with a padding crust and boiled ; or it can be made by pressing the fruit through @ sieve, so as to free it from the pips, which are very disa- greeable ; then, to a pint of pulp add two ounces of bread- crums and a quarter of a pound of sugar; put it into a tart-dish with a rim of puff-paste: serve with cream or custard. White currants may be treated in the same manner. A Pavixt Cake.—Half a pound of flour, halfa pound of ground rice, half a pound of raisins stoned and cut into small pieces, quarter of a pound of currants, quarter ofa pound of butter, two ounces of sweet almonds, quarter of a pound of sifted loaf sugar, half a nutmeg grated, one pint of milk, one teaspoonfad of carbonate of soda. Stone and cut the raisirfs into small pieces ; wash, pick, and dry the currants; melt the butter te a cream; blanch and chop the almonds, and grate the nutmeg. When all these ingredients are thus prepared, mix them well together; make the milk warm, stir in the soda, and with this liquid make the whole into a paste. Butter a mould, rather more than half fill it with the dough, and bake the cake in a moderate oven from an hour and a half to two hours, or less time should it be made into two cakes. Frerr Prpprve.—Take eqaal quantities of raspberries , and currants, or cherries and currants; line a pudding- basin with a svet crust; stem your fruit; put it inte the basin with plenty of sugar, bat do not put any water; cover it with a top crust well fastened on ; tie a cloth over it, and boil for two hours.

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78 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, RaspBerry Foon.—Pat your fruit for a quarter of an hour into an oven ; when tender, pulp it through a sieve, sugar it, add the crum of sufficient sponge-cake to thicken it; put it into a glass mould, or into custard-cups, and lay some thick cream on the top. If for immediate use, the cream may be beaten up with the fruit. Cuerry AND Crorrayt Tart.—Stem and stone your cherries ; take an equal weight of very ripe red currants, press them through a sieve, add the juice to your cherries with the cram of two sponge-cakes, a quarter of a pound of sugar, and a wineglassful of brandy. Put it into a tart-dish lined with a rim of paste, cover it with a top crust, and bake it for an hour. Crocotate CHartotre Russs.—Having soaked in cold water an ounce of isinglass, or of gelatine, shave down three ounces of the best chocolate, which must have no spice or sugar in it, and mix it gradually into a pint of cream, adding the soaked isinglass. Set the cream, cho- colate, and isinglass over the fire, ina porcelain kettle, and boil it slowly till the isinglass is dissolved thoroughly, and the whole is well mixed. Then take it off the fire and let it cool, Have ready eight yelks of eggs and four whites, beaten all together till very light; and stir them gradually into the mixture, in turn with half a pound of powdered loaf-engar. Simmer the whole over the fire, bat do not let it quite boil. Then take it off, and whip it toastrongfroth. Line your moulds with sponge cake, and set them onice. If you like a strong chocolate flavor, take four ounces of the cocoa. SUMMER BEVERAGES. Gixczer Beer.—Put into any vessel two gallons of boiling water, two pounds of common loaf sugar, two ounces of best ginger (bruised), two ounces of cream of tartar, or else a lemon sliced. Stir them up until the sugar is dissolved, let it rest until about as warm as new milk, then add two tablespoonfuls of good yeast, poured on toa bit of bread put to float onit. Cover the whole over with a cloth, and suffer it to remain undisturbed twenty-four hours; then strain it, and put it into bottles, observing not to put more in than will occupy three- quarters full. Cork the bottles well, and tie the corks, and in two days, in warm weather, it will be fit to drink. If not to be consumed until a week or a fortnight after it is made, a quarter of the sugar may be spared. Common Grixcer Beer.—The common drink sold in the streets is made with raw sugar or molasses, three-quar- ters of a pound toa gallon of water, the ginger ground and with less acid. Gixcer Beer Powpers.—Take two drachms of pow- dered white sugar, five grains of powdered ginger, twenty- six grains of carbdnate o(,soda; mix and wrap in blue paper; thirty grains of tartaric achi; wrap in white paper. For use, dissolve the contents of the blue paper in a tumbler three-fourths filled with water, add the acid from the white paper, stir it up, and drink as soon as dissolved. SrrawsBerry Drinx.—Put to a pint of water a pound of strawberries, which you are to bruise or mash in the water, then put in a quarter of a pound or five ounces of sugar, and squeeze into it the juice of a lemon, and suffer it to cool before you drink it, Ifthe lemon be full, it will serve two pints. Sopa Warer Powpers.—Take one ounce of tartaric acid, one and a half ounce of carbonate of soda. Divide it into sixteen portions, wrap up the acid in white paper, and the soda in blue; dissolve the soda in a tumbler of water, put in the acid, and drink immediately. Citrie acid may be used instead of the tartaric, and will be found an improvement. Sopa Warer.—Dissolve one ounce of the carbonate of soda in a gallon of water, put it into bottles, in the quap- tity of a tumblerful or half a pint to each; having the cork ready, drop into each bottle half a drachm of tartaric or citric acid in crystals, cork and wire it immediately, and it will be ready for use at any time. Lemonaps.—Take two quarts of hot water, two lemons, _ sliced, half a pound of loaf sugar, and a quarter of an ounce of gum Arabic. Strain through a flannel bag, and bottle off. LemonaDe Powpers.—Half a pound of pounded loaf sugar, one ounce of carbonate of soda, four drops of oil of lemon ; mix, and divide in sixteen portions, and wrap in blue paper. One ounce of tartaric acid in sixteen white papers; use as directed in Soda Water Powders. Persian SHerset.—The above powders to be mixed altogether; to be kept in a glass-stoppered bottle, in a dry place. A small quantity is merely to be put in water and drank quickly. These are the powders now so ex- tensively sold in London, under the above name. Coortne Summer Beverace.—Bruise any fruit you like, as cherries, currants, strawberries, raspberries, etc., add water and sugar to your taste, 4nd strain it. It should be kept in a cool place. Or dissolve fruit jelly in boiling water, and let it cool. MEASURING DROPS IN MEDICINE. Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal contains the following in relation to measuring out drops in medica! practice, scientific, and household :— “But here comes a very remarkable question—are the drops the same size, whether they succeed each other ra- pidly or slowly? Most of us say yes, if all the other conditions remafn the same; but our learned experiment- alistsaysno. Hearranged his apparatus (which he callsa statagometer or drop measurer) in such a way that he could make the drops of cocoanut oil fall from the little ivory ball at intervals varying from one-third of a second up to twelve seconds. He finds that the drops are twice as large and twice as heavy in the first instance as in the last; that is, when the drops succeed each other more rapidly, they are individually larger when they fall more slowly, amounting actually to double when the difference is as great as that above stated. The Lady Bountiful and Mrs, Nurse need not be troubled with a scientific explanation of this fact—how it depends on the time which the gravi- tation of the drop has to overcome the adhesion between the oil and ivory ball; but they were very much con- cerned in knowing that when they administered medicine ‘as the fore,’ in so many drops per dose, the quantity will vary according to the interval of time between the drops. If they hurry, by dropping too much, they may administer 30 drops to baby instead of 20, and then—we draw a veil over the consequences. Even medical prac- titioners themselves are cautioned. ‘A pharmaceutist who administers 100 drops of a liquid at the rate of three drops per second, may give half as much again as one who res the jon at the rate of one drop in two seconds,’ Another caution to the dispensers of drops. Look to the size of the neck and lips of the phial contain- ing medicines ; if the vessel is thick and rounded at the spot from which the drops are made to fall, rely upon it, that the drops themselves will be individually large? than when a thin-lipped phial is used. Professor Guthrie

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wing ctice, re the er Ta- other ment- allsa could ivory up to large last; idly, ywly, is as Mrs, ation RECEIPTS. 79 has ascertained this, and he shows how it depends on the adhesion of liquids to solids, as well as upon the cohesion among the particles of liquids themselves. MISCELLANEOUS. To Avorn Catcnine CoLp,—Accustom yourself to the use of sponging with cold water every morning on first get- ting out of bed. It should be followed with a good deal of rubbing with a wet towel. It bas considerable effect in giving tone to the skin, and maintaining a proper ac- tion in it, and thus proves a safeguard to the injurious in- fluence of cold and sudden changes of temperature. Sir Astley Cooper said, ‘The methods by which I have pre- served my own health are—temperance, early rising, avd sponging the body every morning with cold water, imme- diately after getting out of bed; a practice which I have adopted for thirty years without ever catching cold.” Eaas may be preserved by applying with a brush a so- lution of gum-Arabic to the shells, and afterwards packing them in dry charcoal dust. Grass should be washed in cold water, which gives it a brighter and cleager look than when cleansed with warm water. Jn Ix Croostra P&Per ror a Room, avoid that which has a variety of colors, or a large showy figure, as no furni- ture can appear to advantage with such. Large figured papering makes a small room look smaller, To Destroy F.res in a room, take half a teaspoonful of black pepper in powder, one teaspoonful of brown sugar, and one tablespoonfal of cream, mix them well together, and place them in the room on a plate, where the flies are troublesome, and they will soon disappear. SNAILS are great enemies to every kind of garden plant, whether flower or vegetable; they wander in the night to feed, and return at daylight to their haunts ; the short- est and surest direction is, ‘‘ Rise early, catch them, and killthem.”’ If you are an early riser, you may cut them off from their day retreats, or you may lay cabbage leaves about the ground, especially on the beds which they fre- quent. Every morning examine these leaves, and you will find a great many taking refage beneath; if they plague you very much, search for their retreat, which you can find by their slimy track, and hunt there for them day by day; lime and salt are very annoying to snails; a pinch of salt kills them, and they will not touch fresh lime ; it is a common practice to sprinkle lime over young crops, and along the edges of beds, about rows of peas and beans, lettaces, and other vegetables; but when it has been on the ground some days, or has beea moistened by rain, it loses its strength. ExceLLent Hain Wasn.—Take one ounce of borax, half an ounce of camphor; powder these ingredients fine, and dissolve them in one quart of boiling water; when cool, the solution will be ready for use; damp the hair fre- quently. This wash effectually cleanses, beautifies, and strengthens the hair, preserves the color, and prevents early baldness. The camphor will form into lumps after being dissolved, but the water will be sufficiently impreg- nated. ftean Kip Groves.—Make a strong lather with curd soap and warm water, in which steep a small piece of new flannel. Place the glove on a flat, clean, and unyielding surface—such as the bottom of a dish, and having tho- roughly soaped the flannel (when squeezed from the lather), rub the kid till all dirt be removed, cleaning and resoaping the flannel from time to time. Care must be taken to omit no part of the glove, by turning the fingers, ete. The gloves must be dried in the sun, or before a moderate fire, and will present the appearance of old parchment, When quite dry, they must be gradually “pulled out,’’ and will look new. CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS. BY AN OLD HOUSEKEEPER. Frencu Caks.—Five eggs, weight of five eggs in flour, weight of five eggs ix sugar weight of three eggs in but- ter. Beat until light, then add one teacupful of raisins. Bake in a quick oven. Joseputne Caks.—Two tablespoonfuls of sugar, one nutmeg grated, a little lemon-peel, three tablespoonfals of butter, two tablespoonfuls of cream, two cups of milk, four cupfuls of flour, four eggs, one teaspoonful of soda, two teaspoonfuls of cream of tartar. Bake half an hour. Eat hot, with fresh butter. Scperion Meat Pies.—Take the meat of a good-sized, fat chicken (boiled), add fo it half a pound of good boiled beef's tongue, quarter of a pound of fresh butter, pepper and salt to taste, and about a dozen good boiled potatoes, and four good-sized onions. Chop all these ingredients fine; make a good crust, and cover the bottom of your dish ; put the ingredients in, and cook or bake it well. Beavtirc. Buus Dys.—Take one ounce of soft Prussian blue, powder it, and add quarter of an ounce of pure oxalic acid. This, added to a quart of hot waterand a piut of cold water added after it is well dissolved, makes a beautifal light blue. Foryrrcvre Poxtsu.—Dissolve one ounce of Venice tur- pentine in half a pint of alcohol. Svear Cake.—Three pounds of flour, one pound of but- ter, one teaspoonful of pearlash dissolved in half a pint of water. Put in the water a pound and a half of sugar, rub the flour and butter tugether, roll thin, and bake in a quick oven. A Goop Caxe.—Five cups of flour, two of sugar, one cup of butter, one egg, one teaspoonful of pearlash, half a teacup of milk. Cuov CHov. Eacellent.—To one peck of green tomatoes add three good-sized onions, six peppers with the seeds taken out ; chop together, and boil three minutes in three quarts of vinegar. Throw this Wnegar away after strain- ing. Then to three quarts of new vinegar, when scalding hot, add two cups of sugar, one cup of mixed mustard, one tablespoonful of cloves, one of allspice, two of cinna- mon, three of salt. Pour over the tomatoes hot. Mrs. J. C. Tomato Wixe.—Take small ripe tomatoes, pick off the stems aud wash them, mash and strain through a linen bag; let it stand till the pulp is settled, then measure. Add two pounds and a half or three pounds of loaf sugar to a gallon of juice. Put into a cask, and let it ferment, then bottle and pack away for use. If two gallons of water are added to five gallons of juice, it will make pretty good wine, but not as fine as if the adulteration is not made. Mouscapine Wixe.—Get the grapes full ripe, wash, and pound with a pestle, being careful not to break the seeds, as it will make the wine bitter. Measure them after they are pounded, and to every gallon add a gallon of cistern water. Let it stand a week, then measure the clear juice ; add two pounds and a half or three pounds of loaf sugar to each gallon. Let it stand till fermentation ceases, thea bottle for use. This is excellent—try it. E. &. P.

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Chitors’ Sable. SOME HINTS ABOUT FOREIGN TRAVEL. Tas Americans, it is generally admitted, are great tra- vellers. It may also be asserted that they are good tra- vellers; those habits of consideration for the feelings of others—however humble in condition—which spring from the equality of rights peculiar to republican institutions, smoothing over all the difficulties and little annoyances that cross their path. Americans may be characterized as good-natured, for- bearing, and sympathetic. These are their good points, and they are points of great value in a traveller. Why it is that they are so addicted to travel is not difficult to comprehend. A new and vigorous nation, restless, mobile, and eager for progress—a boundless extent of territory, open to all, and holding out hope to all, untrammelled by passports or police, custom-houses, or the barriers of unknown languages—their home embraces the limits of a Continent, and the involvements of business or family relations rarely leave that home unexplored. Among the numberless sneers, so lavishly expended upon us by the English, is the assertion that the most highly educated class of our men—men who have enjoyed the benefits of foreign travel—live a life of mental isola- tion, shat up in their libraries, their thoughts; their sympathies forever dwelling upon the scenes and asso- ciations of the Old World, among seats of learning, in galleries of Art, mid the mighty relics of ancient nations. If foreign travel really have this effect, then would it be well that no American should go abroad. But it is not true, Why should the travelled American returi to his own country more dissatisfied than the travelled man of any other land? A young Englishman's education is not considered complete until he has made the “ grand tour,”’ under the care of his tutor, and we have yet to find that he learns to love his country less. The ready answer to this would perhaps be, “‘ He finds none which can com- pare with his own.’’ The people of other nations do not hold this opinion—but let it pass. Every true man holds his own country nearest his heart, and hopes for the fatare—the American as well as the Englishman. Does the English student or man of letters, the learned dweller ‘in the cloistered haunts of Oxford and Cam- bridge, live always mentally in his own small island ? No, the larger part of his inner life is passed amid the scenes and actions of nations far removed from him, not only by distance, but by time. And when he visits these world-renowned spots, consecrated in his mind by the lore upon which he has fed, does it make him love his country less? Does it make him discontented with home? More liberal than our crities, we think it does not. He travels to enlarge his mental sphere and to rub off his prejudices by intercourse with the enlightened of other lands. An American travelling in Europe gains information that he could obtain in no other way; but once his, it is his forever. One lesson he learns, a lesson beyond all price, fully to understand the privileges and blessings he enjoys at home. There are certainly Americans—idle people of wealth— who lead a purposeless existence, and prefer a life of pleasure in the gay cities of Europe to the responsibilities of home. These are but a handful, however, compared with the English, who colonize most of the towns in France, Italy, and Switzerland, the English chapel being 80 as well known a feature in Continental towns as any of their local lions. ff = 7 * * + ~ . 7 It is best to obtain passports in Washington; but this matter is arranged by gentlemen ; our hints are chiefly for ladies. Rassia is the only country in Europe that presents any difficulties to travellers. They do not encourage foreiga travel, and their gustom-house and police laws are ex tremely stringent. No books—not even guide books can be taken into Russia. They must be left at the frontier until you return. You move about with the knowledge of the police, and no foreigner can leave Russia without advertising his intention in the newspapers at least a fort- night before his departure, in order that all who have claims upon him may be ivformed. Between England and France no passports are at pre sent required. Nor in most of the cantons of Switzerland, It is proper, however, to have your pgésport viséd in Lon- don at yourown Legation. As these documents become much worn by frequent handling, it is advisable to have them bound in pocket-book form. Americans usually burthen themselves with too much luggage. They take huge trunks which they find them selves obliged to leave behind in London or Paris, and provide themselves with clothing sufficient for years, without reflecting that they are not going into deserts um trod by man, but to the very centres of civilization, wher anything they require can be obtained at a moment's notice, ready for instant use. The packing and unpack ing ofa score of useless things becomes, in a little while, & great tax upon time and patience, and the result is, that most persons drop from time to time all superfluous arti- cles, and learn experience at some expense. Fora lady, half a dozen of each article of under-cloth- ing would be ample. Of white under-skirts two, as they take up a great deal of space, and black silk are the best for daily use. Whenever you stop—if but for twenty-four hours—you can have washing done, which, under any circumstances would be done, to avoid carrying about soiled clothing. For travellers who are going to the East, and wish to make the journey up the Nile in a Nile boat, a large supply would of course be necessary, as no wash ing can be done during the six weeks usually consumed in this trip. As steamboats now ply upon the Nile, how- ever, few persons go up in boats, and the journey is much shorter. The best material for a lady's travelling dress is black silk or alpaca. The former is preferable. It is easily brushed and smoothed out, and is less liable to be travel- stained. A black silk, of a quality as rich as you please, § also the best adapted for service while stopping, as an out door dress ; for shopping, sight-seeing, visiting galleries, driving, ete. Itis inconspicuous, and the dress of a gentle Woman everywhere. The English are always known 0 the Continent by some astonnding “‘ get up,” which they call a travelling dress. An American lady’s costumels#@ entirely French, that she is never conspicuous, unless she takes up the English idea, and walks about in Continental towns with a grotesque hat, hobnailed boots, and flashy underskirts. For mild weather on the road, a water-proo cloak is most convenient. If chilly, a Zouave jacket cloth may be worn underneath, either with or without

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} any of but this chiefly nts any foreiga are ex oks can frontier yw ledge without t a fort 0 have y at pre- rerland, in Lom to have oO much i them- ris, and ; years, serts un 1, where oment's anpack- e while, t is, that ous arti- ar-cloth- the best nty-four der any g about she East, , ile boat, 0 wash- nsumed le, how- is much EDITORS’ TABLE, 81 the dress body. In cold weather a heavy cloth sack will be required. Never travel without a blanket shawl upon your arm ready for instant use. Such @ shawl is invalu- able, not only for warmth in sudden changes of weather, but to use as a cushion, pillow, etc. ete. A straw bonnet, simply trimmed in the best style, is the most appropriate head-gear for a lady. Fashion governs these matters, however, and we would only say that the numerous “‘hats” now worn, though convenient, have never the thoroughly genteel appear- ance that a bonnet possesses. Asole-leather trank is the strongest and best for long periods of travel. It should not be more than 16 inches high, 18 wide, and 32 long. This size will fit upon any travelling carriage. It should open in the middle, that you may push it under the berth on board of the ship. Trunks may be stored in the luggage-room if you sail in a steamer. The state-rooms are small; all the clothing required for a voyage of ten or eleven days may be con- tained in atravelling bag, which should be 22 inches high and 30 wide, and made of enamelled cloth, which wears as well as leather, and sheds water better. The trunk should have a canvas cover, and it is best to have this varnished. With a little ingenuity a bonnet may be carried in the top division of the trunk, and thus avoid another article of Inggage. At all events the addition of a bonnet-box may be deferred till Paris is reached, by which time much experience as to a person’s requirements will have been gained. A convenient travelling hand-bag is indispensable to contain many little comforts and conveniences that may be needed by a lady when separated from her trunk: smelling salts, Cologne, fan, portable drinking cup, ete. Agum-elastic bag for hot water is a very desirable ar- ticle for a traveller who suffers from cold hands or feet, and when empty occupies very little space. For summer & light linen or muslin dust-cloak will be found con- venient. Except in England, no bed-chamber is furnished with soap. The examination of luggage on landing in England is made as little troublesome as possible, especially for ladies, who are not expected to carry tobacco, which is the great bugbear of the English tide-waiters. In France and Belgium the custom-house regulations are strictly administered. Large quantities of jewellery are smuggled into France from Switzerland, and it is advisable to carry as few small boxes as possible in your trunk, as they are liable to be rudely broken open in the search. In Ger- many there is but little trouble, but, strange to say, in Spain, in passing from one province to another, the lug- gage is liable to custom-house search. The Octroi officials abound on the Continent, but a simple declaration will usually suffice for them. In Italy the custom-house offi- cials are corrupt, more especially in the Papal dominions. A small fee, privately administered, is the method by which the experienced overcome all interference here. All travellers on the Continent of Europe, if able to ineur the expense, should employ a courier. The whole anxiety and burthen of the arrangements is assumed by him ; he speaks all the languages of Europe with sufficient accuracy ; he understands the usages of the road ; is cog- nizant of a thousand little impositions that the unwary foreigner knows nothing of, and shields him from them. He stands between him and the grasping innkeeper, pos- tilion, or vetturino, making every bargain, paying every bill; he writes in advance, and engages the apartment which will be found all ready on arriving; he examines every room to see if all is neat and well ordered. If there should be any shortcomings, he puts all right with a strong hand, for the courier is a tyrant in a small way He brings customers to the hotels, and the landlords knowing this are his humble servants. If you havea private table, he is in attendance at meals; carves for you, and sees that the dinner is as it should be, and that you are properly served. He knows the best shops and all the objects of interest to be seen in the towns you may visit, Hecan conduct you to galleries and museums, and understands the methods by which admittance can be gained to palaces, villas, ete. A good eourier, in short, smooths over every difficulty, and enables you to enjoy without drawback your residence in foreign lands. The objection frequently made to couriers is that they make their percentage out of their employers’ money. It is not generally known to Americans that servants in all parts of Europe receive fees from tradespeople, and are thus encouraged to bring them custom. This no doubt is done by those whom your courier employs. He would hardly obtain a recommendation if he went beyond this, and the traveller must secure himself by obtaining relia- ble recommendations. At all events it is better to have one man filch you than five hundred! Couriers may be readily obtained in London or Paris. The salary per month is about fifty dollars. He pays his own bill at all hotels (except in Spain), or rather it is understood that he pays nothing, as he brings the patronage. A courier generally expects to receive a sum of money in hand on setting out, rendering an account of it when it is exhausted. A liberal employer, however, may man- age his expenses as he pleases, by letting it be seen that he ig liberal. He may give a daily sum while on the road, and take an account of it nightly. The most luxurious, satisfactory, and, of course, most expensive mode of travelling is by post. A carriage may be hired for any number of months, or a new or second- hand one purchased, and when done with, sold. The posting is regulated by government, according to a settled tariff. A less expensive mode, which prevails in Italy, is by travelling “ vetturino,”’ that is, by hiring a carriage and placing yourself in the charge of the conductor or vettu- rino. He charges a specified sum by day, and engages to convey you in a given time to your destination. This charge includes all expenses, food, etc. This latter saves the traveller from the impositions of innkeepers, who prey upon foreigners. This mode of travelling is slow and tedious, as you journey always with the same horses, and must stop for hours to rest whenever your vetturino pleases, Another method is by diligence; but railways and steamboats are now so universal, that on most of the great routes the traveller will find these modes of convey- ance. To see a country to advantage, however, and enjoy the scenery, one must neither make short cuts by sea, or fly through the air by rail. All travellers should purehase Murray’s hand-books of the different countries they intend to visit. They contain a large amount of useful information on all the points important to a tourist. In Great Britain a ‘‘ Bradshaw”’ is also indispensable, It is published monthly, and contains all the latest in- formation relative to the departure of trains, steamers, stages, etc. = In crossing the channels to France or Ireland, it is well to go on board the steamers early and secure a sofa or berth. If you dread the sea, choose a calm day, for one

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82 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, is Hable to more severe sea-sickness in these short pas- sages than in crossing the Atlantic, and the boats are usu- ally crowded. Fow things are more surprising to an American accustomed to the floating palaces of his own country, than the smal! and inconvenient vessels that ply upon these important highways. Railway travelling in Europe differs from our own in some of the arrangements. The term “car’’ is never ap- plied to their conveyances. They are called “‘ carriages,’’ and are divided {nto compartments containing, sometimes six, sometimes eight persons. A party which does not entirely fill a compartment, may always secure it to themselves by a judicious application of silver to the palm of the guard. Luggage is not, as with us, always carried in a “ bag- gage car.” That of each person is usually placed on the top of the carriage heis in. The smaller packages and bags being taken inside and accommodated in nettings above his head. One hint it is as well to give to our countrywomen. The shopkeepers in Europe are not accustomed to have their goods turned over by persons who do not come to buy. The presumption alwaysis, that when a lady enters a shop it is to purchase something, and not to gratify her curiosity or “‘ educate her taste”’ at the expense of a great deal of trouble to others. In Great Britain, where the people are less good-natured and courteous than on the Continent, this lesson may be radely administered. It is not the usage for girls to walk alone in the streets of the large capitals or towns of Europe. They should endeavor always to go out accompanied by a servant or older lady. A little small change of the country you may be in should always be kept in the pocket while on the road— coppers, especially. TENNYSON’S “DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN.” PRoBaBLry no poet is so widely read in this country as Tenayson. The numerous editions of his works and their rapid sale are known to every bookseller. Cheap copies may be had at almost every bookstall; handsome copies may be seen in almost every parlor. Every line that he writes is read by thousands; and we need no further apology for saying a few words about one of his earlier he “* Dream of Fair Women.” The subject was suggested, and mephy snanested, by Chaucer’s Reed of Goode Women.” @ poet is sup- posed to have fallen asleep, his mind filled with the vivid charm of the “first warbier:’’ and he dreamed that he walked in a great ancient wood ; aud that he encountered there the loveliest women who have lived; that they spoke to him, and sung to him, and told him the tragic stories of their lives. First, Helen bemoaned her beauty ; them came Iphigenia, and Cleopatra, and Jephthah’s daughter; then Rosamond, and Joan of Arc, and she = whe clasped in her last trance her murdered father's head.” The allusion, we think not generally understood, isto Margaret Roper, the daughter of Sir Thomas More. Her father’s head been set by the king’s orders upon Tower Bridge: she took it down and carried it away. It was a capital offence, and she obtained a pardon with great difficulty. The head she embalmed; and at her death it was placed in her arms and buried with her. Tennysou’s admirers need not be told how beautiful and noble the Vision is. We have written this short notice chiefly for the sake of explaining the only lines in it that some might not comprehend. a? EDUCATION OF GIRLS IN ENGLAND. Is our March number (page 230) we gave some account of the effort made by the “Social Science Association,” on behalf of a better education for women. Lord Bro m advocated the opening of the Syndicate of Cambridge Vni- versity to the competition of girls as well as boys in the examinations. This has been done, and now we have the following result from English authority :— “ After mach opposition, the Cambridge examinations for girls in Bugland have become regularly established, ap y¥ with the best results. The last report of the Syndicate of Cambridge University on the local examina- tions held throughout the country during the past winter, shows that the girls have not only shown themselves superior in the points in which it was certain that they would do better than the boys, but that in mathematics also they have gained great credit. The general style of their papers was decidedly better than what the boys pro- duced, and their answers were more to the point, with far fewer attempts at fine writing than their boy competitors indulge in. Ten girls out of twelve a creditable examination in Latin, being especially distinguished for accuracy and good taste in translation. A hundred and twenty-six girls were examined, and the examiners gave reports which seem to auswer some of the chief objections against the examination for girls, stating that no undue excitement was noticeable, nor any signs of weariness towards the end of the week. On the contrary, all was very methodical and orderly, and the girls did their work in a most business-like way, without flagging.” We shall have more to say about this English experi- ment of feminine classical and mathematical education, Tre Parnapetpata Lapres’ Centenary AssocraTron has a very important work planned out, that of founding s Methodist Seminary or College for the benefit of this great denomination in Philadelphia. Most fervently do we wish them God speed! The ladies have such a host of ‘“‘ Honorable Women,’’ whose names as “Foundresses’’ and helpers, mark their church as glorious for womanhood, that they will pardon us for entreating them not to permit an inferior title for their college to mar its appropriate and beautiful idea of femi- nine humanity. Do not call ita Female College, where animals might claim a place, whilst such noble titles as “Susanna Wesley College,”’ “Lady Huntingdon Col lege,’’ ** Barbara Heck College,” are the priceless inherit- ance of American Methodist women. Next month we hope to give some adequate notice of these ‘‘ Three Foundresses’’ of the Methodist Churches ia England and America, as Rev. Abel Stevens, in his inter esting volume, has delineated the loveliness of their cha racters, and their self-sacrificing devotion to the cause of Christ and His Gospel. But the readers of the Lady's Book need not wait for our notice; get ‘‘ The Women of Methodism” once open in your hand, you will not need any commendation except the remarkable interest of the contents to lead yonon. It isa work that every Amer ean lady should thankfally welcome as a precious me morial of womanly piety and good works. NOTES AND NOTICES. A WORKING GIRLS’ INSTITUTE. “Doria the past wiater a night-school for working ris was held in the 8. S. room of St. Mary’s Chureb, est Philadelphia. The Rev. T. C. Yarnall, Rector of the Parish, gave his personal attentioa to the work, and is much encouraged by the result. “The school, which was intended for the girls employed in mills and factories, was opened December 4th, and there have been in all 112 pupils connected with it, of whom more than half were regular attendants. The average list varied with the weather, from 15 to 35. The instruction was confined to the elementary English branches, while one evening of each week was devoted to plain sewing. On Saturday evening a class of 16 met to take writing le sons from a paid instructor. There have been 30 ladiet connected with the school, as volunteer teachers. Some of these belong to the Church of the Saviour, and two of three to the Presbyterian Church, but the majority of them to St. Mary’s.”’ Such is a brief synopsis of this truly Christian charity. This is the first attempt, we believe, to give fitting eultar to Working Girls. The Institute now needs funds to estab lish it permanently, and books for a library. Shall it fail, for want of patronage, in the rich and liberal city of Phila delphia ? Tae Woman's Hosprran or Parapeupara.—From thé Fifth Report we learn that this good Institution is successful. ‘‘ Twenty-one hundred and twenty-seven pP& tients have, during the past year, been treated in the ¥& rious departments. Fifteen hundred and twenty-seve® patients have been prescribed for in the Dispensary, en. et se eo ee he

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ae nations plished, t of the LITERARY NOTICES. 83°

farnished with medicine free of charge; and five hundred and five have been gratuitously attended in their homes.’’ All these medical offices and charitable kindnesses have peen done by Women; managers, gfficers, resident phy- sician (or doctress), all are women: all their patients are women and children. The medical education of women as physicians for their own sex and for children, is prov- ing a great blessing to humanity. For Reports of this Hospital and the Medicai College, now connected with it, apply to Mrs. E. H. Cleveland, M. D., North College Ave- nue and 22d Street, Philadelphia. Tue ApvANTAGES oF Borax.—The washerwomen of Holland and Belgium, who get up their linen so beauti- fully white, use refined borax as washing powder, instead of soda, in the proportion of one large handful of borax- powder to about ten gallons of boiling water. They thus save in soap nearly half. All the washing establishments adopt the same mode. For laces, cambrics, etc., an extra quantity of the powder is used, and for crinolines (requir- ing to be made stiff), a strong solution is necessary. Borax beiug a neutral salt, does not in the slightest degree injure the texture of the linen ; its effect is to soften the hardest water, and therefore it should be kept on every toilet- table. To the taste itis rather sweet; it is used for cleans- ing the hair, isan excellent dentifrice, and in hot countries is employed in combination with tartaric acid and bicar- bonate of soda, as a cooling beverage. Good tea cannot be made with hard water; but all water may be made soft by adding a teaspoonful of borax-powder to an ordi- nary-sized kettle of water, in which it should boil. The saving inthe quantity of tea used will be at least one-fifth. HINTS ABOUT HEALTH. From the excellent monthly, Hall's Journal of Health, we take the following seasonable hints about the use of Disinfectants :— “*A disinfectant separates the odor into its original ele- ments, and makes new combinations, new substances, which are hurtless. Fresh burned lime, called unslacked or quicklime, is the most common disinfectant, dissolved in water until it is thin enough to be sprinkled or used with a brush. Copperas, called green vitriol or sulphate of iron, is better than lime; a pound costing half a dime, dissolved in four gallons of boiling water, and thrown into a privy or sink, will remove the odor in ten minutes, to be re- peated two or three times a month in warm weather, or as eften as any odor is perceptible. Chloride of lime, sprinkled over damp places, in yards, cellars, etc., cleanses and purifies, but it has an odor of its own, and is supposed by some to be hurtful. A layer of fresh burned charcoal in powder, two or three inches in depth, over a heap of decaying offal, absorbs the odor, decomposes it and burns it up. Ifthis cannot be had, a layer of fresh earth, six inches deep, confines the odor of decaying matters, but does not destroy them, and is good for temporary use until better substances can be obtained. The manganates of soda or potash, dissolved in warm water, are among the best deodorizers and disinfectants. To disinfect linen, or washing apparel, soak it in a mixture of one ounce of chloride of lime, in a gallon of water. Woollens, bedding, ete., which cannot be washed, are best disinfected by exposure for three or four hours in a chamber heated to two hundred degrees, To disinfect rooms, wash the ceilings and walls with quicklime water, and scrub the woodwork with brush, soap, and hot water, and then wash with two ounces of chloride of lime dissolved in a gallon of water. Glass and stoneware after being scrubbed with sand and soap are deprived of all ill odor by shaking dry charcoal powder in them."’ To Ovr Conrrisvtors. —These articles are accepted : “To Annie’’—* The Field of the Cloth of Gold”—“To tlie Past’’—* In Her Album’’—“ Our Spring-time’—and “‘ The Rivals,” The following are declined: yet, if we had place, there are some we should like to publish, and one of these is— “I'm Sitting by the Shore, Love’—‘To M."’—“ Lines in Memory of our Dear Brother, who fell at the Battle of the Wilderness’’ (we always regret to disappoint those who would honor the dead; but so many Elegies are sent us,

that we are obliged io decline the greater portion)—“ Any News To-Day ?’’—“ Spring-time’’ (too late)—‘‘ Song of the Lost’’—‘‘ Jessie and Her Lover’’—‘‘ A Fragment”’—“ Two Leaves’’—*‘ Effects of Novel Reading’’—and “My Last Wishes.” We have a number to be returned ; also some articles not yet read. Our contributors show such warm friend- ship for the Lapy's Boox, that we feel sure those who do not succeed as writers will be amongst our constant readers, The good time will come. Giterurp Motices. From Persrsox & Brotuers, Philadelphia :-— THE GOLD BRICK. By Mrs, Ann S. Stephens, author of ‘‘Fashion and Famine,’’ etc. The admirers of Mrs. Stephens will not regard this as one of the least attractive of her productions. Stirring interest and thrilling inci- dent characterize every page. The scene opens in the harbor of Port-au-Prince, at the time of the St. Domingo massacre, of some of the terrible events of which the early chapters of the story present vivid and heart-rending pic- tures. THE BORDER RIFLES. By Gustave Aimard, author of “The Prairie Flower,’’ etc. This is a tale of the Texan war of independence, full of fighting of all kinds, and re “plete with every variety of exciting border adventure, and is told in Aimard’s best style. As usual with this aw thor’s works, it has a sequel, and, we presume, is but the first of a long series, introducing the same characters. JOSEPH GRIMALDI: His Life and Adventures. Writ- ten out from Grimaldi’s own manuscript and notes. By Charles Dickens. A repriut of a very interesting biogra- phy of a once famous clown, which, first appearing some twenty years since, was quite popular at that time.

From Harper & Brotsers, New York, through Lipprs- cott & Co., and Perersoy & Broruers, Philadelphia :— THE PRINCIPLES OF BIOLOGY. By Herbert Spencer, author of “Psychology,” etc. Vol. L As the founder and exponent of a new system of philosophy, which, whatever may be its merits,or defects, certainly deserves the candid ‘zvestigation and respectful consideration of all thinkers, Mr. Spencer now occupies a high and com- manding position in the domain of metaphysical specula- tion. The present publication is the second in the series of works in which the author’s system is elaborated; the first having made its appearance some two years since, under the title of “ First Principles.’’ The 2econd volume is announced as forthcoming probably toward the close of the year. : THE ADVENTURES OF REUBEN DAVIDGER ; Seven- teen Years and Four Months Captive among the Dyake of Borneo. By James Greenwood, author of “ Wild Sports of the World,”’ ete. Illustrated with numerous engrav- ings. This is a cleverly written and most exciting ro- mance, which reads like veritable history. It gives a minute, and, we believe, reliable account, of the manners and customs of the pirate inhabitants of Borneo, with de- scriptions of their boats, dwellings, mode of warfare, etc. It will prove delightful and instructive equally to old and young. WALTER GORING. A Story. By Annie Thomas, au- thor of ‘*Denis Donne,” ete. To our mind, this is the most artistically elaborated of Miss Thomas's works. “<The Waishes,”’ “ Daisy," and Mr. Fellows and his mo- ther and sister may justly be considered as originals in

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‘84 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, the way of character drawizg; while the plot, though not intricate, is sufficiently involved to hold the reader’s unflagging attention. THE TOILERS OF THE SEA. A Novel. By Victor Hugo, author of ‘‘Les Miserables."’ This is a strange, powerful, and touching story. Philosophy, poetry, ro- mance, science, are all brought into the service of its author, and, by their aid, he has constructed a picture tndescribably fascinating, and which no other than Victor Hugo could have written. THE TRUE HISTORY OF A LITTLE RAGAMUFFIN. By the author of “ The Adventures of Reuben Davidger.”’ This is the story of a little boy, who, driven from home by the cruelty of a drunken step-mother, sets up business as a ‘market prowler’’ in Covent Garden market ; and then, after a variety of sufferings and struggles, takes to pick- ing pockets for a living; but, fortunately, is finally res- cued from the vicious course upon which he has entered. The narrative is one of deep interest, exceeding well written, and has a Crusoeish appearance of verity about ft, that goes far to make oue believe that it is really a “true history.” MISS MAJORIBANKS. A Novel. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of “ Chronicles of Carlingford,’ ete. Of the living lady novelists of England no one can equal Mrs. Oliphant for power and beauty of style, masterly character draw- ing, and that delicate knowledge of human nature, which, of all things, is the most essential qualification of an au- thor who eschews the sensational as an element of success. The story of Miss Majoribanks is, we think, the very best of Mrs. Oliphant’s works. It will repay perusal, if only for the sake of the acquaintance of its heroine. HARPERS’ PICTORIAL HISTORY OF THE GREAT REBELLION. From the Americas News Compayy, New York, through Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia :— THE GRAHAMES. A Novel. By Mrs. Trafford White head. This is essevtially an English novel, overflowing with English ideas and prejudices, which will not meet with entire sympathy in this country. It is, however, a well-written, and, aside from certain peculiarities, an at- tractive book. THE CECILIAS; or, The Force of Circumstances. By Anne Argyle. This is evidently a maiden effort, for none, save a comparative tyro in literature, would adopt the worn-out plot haviag a beggar-girl for its heroine. The “force of circumstances’’ is most astonishingly, not to say improbably displayed in this work. The hero goes abroad to seek his fortune, and, having travelled half round the world, by the merest accident, meets the man of all others who is ready to make his fortune for him without com- parative effort on his part, and whose acquaintance is most conducive to the happiness of all parties concerned. There are other less important but equally remarkable incidences in the course of the story. Not to be too severe upon the book, we must admit that the style displays considerable ability, though with occasional evidences of what the worthy “Country Parson’”’ would denominate “ veal.”’ POETRY: Lyrical, Narrative, and Satirical, of the Civil War. Selected and edited by Richard Grant White. As a poetical reflex of the mind of a whole people during the anxious progress of a four years’ civil conflict, this volume is certainly not without its uses; and as such a reflex, we understand, its editor and compiler designed it. His design he bas carried out with excellent taste and judgment. THE NAVAL LIEUTENANT. A Novel. By F.C. Arm- strong, author of “The Two Midshipmen,” ete. A lively and exciting nautical romance, of the days of Nelson, which cannot fail to please a numerous class of readers. DOCTOR KEMP: The Story of a Life without a Blemish, This isa novel of more than ordinary power, and displays no little ingenuity and novelty in its plot, and a deep insight into the various phases of human character and human passion. From Carisrox, New York, through Asumeap & Evans, Philadelphia :— ADRIFT IN DIXIE; or, A Yankee Officer among the Rebels. With an introduction by Edmund Kirke, author of “Among the Pines,” etc. This is the narrative of a young Massachusetts lieutenant, who, having been taken prisoner in one of the battles of the war, subsequently made his escape, and, after wandering for thirty days in the enemy's country, finally managed to reach the Union lines. EPIDEMIC CHOLERA: Ite Mission and Mystery, Haunts and Havocs, Pathology and Treatment. With Remarks on the Question of Contagion, the Influence of Fear, and Hurried and Delayed Interments. By a Former Surgeon in the Service of the Honorable East India Com- pany. In view of the threatened appearance of cholera upon our shores, this little volume will be found as useful as it is timely. Giving a succinct outline of the history and symptoms of the disease, it also contains a clear and apparently well-considered plan of treating & in all its stages. From D. Appieton & Co., New York, through AsHmEaD & Evans, Philadelphia :— THE REUNION OF CHRISTENDOM. A Pastoral Letter to the Clergy, etc. By Henry Edward, Archbishop of Westminster. . THEGREAT WEST. Railroad, Steamboat, and Stage Guide and Hand-book. For Travellers, Miners, and Ewi- grants to the Western, Northwestern, aud Pacific States and Territories. By Edward H. Hali, author of “U.S. Hand-book of Travel,’ etc. From Wriut1aM V. Spencer, Boston, through Lipprxcorr & Co., Philadelphia :— HOSPITAL LIFE IN THE ARMY OF THE POTOMAC. By William Howell Read. A very readable and interest- ing volume, sketching, in simple style, and with apparent regard to truthfulness, its author’s experience of hospital life in the Army of the Potomac. The period of time em- braced in the narrative extends from the opening of the Wilderness Campaign to the final surrender of Lee. From Lorrye, Boston, through G. W. Prrcwer, Phila- delphia :— BROKEN TO HARNESS. A Story of English Domestie Life. By Edmund Yates. Loring displays especial judg- ment in the selection of his publications. “Broken to Harness” is among the best and most interesting novels of the month. Its hero isa literary man of uncommon ability, but, as a matter of course, limited means. Its heroine, his wife, married from the upper classes of socl- ety, finds the burden of life she has taken upon herself very irksome, and, like an untrained colt, she proves somewhat unmanageable. However, in course of time, and with the aspect of affairs somewhat improved, that happy result is accomplished which the title chronicles. WOMAN AGAINST WOMAN. By Florence Marryatt

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. ”) (Mrs. Ross Charch). The title of this novel is hardly an appropriate one, as it leads the reader to expect something on the general theme of women’s proverbial uocharita- Dleness towards their sex. But we find nothing of the sort in its pages. It is simply a lively and ingenious story with no particular moral, save the usual one in- volved in the good fortunes of its favorite characters ang the discomfiture of its disagreeable ones. It is an English story, opening at a military station at Gibraltar. From A. & C. Merrram, Springfield, Massachusetts :— AN AMERICAN DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. By Noah Webster, LL.D. Thoroughly revised and greatly enlarged and improved by Charles A. Goodrich, D.D., and Noah Porter, D.D. We have received this immense volume from the publishers. It is the largest and handsomest dictionary, we believe, that has ever been issued inAmerica. It is printed and bound at the Riverside Press, and the type, though small, is sufficiently distinct for a work of reference. Each page contains three columns of this fine type, illustrated with small, clear engravings whenever the idea could be better presented to the eye than to the car. Our readers will best understand what this dictionary is, through some account of its making—an account given in the publish- ers’ sketch sent with it, The main points are these: Professor Goodrich, on becoming permanent editor in 1847, began at onee to gather materials for a revision. This labor he continued for twelve years; and upon his death, in 1860, it was thought best to publish the result in a “ Pictorial Edition,’’ containing an appendix of new words, Vocabularies, A Treatise on Synonyms, etc. ; but the body of the work remained untouched. In the issue now before us, the vocabulary is revised throughout by Professor Porter; the words contained in the Appendix of 1859 have been igserted in their places, and 15,000 more have been added ; the etymology has been carefully cor- rected by Dr. Mahn, of Berlin, with a thoroughness im- possible twenty years ago ; the technical definitions have been written by men eminent in the specialties to which the terms refer; and, finally, among the Tables at the end of the book is a ‘“‘ Vocabulary of the Names of Noted Fic- titions Persons and Places’’ by Mr. Wheeler—a most valuable feature, to be found, we think, in no other dic- tionary ; doubly importent, because much of its informa- tion will be uew even to the well-educated. The work is handsomely bound in substantial covers, and is altogether & magnificent specimen of American bookmaking. From Ketty & Pret, Baltimore: — BEECHENBROOK: A Rhyme of the War. By Marga- ret J. Preston. This “‘ Rhyme of the War” is the produc- tion of a southern lady, or, at least, gives a southern view of the trials and sufferings consequent upon the recent depiorable civil contest. As a poem it is not without merit, and contains many passages of deep pathos and tender feeling. From Horatio Fawks, Rondout, N. Y, :— RALPH, and other Poems. By Henry L. Abbey. The poems which comprise this little volume are worthy of a better and more substantial dress, They are full of sen- timent and pathos, and there is the ring of the true metal about them. THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF THE MEDICAL SCI- ENCES. Edited by,Jsaac Hays, M. D., April, 1866. Phila- delphia: Henry C. Lea, Gobeys Arm-C hair. JULY, 1866, Ovr steel plate for July will be suggestive indeed of “Summer Joys’’ to the panting, overheated residents of crowded cities, while those te whom Nature is a familiar daily friend will fully appreciate its fidelity. Each group in the plate forms a picture by itself. The happy family party in the foreground, the roguish mischief-makers to the left, and the lovers at the right, all enjoy, in their own way, the interval of rest in haymaking. The back- ground presents a busy scene, too, with haymakers and the followers of Walton, all busy and merry. Even the animals seem to be happy in “ Summer Joys.”’ The wood engraving, ‘“Confiseated,”” presents quite another phase of life. Here tyranny and distress reign paramount, and we are sure the juveniles will sympathize in the trying situation. A study for a new book of etiquette we offer next to readers of both sexes. Gentlemen! take it easy. It is only the natural result from hats, cravats, and other mesculine-feminine costumes of the past years. The summer fashions are brought up to the latest dates in two Robe dresses from A. T. Stewart's, a new style of basque corsage and silk paletét. The Ornamented Parasols we are confident will be ap- preciated by those who are not quite ready to give up old shades, but want them made fashionable. Terry furnishes us with five new hats, each beautifal. and in the latest style. The only difficulty will be to make a selection. Our Colored Fashion-plate speaks for itself. As usual, we have made every effort to have it truly wnrivaliled. The patterns for every variety of fancy work, with useful work-table guides, are as usual numerous and beautiful. Clothing, outside and undergarments, Braid ing and Embroidery, Knitting, and Leather-work ; every _ variety for busy fingers and tasty fancies to select from. Tue Paris Universal Exhibition of 1867 will offer to the public, among other curiosities, says the Moniteur, an aquarium which will be thirty-three yards long by twenty-two yards in height. It is intended, as in the aquarium of the Acclimatization Society, to bring together as complete a collection as possible of the most curious specimens of the submarine world. The size of the aqua- rium will cause spectators to fancy that they are under water. On looking upwards, the rare opportunity of seeing sharks, tunny fish, cod and porpoises disporting themselves in their own element, will be given fand it is expected that this will form one of the many interesting features of the forthcoming exhibition. ADVERTISERS inform us that an advertisement in the Lady’s Book is worth to them ten times the price they would pay elsewhere. We knew that before, and the matter is easily explained. An advertisement ina weekly or a daily is seen forthe day. That same advertisement in a monthly is seen for certainly six months, or perhaps a year. The Lady’s Book is kept on the centre-table for at least six months. It is loaned by every subscriber to at least ten persons. This would make the readers of the Book atleast one million, Who ever sees a daily or a weekly two days after its reception ? Preszrvine Recerprs.—We gave, in the June number, a@ number of very excellent preserving receipts. These soceipts are worth the whole year’s subscription.

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86 GODEY’s LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. OUR MUSICAL COLUMN. Holloway’s Musical Monthly for July.—This number Degins the second half year of the present volume, making a good time from which to date new subscriptions. The contents are as usual varied aud adapted to the cspacities of piano players in every stage of instruction, whether pupils iu their first lessous or practised performers. A beautiful song, and a new Grand March composed ex- pressly for the Monthly are among the contents, and thero is a charming nocturne which will please those who love a showy, skilful style of execution. Each mouthly num- ber contains more music than can be bought eleewhere for four or five times the price of subscription, and when our friends consider that we give them sheet music, with beautifully engraved or lithographic title-pages every ‘month, one great cause for the large circulation of the Bonthly will be explained. Terms $4 per annum, in ad- vance; two copies $7, six copies $21, and a free copy to the getter-up‘of the club, making seven copies for $21. Single numbers 40 cents. Those who wish the volume complete must send in their subscriptions at once, as the February and May numbers, containiag elegant pictorial title-pages are nearly gone, and these cannot be reprinted. We will send the May, June, and July numbers, one of which contains a1 elegant lithographic title-page, as samples, for $1, with 9 cents added for prepay ment of post- age. Address all orders to J. Starr Holloway, Publisher Busical Monthly, Box Post-Oflice, Philadelphia. Western Musical World, published by 8. Brainard & Son, Cleveland, 0. This is an interesting musical paper, containing, in addition to music, a great variety of musical and art intelligence of interest to every musical family. It is the best of all the numerous musical papers printed from type, and is deserving the large circulation it has reached. Specimens sent free by the publishers. New Sheet Music.—Root & Cady, Chicago, who publish ® large proportion of the really popular music of the day, have just issued, Out West, characteristic song and chorus by Frisbie, 35 cents. Love's Delights (Liebeswonne) with German and English words, Franz Abt, 40. Fairy Nora Loves Me, pretty song and chorus, 35. Angel Nellie, song and chorus, Hanby, 35. Now, Den, or the Freedmen’s Song, same, 35. Young Eph’s Jubilee, popular song and dance, with pictorial title, 50. Nellie Ray, pretty song and chorus, Brockway, 30. Sing Me to Sleep, Father, by the author of the favorite song, Come Home, Father, 35. Away on the Prairie Alone, same, 35. Now, Moses, by Henry C. Work, 30. Poor Kitty Popcorn; or, the Sol- dier's same, 35. Also, Ffiry Footsteps Waltz, very pretty, 35. Joy Bells Polka, 35. Sleigh Ride Galop by Vaas, 35. Matinee Polka, Pratt, 35. La Gazetier, fine polka by Anguera, mostly in octaves, 35. Les Postilions, favorite waltz by Schubert, 30. The above are well adapted for beginners on the piano. May Queen Quadrille, Burkhart, very good, with the figures marked, 11 pages, 75. Daylight, one of the renowned Blind Tom’s compositions, 40. The Rivulet (Le Ruisseau), The Music of the Sea (Meditation), and The Heather Bells, three superb compositions by Jas. M. Wehli, the distinguished pianist, each 75. These are splendidly adapted for brilliant playing ; as are also the following, by W. J. Robjohn: The Fountain in the Sun- light, an Taytle, 40; Cattle Bell at Evening, a Rural Picture, 50; The Forest Temple, Meditation, 30, and Be- neath the Loved One’s Window, a brilliant and beautiful Serenade, 69, Any music published will be sent by addressing J. Stann Hurtoway. A very simple and perfect form of filter has been de- vised by the Apparateur of the College of France, and deserves attention. It is made by placing in a tank of impure water 5 vessel so arranged that a sponge which it contains shall lap over its edge and dip inte the water of the tank. The sponge gradually sucks up and purifies the water in the reservoir, and allows it to drop into the smaller vessel or receiver, from which it may be drawn off by a tube, By placing a few lumps of charcoal in the bottom of the receiver, filtration of the most perfect kind is effected. Brapter’s “ Daplex Elliptic Spring Skirts’’ continue to receive the praise of all the fashion writers in the country. See advertisement on cover. Epvoation tx Germany.—The culinary art forms part of the education of women in Germany. The well-to-do tradesman, like the mechanic, tees a pride in seeing his daughters good housekeepe™=. To effect this object, the girl, on leaving school, which she does about fourteen years of age, goes through the ceremony of confirmation, and is then placed by her parents with a country clergy- man, or in a large family, where she remains one or two years, filling what may almost be termed the post of servant, and doing the work of one. This is looked upon as the apprenticeship to domestic economy. She differs from a servant, however, in this, that she receives no wages ; on the contrary, her parents often pay for the care taken of her, as weil as for her Clothing. Tis is the first step in her education of housekeeper. She next passes, on the same conditions, into the kitchen of a rich private nage 4 or in that of some hotel of good repute. Here she has the control of the expenditure, and of the servants employed in it, and assists personaliy in the cooking, but is always addressed as Fraulein, or Miss, and is treated by the family with deference and consideration. Man daughters of rich families receive a similar training, wit this difference, however, that they receive it in a princely mansion or a royal residence. There is a reigning queen in Germany, at the present moment, who was trained in this way. Consequently, the women of Germany are perfect models of order and economy. @The richest lady, as well as the poorest woman, is well acquainted with the market price of provisions; and it gives one real satisfaction to see her bustling about from one part of the house to another; now peeping into the nursery to see how the children are gding on, then looking into the kitchen to see that the cook is doing her duty, and that everything is perfectly clean, and generally giving an eye to everything and every body, and keeping all well uP to their work. In short, she is the very soul of the ouse, Exgcrricrty is being used in Paris to destroy the rats in the sewers. 100 métres leugth of wire insulated by glass feet from the ground, and connected with a powerful galvanic battery, is laid im these passages. From the wire hang little bits of meat, so that when the rats bite the bate it brings down the galvanic shock on their bodies 80 powerfully that they die instantaneously, Wowperrvt Instance or Texacity or Lirs.—A singular thing lately happened near Germantown. Eight peafowl were missed from a farm, and although every inquiry was made in the neighborhood, no tidings could be heard of them. It was therefore concluded they had been stolen. The police, consequently, were communicated with, and a reward promised for their recovery. At the end of the eleventh day, a laborer, in carting away a rick of straw which had been unroofed by the wind, to his astonish- ment uncovered the missing birds, who, strange to say, were able to fly off, and seemed none the worse for being buried and their long fast, J. R. Terry, 409 Broadway, New York, again furnishes us with several engravings of the latest styles of hats. We advise every one to call on*Mr. Terry and examine his stock before going elsewhere. Ityis the fashionable establishment of New York.

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‘ GODEY’sS ARM-CHAIR: 87 At a ball recently given by the Minister of Marine in Paris, the Four Quarters of the world were represented. A small, private, and mysterious-looking door gave those who took part in the procession access to the interior of the hotel, and on their arrival they were immediately conducted to the drawing-rooms set apart for their recep- tion. In the drawing-room devoted to America, a curious mixture of the representatives of savage and civilized life was to be seen—whites, redskins, negroes, mulattoes, quadroons, and octoroons were jumbled together in a ec nfused mass, and the display of bows and arrows, toma- hawks, and other weapons, was really awful. This per- haps accounts for there being no means of communication between this drawing-room and those appropriated to the representatives of Europe, Asia, and Africa, who were free to visit each other as much as they liked, The in- habitants of Oceania were not Py en on this occasion, but perhaps it was struck out of the map of the world for the time being, on account of the utter absence of costume generally indulged in by jts natives, In the room in which the tableauz vivants took place, the spectators were first gratified with the sight of Madlle. Anatole Bartholony, who impersonated Europe, dressed in a long red velyet cloak, crowned with.a diadem, wearing all the orders of knighthood round her neck, bearing an olive-branch in her hand, and mounted ina chariot ornamented with the warlike emblems of all ages and the armorial bearings of all the European nations. She was in a litter carried by porters, and surrounded by Roman peasants, Russian serfs, Spanish Dons, ete. Madame Rimsky Korsakow represented Asia. Her dress was purple silk richly embroidered with gold; this opened over a petticoat of gold brocade, while an ancient brocaded gold mantle was fastened on her shoul- ders; a diamond coronet across the brow. She stood on a triumphal car ornamented with the heads of white elephants, one foot resting on the body of geo sup- posed to have been slain in her honor. The car was carried by negroes, and preceded by ten Asiatic women. Africa (Mme. Moutant) was mounted on a camel admir- ably constracted; the animal's skin was the genuine article—buff-colored and shaggy. He walked with the peculiar step of the true son of the desert. How it was managed the guests vainly endeavored to discover. This lady was dressed in a golden cuirass and helmet, and holding in one hand the Koran, and in the other a scimi- tar, formed an admirable impersonation of all-conquering Mahometanisfi. Behind her appeared two Jewesses of Algiers, represented by the beautiful sisters, Mesdames Chabert de Rieux and Bazin. Africa was also followed by a group of tattered slaves.» M. Sallandrouze de Lamornaix, M. de Wurn, M. de Bonin, and another gentleman, were intrusted with the management of the several tableaux of the four great continents, and acquitted themselves admirably in the performance of their arduous daties. Among other gentle- men whose costumes attracted considerable attention from their magnificence, must be named M., de Pilié, the father- in-law of his Excellency the Minister of Marine, M. de Molombe, who was dressed as a Bedouin, and the Vis- count de Grandeffe, and M. Soniat de Fossat, who appeared in the Asiatic group as Chinamen, The Princess Charles Jabloraka made an admirable Cleopatra ; indeed, so beautiful and so splendidly attired was she, that it would be impossible for Nature on the one hand, and the dressmaker on the other, to do more for her. She worea brooch representing an asp on her bodice, and appeared seated on a throne. America was personated by Miss Carter, a lovely blonde. She reclined in a hammock swung between banana trees, each carried by negroes, and escorted by Red Indians and their squaws. The costumes were perfect, and, strange to say, were mostly worn by American ladies. America wore a white dress with a sky-biue satin peplum over it, the latter studded all over with silver stars. Her coronet was composed of diamond stars, doubtless to recall the stars on the United States flag. America was always followed by another beautiful young girl, very simply dressed, to personate, it was said, a released slave. Imperial France was represented by Madlle. de Beck- with, in a white satin dress, with a tri-color sash round her waist, and wearing a symbolical headdress, in which the eagle formed the most prominent feature. Behind her followed Madame Thompson, admirably dressed as au Irishwoman ; Madlles, Penniman and de St. Léger, as Seotchwomen; Messrs. de Plancy, de St. Léger, de La- carelle, O'Conner, and Gordon, as Scotehmen; Madame Tourel, as a ‘*‘ Maconaise;'’ Madame Degousée, as a wo- aan of Alsace; Viscountess de Rostaing and Messrs. de Guignart and de Chambord, as Hungarians; Mesdames de Lauverjit, Countess de Gabriac, and Madile. Steward, as Italian and Neapolitan women. But there would be no end to the enumeration of ail the remarkable person- ages of this admirable procession, which baffles all de- scription. It elicited unbounded admiration, and it will certainly be a long time before we see another of equal magnificence. Honor to those who conceived it, and to those who so ably carried out the conception. Summer TraveL.—The season for summer travel is now upon us. The city of Philadelphia offers many induce- ments to those who travel for either pleasure or profit. The principal bathing places are to be found but a few hours’ ride from the city. The railroads leading from the city will take you through the most delightful scenery to celebrated mineral springs and the mountains, which furnish pleasant resorts to many. Brive Arp Groom 4 Century Aco.—To begin with the lady. Her locks were strained upwards over an immense cushion that sat like an incubus on her head, and plas- tered over with pomatam, and then sprinkled over with a show of white powder. The height of this tower was somewhat over a foot. One single white rose-bud lay on its top like an eagle on a hay-stack. Over her neck and bosom was folded a lace handkerchief, fastened in front by a bosom-pin rather larger than a doilar, containing her grandfather’s miniature set in virgin gold. Her airy form was braced up in a satin dress, the sleeves as tight as the natural skin of the arm, with a waist formed by a bodice, worn outside, from whence the skirt flowed off, and was distended at the top by an ample hoop. Shoes of white kid, with peaked toes, and heels of two or three inches elevation, inclosed her feet, and glittered with epangles, as her little pedal members peeped curiously out. Now for the swain: His hair was sleeked back and lentifully befloured, while his eue projected like the handle of a skillet. His coat was a sky-blue silk, lined with yellow; his long vest of white satin embroidered with gold lace; his breeches of the same material, and tied at the knee with pink ribbon. White sHk stockings and pumps, with laces and ties of the same hue, completed the habiliments of his nether limbs. Lace ruffles clustered around his wrist, and a portentous frill worked in cor- respondence, and bearing the miniature of his beloved, finished his truly genteel appearance. Bro»u™e.’s Love or Practica Joxixc.—Brammel once met with a pompous old French Marquis, and managed to ut some finely-powdered sugar into his hair-powder. he poor en eg made his appearance at dinner powdered to perfection, but had scarcely begun to eat when the flies began to desert the walls and windows to settle upon bis head, The weather was exceedingly hot, and the flies of course numerous. The marquis relinquished his knife and fork to drive off the enemy with his handkerchief, but back the whole swarm came, more teasingly than ever. Nota wing was missing. Those of the company who were not in the secret could not help wondering at this phenome- non, as the buzzing grew louder and louder every mo- ment. Matters grew still worse when the sugar, melting, poured down the Frenchman’s brow and face in thick streams, for his tormentors then changed their ground of action, and having thus found a more vulnerable part, nearly drove him mad with their stings. Onable to bear it any longer, he clasped his head with both hands, and rushed out of the room in a cloud of powder, followed by his persevering tormentors and the laughter of the com- pany. How sua. Tue Bep Be PLacep ?—A physician at Magde- burg, Dr. Julius von dem Fischweiler, recently dead, as- serts in his will, that his own great age, 109, is entirely to be ascribed to the constaat habit of sleeping with his head towards the north, and the rest of his body in a direction coinciding as closely as possible with that of the meridian, that is, with his heels to the south. From per- sisting in this habit the doctor considered that the iron contained in our system, finding itself in the direction of the magnetic currents which are constantly fowing over the — sa of the globe towards the North Pole, becomes mi , and thus increases the energy of the vital principle. Without at all understanding this, or assent- ing, we know well of persons who cannot sleep unless the bed be placed north and south, and it may not be use- less to inquire what the observations of others on this point have been. Persons who find themselves restless and unable to sleep at night might try the effect of chang- ing the position of the bed.

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88 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PARIS ITEMS. A Panis correspondent gives the following description of the Emperor Napoleon's farm :— Be ee ptt meet ty Ap me pie- turesque and thoroughly spots in the environs of Paris, and easily reached er w _ vee St. a or by the more enjoyable route of Versai The woods of Gla- tigny, h which a leads down a wooded ravine, are rocky and wild in the extreme; the overhang- ing branches of the trees which border the narrow road to Cucuffa make the way thereto gloomy and somewhat mysterious. A low gate, unguarded by porter or sentinel, opens into a woods of magnificent pines and the finest be I have seen in Puanee A lake gemmed with white Iden oye arg beyond a shorn — lawn, dotted ~ small black Breton cows, the farm chalets of his majesty, and the richly wooded background in the dis- tance, form as pleasing a bit of home scenery as any artist could wish for as the subject of a picture for the next ex- hibition. Under the widc-spreading branches of a fine old plane tree are tables and a few chairs where the ladies of one’s party invariably insist on oe milk, or, as I was assured, ‘real cream’ brought by a buxom Norman dame, high cap and all, whose husband, the cowherd, is monarch, it appeared to me, of all he surveyed. save on when bis majesty graciously its his liege subjects to visi¢ his favorite retreat. On week days its are rigorously closed, even to members of the house- old, as it is then the resort of the prince imperial when *the court is at St. Cloud. + “The empress also constantly drives here in her low ———s. The em r, however, has rather given ap of late, but many years he used to spend hours beneath its shady groves, quite incog. The central chalet has a tiny drawing-room, doir, bed-room, fitted simplicity. The adjoining woods are stocked with oe a, and are spe- cially preserved for her majesty’s gun. The empress shoots over these oes four or five times every winter, end usually knocks over from thirty to thirty-five head of game. Princess nich is a formidable rival in this art: but whether by accident or on purpose I am not pre- to say, but return always brings her highness n as having shot at least two head less than her imperial companion. Ville Neuve l’Btang is not far off, and the Norman high-capped lady confided te me with a sigh her sad conviction that the haras a ape there now absorbed his majesty’s attention and r had lost all interests in his farm and his Breton cows.- Curious to say, neither she nor her husband seemed to consider the rag) Aer ob asa + ene vey the emperor’s ne- em Sess), ‘Cen chose,’ (It is not the same ae aisbe her husband, the cowherd.” ry Sai of portraits of the imperial family” has been ont at Versailles. It conteins thirty-two portraits ; the Bonaparte, by Olrodets ae as keness of Charles jn eens 3 w Laetitia, wanes 2 at ie St. Bernard (David's ictal pacnctes picture); : first consul ; Napol in uniform ; Napoleon bs ee sy pore! ao Napoleon on the terrace at St. Cloud, holding on his knees nee Charles Louis Napoleon poy IIL.), then eo years old, and surrounded by ve other princes and princesses, among them Princess png i and ore Murat: Gerard's portrait of the Em- portrait of Marie Louise and the King 2 ea'epertals of the King of Rome; Napo- leon TL on eleven years old; an equestrian portrait of Prince Jerome, } ete. A Pants letter in a London journal says: ‘Rather a good thing was uttered here the other night by a clever actress. A very old man eS died, his —_ old and attentive servant died the next day. upon it, io lncaine vats Suehhe* wus ths eeceaeh. Another correspondent writes that a ‘‘ learned sor,"’ who was asked te give a lecture to an institution, went and delivered his eloquence at that institution, ae onty when it was over hee that his best pes ny An ee a te Sdemb college. presence of a deaf and es Ar the last ball at the Tuileries, the ncaa Mad’ lle de Pene dressed as nearly as possible 4 aoe ccantusolte tele suena " y; that must be my in her twentieth year!” Paris isa particular café, uenters of which are, for the modt par, walters ou of pace The other day ignorant of this peculiarity, chanced to pay it @ visit, and, on not finding his com mands ohegen with due alacrity, shouted out ‘‘Garcon!”’ in rather a loudish key. Instantly, to bis intense astonish- ment, dominoes ceased tc rattle, newspapers aol from eyery hand, and every man present rose an forward as though to receive his orders, when, siienty recollecting themselves, they simultaneously sat down again, looking atrifie sheepi Surprised at this singular paatomimic display, the gentleman made inquiries of the poraiene of the café, from whom he learnt its cause. It s now considered a good joke, by those who are in the secret, to ag ben to the café ia question, and when the guests are deep in dominoes, or absorbed in the latest news, to suddenly shout out ‘‘Gargon!” and watch the ludicrous effect of this magic word. Wes clip the following notice from the Telegraph, pub- lished in Macon, Georgia :— “Goper'’s Lapr’s Boox.—It is with much satisfaction we refer to this superior publication. The appreciation in which it has always been heldsby our people, has been peculiarly indicated in the immense sale and circulation in this couatry since the resumption of communication between the sections. Nearly a thousand copies of the Lady’s Book are sold at this point. A. S. Patrick, at the news depot, disposes of over five hundred numbers. That the book merits the patronkge of our people is unques- tionable. That it has always been an acceptable and attractab]e companion, especially to the ladies of the land, is evident in its immense circulation and popularity. During its existence, being now in the seventy-second voiume, there has never been published an immoral story nor an oath. It is with unusual pleasure we remember the successful proprietor, ~~ Aas man, and unsurpassed gentleman, Mr. L. A. God Taar THe “ Wortp Owes Every Ovs a Livrye”’ is an impudent and mischievous fiction, The world only far- nishes us the tools by which we may carve out our own fortunes. Our “living’’ is the reward which Nature con- fers upon us for the labor we perform. This covenant she makes with each one of uss soon as we come into the world. If we fail in the fulfilment of our part of it, what right have we to expect that she will fulfil hers? Two young carpenters, named respectively Robert Brown and Thomas Jones, were very fond of dropping into Mr. Smith’s parlor, anf’ spending an hour or two with his only daughter, Mary. One evening, when Brown and Mary had discussed almost every topic, Brown sud- denly, in his sweetest tones, strack out as follows :— “Do you think, Mary, you could leave father and mother, this pleasant home, with all its ease and com- forts, and emigrate to the Far West with a young carpen- ter, who has bat little besides his strong hands to depend upon, and with him search out a new home, which it shouid be your joint duty to beautify, and make delight- ful and happy like this? Dropping her head softly on his shoulders, she whis- pered :— “T think I couff, Robert.” * Well,” said he, “there 's Tom Jones, who ’s going to emigrate, and wants to get a wife: Ill mention it to him.” Tue SaaPe or THE Eantu.—The convexity of the earth interposes to ere the sight of distant bodies; thus at 600 yards, 1 h would be concealed, or an Object an inch high could not be seen ina straight line; at 900 aco 2 inches; at 1400 yards, 5 inches; at 1 " mile, 8 nehes; 3 miles, 6 feet ; so at that distance aman a be invisible ; 4 miles, 10 feet ; 5 miles, 16 feet ; 6 miles, 24 feet ; 10 miles, 66 feet ; 12 miles, 95; 13 miles, ‘12; and 14 » 180, In levelling, it is usual to allow the tenth of an inch in every two hundred yards, or eight inches in a mile, for convexity. Postage on the Lady’s Book, according to the late law passed last winter :— Section 36.—Postage on Godey’s Lady's Book, 24 cents a year, ry able yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in ad- vance, at the Post-office where the k is received. Wore Renters may receive their packages at the same rates, that is, 2 cents for each copy of the magazine, and may pay separately for each package as received.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. Saop Wixpows.—In general perambulations through the streets, the objects which perhaps excite the liveliest interest in most minds are the shop windows. What end- less store of things; new and old, is there spread out for inspection — what abundance of information could we manage to obtain by looking through the panes with an eye properly instructed as to what to look for! It is true that we may find a great deal of amusement in regarding our fellow passengers, in speculating as to their probable occupations in life, and the business about which they may be concerned at the moment. The fand of en- tertainment that exists in remarking the passers-by is inexhaustible, if one only goes the right way about observing them. But it is not given to every one to exert the power of glancing rapidly so as to catch the salient point which shall interest or amuse; and some people may even imagine that such a way of looking at our fel- low-creatures borders on the sarcastic—perhaps on the uncharitabie. Not that we agree to accept this view. If people walk about at all, they often do so in order that they shall be seen, and always with a consciousness that they may be looked at. So we entertain slight scruple with regard to exercising our faculty of observation—in- deed, we do not hesitate to exprees our thanks to people in general who are so benevolent as to offer themselves as objects of mild interest and excitement, during whag might be monotony of a walk taken with no particular object. Nevertheless, we are well aware that ali the world is not of the opinion of Dr. Johnson and Charles Lamb, to whom the concourse of men was more fascinating thaa the most charming of scenery or the most delightfal of rural pleasures. We know very well that, to many per- sons, passing through a crowded street is a mere weari- ness both of body and soul, so far as one’s fellow creatures are concerned. At the same time we capnot but think that there are few to whom the shop windows, with the wares displayed behind them, are not objects of an interest more or less active. Even the most rural of “country cousins,”’ bewildered by the endless rush of passing thousands, finds in the contemplation of the treasures shown in the windows a solace for his troubles, and a reward for his sufferings. The workers in metals and the jewellers—the Tubal- Cains and Hirams of our modern days—display the pro- ducts of their art in the windows of our shops. . The makers of textile fabrics spread out behind the great panes cloth Of textures varying from the coarsest to the finest, dyed sometimes in colors which exceed the gorgéousness of the Tyricn purple ; silks whose richness would have made them the envy of the empresses of old Rome; and laces whose delicate tissues might have been the productions of Arachne. Behind shop windows can be seen the wares of the potter as beautiful in form as any made in ancient Etruria ; bookbinding as rich as that of the middle ages ; nay, books themselves, and papers—those ephemere of literature— lie open to the observant lookers-in at the treasures laid out behind the glass. Children look in at the windows of toy shops with eager eyes, which see vistas of pleasure in the possibility of pos- sessing the visions of delight with which these tempting stores abound. The hungry man cenjures up for himself a feast more tantalizing than the famous Barmecidean de- bauch ; and the invalid regards with a look which sug- gests reminiscences of suffering the displays behind the chemists’ windows, which he associates with the myste- rious scent of the drags to be found within. Before leaving this subject, we would beg a moment’s attention to be given to the shop windows of the poorer districts. There is something very touching in them. In such places there are but few shops where anything in the way of luxuries is to be met with, and in these few the articles are cheap, and a tawdry, and have that melancholy air of unusedness which is apt to cling to things that have found their way into shops where they are but rarely asked for. The displays of furniture sug- gest that the goods have come from homes many times broken up, possessing, perhaps, but few elements of per- sistent coherence. It would take too long a time to dwell upon al! stories which the shop windows tell us, or to descant upon their varied enchantments. We would only say, * Walk about with your eyes open, and you will ‘behold visions— Wondrous, manifold.’ ” ACADEMY OF THE Five Ants.—The annual exhibition of Pictures and statuary at the Academy of the Fine Arts has been thronged this season with more than the usual number of fair and critical visitors. EBENEZER'’S KISS. BY MELICENT IRWI¥. “He’s an idle, thriftless fellow, And he need not come again; You must tell him so too, Jessie, And you may as well be plain !’’ Aunt Sophrony”’ broke her thread off With emphatic awful suap, And looked down again, severely, At the sewing in her lap. Now, Jessie well liked Eben! And the summer night before Long they 'd sat in pleasant dalliance Ben the woodbine at the door. And they whispered in the moonlight Each to other would be true ; And swift iu and out the talking Played the pronouns “I” and ‘‘ you.” “It is very hard of mother, Very hard of her, I’m sure!’’ And Jessie svatched her bonnet From its place behind the door. Bonnet made ere reign of ‘‘Shaker’’— Bonnet starched so neat and trim ; Trusty friend from early childhood, When blue eyes with tears were dim! So from dairy to the cellar, With its shadow o’er her face, Jessie wept the prohibition While her mother kept her place— Peering sharply o’er her glasses, All adown the grassy lane; Lest, though Eben had the warning, He might “ idle’ in again. *“ No chance, Eben!” spoke young Reuben, ** Not a whisper "neath the leaves, More than taste of fabled fruitage From the fair Hesperides !’’ “1 will wager,” answered Eben, “ Fruitage fine from my Belle pear, “a I ‘ll win a kiss to-morrow ! ‘None but brave deserve the fair!’ ’’ “Grapes, my finest Isabellas ! *Gainst your pears,” cried Reuben Ranne; And he laughed back, ‘* Test your valor "Tween the settings of the sun!” In and out the doorway, flitting, Pretty Jessie went her way: Eben knew her by her bonnet, * “Which she wore now day by day. Spied her lonely in the kitchen, Pp face turned from his view— In sped slippered Ebenezer And an arm about her threw! Stole the kiss!—O wofual visage! With pale blankuess writ upon it— How could Eben know her mother Ever borrowed Jessie’s bonnet ? Little Tommy Dunn had entered At the moment opportune, And "twas told throughout the village By the next day's afternoon— That which Reuben Runne liked telling More perhaps than any other, How “ ‘stole @ march,’ and won A kiss—from Jessie’s mother!" Goop Taste axD Goop Maywers.—True purity of taste fs a quality of the mind ; it is a feeling which can, with little difficulty, be acquired by the refinement of intelli- gence; whereas purity of manners is the result of wise habits, in which all the interests of the soul are mingled and in harmony with the progress of intelligence. is why the harmony of good taste and of good manpers is more common than the existence of taste withont man- ners, or of manners without taste.

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90 GODEY’s LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. JUVENILE DEPARTMENT, PROVERBS IN TABLEAUX. Tass scenes are of the same character as those we gave in the April number, One tableau illustrates a proverb which the audience must name. Children should be, as far as practicable, the performers, though sometimes the contrast of older persons is needed to make the perform- ance correct, “It is Well to have Two Strings to One's Bow.” Tuts tableau can be cng only where the stage will allow an out-door scene. In the centre of background facing audience stands & target, with an arrow in it, near, but not exactly striking the centre. Trees, flowers, and rustic benches are on both sides of the scene, leaving the ceutre open. To the right and left are grouped ladies and ° gentlemen in archery dresses, the gentlemen wearing suits of Lincoln green, the ladies decorations of the same color. All carry bows and quivers filled with arrows. In the centre of foreground are the three rmers who form the principal group. The lady holds a bow the string of which has just snapped and is hanging down. One gen- tleman who stands beside her seems condoling with her, but the second earns her smile by triamphantly holding toward her a long piece of new cord. “A Stitch in Time Saves Nine." Tue scene, a parlor or sitting-room. In the centre of the stage stands a table, and upon it are book, games, and sewing materials. One little girl is seated ide the table mending a very small hole in her apron. A second standing on the other side of the table, has just caught her apron in the knob of the table-drawer, and torna long rent. from a similar hole. The first one holding up her work seems reminding the second of the proverb. If the strength of the company will permit, there may be other children in the seene ; two playing chess, others marbles, some knitting or A “* Hunger is the Best Sauce.” Tae scene, a hotel dining-room, with the table set for four. Two sit fa the audience, one at each end, pro- file to the audience. ‘ Three of the party (who are all gen- there ea are dressed with fastidious elegance, and have their piled-up plates untouched before them. One holds & morsel on his fork, but turns away from it as if dis- gusted. A second is pouring a sauce from a gravy-boat on his plate, but does not seem to like the looks of it. A third holds the wing of a bird in his hand, and is daintil Ricking off tiny bits with his fork. All look weary, dblasé. fourth, one facing audience, wears the full dress of a hunter, and should bea tall, finely-formed man, with a ruddy, healthy face. He.appears to be eating voraciously simple meat and potatoes, without any other sauce than his own The others. look at him with a sort of languid wonder, while he seems to invite them to share his repast. A gun, 7: and bunch of lie to the right of with the hunter’s ca: de them (a dog has a good here if one can be found to kee still). Ona table to left of foreground are placed the sil! hats, kid gloves, and walking-canes of the three dandies. “ Dog tn the Manger."* Ly the centre of the stage is a table piled with cake, ap- les, candies, and other eatables. In front of the table, ng audience, isan immensely fat boy, with red cheeks, in the act of vainly endeavoring to swallow another mouthfal of a cake he holds in one hand. He is richly dressed, and has near him, on the floor, the toys and games ofa rich child. To the left of stage, hand in hand, are a little boy and girl in ragged clothes, with thin faces and sad eyes, holding out their hands pitifully to the young glutton, who holds up a large cane threatening them, while he frowns angrily upon them. Herz are two amusing games for the Juveniles :— The Cook who Likes no Peas. of the must put the following question te bin righthand bor, and also to all the copes in “ My cook likes no peas; whet shall I give her to eat?” If any player replies, “‘ Potatoes, parsnips,”’ the other answers, “She does not like them ; pay a forfeit.” But if another says, ‘‘ Onions, carrots, veal, chickens."’ “She likes them, and, consequently, no forfeit is required of the ory ter The trick of this @ is evident. It is the letter P that must be avoided. us, to escape the penalty of a forfeit, it is n that the players should propose some kind of vegetable or food in which the letter P does not occur, such as beans, radishes, venison, etc. The Diviner. Ons of the party leaves the room, his confederates of course remaining. A word is fixed on by the company, as one to be guessed, when mentioned among a number of other words. This word given by the company must always be placed by the confederate after some object having four legs, such as a table, a chair, a horse, etc. For instance, Mary is the confederate, and stays in the room ; the party whispers or writes down on paper the word “‘book.”” Harry, who is outside, on a signal enters the room, and Mary says, ‘‘ We were thinking of giving — something for your house, but we are puzzled to now what you would like best—a clock, an inkstand, a butter-dish, an chair, a book, a mirror, or a paper- knife?’’ Of course Harry immediately replies, “‘ A book,’’ as it comes directly after the chair, an object with four legs ; the confederate must of course take care not to men- tion two objects with four legs. Aw instance of the sagacity of animals is given by an exchange :— “At a farm was a colt, three years old, of a very high temper, but peculiarly geutle with a little buy who had been in the habit of bringiug him bits of bread. One mf & servant of the farm heard a cry from the yard, and, lookiug out of the window, perceived that the child had fallen into a water cask. She lost no time in rushing to the resene, but on arriving below found that she had been anticipated by the horse, which had caught up the child by his dress, and withdrawn him from the water. The owner now declares that he will never part with the animal.” e A Curvese Fuxerat.—Chnu Pak, late president of the See Yup Company of San Francisco, died a short time since. He was 69 years of age, and Mir wealthy. His funeral was a resplendent affair. Long tables were spread in Sacramento Street, which were loaded with fruits, cooked food, a goat dressed, with skin and horns on, but the hair removed; hogs and sheep roasted whole and decorated with flowers, feathers, and a hundred nameless and indescribable ornaments, while incense was burned, prayers recited, and miarches played by a band stationed on a veranda overhead, and dirges sung by the mourners. Tar following enigma, which should be studied and practised by all, we saw posted in one of the windows o¢ a store the other day :— LS WHAT U 0. That no one may lose the meaning of it, we give the explanation, ‘‘ Hand over what you owe.”” IvEXHAUSTIBLE Ivory.—New Siberia and the Isle of Lackon are, for the most part, only an agglomeration of sand, ice, and elephants’ teeth. At every tempest the sea casts ashore fresh heaps of mammoths’ tusks, and the in- habitants are able to drive a profitable trade in the fossil ivory thrown up by the waves. During summer, innu- merable fishermen’s barques direct their course to this isle of bones ; and, in winter, immense caravans take the same route, all the convoys, drawn by dogs, returning charged with the tusks of the mamm weighing each from a hundred and fifty to two hundred pounds. The fossil ivory thus obtained from the frozen north is imported into China and Europe, where it is employed for the same urposes as ordinary ivory—which is furnished, as we now, by the elephant and hippopotamus of Africa and Asia. The isle of bones has ‘served as a quarry of this valuable material for export to China for five hundred years ; and it has been exported to Europe for upwards of a bu But the supply from these strange mines re- mains undiminished. hat a number of accumulated enerations does pot this profusion of bones and tusks ply!

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. VILLA IN THE ORIENTAL STYLE, Designed expressly for Godey's Lady's Book, by Isaac H. Hosns, Archttect, Philadelphia, Ss Tue above villa is in the Ori- ental or Romanesque style—a blending of the Grecian feeling, with the arch and dome of the It will make a magnificent establishment, and afford abun- dant accommodations of the most sumptuous kind. It is one of that kind that needs a large plantation, surrounded by fountains, statuary, and all the accessories to the highest finish. The kitchen departments are placed below. First Story.—1 front porch ; 2 vestibule; 3 grand hall, 12by 65 feet 6 inches ; 4 sitting-room, 20 by 40 feet; 5 parlor, 20 by 40 feet; 6 alcoves; 7 stair hall, 12 by 14 feet; 8 back stairs; 9 closet; 10 dumb waiter; 11 la- dies retiring room, 14 by 19 feet ; 12 water-closets; 13 dining- room, 17 feet 9 inches by 28 feet 3 inches; 14 billiard-room, 17 feet 9 inches, by 23 feet 3 inches ; 15 side porches; 16 carriage porch; 17 summer-house; 18 rear porch. Isaac H. Hopss, Architect, Office No. 154 South Fourth St., Philadelphia. ATTENtTion TO Dress.—Looks should not be wholly beneath the consideration of any man. Nature does not disdain them. Nothing is omitted that can enhance its beaaty. Everything is grouped and arranged with the most con- summate skill, and with the direct and manifest object of pleasing exterior vision. The man, therefore, who plays the philosopher on the strength of neglecting his attire, and who hopes that the world will rate the superiority of his intellect in direct ratio with the inferiority of his hat, is no philosopher at all; because the truly wise man thinks from Nature through himself. Roman. ig j x FIRsT sToORY. Dear Goprr: What can be said that would be too high praise for the Lady's Book? What should we do with- out it? . It is now three years since I first saw it. Such fashions, such receipts, such stories! Mr. Godey, you are a benefactor to the human race. A GRATEFUL SUBSCRIBER. A SPIRITED young lady, who was about to marry & man whose purse Toa lager tune his head, said she preferred his dollars to his sense,

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92 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, _" We condense an article from an exchange upon the subject of a Monsieur Blot—who has an establishment in New York to teach cooking to ladies, one that we think would do well in this city and elsewhere. It is entitled ** Bripesr”’ :— “If Bridget has a little bit of cooking to do, she sets out on primitive principles. Like the Grecian poet, she scorus theory, while she is not quite equal to the practice. Ifshe had a job of miniature painting to do, she would entploy a whitewash brush as a tool, and a patent lever watch that required repairs would probably be treated to an application of sledge-hammer, These principles govern her in the management of her kitchen cabinet, and she does up her cookery much as the clown in the pantomime manages his broth when he tumbles into the pot ribs of beef, pecks of baskets of eens, braces of chick- eus; with old boots, steel-traps, bl poppies, and oc- casionally kittens—all into the same odge-podge. If madame ventures to gently remonstrate, and ly to intimate a doubt of the superior excellence of the mess greece, madame receives notice to quit on the spot. raly it is about time that the lackless of the house was putting herself under the tutelage of Blot, or Monsieur somebody else, and that she was learning how to take charge of the practices! details of her own kitchen. If, as the old adage has it, sends victuals -y open fl party a the cooks, —we speak 0 a sort of a ey cep as re- Ss of a class—must come duly by his atanic y as a minister plenipotentiary, with ary power to spoil the meat, waste the substance, ag- gravate the tem of all suffering housekeepers. “Bat, like all other important personages, oy knows her and knowing, dares maintain Being used to all the ‘modern improvements’ in her na- tive bogs, she expects to enjoy them here, and when she elects to employ a mistress, she takes good care to see that the said mistress has exercised proper forethought and caution in providing and maintaining the needful oid in the'Blichou Secmasinticenhanbien a cold water in are 8, an the luckless lady of the house would be at once dismissed in disgrace, were she to suffer herself to be employed by a Milesian dame, and not have these essential aquatic rerequisites at hand. Aud then, as Bridget has always accustomed to the enjoyment of gas in her paternal cabin, it is necessary that her chamber shall be supplied with the subtle fluid, when she takes a new mistress into her employ, and that also must be looked to, or there is no trade.’ “ Bridget is also @ little critical in the matter of chil- dren ; she objects toa surplus juvenile population, aud although we have never drowned any of our own offspring in deference to her sentiments in that respect, we still feel sore compunctions of conscience concerning any possible variance between her private views and the substantial facts of the case. Bridget objects to washing and ironing (we have already stated that she cooks); she protests in emphatic terms answering the door-bell, and she plaimiy asserts sweeping and chamber work are always within the line of duty of her hapless thrall, the lady of the house. In short, to use a vulgar phrase, Brid- et ‘ bosses the job,’ and the mistress whom she employs ives in constant dread of this rather coarse and vulgar autocrat of the kitchen. There is but one cure for it; the mistress mast learn to upon herself in a measure ; she must also train her daughters to be useful as well as ornamental. Monsieur Blot has pointed out the road to this blissful condition of independence, and Bridget should be taught that she cannot claim the wages of skilled labor in exchange for @ capacity for the merest drudgery ; that she has a mission different from a mere spoiling of good food, a wholesale destruction of dear fuel, and a burning out of stoves, ranges, and heaters; and should learn, in short, that housekeepers have some rights that Biddies are bound to respect.’” Tue PiLeascres OF INsects.—Inseets must generally lead a jovial life. Think what it must be to lodgeina lily! Imagine a palace of ivory or pearl, with pillars of silver and capitals of gold, all exhaling such a perfume as never arose from human censer! Fancy, again, the fan of tacking yourself up for the night in the folds of a rose, rocked to sleep by the gentle sighs of a summer's air, and nothing to do when you wake but to wash yourself ina dewdrop, and fall to and eat your bedclothes. ARMENIAN WomeNn.—It would appear that nowhere is the patriarchal system carried to a greater extent than among the Armenians. During the lifetime of the father, all the sons and their descendants live together in one common dwelling ; and thus houses may be found which, from the number of their inhabitants, resemble bee-hives, — com ng three or four generations. All the pro- prisi v is held in common by the descendants of the head of the house. Brothers and sisters inherit equally, but until the death of the head no one can anything separate from all the others. Until marriage the Arme- nian girls go about as they like; they are unveiled, and enjoy as much om as they could do in European countries, flirting, love making, and marrying to please themselves, as in more civil lands. But once married, and allis changed. From that time until she becomes a mother, she never speaks to any one except her husband, and then only in private. After she becomes a mother, she may speak to her mother-in-law first, and after the lapse of certain periods, to her own mother, her sisters-in- law, and her own sisters. She is always veiled, even in her own house ; she never speaks to male strangers, and she seldom or never leaves the house. Her finery, Yo elry, and ormaments can be shown only to those of her own sex, and in every way her seclusion is as complete as that of the Turkish woman. On the other hand the Armenian women seldom do any hard work ; they remain at home while their husbands labor in the fields, and they enjoy, bably on account of their acquaintance prior to @, much more respect and confidence from their husbands than falls to the share of the Turkish wife, who, moreover, has to divide with two or three rivals the little affection or respect which her husband deigns to bestow on her. As the Armenian woman ean only talk in her own house below her breath, that none of her male Telatives mg a she says, it follows that the con- sequence W usually results from the residence of so many women in one house, incessant quarrelling, is quite avoided. Custom, the strongest of all laws, forbidding them to speak above a whisper, a war of words could only be carried on under great difficulties ; and as yet, at least, 5: ng on the fingers, which would also require a know of ling, an accomplishment very few of them ~ ~ssess, is not introduced to facilitate the inter- change .¢ hostilities between those ancient enemies, mo- thers and daughters-in-law. Yet it is not easy to realize the idea of a large family cirele in which all the ladies sit mute, only converse among themselves in whispers, A New Votvme.—This is a good time to commence to subscribe, as the new volume begins with the July num- ber. In the six numbers from July to December you get all the fall and winter fashions—cloaks, mantles, furs, bonnets, crochet, etc. ete. Srix 1x Lrons.—The town of Lyons consumes annually about 1,000,000 kilogrammes (about 2,000,000 Ibs.) of silk prepared or spun in different ways. It takes four cocoons to weigh a gramme of silk; the Lyonnese consumption amounts to 4,200,000,000 cocoons; counting the length of a thread of cocoon equal to 500 métres, the amount an- nually spun by the Lyonnese industry would make altogether a thread of silk 2,100,000,000 kilométres (210,000,000,000 yards) long, or more than 14 times the distance of the earth from the sun, and 5494 times that of the moon from us. It would pass round the earth at the equator 52,505 times, and 200,000 times round the circam- ference of the moon. A Lorpow paper gives the following account of a new kind of cloth manufactured from pine leaves :— “There are two establishments near Breslau, in one of which pine leaves are converted into wool, while in the other for invalids, the waters used in the manufacture of pine wool are employed as curative agents. The process for converting the pine needles into wool was discovered by Mr. Pannewitz. In the hospitals, penitentiaries, and barracks of Vienna and Breslau, blankets made from that material are now exclusively used. One of their chief advantages is, that no kind of vermin will lodge in them. The material is also used as stuffing, closely resembles hair, and is only one-third its cost.” We call attention to the advertisement of the ‘‘ Florence Lock Stitch Sewing Machines” on our cover,

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 93 BEWARE OF IMITATIONS. SOLD BY DRUGGISTS and PERFUMERS EVERYWHERE. Waar a queer fellow the Frenchman must have been who, for twenty years, loved a lady, and never missed passing his evenings at her house. She became a widow. “TI wish you joy,” cried his ‘friend; vb ny may now marry the woman you have so long adored.” “ Alas,’’ said the poor Frenchman, profoundly dejected, “and if so, where shall I spend my evenings?’ FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. CHILDREN everywhere should read “THE LITTLE CORPORAL” as soon as they can read anything. The children will be better and happier from reading it.—Henry (U1.) Courier. It already excels every child’s paper that we know of in this country.—Chicago Evening Journal. Forney’s Philadelphia Daily yee says of it: “ The Little Corporal is destined to become the great children's paper of America.” It is published by Atrrep L. Szwett, in Chicago, IIli- nois. Price $1 a year. Sample copy, 10 cents. New volame begins with July and January. Ay exchange paper tells the following anecdote of a college student, who was distinguished for his address in evading the writing of themes, and palming off the cur- rency of others as his legal “tender.” One evening he read a theme of unusual merit; but the professor, as he sat down in the pride of conscious excellence, asked ;— “Ts that original?” “ Yes, siry’’ said the student. “ Are you sure of it ?"’ queried the professor, doubtingly. “Why yes, sir,’’ replied the student, with imperturbable = ; ‘it had ‘original’ over it in the paper I took.it OUR SUPERIOR NEEDLES. We have made arrangements by which we can continue to furnish the ladies’ favorite needles for 40 cents per 100 and a 3 cent stamp to pay return postage. This is much cheaper than they can be purchased elsewhere, and the needles are of a much finer quality. The demand is so great for them that it is the business of one person in our office t attend to the orders. We resume again at little profit to ourselves, but we are anxious that our subscri- bers should be supplied with a superior article. Wnrr does a lady wear far round her neck ?—Because she does not like to leave her chin chilly. Wuar is most likely to become a woman ?—A little girl. Ix what cireamstances is a woman that wears stays ?— In straitened circumstances, VOL. LXXIll.—7 MESSRS. J. BE. TILTON & CO., BOSTON, Publish a valuable List of Books for the Household, con- taining many things worth knowing by every house- keeper. They send their Illustrated Catalogue free, by mail, on receipt of stamps to prepay return post. Jvper Crompton, entering the court late one morning, was asked by Judge Purvis what had interfered with his usual punctuality. “ My wife had a son this morning,’’ he said. “O, brother Crompton, then I congratulate you on your young judge.” “No, no,” said Crompton, “he’s not so high in the law yet—he’s only a young crier.” THE SAFEST, CHEAPEST, AND BEST. IVINS’ PATENT HAIR CRIMPERS. FOR CRIMPING AND WAVING LADIES’ HAIR. No heat required. They are put up in beau- tifai boxes, containing one set (one dozen), assorted lengths, with full direc- tions for use sccompany- ing each box. No lady’s toilet is com- plete without them. For sale throughout the coun- try. Retailers will be sup- plied by any first-class “Wholesale Notion House” in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, or Baltimore. Manufactured solely by the Patentee, E. Ivins, Sixth Street and Columbia Avenue, Philadelphia, Pa. A SCHOOLBOY was caught stealing from the teacher's desk, and his father was at once sent for. He came, and after administering a mild rebuke to his son, he turned to apologize to the teacher, saying :— “You see my son has a mind so large, that he thinks everything he sees belongs to him.” 8. D. & H. W. SMITH’S AMERICAN ORGANS, * AND THE Boardman, Gray, & Co. PIANOS. SIBERIA OTT, the wHoLesaLe acent of these reliable instruments—of whose good qualities we have so often spoken—has removed his warerooms to 581 Broadway, New York. He will furnish circulars on application, giving fall descriptions, prices, and all information. Ix an action for a breach of promise the defendant's counsel asked the plaintiff :— * Did my client enter into a positive agreement to marry ou?’ m Not exactly,”’ she replied ; “ but he courted mea good deal, aad he told my sister that he intended to marry into our family."’ OUR CARD PHOTOGRAPHS. We are constantly adding every celebrity to our very extensive list of card photographs—naval, military, pub- lic men, authors and authoresees, artists, and a charming variety of pictures and works of art. Send for a cata- logue.

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94 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PHILADELPHIA AGENCY. No erder attended to unless the cash accompanies it. All sersons requiring answers by mali must eend a post-office stamp ; and for all articles that are to be sent by rail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made cut of post-marks. J. N. C,—Sent articles by Adams’s express Apri] 14th. Miss BE. M.—Sent articles 17th. Mrs. B. G. H.—Sent lead comb by Adams's express 18th. Mrs. W. B. R.—Sent pattern 18th. Mrs. A. M. 8.—Sent pattern 18th. Mrs. Z. C. K.—Sent pattern 18th. Miss 8. L. D.—Sent pattern 18th. BE. C.—Sent yokes and sleeves 19th. A. E. H.—Sent switch of hair 23d. Mrs. FP. B. R.—Sent hair crimpers 23d. Miss M. E. P.—Sent hair crimpers 23d. E. R.—Sent pattern 23d. A. 0, H.—Sent pattern 23d. Mrs. N. I. L.—Sent pattern 23d. Miss M. C.—Sent pattern 23d. A. F.—Sent pattern 23d. Mrs. M. A. C.—Sent pattern 24th. Mrs, G. C. H.—Sent articles by Harnden’s express 28th. D. F.—Sent lead comb and needles 30th. F. H. C.—Sent box by Adams's express 30th. Mrs. W. B. H.—Sent articles by Adams's express 30th. Mrs, N. P.—Sent articles by Harnden’s express 30th. J. A. H.—Sent lead comb 30th. G. C, B.—Sent lead comb 30th. W. B. M.—Sent hair crimpers 30th. Miss BE. A. F.—Sent lead comb 30th. Mra. J. R.—Sent hair crimpers by Adams's express 30th. T. BE. E.—Sent hair pin May 2d. Miss A. C.—Sent bonnet by Adams's express 3d. Mrs. G. W. R.—Sent mohair net by Kinsley’s express 4th. Miss B. D.—Sent lead comb Sth. F. H. C.—Sent articles 9th. Mrs. T. T.—Sent curling fluid 9th. GC. W. §.—Sent silk 9th. Mrs, F. D.—Sent hair net 9th. Mrs. A. H. M.—Sent lead comb 9th. Mrs. J. M.—Sent hair oet 9th. Miss A. L. D.—Sent articles 10th. R. B.—Sent articles by Adams’s express 10th. Mrs. J. C. 8.—Sent hair crimpers 11th. Miss J. R.—Sent hair net 1}th. Miss A. W.—Sent hair crimpers 11th. A. R. L.—Your letter was most welcome. Much obliged for your good opinion. We are always happy to answer the questions of our friends. H, C.—We cannot recommend the article, although we have seen it tried on the arm with good effect. You had better write to the proprietor. M. F. X.—We are sorry for you. We have received a number of letters from ladies asking the same question. ; Upham, 25 South Eighth Street, Philadelphia, professes to relieve all such cases. A Constant Reader. The plant alluded to is probably the Oldenlandia cwrulea, Gray (Houstonia, Linn.). It is called by some “ Quaker Lady,” but is commonly known as Bluets, Innocence, etc. ‘A Subseriber.—We cannot answer your questicn. BE. C. L.—The idea is absurd—that having had the smallpox is a cure for all diseases. Fashions, NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Havre had frequent + oe egoe for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, ete., by ladies nving at a distance, the Editrese of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any on eeee how may desire it, with the arm. of a small percentage for the time and research Spring and autumn bonnets, materials for dresses, — ry, envelopes, hair-work, worsteds, children’s wardrobes, maantillas, and mantelets, will be chosen with a “oral to economy as well as taste ; and boxes or packagées forwarded by express to any part of the eountry. For the last, dis- tinct directions must be given Orders, diture, tobe addreseed to the care of L. A, Godey, Esq. No order will be attended to unless the money is first received, Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account- able for losses that may occur in remitting. The Publisher of the Lady’s Book has no interest tn this department, and knows nothing of the transactions ; and whether the — sending ‘he order is or is nota subscriber to the y's Book, the Fashion Editor does not know. Instructions to be as minute as possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which m in choice. Dress from Evans & Co., or Curwen Stoddart & Brother; . goods of any kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., Now vax: lingerie and lace from G. W. Vogel's, 1016 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia; bonnets from the most celebrated establishments ; cere from Wriggens & Warden, or Caldwell’s, Phidadelphia When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here govern the purchase ; therefore, no articles will be taken back. When the goods are seat, the transaction must be considered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR JULY. Fig. 1.—Suit, from the establishment of A. T. Stewart & Co., New York. Dress of light cuir-colored percale, with fancy brown bordering on the edge of the skirt, The paleté is half tight fitting in the back ; the front is loose, and made to resemble a deep waistcoat in the Louis XV. style. The hair is arranged in a very heavy coil at the back. The hat is covered with a brown sparkling maie- rial, and trimmed with purple and white velvet, and a short plume. Fig. 2—Underskirt of blue silk, with white greaadine overdrees made quite short, and trimmed in festoons with bands of blue silk. Above each festoon is a bow of blue ribbon, with large black chenille pendants. The corsage is a deep basque, trimmed with blue ribbon and black pendants. The hair is dressed with short curls in front, and a tight coil at the back. Fig. 3.—Dress_of buff goat’s-hair alpaca, braided with black mohair id. The jacket is sleeveless, braided to suit the skirt, and finished with a black ball fringe. The bonnet is of white chip, trimmed with a violet ribbon and small tuft of violet feathers. Fig. 4.—White muslin dress, trimmed with three full puffings, arranged to simulate overskirts, The muslin dress is wora over a slip of pink silk, finished on the edge by @ fluted ruffle. The corsage is trimmed square with Cluny lace, and ornamented by rows of pink silk buttuns. The pink silk belt is canght in front by a rich jewelled buckle. Hat of fancy straw, dotted with black beads, and turned up at the left side. The trimming consists of & garland of flowers and a swallow. Fig. 5.—Dress of white alpaca, trimmed with bands of blue silk braided. The corsage is square, and trimmed with blue silk. Polish boots of blue kid. an Gf Gh oh bee a a a a a ae a ee es o-_ «+ «| «» © © =a «ans & = 46& 4HemhmUCUCrOlCUrhUwF YY atineses*” a & fs &

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FASHIONS. 95 Fig. 6.—Robe dress of pearl-colored coutil, embroidered in high-colored wools, and looped over # skirt trimmed with two fiuted ruffles. The paletdt is made with revere, turned over to display a chemisette of white muslin trimmed with Cluny insertion. Leghorn hat, tastefully ornamented with a green plume, and a long white crépe lisse veil. CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS FOR JULY. Ovr hot, dusty cities are beginning to look deserted, and there seems to be a general stampede or sawve qui peut for country or watering-place life. The season bids fair to be unusually gay, and already balls ahd parties are nightly occurrences, We think it highly probable that mask and fancy balis will be inter- spersed among the delightful summer amusements, for not only are they brilliant of themselves, but they give great scope to the imagination, and furnish conversa- tional topics for weeks, In nothing does Fashion exhibit more charming fancies and consummate skill than in the composition of fancy costumes. New characters are eagerly sought after, as each lady is of course anxious to look her best, and, if possible, eclipse her neighbor. To the gay world we therefore devote half our chat, and give a few descriptions of novel travesties originated in Paris and London. Algeria is thus impersonated: A dress of several skirts of white gauze streaked with gold; these skirts open at the right side over a blue satin petticoat—that beautiful shade known as Mediterranean blue—and the satin is embroidered with gold to represent ships. A scarf made of red, white, and blue crosses the skirt, and is tied at the left side. The bodice is made of blue satin, and is embroidered to represent Arabic coins. The hair is ar- ranged in thick tresses plaited in with gold cord. A white burnous thrown over the shoulder completes the dress. Another costame, less difficult to prepare, is a Snow Sprite. The dress is of white tulle trimmed with bands of the snow like swan’s-down and silver and crystal ornaments. The covsage glitters with crystal icicles sof- tened in effect by bands of down. The coiffure consists of crystal drops and a wreath of frosted leaves, The boots are of white satin dotted over with swan’s-down and finished on top by a band of the same. The Deluge is another tasteful creaticn. First of all, over a petticoat of sea-green silk is placed one in white silk gauze sprinkled with grass and leaves. At the bottom cf this are three cross plaits of light green silk of different widths forming vandykes. On these bands is 8 rain or deluge of clear crystal drops, The corsage and sleeves are fringed with a rain of crystal beads. On the neck and arms are crystal ornaments. The necklace has a small dove depending from it. The hair is studded with crystal drops, and dressed with a small olive branch in the chignon behind. The Swallow costume consists of a dress of white satin with swallows round the lower part of the skirt arranged as @ trimming. The front of the corsage is of white satin, over which is a jacket of black velvet cut with long swallow-tail ends. One swallow, with outstretched wings, is placed on cach shoulder, and a large one forms the headdress. A more brilliant costume is the Humming-bird. The skirt should be of emeraid-green satin or changeable silk, ornamented with humming-birds formed of an appliqué meterial with the throat and wings made up with feathers from the veritable bird. These wings and breasts are laid flat on the material, and have the effect of a flight of birds. The bodice is made of ruby velvet ornamented with metallic fod which seemingly changes color as the light plays over it. The headdress consists of three small humming-birds lighting amid a mass of curls. The Queen of the Amazons wears a scarlet petticoat covered with symbolical animals. The bodice is of tiger skin, and the headdress a small gold helmet. Moonlight is arrayed in a dress of white tulle with the skirt trimmed with fine bowtlione separated by bands of silver braid. Over the dress is worn a tunic covered with flukes or spangles of silver. A mantle of white tulle, studded with silver and trimmed with silver lace, is thrown over the shoulders. The headdress is composed of a white and silver scarf twisted round the head, and falling in two long ends at the back. The coiffure is studded with stars, and ornamented in front by a silver crescent. A shower of gold is depicted by a dress of gold-colored silk or satin covered with a skirt of white tulle bowilionné to the waist, and over that a white tulle tunic studded with gold balls and coins, The skirt is trimmed with fringes of coins, and the hair is profusely pewdered with gold. The costume appertaining to Amphitrite is a sea-green gauze dress apparently powdered all over with silver. Her tunic is of silver gauze decorated with shells, coral, and feathery sea-weeds. A bandolet of sea shells is round her head, and her hair is studded with crystal drops and precious stones. A rich Watteau costume is a petticoat of white eorded silk with a border of rose-colored and silver satin, edged at each side with a white ruching. The over-skirt is a looped train of very rich rose-colored satin. At each side of the front of the train, strings of pearls are looped across to form diamonds. The corsage is of rose and silver satin, with white satin stomacher and short sleeves tastefully ornamented with pearls. Silver lace forms a berthe and trims the sleeves. We will describe another costume d@ la Watteau which is very effective. The shoes are of black satin or kid, coming high upon the instep, with pink kid heels and diamond buckles ; pink silk stockings, s petticoat of rich clunée or brocaded silk down to the anklesonly. Over this is looped a pink silk dress, the festoons kept in place by pink roses. The body of the dress is cut 2 la Louis Quatorze, and trimmed with point lac? or muslin. The sleeves reach to the elvov, and are finished with a wide lace ruffie. Narrow black velvets are on the neck and wrists. A tiny white muslin apron, trimmed round with lace, completes this very becoming costume. The hair is powdered and drawn very high up over cushions, and on one side is either a small coquette cap or a round wreath. This costume could be made up of tarlatane and bright furniture chintz to look very well. Another admirable character is Photography. The dress can be either white or colored, with a border of cartes de visites, trimmed with a ruching of bright ribbon laid just above the hem. Aa over-skirt of tulle or of mate- rial like the dress is looped at regular intervals by oval photographs prettily trimmed with ribbons. The dérthe is entirely formed of photographs framed round with narrow ruchings. On the head is a small camera with a green veil falling from the back. The latter is intended to represent the cloth thrown over the instrument. This dress is exceedingly effective, and can be prepared with very little trouble and expense.

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96 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Here we must close our descriptions of ball costumes, and indalge in a little gossip about other things. There has been no material chauge iu bonnets sinco last month. Among the many attractive styles, we note the Lamballe, Pamela, Empire, Marie Antoinette, Louis XV., and the Fauyhen. The latter is fast gaining favor, and the newest of this style measure but four or five inches in the widest part, and from this gradually slope down. They fit the face quite closely, and are little more than a bend of puffed tulle. Some are entirely covered with small flowers, such as violets or daisies, and have Bencitons or chains of flowers falling over the back. These Benoitons, which we described in a former number, are exceedingly popular. Chains or Benoitons of coins or beads are attached to most of the cviffures, and pass in a semicircle under the chin. The same style is intro- daced in floral coiffures, a garland of fine flowers falling under the chin as a necklace. For the effect of these Benoitons, we refer to the different styles on the bonnets ia the present number. Crinoline is far from being abandoned, but is by no means carried to the same excess in Paris as in this coun- try. For evening wear, anless very many stiff skirts are worn, large hoops are required to sustain gracefully the long trains and fally-trimmed skirts. But on the streets, where the dresses are looped over well-starched, and generally short petticoats, intended to display the Polish boots, whieh are now carried half way up the leg—then, ladies, it is absolutely necessary for lee convenances, or, in plain English, for decency's sake, that the hoops should be very small. In reference to bdots, we would state that colored kid is very generally adopted for children. Gray, lavender, brown, eair, violet, mauve, green, bionze, and blue, with silver and gilt kid for full dress occasions. They are em- broidered or trimmed with bows and buckles, or élse rosettes, and laced up the front. Many also sre fastened up the front with a double row of buttons, and are finished on top with tassels. Ladies are wearing black satin or kid slippers, with gilt or colored heels, also slippers of gilt or silver kid, finished with rosettes. Satin slippers are frequently dotted: over with jet, pearl, erystal, or gilt bands, and finished with rosettes of lace, sprinkled with beads or small flowers. : Boots are now worn to match the dress ; for fall toilette they should be of the same materia! as the dress, but for walking or home wear, they are generally of kid or lasting. White and gray linen boots are much in favor for sum- mer wear, the former are frequently worn as an evening boot, and with a white muslin dress, lock very well. We have now besides rotendes and shawls of white muélin, very pretty demi-ajustes, or half tight-fitting sacks, embroidered or trimmed with Cluny. Many of them are finished at'the neck with a flat hood. Black and white grenadine shawls embroidered in scarlet are among the novelties.. White Shetland shawls, so convenient to throw over the shoulders of a summer evening, can now be had of good quality for $3. In mobair lace both white and black we have, talmas, rotondes, and shawls of various styles, some interwoven with colored bands and flowers, others perfectly plain. The long ribbon tied at the back of the neck and known as “ Beau-cateher,’’ “ Laddie, come follow me,’’ and “ Suivez moi, jeane homme," is still very much in vogue. _ Jackets of Clany and black guipure made half tight-fit- Jng and worn over the same shape ir colored silk are ex- ceedingly stylish. Most all summer dresses are made with jackets, some worn with a waistcoat in the Louis XIV. style, and others sleeveless and worn over a white waist. Tablier dresses are much admired ; in most cases the skirt laps over the apron or.tablier, and is scalloped and trimmed with rosettes of lace or ribbon. The tablier being underneath has much the effeet of an underskirt. Flowers are substituted for the rosettes: when the dress is intended for evening wear. The newest dresses we have seen are trimmed with bands of ribbon or velvet studded with beads or buttons, These bands are carried from the neck below the waist both in back and front. They deseribe a point in the back, and are arranged to simulate a paledt or basque. The newest bretelles are formed of alternate sqyares of Cluny insertion and colored ribbon plaited together to form a checked pattern. These braces pass over the shoulders, and are caught on a belt of silk covered with Ciuny, which is fastened at the side with a rosette. This little novelty called the Navarette, is frequently strapped across the chest and at the back by a band of Cluny and ribbon. Narrow crystal gimps are much used as dress trim- mings, also the fringes, though they are very expensive, The latter are very extensively used on bonnets. New feather trimmings have appeared, such as fringes and bands made of the changeable gold-like shreds stripped off the peacock feathers, and interspersed here and there with the full eye-marked feather. These trim- mings are destined to be very fashionable in the fall, The most elegant parasols of the season are edged with Cluny, and trimmed with applications of colored bloude. For instance,.a bunch of violets on white moiré, or a bunch of scarlet daisies on a pearl-colored ground. Gold thread is extensively employed, also applications of Cluny. The newest handles are of a heavy-looking rough wood, lanrel, tortoise-shell, or coral, finished with a gold ball bearing the owner's monogram. A pretty parasol is of white or gray silk, with a band of deep pink on the edge covered with Cluny Jace. Still another style is huag round with chains 2 la Benoiton. The newest belts are woven to represent a rich inser tion of Cluny om a colored ground. The latest style of waistband is of bright ribbon brocade fastened with a brocaded buckle. There are so many attractive novelties in the shape of hats this season, that it is dificult to know which to se- lect. The trimmings are of the most tasteful character, and the shapes g-nerally prove very becoming. An idea. of some of the new styles may be had by te ferring to the hats from the Terry establishment, page 22 The wood-cuts, however, give but a faint conception of the originals. The Benoiton chains, the rage of the day, are used with admirable effect on many of the watering> place hats. They are of jet or crystal caught on bright velvet by large medallions or stars. Some of the new hats are of the toqguet style with turned-up brims lined with erie, and trimmed with birds of dazzling plumage. A very stylish hat is caught up on one side with a fancy crnament 2 la miljitaire: A simple style of trimming for a country hat is a veil of blue, green, or vivlet cripe lisse or grenadine; caught in puffs round the hat by fancy or- naments, bands of straw or velvet. One long streamer floats at the side, which answers the purpose of a veil. Sailor hats covered with a sparkling silvery preparation, and trimmed with a band of blue ribbon embossed on the ends with silver anchors, are conspicuous among the new styles. Fasmion.

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RUSSZTAN MARCH. NEWLY ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO-FORTE, FOR GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK, BY H. DREWER, Composer of “ Party Polka,” “Lulah Lake Grand March,” Etc. eo >

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88 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ~ PARIS ITEMS. A Paris correspondent gives the following description of the Emperor Napoleon's farm :— ‘*The emperor's farm of Cucuffa is one of the most pic- turesque and thoroughly country spots in the environs of Paris, and easily reached by way of St. Cloud, or by the more enjoyable route of Versailles. The woods of Gla- tigny, through which a bypath leads down a wooded ravine, are rocky and wild in the extreme; the overhang- ing branches of the trees which border the narrow road to Cucuffa make the way therevo gloomy and somewhat mysterious. A low gate, unguarded by porter or sentinel, opens into a woods of magnificent pines and the finest oaks I have seen in France. A lake gemmed with white and golden nenuphars ; beyond a shorn grass lawn, dotted over by small black Breton cows, the farm chalets of his majesty, and the richly wooded background in the dis- tance, form as pleasing a bit of home scenery as any artist could wish for as the subject of a pictare for the next ex- hibition. Under the wide-spreading branches of a fine old plane tree are tables and a few chairs where the ladies of one’s party invariably insist on drinking milk, or, as I was axsured, ‘real cream’ brought by a buxom Norman dame, high cap and all, whose husband, the cowherd, is monarch, it appeared to me, of all he surveyed, save on Sundays, when bis majesty graciously permits his liege subjects to visit his favorite retreat. On week days its gates are rigorously closed, even to members of the house- hold, as it is then the rest of the prince imperial when the coart is at St. Cloud. “The empress also constantly drives here in her low pony carriage. The emperor, however, has rather given up Cucnoffa of late, but for many years he used to spend hours beneath its shady groves, — incog. The central chalet has a tiny drawing-room, boudoir, bed-room, fitted up with exquisite simplicity. The adjoining woods are stocked with chevreul, pheasants, and hares, and are spe- cially preserved for her majesty’s gun. The empress shoots over these preserves four or five times every winter, and usually knocks over from thirty to thirty-five head of game. Princess Metternich is a formidable rival in this art: but whether by accident or om purpose I am not pre- pared to say, but the return always brings her highvess in as having shot at least two head less than her imperial companion. Ville Neuve |’Etang is not far off, and the Norman high-eapped lady confided to me with a sigh her sad conviction that the haras (breeding stables) there now absorbed his majesty’s attention and that he had lost all interests in his farm and his Breton cows. Curious to say, neither she nor her husband seemed to consider the empress’s visit as a compensation for the emperor's ne- glect. ‘ Ce n'est PG la meme chose,’ (It is not the same thing), mournfully said her husband, the cowherd.” A “mau of portraits of the imperial family” has been opened at Versailles. It contains oe portraits ; the most interesting among them area likeness of Charles Bonaparte, by Girodet; his wife Laetitia, by Gerard ; Napoleon at Mt. St. Bernard (David's celebrated picture) ; Napoleon as first consul ; Napoleon in uniform ; Napoleon in imperial costume ; Napoleon on the terrace at St. Cloud, holding on his knees nee Charies Louis Napoleon (Napoleon III.), then two years old, and surrounded by five other princes and princesses, among them Princess Joachim and Lucien Murat; Gerard's portrait of the Em- press —_ ine ; his portrait of Marie Louise and the King of Rome; Proudhon’ 8 portrait of the King of Rome; Napo- leon III. when eleven years old; an equestrian portrait of Prince Jerome, by Gros; ete. A Panis letter in a London journal says: “Rather a good thing was uttered here the other night by a clever actress. A very old man having died, his ioe old and attentive servant died the next day. upon it, his master rang for him,’ was the remark.’ Another correspondent writes that a “ learned profes- sor,"’ who was asked to give a lecture to an institation, went and delivered his eloquence at that institution, and only when it was over found that his best la and longest words had been expended in vain, as he was in the presence of a deaf and dumb college. Art the last bell at the Tuileries, the emperor, on see! Mad’ lie de Pene dressed as Why. that oy ar i impere trice Ji ine, exclaimed : grandmother in her twentieth year?” In Paris isa particular café, the frequenters of which - are, for the most part, waiters out of place. The other day a gentleman, who was ignorant of this peculiarity, ehanced to pay it a visit, and, op not fluding his com- mands obeyed with due alacrity, shouted out ‘‘Garcon!"’ in rather a loudish key. Instantly, to bis intense astonist.- ment, dominoes ceased to rattle, newspapers dropped from every band, and every man preseut rose and pressed forward as though to receive his orders, when, suddenly recollecting themselves, they simultaneously sat down again, looking atrifie sheepish. Surprised at this singular pantomimic display, the gentleman made inquiries of the ee of the café, from whom he learnt its cause. It now considered a good joke, by those who are in the secret, to pay a visit to the café in question, and when the guests are deep in dominoes, or absorbed in the latest news, to suddenly shout out ‘‘Gargon!’’ and watch the ludicrous effect of this magic word. Wes clip the following notice from the Telegraph, pub- lished in Macon, Georgia:— “ Gopgy’s Lapy’s Boox.—It is with much satisfaction we refer to this superior publication. The appreciation in which it has always been held by our people, has been peculiarly indicated in the immense sale and circulation in this country since the resumption of communication between the sections. Nearly a thousand copies of the Lady's Book are sold at this point. A. 8, Patrick, at the om depot, disposes of over five hundred numbers. That the book merits the patronage of our people is unques- tionable. That it has always been an acceptable and attractab]c companion, especially to the ladies of the land, is evident in its, immense circulation and popularity. Daring its existence, being now in the seventy-second volume, there has never been published an immoral story nor an oath. It is with unusual pleasure we remember the successful proprietor, the 1 aie man, and unsurpassed gentleman, Mr. L. A. Godey Tuat THE “Wortp Owes Every One A Livine”’ is an impudent and mischievous fiction. The world only far- nishes us the tools by which we may carve out our own fortunes. Our “living” is the reward which Nature con- fers upon us for the labor we perform. This covenant she makes with each one of us as soon as we come iato the world. If we fail in the fulfilment of our part of it, what right have we to expect that she will fulfil hers? Two young carpenters, named respectively Robert Brown and Thomas Jones, were very fond of dropping into Mr. Smith’s parlor, and spending an hour or two with his only daughter, Mary. One evening, when Brown and Mary had discussed almost every topic, Brown sud- denly, in his sweetest tones, struck out as follows:— ss 0 you think, Mary, you could leave father and mother, this pleasant home, with all its ease and com- forts, and emigrate to the Far West with a young carpen- ter, who has but little besides his strong bands to depend upon, and with him search out a new home, which it should be your joint duty to beautify, and make delight- ful and happy like this?’’ Dropping her head softly on his shoulders, she whis- red pered :— **T think I could, Robert.” * Well,” said he, ** there z Tom Jones, who ’s going to emigrate, and wants to get a wife: I'll mention it te i Tae Snape or THE Eartu.—The convexity of the earth interposes to > pas the sight of distant bodies; thus at 600 yards, 1 inch wouid be conceaied, or an object an inch we could not be seen in a straight line; at 900 motos inches; at 1400 yards, 5 inches; at 1 ’ mile, 8 hee; 3 miles, 6 feet; so at that distance & man ae be invisible ; 4 miles, 10 feet ; & miles, 16 feet ; 6 miles, 24 feet ; 10 miles, 66 feet; 12 miles, 95 ; 13 miles, 12; and 14 miles, 180. In levelling, it is usual to allow the tenth of an inch in every two hundred yards, or eight inches in a mile, for convexity. Postage on the Lady’s Book, according to the late law passed last winter :— Section 36.—Postage on Godey’s Lady's Book, 24 cents @ year, “yo yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in ad- vance, at the Post-office where the k is received. News-dealers may receive their packages at the same rates, that is, 2 cents for each copy of the mavazine, and may pay separately for each package as received.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. Sxop Wixpows.—In general perambulations through the streets, the objects which perhaps excite the liveliest interest in most minds are the shop windows. What end- less store of things, new and old, is there spread out for inspection — what abundance of information could we manage to obtain by looking through the panes with an eye properly instructed as to what to look for! It is true that we may find a great deal of amusement in regarding our fellow passengers, in speculating as to their probable occupations in life, and the business about which they may be concerned at the moment. The fund of en- tertainment that exists in remarking the passers-by is inexhaustible, if ene only goes the right way about observing them. But it is not given to every one to exert the power of glancing rapidly so as to catch the salient point which shall interest or amuse; and some people may even imagine that such a way of looking at our fel- low-creatures borders on the sarcastic—perhaps on the uncharitable. Not that we aguee to accept this view. If people walk about at all, they often do so in order that they shall be seen, and always with a consciousness that they may be looked at. So we entertain slight scruple with regard to exercising our faculty of observation—in- deed, we do not hesitate to express our thanks to people in general who are so benevolent as to offer themselves as objects of mild interest and excitement, during what might be monotony of a walk taken with no particular object. Nevertheless, we are well aware that all the world is not of the opinion of Dr. Johnson and Charles Lamb, to whom the concourse of men was more fascinating than the most charming of scenery or the most delightful of rural pleasures. We know very well that, to many per- sons, passing through a crowded street is a mere weari- ness both of body and soul, so far as one’s fellow creatures are concerned. At the same time we cannot but think that there are few to whom the shop windows, with the wares displayed behind them, are not objects of an interest more or less active. Even the most rural of ‘‘country cousins,’’ bewildered by the endless rush of passing thousands, finds in the contemplation of the treasures shewn in the windows a solace for his troubles, and a reward for his sufferings. The workers im metals and the jewellers—the Tubal- Cains and Hirams of our modern days—display the pro- ducts of their art in the windows of our shops, The makers of textile fabrics spread out behind the great panes cloth of textures varying from the coarsest to the finest, dyed sometimes in colors which exceed the gorgevusness of the Tyrian purple ; silks whose richness would have made them the envy of the empresses of old Rome; and laces whose delicate tissues might have been the productions of Arachne. Behind shop windows can be seen the wares of the — as beautiful in form as any made in ancient Etruria ; ookbinding as rich as that of the middle ages ; nay, books themselves, and papers—those ephemere of literature— lie open to the observant lookers-in at the treasures laid out behind the glass, Children look in at the windows of toy shops with eager eyes, Whicu see vistas of pleasure in the possibility of pos- sessing the visions of delight with which these tempting stores abound. The hungry man conjures up for himself a feast more tantalizing than the famous Barmecidean de- bauch; and the invalid regards with a look which sug- gests reminiscences of suffering the displays behind the chemists’ windows, which he associates with the myste- rious scent of the drugs to be found within. Before leaving this subject, we would beg a moment's attention to be given to the shop windows of the poorer districts. There is something very touching inthem. In such places there are but few shops where anything in the way of luxuries is to be met with, and in these few the articles are cheap, and a tawdry, and perhaps have that melancholy air of unusedness which is apt to cling to things that have found their way into shops where they are but rarely asked for. The displays of iture sug- gest that the goods have come from homes many times broken up, possessing, perhaps, but few elements of per- sistent coherence. It would take teo long a time to dwell upon al! stories which the shop windows tell us, or to descant upon their varied enchantments, We would only say, ‘“‘ Walk about with your eyes open, and you will ‘behold visions— wondrous, manifold.’ ” ACADEMY OF THE Fivs Arts.—The annual exhibition of pictures and statuary at the Academy of the Fine Arts has been thronged this season with more than the asual bumber of fair and critical visitors. EBENEZER'S KISS. BY MELICENT IRWIN, “*He’s an idle, thriftless fellow, And he need not come again ; You must tell him so too, Jessie, And you may as well be plain!" Aunt Sophrony”’ broke her thread off With emphatic awful snap, And looked down again, severely, At the sewing in her lap. Now, Jessie well liked Eben! And the summer night before Long they 'd sat in pleasant dalliance Beneath the woodbine at the door. And they whispered in the moonlight Each to other would be true ; And swift in and out the taiking Played the pronouns “‘1’’ and “* you.” **It is very hard of mother, Very hard of her, I’m sure!” And Jessie snatched her bonnet From its place behind the door. Bonnet made ere reign of ‘‘ Shaker’’— Bonnet starched so neat and trim ; Trusty friend from early childhood, When blue eyes with tears were dimt So from dairy to the cellar, With its shadow o’er her face, Jessie wept the prohibition While her mother kept her place— Peering sharply o’er her glasses, All adown the grassy lane; Lest, though Eben had the warning, He might “idle” in again. ** No chance, Eben !’’ spoke young Reuben, ** Not a whisper ’neath the leaves, More than taste of fabled fruitaye From the fair Hesperides !’’ “1 will wager,” answered Eben, “ Fruitage fine from my Belle pear, That I'll win a kiss to-morrow ! ‘None but brave deserve the fair!’'’ **Grapes, my finest Isabellas ! ’Gainst yonr pears,”’ cried Reuben Runne; And he laughed back, ‘* Test your valor "Tween the settings of the sun!"’ In and out the doorway. flitting, Pretty Jessie went her way: Eben knew her by her bonnet, Which she wore now day by day. Spied her lonely in the kitchen, Pretty face turned from his view— In sped slippered Ebenezer And an arm about her threw! Stole the kiss!—O woful visage! With pale blankness writ upon it~ How could Eben know her mother Ever borrowed Jessie’s bonnet? Little Tommy Dunn had entered At the moment opportune, And ‘twas told throughout the village By the next day’s afternoon— That which Reuben Runne liked telling More perhaps than any other, How “Eben ‘stole a march,’ and wor A kiss—from Jessie's mother!” Goop Taste anp Goop Manyers.—True purity of taste is a quality of the mind; it is a feeling which can, with little difficulty, be acquired by the refinement of intelli- gence; whereas purity of manners is the result of wise habits, in which all the interests of the soul are mingled and in harmony with the progress of intelligence. That is why the harmony of good taste and of good manners is more eommon than the existence of taste without man- ners, or of manuvers without taste.

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90 PROVERBS IN TABLEAUX, TuEse scenes are of the same character as those we gave in the April number. Oue tableau illustrates a proverb which the audience must name. Children should be, as far as practicable, the performers, though sometimes the contrast of older persons is needed to make the perform- ance correct, “It is Well to have Two Strings to One's Bow."’ Tris tableau can be 7 “5 only where the stage will allow an out-door scene. In the centre of background fucing audience stands a target, with an arrow in it, near, but not exactly striking the centre. Trees, flowers, and rustic benches are on both sides of the scene, leaving the centre open. To the right and left are grouped ladies and gentlemen in archery dresses, the gentlemen wearing suits of Lincoln green, the ladies decorations of the same color. All carry bows and quivers filled with arrows. In the centre of foreground are the three performers who form the principal group. The lady holds a bow the string of which has just enapped and is hanging down. One gen- tleman who stands beside her seems condoling with her, but the second earns her smile by triumphantly holding toward her a long piece of new cord. “ A Stitch in Time Saves Nine.”’ Tue scene, a parlor or sitting-room. In the centre of the stage stands a table, and upon it are book, games, and sewing materials. One little girl is seated beside the table mending a very smali hole in her apron, A second standing on the other side of the table, has just caught her apron in the knob of the table-drawer, and torn a long rent, from a similar hole. The first one holding up her work seems reminding the second of the proverb. If the strength of the company will permit, there may be other children in the scene; two playing chess, others marbles, some knitting or sewing. “* Hunger ls the Best Sauce." Tue scene, a hotel dining-room, with the table set for four. Two sit facing the audience, one at each end, pro- file to the audience. Three of the party (who are all gen- tlemen) are dressed with fastidious elegance, and have their piled-up plates untouched before them. One holds a morsel on his fork, but turns away from it as if dis- gusted. A second is pouring a sauce from a vy-boat on his plate, but does not seem to like the looks of it. A third holds the wing of a bird in his hand, and is daintily picking off tiny bits with his fork. All look weary, dlasé. The fourth, one facing audience, wears the full dress of a hunter, and should bea tall, finely-formed man, with a ruddy, healthy face. He appears to be eating voraciously simple meat and potatoes, without any other sauce than his own appetite. The others look at him with a sort of languid wonder, while he seems to invite them to share his repast. A gun, shot-bag, and bunch of game lie to the right of foreground, with the hunter’s cap beside them (a dog has a good effect here if one can Ay come) to keep still). Ona table to left of foreground are placed the silk hats, kid gloves, and walking-canes of the three dandies, “ Dog in the Manger."’ Iw the centre of the stage is a table piled with cake, ap- ples, candies, and other eatables. In front of the table, facing andience, isan immensely fat boy, with red cheeks, in the act of vainly endeavoring to swallow another mouthful of a cake he holds in one hand. He is richly dressed, and has near him, on the floor, the toys and games ofa rich child. To the left of stage, hand in hand, are a little boy and girl in ragged clothes, with thin faces and sad eyes, holding out their hands pitifully to the young glutten, who holds up a large cane threatening them, while he frowns angrily upon them. HERE are two amusing games for the juveniles :— The Cook who Likes no Peas. Tne leader of the game meet the following question to his right-hand neighbor, and also to all the players in succession. * My cvok likes no peas; what shall I give herto eat?” GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. If any player replies, “‘ Potatoes, parsnips,’’ the other answers, * She does not like them; pay a forfeit.” But if another says, “ Onions, carrots, veal, chickens,’’ “ She likes them, and, consequently, no forfeit is required of the player.” The trick of this eis evident. It is the letter P that must be avoided. us, to escape the penalty of a forfeit, it is necessary that the players should propose some kind of vegetable or food in which the letter P does not occur, such as beans, radishes, venison, etc. The Diviner. Ors of the party leaves the room, his confederates of course remaining. A word is fixed on by the company, as one to be guessed, when mentioned among a number of other words. This word given by the company must always be placed by the confederate after some object having four legs, such as a table, a chair, a horse, etc. For instance, ry is the confederate, and stays in the room; the party whispers or writes down on paper the word ‘“‘book.”” Harry, who is outside, on a signal enters the room, and Mary says, ‘‘ We were thinking of giving ou something for your house, but we are puzzled to A what you would like best—a clock, an inkstand, a ‘butter-dish, an easy chair, a book, a mirror, or a paper- knife?’’ Of course Harry immediately replies, ‘‘ A book,”’ as it comes directly after the chair, an object with four legs ; the confederate must of course take care not to men- tion two objects with four legs. Ay instance of the sagacity of animals is given by an exchange :— “ At a farm was a colt, three years old, of a very high temper, but peculiarly gentle with a little boy who had been in the habit of bringing him bits of bread. One day a servant of the farm heard a ery from the yard, and, looking out of the window, perceived that the child had fallen into a water cask. She lost no time in rushing to the rescue, but on arriving below found that she had been anticipated by the horse, which had caught up the child by his dress, and withdrawn him from the water. The owner now declares that he will never part with the animal.” : A Cuivess Funerat.—Chu Pak, late president of the See Yup Company of San Francisco, died a short time since. He was 69 years of age, and v wealthy. His funeral was a resplendent affair. Long tables were spread in Sacramento Street, which were loaded with fruits, cooked food, a goat dressed, with skin and horns on, but the hair removed; hogs and sheep roasted whole and decorated with flowers, feathers, and a hundred nameless and indescribable ornaments, while incense was burned, prayers recited, and marches played by a band stationed on a veranda overhead, and dirges sung by the mourners. Tue following enigma, which should be studied and practised by all, we saw posted in one of the windows o; a store the other day:— aa WHAT vo. That no one may lose the meaning of it, we give the explauation, “‘ Hand over what you owe.” InexHavstIBLe Ivony.—New Siberia and the Isle of Lackon are, for the most part, only an agglomeration of sand, ice, and elephants’ teeth. At every tempest the sea casts ashore fresh heaps of mammoths’ tusks, and the in- habitants are able to drive a profitable trade in the fossil ivory thrown up by the waves. During summer, innu- merable fishermen’s barques direct their course to this isle of bones ; and, in winter, immense caravacs take the game route, all the convoys, drawn by dogs, returning charged with the tusks of the mammoth, weighing each from a hundred and fifty to two hundred pounds. The fossil ivory thus obtained from the frozen north is imported into China and Europe, where it is employed for the same arposes as ordinary ivory—which is furnished, as we Ceoe, by the elephant and hippopotamus of Africa and Asia. The isle of bones has served as @ quarry of this valuable material for export to China for five hundred years ; and it bas been exported to Europe for upwards of a bundred. But the supply from these strange mines re- mains undiminished. What a number of accumulated — does not this profusion of bones and tusks ply!

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. VILLA IN THE ORIENTA! STYLE, Designed expreasly for Godey’s Lady's Book, by Isaac H. Hoss, Architect, Philadelphia, x SSS ee Tue above villa is in the Ori- ental or Romanesque style—a : blending of the Grecian feeling, f . with the arch and dome of the f F SS = It will make a magnificent establishment, and afford abun- dant accommodations of the most sumptuous kind. It is one of that kind that needs a large plantation, surrounded by fountains, statuary, and all the accessories to the highest finish. The kitchen departments are placed below. First Stery.—1 front porch ; 2 vestibule; 3 grand hall, 12by 65 feet 6 inches; 4sitting-room, 20 by 40 feet; 5 parlor, 20 by 40 feet; 6 alcoves; 7 stair hall, 12 by 14 feet; 8 back stairs; 9 closet; 10 dumb waiter; 11 la- dies retiring room, 14 by 19 feet ; 12 water-closets; 13 dining- room, 17 feet 9 inches by 28 feet 3 inches; 14 billiard-room, 17 feet 9 inches, by 28 feet 3 inches ; 15 side porches; 16 carriage porch; 17 summer-house; 18 rear porch. Isaac H. Hosss, Architect, Office No. 154 South Fourth St., Philadelphia. Atrextion To Dress.—Looks should not be wholly beneath the ronsideration of any man. Nature does not disdain them. Nothing is omitted that can enhance its beauty. Everything is grouped and arranged with the most con- summate skill, and with the direct and manifest object of pleasing exterior vision. The man, therefore, who plays the philosopher on the strength of neglecting his attire, and who hopes that the world will rate the superiority of his intellect in direct ratio with the inferiority of his hat, is no philosopher at all; because the truly wise man thinks from Nature through himself. Roman. « 4 SZ, FIRST STORY. Dear Gopry: What can be said that would be too high praise for the Lady's Book? What should we do with- out it? It is now three years since I first sawit. Such fashions, such receipts, such stories! Mr. Godey, you are a benefactor to the human race. . A GraTervuL SUBSCRIBER. A SPIRITED young lady, who was about to marry a man whose purce was longer than his head, said she preferred his dollars to his sense,

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, We condense an article from an exchange upon the subject of a Monsieur Blot—who has an establishment in New York to teach cooking to ladies, one that we think would do well in this city and elsewhere, It is entitled ‘* Brip@er”’ :— “Tf Bridget has a little bit of cooking to do, she sets out on primitive principles. Like the Grecian poet, she scorns theory, while she is not quite equal to the practice. If she had a job of miniature painting to do, she would employ a whitewash brush as a tool, and @ patent lever watch that required repairs would probably be treated to an application of sledge-hammer. These principles govern her in the management of her kitchen cabinet, and she does up her cookery much as the clown in the pantomime manages his broth when he tumbles into the pot ribs of beef, pecks of potatoes, baskets of turnips, braces of chick- eus; with old boots, steel-traps, blind puppies, aud oc- casionally kittens—all into the same ge-podge. If madame ventures to gently remonstrate, and mildly to intimate a doubt of the superior excellence of the mess prepared, madame receives notice to quit on the spot. Truly it is about time that the luckless lady of the house was putting herself under the tutelage of Monsieur Blot, or Monsiear somebody else, and that she was learning how to take charge of the practieal details of her own kitchen. If, as the old adage has it, Providence sends victuals and the other party furnishes the cooks, Bridget —we speak of her in a sort of a collective way as the re- presentative of a class—must come duly pd er by his Satanic majesty as a minister plenipotentiary, with plen- ary power to spoil the meat, waste the substance, and ag- gravate the tempers of all suffering housekeepers. “But, like all other important personages, Bridget knows her consequence, and knowing, dares maintain it, Being used to all the ‘modern improvements’ in her na- tive bogs, she expects to enjoy them here, and when she elects to employ a mistress, she takes good care te see that the said mistress has exercised proper forethought and caution in providing and maintaining the needful auxiliaries to a well-ordered establishment. Hot and cold water in the kitehen are primary indispensables, and the luckiess lady of the house would be at once dismissed in disgrace, were she to suffer herself to be employed by a Milesian dame, and not have these essential aquatic prerequisites at hand. And then, as Bridget has always been accustomed to the enjoyment of gas in her paternal eabin, it is necessary that her chamber shall be supplied with the subtle fluid, when she takes a new mistress into her employ, and that also must be looked to, or there is no trade.’ “ Bridget is also a little critical in the matter of chil- dren ; she objects to a surplus juvenile population, aud although we have never drowned any of our own offspring in deference to her sentiments in that respect, we still feel sore compunctions of conscience concerning any possible variance between her private views and the sabstantial facts of the case. Bridget objects to washing and ironing (we have already stated that she cooks); she protests in emphatic terms against answering the door-bell, and she plainly asserts that sweeping and chamber work are always within the line of duty of her hapless thrall, the lady of the house. In short, to uses vulgar phrase, Brid- get "bosses the job,’ and the mistress whom she employs lives in constant dread of this rather coarse and vulgar autocrat of the kitchen. There is but one cure for it; the mistress must learn to depend upon herself in a measure; she must also train her daughters to be useful as well as ornamental. Monsieur Blot has pointed out the road to this blissful condition of independence, and Bridget should be taught that she cannot claim the wages of skilled labor in exchange for a capacity for the merest drudgery ; that she has a mission different from @ mere spoiling of good food, a wholesale destruction of dear fuel, and a burning out of stoves, ranges. and heaters; and should learn, in short, that housekeepers have some rights that Biddies are bound to respect.”’ Tue Pueascres or Insects.—Insects must generally lead a jovial life. Think what it must be to lodgeina lily! Imagine a palace of ivory or pearl, with pillars of silver and capitals of gold, all exhaling such a perfame as never arose from human censer! Fancy, again, the fun of tucking yourself up for the night in the folds of a rose, rocked to sleep by the gentle sighs of a summer's air, and nothing to do when you wake but to wash yourself ina dewdrop, and fall to nd eat your bedclothes. * prior to ma AnmextaxN Women.—It would appear that nowhere is the patriarchal system carried to a greater extent than among the Armenians. During the lifetime of the father, all the sons and their descendants live together in one common dwelling ; and thus houses may be found which, from the number of their inhabitants, resemble bee-hives, often comprising three or four generations. All the pro- veg by held in common by the descendants of the head of the house. Brothers and sisters inherit equally, but until the death of the head no one can possess anything separate from all the others. Until marriage the Arme- nian girls go about as they like; they are unveiled, and enjoy as much freedom as they could do in European countries, flirting, love making, and marrying to please themselves, asin more civilized lands. But once married, and all is changed. From that time until she becomes a mother, she never speaks to any one except her husband, and then only in private. After she becomes a mother, she may speak to her mother-in-law first, and after the lapse of certain periods, to her own mother, ber sisters-in- law, and her own sisters. She is always veiled, even in her own house; she never speaks to male strangers, and she seldom or never leaves the house, Her finery, jew- elry, and ornaments can be shown only to those of her own sex, and in every way her seclusion is as complete as that of the Turkish woman. On the other hand the Armenian women seldom do any hard work ; they remain at home while their husbands labor in the fields, and they enjoy, ably on account of their acquaintance age, much more respect and confidence from their husbands than falls to the share of the Turkish wife, who, moreover, has to divide with two or three rivals the little affection or respect which her husband deigns to bestow on her. As the Armenian woman can only talk in her own house below her breath, that none of her male relatives ae gent ht she says, it follows that the con- sequence W usually results from the residence of so many women in one house, inceseant quarrelling, is quite avoided. Custom, the strongest of all laws, forbidding them to speak above a whisper, a war of words could only be catried on under great difficulties ; and as yet, at least, speaking on the fingers, whieh would also require a knowledge of spelling, an accomplishment very few of them is not introduced to facilitate the inter- change of hostilities between those ancient @nemies, mo- thers and danghters-in-law. Yet it is not easy to realize the idea of a large family circle in which all the Jadies sit mute, only converse among themselves in whispers, A New Voivme.—This is a good time to commence to subscribe, as the new volume begins with the July num- ber. In the six numbers from July to December you get all the fall and winter fashions—cloaks, mantles, furs, bonnets, croehet, etc. etc. SK 1x Lrons.—The town of Lyons consumes annually about 1,000,000 kilogrammes (about 2,000,000 Ibs.) of silk prepared or spun in different ways, It takes four cocoons to weigh a gramme of silk; the Lyonuese consumption amounts to 4,200,000,000 cocoons ; counting the length of a thread of cocoon equal to 500 métres, the amount an- nually spun by the Lyonnese industry would make altogether a thread of silk 2,100,000,000 kilométres (210,000,000,000 yards) long, or more than 14 times the distance of the earth from the sun, and 5494 times that of the moon from us. It wonld pass round the earth at the equator 52,505 times, and 200,000 times round the circum- ference of the moon. A Lompoyw paper gives the following acc>unt of a new kind of cloth manufactured from pine leaves :-— ‘There are two establishments near Breslan, in one of which pine leaves are converted into wool, while in the other for invalids, the waters used in the manufacture of ine wool are employed as curative agents. The process ‘or converting the pine needles into wool was discovered by Mr. Pannewitz. In the hospitals, penitentiaries, and barracks of Vienna and Breslau, blankets made from that material are now exclusively used. One of their chief advantages is, that no kind of vermin will lodge in them. The material is also used as stuffing, closely resembles hair, and is only one-third its cost.” Ws call attention to the advertisement of the ‘‘ Florence Lock Stiteh Sewing Machines’’ on our cover.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 93 BEWARE OF IMITATIONS. SOLD BY DRUGGISTS and PERFUMERS EVERYWHERE. Wuart a queer fellow the Frenchman must have been who, for twenty years, loved a lady, and never missed passing hiseveningsat her house She became a widow. “TI wish you joy,”’ cried his friend; ‘‘you may now marry the woman you have so long adored.” “ Alas,”’ said the poor Frenchman, profoundly dejected, “and if so, where shall I spend my evenings?’ FOR BOYS AND GIRLS. CHILDREN everywhere should read “THE LITTLE CORPORAL” as soon as they can read anything. The children will be better and happier from reading it.—Henry (Ill.) Courier. It already excels every child’s paper that we know of in this country.—Chicago Evening Journal. Forney’s Philadelphia Daily Press says of it: “The Little Corporal is destined to become the great children’s paper of America.” It is published by ALrrep L. Sewe.t, in Chicago, IIli- nois, Price $1 a year. Sample copy, 10 cents. New volume begins with July and January, Aw exchange paper tells the following anecdote of a college student, who was distinguished for his address in evading the writing of themes, and palming off the cur- rency of others as his legal “‘tender.’’ One evening he read a theme of unusual merit; but the professor, as he sat down in the pride of conscious excellence, asked :— “Ts that original?’’ “ Yes, sir,’’ said the student. ** Are you sure of it ?’’ queried the professor, doubtingly. “ Why yes, sir,’’ replied the student, with imperturbable aig f ; “it had ‘original’ over it in the paper I took it rom.’ OUR SUPERIOR NEEDLES. Wr have made arrangements by which we can continue to furnish the ladies’ favorite needles for 40 cents per 100 and a 3 cent stamp to pay return postage. This is much cheaper than they can be purchased elsewhere, and the needles are of a much finer quality. The demand is so great for them that it is the business of one person in our office to attend to the orders. - We resume again at little profit to ourselves, but we are anxious that our subscri- bers should be supplied with a superior article. Warr does a lady wear fur round her neck ?—Because she does not like to leave her chin chilly. Wuar is most likely to become a woman ?—A little girl. In what circumstances is a woman that wears stays ?— In straitened circumstances, VOL. LXXIII.—7 MESSRS. J. E. TILTON & CO., BOSTON, Publish a valuable List of Books for the Household, con- taining many things worth knowing by every house- keeper. They send their Illustrated Catalogue free, by mail, on receipt of stamps to prepay return post. JupeE Crompron, entering the court late one morning, was asked by Judge Purvis what had interfered with his usual punctuality. “ My wife had a son this morning,”’ he said. *O, brother Crompton, then I congratulate you on your young judge.” “No, no,” said Crompton, “‘he’s not so high in the law yet—he’s only a yonng crier.”’ THE SAFEST, CHEAPEST, AND BEST. IVINS’ PATENT HAIR CRIMPERS, FOR CRIMPING AND WAVING LADIES’ HAIR. No heat required, They are put up in bean- tiful boxes, containing one set (one dozen), assorted lengths, with full direc- tions for use accompany- ing each box. No lady’s toilet is com- plete without them. For sale throughout the coun- try. Retailers will be sup- plied by any first-class ‘‘ Wholesale Notion House” in New York, Philadelphia, Boston, or Baltimore. Manufactured solely by the Patentee, E. Ivins, Sixth Street and Columbia Avenue, Philadelphia, Pa. A sCHOOLBOY was caught stealing from the teacher's desk, and his father was at once sent for. He came, and after administering a mild rebuke to his son, he turned to apologize to the teacher, saying:— “You see my son has a mind so large, that he thinks everything he sees belongs to him.”’ 8. D. & H. W. SMITH’S AMERICAN ORGANS, AND THE Boardman, Gray, & Co. , V> PIANOS. SIBERIA OTT, the WHOLESALE AGENT of these reliable instruments—of whose good qualities we have so often spoken—has removed his warerooms to 581 Broadway, New He will furnish circulars on application, giving full descriptions, prices, and all information. vork. In an action for a breach of promise the defendant's counsel asked the plaintiff:— “Did my client enter into a positive agreement to marry ou ?”* “ Not exactly,’’ she replied ; “ but he courted mea good deal, and he told my sister that he intended to marry into our family.’"’ OUR CARD PHOTOGRAPHS. We are constantiy adding every celebrity to our very extensive list of card photographs—naval, military, pub- lic men, authors and anthoresses, artists, and a charming variety of pictures and works of art. Send for a cata- logue.

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94 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. PHILADELPHIA AGENCY. No order attended to unless the cash accompanies it. All persons requiring answers by mail must send a postoffice stamp; and for all articles that are to be sent by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in. Nothing can be made out of post-marks. J. N. C.—Sent articles by Adams’s express April 14th. Miss R. M.—Sent articles 17th. Mrs. E. G. H.—Sent lead comb by Adams’s express 15th, Mrs. W. B. R.—Sent pattern 18th. Mrs. A. M. 8.—Sent pattern 18th. Mrs. Z. C. K.—Sent pattern 18th. Miss S, L. D.—Sent pattern 18th. E. C.—Sent yokes and sleeves 19th. A. E, H.—Sent switch of hair 23d. Mrs. F. B, R.—Sent hair crimpers 23d. Miss M. E. P.—Sent hair crimpers 23d. E. R.—Sent pattern 23d. A. 0. H.—Sent pattern 23d. Mrs. N. I. L.—Sent pattern 23d. Miss M. C.—Sent pattern 23d. A. F.—Sent pattern 23d. Mrs. M, A. C.—Sent pattern 24th. Mrs. G. C. H.—Sent articles by Harnden’s express 28th. D, F.—Sent lead comb and needles 30th. F. H. C.—Sent box by Adams’s express 30th. Mrs. W. B. H.—Sent articles by Adams's express 30th. Mrs. N. P.—Sent articles by Harnden’s express 30th. J. A. H.—Sent lead comb 30th. G. C. B.—Sent lead comb 30th. W. B. M.—Sent hair crimpers 30th. Miss E. A. F.—Sent lead comb 30th. Mrs. J. R.—Sent haircrimpers by Adams's express 30th. T. E. E.—Sent hair pin May 2d. Miss A. C.—Sent bonnet by Adams's express 3d. Mrs. G. W. R.—Sent mohair net by Kinsley’s express 4th. Miss B. D.—Sent lead comb Sth. F. H, C,—Sent articles 9th. Mrs, T. T.—Sent curling fluid 9th. C. W. 8.—Sent silk 9th. Mrs, F. D.—Sent hair net 9th. Mrs. A. H. M.—Sent lead comb 9th. Mrs. J. M.—Sent hair net 9th. Miss A. L, D.—Sent articles 10th. R. B.—Sent articles by Adams’s express 10th. Mrs. J. C. 8.—Sent hair crimpers 11th. Miss J. R.—Sent hair net 11th. Miss A. W.—Sent hair crimpers 11th. A. R. L.—Your letter was most welcome. Much obliged for your good opinion. We are alwaysd:appy to answer the questions of our friends. H. C.—We cannot recommend the article, although we have seen it tried on the arm with good effect. You had better write to the proprietor. M. F, X.—We are sorry for you. We have received a number of letters from ladies asking the same question. Upham, 25 South Eighth Street, Philadelphia, professes to relieve all such cases. A Constant Reader. The plant alluded to is probably the Oldenlandia cerulea, Gray (Houstonia, Linn.). It is called by some “ Quaker Lady,” but is commonly known as Bluets, Innocence, ete. A Subscriber.—We cannot answer your question. E. C. L.—The idea is absurd—that having had the smallpox is a cure for all diseases. Faushions, NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Haviya had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research required. Spring and autumn bonnets, materials for dresses, jewel- ry, envelopes, hair-work, worsteds, children’s wardrobes, mantillas, and mantelets, will be chosen with a view to economy as well as taste ; and boxes or packages forwarded by express to any part of the country. For tke last, dis- tinct directions must be given Orders, aecompanied by checks for the proposed expen- diture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq. No order will be attended to unless the money is first received, Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account- able for losses that may occur in remitting. The Publisher of the Lady’s Book has no interest tn this department, and knows nothing of the transactions ; and whether the person sending the order is or is nota subseriber to the Lady’s Book, the Fashion Editor does not know, Instructions to be as minute as 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., or Curwen Stoddart & Brother; dry goods of any kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., New York; lingerie and lace from G. W. Vogel's, 1016 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia; bonnets from the most celebrated establishments; jewelry from Wriggens & Warden, or Caldwell’s, Philadelphia. When goods are ordered, the fashious that prevail here govern the purchase ; therefore, no articles will be taken back. When the goods are sent, the traasaction must be considered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR JULY. Fig. 1.—Suit, from the establishment of A. T. Stewart & Co., New York. Dress of light cuir-colored percale, with fancy brown bordering on the edge of the skirt. The paletct is balf ti, ht fitting in the back ; the front is loose, and made to resemble a deep waistcoat in the Louis XV. style. The hair is arranged in a very heavy coil at the back. The hat is covered with a brown sparkling mate- rial, and trimmed with purple and white velvet, and a short plume. Fig. 2.—Underskirt of blue silk, with white grenadine overdress made quite short, and trimmed in festoons with hands of blue silk. Above each festoon is a bow of blue ribbon, with large black chenille pendants. The corsage is a deep basque, trimmed with blue ribbon and black pendants. The hair is dressed with short curls in front, and a tight coil at the back. Fig. 3.—Dress of buff goat's-hair alpaca, braided with black mohair braid. The jacket is sleeveless, braided to suit the skirt, and finished with a black ball fringe. The bonnet is of white chip, trimmed with a violet ribbon and small tuft of violet feathers, Fig. 4.—White muslin dress, trimmed with three fall puffings, arranged to simulate overskirts. The muslin dress is worn over a slip of pink silk, finished on the edge by a fluted ruffle. The corsage is trimmed square with Cluny lace, and ornamented by rows of pink silk buttons, The pink silk belt is caught in front by a rich jewelled buckle, Hat of fancy straw, dotted with black beads, and turned up at the left side. The trimming consists of a garland of flowers and a swallow. Fig. 5.—Dress of white alpaca, trimmed with bands of blue silk braided. The corsage is square, and trimmed with blue silk. Polish boots of blue kid.

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FASHIONS. Fig. 6.—Robe dress of pearl-colored coutil, embroidered in high-colored wools, and looped over a skirt trimmed with two fluted ruffles. The paletdt is made with revers, turned over to display a chemisette of white muslin trimmed with Cluny insertion. Leghorn hat, tastefully ornamented with a green plume, and a long white crépe lisse veil. CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS FOR JULY. Ovr hot, dusty cities are beginning to look deserted, and there seems to be a general stampede or sawve qui peut for country or watering-place life. The season bids fair to be unusually gay, and already balls and parties are nightly occurrences. We think it highly probable that mask and fancy balls will be inter- spersed among the delightful summer amusements, for not only are they brilliant of themselves, but they give great scope to the imagination, and furnish conversa- tional topics for weeks. In nothing does Fashion exhibit more charming fancies and consummate skill than in the composition of fancy costumes. New characters are eageily sought after, as each lady is of course anxious to look her best, and, if possible, eclipse her neighbor. To the gay world we therefore devote half our chat, and give a few descriptions of novel travesties originated in Paris and London. Algeria is thus impersonated: A dress of several skirts of white gauze streaked with gold; these skirts open at the right side over a blue satin petticoat—that beautiful shade known as Mediterranean b!ue—and the satin is embroidered with gold to represent ships. A scarf made of red, white, and blue crosses the skirt, and is tied at the left side. The bodice is made of blue satin, and is embroidered to represent Arabic coins. The hair is ar- ranged in thick tresses plaited in with gold cord. A white burnous thrown over the shoulder completes the dress. Another costume, less difficult to prepare, is a Snow Sprite. The dress is of white tulle trimmed with bands of the snow like swan’s-down and silver and crystal ornaments. The corsage glitters with crystal icicles sof- tened in effect by bands of down. The coiffure consists of crystal drops and a wreath of frosted leaves. The boots are of white satin dotted over with swan’s-down and finished on top by a band of the same. The Deluge is another tasteful creation. First of all, over a petticoat of sea-green silk is placed one in white silk gauze sprinkled with grass and leaves. At the bottom of this are three cross plaits of light green silk of different widths forming vandykes. On these bands isa rain or deluge of clear crystal drops. The corsage and sleeves are fringed with a rain of crystal beads. On the neck and arms are crystal ornaments. The necklace has a small dove depending from it. The hair is studded with crystal drops, and dressed with a small olive branch in the chignon behind. The Swallow costume consists of a dress of white satin with swallows round the lower part of the skirt arranged as a trimming. The front of the corsage is of white satin, over which is a jacket of black velvet cut with long swallow-tail ends. One swallow, with outstretched wings, is placed on each shoulder, and a large one forms the headdress. Amore brilliant costume is the Humming-bird. The skirt should be of emerald-green satin or changeable silk, ornamented with humming-birds formed of an appliqué material with the throat and wings made up with feathers | | 95 from the veritable bird. These wings and breasts are laid flat on the material, and have the effect of a flight of birds. The bodice is made of ruby velvet ornamented with metallic foil which seemingly changes color as the light plays over it. The headdress consists of three small humming-birds lighting amid a mass of curls. The Queen of the Amazons wears a scarlet peiticoat covered with symbolical animals. The bodice is of tiger skin, and the headdress a small gold helmet. Moonlight is arrayed in a dress of white tulle with the skirt trimmed with fine bowillons separated by bands of silver braid. Over the dress is worn a tunic covered with flukes or spangles of silver. A mantle of white tulle, studded with silver and trimmed with silver lace, ig thrown over the shoulders. The headdress is composed of a white and silver scarf twisted round the head, and falling in two long ends at the back. The coiffure is studded with stars, and ornamented in front by a silver crescent. A shower of gold is depicted by a dress of gold-colored silk or satin covered with a skirt of white tulle bouillonné to the waist, and over that a white tulle tunic studded with gold balls and coins, The skirt is trimmed with fringes of coins, and the hair is profusely pewdered with gold, The costume appertaining to Amphitrite is a sea-green gauze dress apparently powdered all over with silver. Her tunic is of silver gauze decorated with shells, coral, and feathery sea-weeds. A bandolet of sea shells is round her head, and her hair is studded with crystal drops and precious stones. A rich Watteau costume is a petticoat of white corded silk with a border of rose-colored and silver satin, edged at each side with a white ruching. The over-skirt is a looped train of very rich rose-colored satin, At each side of the front of the train, strings of pearls are looped across to form diamonds. The corsage is of rose and silver satin, with white satin stomacher and short sleeves tastefully ornamented with pearls. Silver lace forms a berthe and trims the sleeves. We will describe another costume d la Watteau which is very effective. The shoes are of black satin or kid, coming high upon the instep, with pink kid heels and diamond buckles ; pink silk stockings, a petticoat of rich clunée or brocaded silk down to the ankles only. Over this is looped a pink silk dress, the festoons kept in place by pink roses. The body of the dress is cut 2 la Louis Quatorze, and trimmed with point lace or muslin. The sleeves reach to the elbow, and are finished with a wide lace ruffle. Narrow black velvets are on the neck and wrists. A tiny white muslin apron, trimmed round with lace, completes this very becoming costume. The hair is powdered and drawn very high up over cushions, and on one side is either a small coquette cap or a round wreath. This costume could be made up of tarlatane and bright furniture chintz to look very well. Another admirable character is Photography. The dress can be either white or ccelored, with a border of cartes de visites, trimmed with a ruching of bright ribbon laid just above the hem. An over-skirt of tulle or of mate- rial like the dress is looped at regular intervals by oval photographs prettily trimmed with ribbons. The bérthe is entirely formed of photographs framed round with narrow ruchings. On the head is a small camera with a green veil falling from the back. The latter is intended to represent the cloth thrown over the instrament. This dress is exceedingly effective, and can be prepared with very little trouble and expense.

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96 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Here we must close our descriptions of ball costumes, and indulge in a little gossip about other things. There has been no material change in bonnets since last month. Among the many attractive styles, we note the Lamballe, Pamela, Empire, Marie Antoiuette, Louis XV., and the Fan;hon. The latter is fast gaining favor, and the newest of this style measure but four or five — inches in the widest part, and from this gradually slope down. They fit the face quite closely, and are little more than a band of puffed tulle. Some are entirely covered with smal! flowers, such as violets or daisies, and have Benoitons or chains of flowers falling over the back. These Benoitons, which we described in a former number, are exceedingly popular. Chains or Benoitons of coins or beads are attached to most of the cviffares, and pass in a semicircle under the chin. The same style is intro- duced in floral coiffures, a garland of fine flowers falling under the chin as a necklace. For the effect of these Benoitons, we refer to the different styles on the bonnets in the present number. Crinoline is far from being abandoned, but is by no means carried to the same excess in Paris asin this coun- try. For evening wear, unless very many stiff skirts are worn, large hoops are required to sustain gracefully the long trains and fully-trimmed skirts. But on the streets, where the dresses are looped over well-starched, and generally short petticoats, intended to display the Polish boots, which are now carried half way up the leg—then, ladies, it is absolutely necessary for les convenances, or, in plain English, for decency's sake, that the hoops should be very small. In reference to boots, we would state that colored kid is very generally adopted for children. Gray, lavender, brown, cuir, violet, mauve, green, bronze, and blue, with silver and gilt kid for fall dress occasions, They are em- broidered or trimmed with bows and buckles, or else rosettes, and laced up the front. Many also are fastened up the front with a double row of buttons, and are finished on top with tassels, Ladies are wearing black satin or kid slippers, with gilt or colored heels, also slippers of gilt or silver kid, finished with rosettes, Satin slippers are frequently dotted over with jet, pearl, crystal, or gilt bands, and finished with rosettes of lace, sprinkled with beads or small flowers. Boots are now worn to match the dress; for full toilette they should be of the same material as the dress, but for walking or home wear, they are generally of kid or lasting. White and gray linen boots are much in favor for sum- mer wear, the former are frequently worn as an evening boot, and with a white muslin dress, look very well. We have now besides rotondes and shawls of white muslin, very pretty demi-ajustes, or half tight-fitting sacks, embroidered or trimmed with Cluny. Many of them are finished at the neck with a flat hood. Black and white grenadine shawls embroidered in scarlet are among the novelties. White Shetland shawls, so convenient to throw over the shoulders of a summer evening, can now be had of good quality for $3. In mohair iace both white and black we have, talmas, rotondes, and shawls of various styles, some interwoven with colored bands and flowers, others perfectly plain. The long ribbon tied at the back of the neck and known as *« Beau-catcher,”’ “ Laddie, come follow me,’’ and *‘ Suivez moi, jeune homme,” is still very much in vogue. Jackets of Cluny and black guipure made half tight-fit- ing and worn over the same shape in colored silk are ex- ceedingly stylish. Most all summer dresses are made with jackets, some worn with a waistcoat in the Louis XIV. style, and others sleeveless and worn over a white waist. Tablier dresses are much admired ; in most cases the skirt laps over the apron or tablier, and is scalloped and trimmed with rosettes of lace or ribbon. The tablier being underneath has much the effect of an underskirt. Flowers are substituted for the rosettes when the dress is intended for evening wear. The newest dresses we have seen are trimmed with bands of ribbon or velvet studded with beads or buttons. These bands are carried from the neck below the waist both in back and front. They describe a point in the back, and are arranged to simulate a paletdt or basque. The newest bretelles are formed of alternate squares of Cluny insertion and colored ribbon plaited together to form a checked pattern. These braces pass over the shoulders, and are caught on a belt of silk covered with Cluny, which is fastened at the side with a rosette. Thia little novelty called the Navarette, is frequently strapped across the chest and at the back by a band of Cluny and ribbon. Narrow crystal gimps are much used as dress trim- mings, also the fringes, though they are very expensive. The latter are very extensively used on bonnets. New feather trimmings have appeared, such as fringes and bands made of the changeable gold-like shreds stripped off the peacock feathers, and interspersed here and there with the full eye-marked feather, These trim- mings are destined to be very fashionable in the fall. The most elegant parasols of the season are edged with Cluny, and trimmed with applications of colored blonde. For instance, a bunch of violets on white moiré, or a bunch of scarlet daisies on a pearl-colored ground. Gold thread is extensively employed, also applications of Cluny. The newest handles are of a heavy-looking rough wood, laurel, tortoise-shell, or coral, finished with a gold ball bearing the owner's monogram. A pretty parasol is of white or gray silk, with a band of deep pink on the edge covered with Cluny lace, Still another style is hung round with chains @ la Benoiton. The newest belts are woven to represent a rich inser- tion of Cluny on a colored ground. The latest style of waistband is of bright ribbon brocade fastened with a brocaded buckle. There are so many attractive novelties in the shape of hats this season, that itis difficult to know which to se- lect. The trimmings are of the most tasteful character, and the shapes generally prove very becoming. An idea of some of the new styles may be had by re- ferring to the hats from the Terry establishment, page 22. The wood-cuts, however, give but a faint conception of the originals. The Benoiton chains, the rage of the day, are used with admirable effect on many of the watering- place hats. They are of jet or crystal caught on bright velvet by large medallions or stars. Some of the new hats are of the toquet style with turned-up brims lined with erfpe, and trimmed with birds of dazzling plumage. A very stylish hat is caught up on one side with a fancy ornament 2 Ja militaire. A simple style of trimming for a country hat is a veil of blue, green, or violet er pe lisse or grenadine, caught in puffs round the hat by fancy or- naments, bands of straw or velvet. One long streamer floats at the side, which answers the purpose of a veil. Sailor hats covered with a sparkling silvery preparation, and trimmed with a band of blue ribbon embossed on the ends with silver anchors, are conspicuous among the new styles, Fashion,

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Prgeisnei iin are” BOPPAMAN 8 010! 4 he da had 148 . _ a 7 AWK 7 TCR a: t Co VOOwe ONS: — i i Wy yw i YOU VU ‘ivy ya . . hunt oolola' > ’zA ** I Rae a nn (PA 4. Maw a* ‘4

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\ a »~ A th ¢ we My THE SWING. fo @) J E ¥ rv we : >

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RUSSIAN MARCH. NEWLY ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO-FORTE, FOR GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK, BY H. DREWER, Composer of “ Party Polka,” “Lulah Lake Grand March,” Etc.

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RUSSIAN MARCH. —*" aa,

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Ly a 4 i= y Yip

NEW STYLE OF DRESS.

106 Dress of white alpaca, trimmed with bine silk cord to stmualate a basque. The skirt ts richly ornamented with bine silk cord, and loups of blue velvet. Lamballe bonnet of white crépe, trimmed with Benoiton bandeaux of pearl beads, falling under the chin.

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GRENADINE ROBE. ( From the celebrated establishment of Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., of New York.) The ground is of a lovely peach blossom hue, with rich designs in a darker shade; corsage made plain and lined with silk. The belt is of Cluny, lined with silk, and fastened at the side with a rosette with fringed ends. 107

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BONNETS AND CAPS. (See Description, Fashion Department.) Fig. 1. Fig. 2 108

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EMPIRE BONNET. Intended for a half mourning toilet. The border in front and the curtain consist of white chip, and the crown is formed of black thulle puffings, the puffings being separated by rows of black ribbon velvet, worked with white chalk beads. Black velvet ribbon, with a row of white beads on the centre, separates the front from the crown. The bow at sf/t, 74, /y Mek, 4 TIF) UY yy YYYyj jj; SS WY Y / GQ wy HL the back consists of black velvet and beads; the strings are black velvet. In the inside there is a black velvet ban- delet, worked with white beads. If this bonnet is preferred in colors, blue silk and crystal beads might be substituted for the black thulle and chalk beads. Mauve silk, with straw drops, would iikewise have a good effect, BENOITON COIFFURE. The hair is waved and rolled slightly off the fice, At the- back ts a heavy coil, surmounted by short curls. Rows of gold cord pass over the head, and droop over the neck in the Benoiton style. 109

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LETTERS w7 wy %2, oSe AY "5° ° “e. e Take a box and cover it with pink silk, finishing the lower edge with a quilling of ribbon. Cover the box with two of thin muslin edged with lace, and finish the upper ruffle with a ruchinog of ribbon. The cover is stuffed to form a cushion, and FOR MARKING POCKET-HANDKERCHIEFS. ° S77 NZ eo 68 °° CP.0° £°S $ > oo°0 °° A US VSN JEWEL BOX. covered to match the sides. The inside of the box is also neatly finished with pink silk. The box can be stuffed all round to form a cushion, if desired. The small engraving shows a view of the inside of the toilet cushion.

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LAMP-MAT. This mat is composed of a round piece of card-board, measuring ten inches across, covered with silk plush of a beantiful violet color. The oak-leaves, placed as a border round the mat, are alternately of scarlet and gray cloth—the first embroidered with steel beads, the second with gold and black ones. Fig. 1. To make these leaves, trace the shape of the pattern given full size, Fig. 2, upon a piece of thin eard-board ; also trace the veinings upon it. Gum this pattern upon the cloth, cut it out when dry, and work it with the beads, When you have prepared 20 leaves, bend them a little, and arrange them round the mat, as seen in Fig. 1. Fig. 2. ? ; These leaves wonld also look well in different shades of green, yellow, and reddish-brown, such as they are seen in autumn, with crystal beads, to imitate dewdrops., ‘ 111 8

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*LOLIIWd HLOID YO NS V HO4 JISVLING ‘NDISIG ONIGIVud