Godey's Lady's Book And Magazine 1866-08: Vol 73

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GODEY’S Paws Book and Atlagusine PHILADELPHIA, AUGUST, 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. Gopry, in the clerk’s office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.) (Continued from page 31.) CHAPTER VIII. Rizpan Lowrie awaited the coming of her betrothed on the evening appointed for his visit, in the library—a smaller room than the adjacent parlors. The walls were lined with bookshelves, with a vacant space, here and there, wherein was inserted a window of stained glass, or a panelled picture. There were statuettes upon brackets ; antique vases mantled with living ivy; noble busts, mounted upen marble pedestals, set within the em- bayed windows and in the corners, and, scat- tered upon the tables, cameos, bronzes, and other articles of vertu. This was Rizpah’s especial sanctum. She had enjoyed fitting it up as zestfully as many other girls of her age would have revelled in the selection and arrangement of a splendid wardrobe and jewel-case. Pictures, books, and curiosities were chosen by herself—her proud, indulgent father granting her carte- blanche for such purchases as should be sanc- tioned by his wife’s taste. Guided by this, Rizpah’s collection was neither crude nor extravagant, and would have done credit to a much older and more experienced virtuoso. The only objection offered to thus furnishing the apartment and her nominal and virtual proprietorship of the studio, as it deserved to be called, was brought forward by herself, when Mrs. Lowrie proposed and unfolded the scheme. **You are too good—too thoughtful, mam- ma! But we must not forget that I may not remain with you many months. It seems a pity to incur all this expense, to subject your- self to so much trouble on my account. Had you not better assume the entire control of furniture, books, etc., arranging these in con- formity to your wishes, without reference to me ?”’ ‘This must always be your home, while it is ours,’’ replied the other. ‘‘ And, should circumstances prohibit you from passing more than a month yearly with us, it is our wish that everything about us and belonging to us should remind us of you during our separa- tion, and wear the dear, familiar home-look to you whenever you revisit us.’’ The daughter reverted to this affectionate argument now, as she looked around upon the beauties and riches of the retreat already en- deared to her by days of study, hours of pen- sive or hopeful musing. Fenced about by at- tachment that anticipated every want ; sought to avert the hazard of a solitary disappoint- ment of heart or desire; that warmed, whil, it defended—cherished, while it schooled; caressed and courted in the gay world; re- stored to the early love whose image was en- shrined in the loftiest seat of her heart; from what baleful root of discontent, or unwarrant- able, unrighteous aspiration sprang the inde- scribable longing that oppressed her spirits? 113

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114 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Was it maidenly shyness, or the sense of strangeness that often dampens the fervor of a first meeting between those long-divided, yet loving and true, that caused her to con- sult the time-piece on the mantel with shrink- ing, instead of impatience, as the hour desig- nated for the reunion drew near? ‘*What perverse, irrational, inconsistent creatures we women are!’’ she said, aloud, with a nervous laugh. ‘‘One would really suppose that I feared the event which has been the goal of my every hope and dream for nearly a year and a half!”’ Her chidings and philosophical ruminations did not hinder her from shivering, as with deadly cold, and the color from deserting her face, when she heard the ring that, she felt, presaged the important arrival. Yet she had known, all along, that Gerald would be prompt to the second. She arose, but remained with- out power to advance a single pace, restrain- ing the tremor that pervaded heart and limbs, by tightly clutching the back of her chair; hearkening to the sounds in the hall; the tramp of the footman to the front door; the clank of lock and bolt; the subdued key of question and reply; the halt, while the visi- tor removed hat and overcoat and cousigned them to the servant in waiting—all this she seemed to see as well as hear; then, she steadied her tumultuous pulses to count Gerald’s footsteps to the entrance of the library. He came in—flushed with excitement, or from his brisk walk in the frosty Christmas night—approached her and, without speaking, put his arm about her waist and stooped to kiss her. It was all right! and she tried to per- suade herself that she felt no recoil from the salutation. She would have marvelied, and perhaps been wounded, had it been withheld; but it partook more of the nature of a neces- sary ceremonial than she had imagined any act or word could do, in the unrestrained rap- ture of their restored communion with one another. Nor was the smile that responded to the caress the spontaneous out-gleaming of inward sunshine. , “Lam very glad to see you!’’ she said, and then she stopped to clear her voice, which sounded hollow and forced. ‘‘ Will you take this seat?’’ wheeling a stuffed fauteuil towards him. Resuming her low reading-chair, she rested her cheek upon her hand ; her eyes upon the carpet, and appeared to wait for him to open the conversation. In reality, she was lost in a fog of self-reproach and perplexity; of ac- tual alarm at. finding that she was not beside herself with joy; that her bosom did not pal- pitate more wildly at her lover’s kiss; that she felt no impulse to fling herself upon the cushion at his feet and, with her hands im- prisoned in his, bask her soul in the light of his countenance—éa /a sunflower and her god —which pretty conceit we cannot refrain from observing, in passing, is as much of a humbug as most other poetical fables—very striking, very apposite in its spiritual analogy, and very untrue. If any sentimental lover of Moore questions the accuracy of this asser- tion, let him watch the behavior of one of the stiff, gaudy monsters, so absurdly idealized, throughout the sunniest of midsummer days, and determine for himself what degree of de- votion it exhibits for its blazing deity. Meantime Gerald became quite at his ease. The picture set for his inspection was goodly to behold; a young girl, in the glory of full- blown womanhood, richly attired; a delicate flavor of reserve; a nameless, sweet dignity of expression and attitude hinting enchanting things to him of his power over her, and her fear lest she should betray too visibly, even to the indulgent optics of declared Love, how dear and yet how potent was that control. He was not displeased that she was less demonstra- tive than in their former interviews, for this repression of emotion left him the more to do and say, and he was fairly in the humor to play the amorous suitor. Having regaled himself for several moments with a view of what he decided, without hesitation or misgiving, to be her bewitching embarrassment, he moved nearer and took her hand. It was smoother and whiter than he remembered it, of old, and the taper fingers were adorned by a coupie of valuablo rings—a diamond solitaire and an antique cameo of great beauty and exquisite workmanship. He noticed these things, while entering upon his impassioned address. ‘* Dearest love! how I have pined for this hour! But how far the reality of the bliss exceeds my hopes! I am the happiest being upon the globe at this moment—supremely blest !’’ Rizpah’s heart was sinking, sinking! and growing more cold and numb, as it gathered weight. His ardent avowal elicited no more echo from it thanif it had been made of lead.

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RIZPAH’S IDOLS. 115 And the ear sympathized with the heart’s dulness, while he proceeded in his mono- legue. A torpor of dismay was creeping over her. It would have been a relief to cry out; to dash her clenched hands against her tem- ples, or her forehead against the wall, and excite, at any rate, a sensation of bodily pain that might awaken her from the deadly, freez- ing trance. This state of spiritual somnambu- lism was horrible beyond description. Where was she? who was she? and what was this man whose every word was riveting the manacles upon her bound limbs? Slowly and helplessly she was slipping down the brink of a deep and dreadful gulf; leaving life, and light, and hope forever behind her. In that hour—nay! at that instant, with the hearing of his protestation that the transport of fruition to him immeasurably exceeded the picture drawn by his loving imagination of the delight this meeting was to bring to him, the frightful truth was borne in upon her soul, that in this ecstasy she had no part or lot. Men and women of less lively and tender sensibilities may discover gradually the cruel mockery of their youthful dreams; may see, with regret or amusement, according to the sincerity of the trust they once reposed in the delusory phantom, every vestige of beauty fade into hideousness or vapory nothingness when exposed to the searching beams of ma- turer judgment and more refined taste; may become resigned to the homelier aspect their lives have assumed, and which they must wear for evermore, or learn to jest at the rags and tatters, the briers and withered leaves, that used to bear the semblance of their Elf-land robes and enchanted groves; but to Rizpah the shock was sudden as appaling. Com- pared with the stainless ideal she had deified ; upon whose altar she had burned her purest, most costly incense; to whom her best gifts of heart and intellect had been sacredly and without reservation consecrated, since the moment in which she had first confessed her love, the real Gerald dwindled into a dwarf and a very commonplace Lilliputian at that. She had studied, thought, and written to fit herself to become his worthy and honored mate, and, deprived of opportunities to con- trast her progress with his attainments, her growth with his height, she had outstripped him by such a distance that the supposition that their original positions—or what she, in her lowliness of spirit, her meekness and love had conceived to be their original places— could be restored was preposterous. His let- ters might have undeceived her long ago, had they not been read in a flutter of pleasure that dismissed all pretence of impartial criti- cism. Their tamest phrases had been glorified into eloquence by her imagination; their en- dearing epithets and stereotyped professions of fealty and longing, strung, like so many flawless pearls, upon the golden thread of memory. The magnetism of the personal presence ; the alchemic test of the face-to-face interview; the touch of hand and lip; the useless call of one heart upon another for re- sponsive harmonies: these were the angel’s spear to the dream-image—and behold! an uncouth shape of common clay; instead of Eden’s garden and heaven’s overarching fir- mament of cloudless, eternal blue—ruins, and emptiness, and the blackness of the whirlwind! Rizpah Lowrie’s pathway had not been all brightness and smoothness up to this era, and there were appointed, in the wise mys- tery of Providence, other and grievous sorrows for her future endurance; but she never tasted a bitterer woe, a cup of drier worm- wood and more astringent gall, than she now quaffed while Gerald poured the first genuine love-vows she had ever listened to into her reluctant ears. He had coveted the privilege of uninterrupted speech, and it was his, until his fluent tongue slackened in vehemence, and he began to wonder why she offered no reply. ‘* My earnestness frightens you, perhaps,’’ he said, struck by a happy idea. ‘‘I am too impetuous—too free in my confession—but, darling, have patience with me in remem- brance of my wearisome exile from your presence! The fount of feeling has been so long locked by the chains.of absence that its overflow is too rapid and strong.’’ A modest opinion of his own powers of thought and language had never been his be- setting foible, but he was actually astonished at the grace and force of this peroration. Truly love had become to him inspiration. ‘*It does sound strangely!’’ Rizpah re- turned, bro..enly and wearily; ‘‘ but, as you say, I am unused to such language. You told me truly, last night, that we would have to become acquainted with each other. Every- thing is so unreal to me to-night! I cannot collect my senses as I would. I hardly know

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116 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. myself, still less you! It is you who must be patient with me, Gerald. I will try not to disappoint you.’’ This was a quietus to amorous conversation for the present, for, confounded and half angered as he was, Gerald could not disregard her palpable disinclination to pursue the theme so interesting to himself, and which he had, in puritanical parlance, ‘‘improved’’ to such edification, enlarged upon with such unction. Mastering his mortification to the best of his ability, he opposed no barrier to the new channel of talk which she opened. It was not hard to find topics for discussion in that room. Affecting a gayety she was far from feeling, she invited him to examine her gleanings from foreign shores; showed off the notable features of her artistic gems upon canvas and in stone and bronze; related souvenirs that multiplied the value of her classic knick-knacks; unclasped herbarium, and sketch-book, and portfolio; and descanted upon cartoons, drawings, and desiccated herbs, volubly, if not intelligibly. If her object were to avert the introduction of other subjects, she was entirely successful; if her principal care were to please her guest, her failure was as signal. In everything appertaining to scientific re- search, as in belles-lettres, he had retrograded since his matriculation at the University. Secure in his prospects of a prosperous set- tlement in life, content with the promise of wealth and ease, he had not cared to delve away the flower of his youth in acquiring a profession, while the suggestion of mental toil for the pure love of knowledge was so re- mote from his mind that he never caught a glimpse of it. Cui bono? The pet of the petticoats, the presumptive owner of a rich wife, the heir to a noble homestead and an ancient, aristocratic name—in virtue of these advantages, a personage of weight and emi- nence in the county where he had been born aud reared—what need for him to copy the example of the stupidly-prudent ant, and strive for other and more enduring possessions, since those he counted as already his filled up the measure of his desire, and would last out his day? Did he not demonstrate himself to be a provident man and a sagacious by thank- fully accepting the gifts the gods and his own fascinations had brought him, and practising contentment therewith ? Reviewing these facts and considerations, while Rizpah was showing him a carefully- finished series of Alpine sketches, he was so grounded in self-complacency as to smile in- dulgent pity, when he had pronounced the last of the set to ‘‘be capitally executed— really masterly !’’ ‘You have certainly taken great pains and spent much time in perfecting yourself in the use of the pencil and brush, but, my sweet child, are you aware that you are in danger of becoming a double-dyed blue-stock- ing? I should be afraid of you—the travelled authoress, whose praise is upon everybody’s tongue—had I not previously learned what a warm, true heart beats under the scholar’s gown. I have a holy horror of literary wo- men, of feminine pedants, as a class. They unsex themselves by their absurd preten- sions, are vain, bold, and odious generally. I shall put my veto upon your soiling these fairy fingers with ink, when you are once mine !’’ Rizpah was re-fastening the volume, her mouth compressed, and eyes studiously avert- ed. She put it away in a drawer with the herbarium, deliberately collected and restored to their places the antique carvings and modern bijoux, the rare old books and photo- graphic copies of renowned paintings, she had been handling, and, without returning to her chair, said, in a listless, passionless way :— ‘*Papa and mamma are in their sitting- room. I told them that we would join them after a while. Shall we go now ?’’ **T suppose we may as well, if they expect us. But this interview is miserably short and unsatisfactory, Rizpah. I have a world of things to talk about! Cannot we do the dutiful to the elderly people for half an hour, and come back to this cozy nook ?”” “IT think not. You must’ remember our dissipation of last night. I am not very well this evening, and, if I were, I would not like to keep mamma up.”’ ‘*Mamma! for ever mamma!’’ thought Ge- rald, peevishly, in following her from the library. ‘‘The sooner I remove her from the influence of that literary prude, the better for her, and the safer for me!’’ The fruit of this resolution was a special application to Mr. Lowrie for the abridgment of the time of probation, and the request that the marriage rite be solemnized in the ensu- ing spring, instead of the autumn, as had been agreed upon at the date of the formal

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RIZPAH’S IDOLS. 117 compact settling the conditions of the engage- ment. The father listened seriously to the pro- posal pressed home upon his attention by every form of reasoning Gerald could devise, every argument he could muster into service. His question, when the pleading was brought to a climax, was a leading one. ‘“‘Is my daughter advised of your wish, and your reference to myself ?’’ ‘*She cannot be said to be ignorant of the intensity of my desire, sir, and she has not attempted to dissuade me from conferring with you with respect to the matter. I do not think that I am unconscionably vain, or indelicate in my frankness when I assert that her happiness is bound up with mine in the answer which you may return to my request. We have already suffered greatly on account of our separation. It is inevitable that we should dread the prospect of a renewal of the torture.’’ ‘You shall have my reply to-morrow,’’ re- joined Mr. Lowrie, after an interval of troubled meditation. ‘‘I do not conceal from you that you have asked much from my indulgence in soliciting this favor. If, in times past, I have failed to prize aright the blessing which Heaven bestowed upon me in the person of my only child, the fear is, now that I. have come to know her as she deserves to be known, lest I should idolize her too fondly— become too dependent upon her for happiness. The day on which she leaves my house, even for the home and husband of her choice, will be one of affliction to her mother and myself. Few parents are favored by the gift of such a daughter! I will deal very openly with you, Mr. Hopeton: except in the event of her hearty acquiescence in the change of plan which you advocate, I shall withhold my consent. I stipulated, you recollect, that she should be left with me for two full years, and I velue her society too highly to shorten this season by a day, unless I hear, from.her lips, that I shall, in so doing, conduce to her hap- piness. That is the paramount consideration with me, and it should be with you.”’ Gerald had the sense to perceive that his cue was apparent submission to the principle thus resolutely enunciated. *“*IT should be unworthy of your regard, or of her trust, my dear sir, were I not, in thought and deed, amenable to that law!”’ he said, with readiness that could not be dis- tinguished from sincerity. ‘‘I rely upon your compassion and her affection ;’’ and he arose to take his leave. ‘*One thing more!’’ Mr. Lowrie detained him to say. ‘‘It is my express request that you shall leave my daughter to the exercise of her unbiassed will—her uncontrolled judg- ment, in the settlement of this affair. I en- gage todothe same. I shall repeat faithfully the substance of this conversation to her, and rest the case in her hands. She is the one, after all, whose interests will be most nearly affected by the decision, whatever that may De.’’ Gerald could not controvert this state- ment, repeated with energy that testified how strongly it bore upon the father’s mind. ‘* Nothing can be fairer, sir!’’ he replied ; but Mr. Lowrie observed that his countenance fell, and congratulated himself that he had laid this restriction upon his action. On his part, he fulfilled his voluntary pledge to the letter. He chose to make the communication with which he had charged his conscience at the hour which Rizpah ha- bitually spent with her parents—that imme- diately succeeding dinner, when the chances of interruption were fewest. It was the sixth day after the birthnight ball; yet Rizpah had not regained her usual strength and cheerfulness. Her color had waned; her feet stole languidly over the floor, instead of treading with the elastic bound that was wont to make music upon the stair and along the halls; her smiles were frequent, and her merry words were never lacking when others could be gladdened thereby; but her mother remarked the lapses of thoughtful silence that occurred in her talk, whenever there existed no evident necessity for her ex- ertions; her protracted absences from the family group, beyond the hours which she devoted methodicaily to study and reading; and the solicitous affection that never relaxed its guard over her grown-up nursling took alarm. Fitful spirits and a restless, unsettled demeanor would have been easily referred to the effect of Gerald’s companionship. He was assiduous in his display of loyalty; walk- ing with his betrothed in the morning, driving in the afternoon, when the weather permitted such excursions, and never failing to present himself in the library each evening, for a couple of hours’ confidential chat. There was no disputing the conviction that he was

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118 GODEY’S’ LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. irrevocably enamored; but Rizpah’s mien, when with, or when away from him, afforded material for more searching inquiry ; specu- lation that was both perplexed and painful. She was very gentle—too gentle—in the estimation of those who were used to her piquante talk, her originality of thought, sprightly humor and independent habits: She accepted, without amendment or adverse comment, whatever plan of amusement or occupation Gerald projected ; accompanying him at inconvenient, as at suitable seasons, with dutiful alacrity. If others happened to be by during his visits, and the conversation became general, she artfully diverted it in such direction as agreed with the bent of his tastes and knowledge. If aa intrepid collo- quist launched boldly or unthinkingly into deeper waters, he was shortly pursued and lured back to safer soundings by her inimit- able, but unobtrusive address. Her aim was, apparently, to prevent ordinary observers, less loving or less charitable than herself, from fathoming her lover’s intellect, and spy- ing out his infirmities of character, and in this design she was, assuredly, to a great ex- tent, successful There were not many who came to the house, hoping to talk with her, who vouchsafed a second look at, or thought of, the young man who seemed to be an ha- bitué of the establishment—perhaps an early acquaintance of host er hostess. Yet she must have been conscious, all the while, that so far as one looker-on was con- cerned, the attainment of her object was im- practicable. She might, and she did cast a shield before his weaknesses, and, by ignoring hia defects herself, delude the chance spectator of an hour into the idea that Gerald Hope- ton, comely to view, and stylish in apparel, merited respect and deference; but while she engaged the notice she did not care should be concentrated upon him, she was compelled, by this very act, to grant her step-mother increased facilities for reading him through and through. Rizpah did not lift a finger, or interpose a syllable to prevent this. Where would have been the use? Sooner or later— as well early as at last—the falcon sight of her father’s wife must pierce any mask, how- ever specious, that had deceived the girl’s fevered fancy; detect whatever was super- ficial and what meretricious in the seeming and qualities of him who was to be her hus- band. She was sure, moreover, that the dis- — covery once made, the knowledge of it would be buried in her mother’s bosom, unless she —Rizpah—should choose to allude: directly to the mistake that menaced here with a life- time of misery. If the delicately-discreet parent waited for this, she would carry the secret with her tothe tomb. The betrothal, entered into of her own untrammelled choice, was as binding now, when every instinct of her riper womanhood warred against the con- tinuance of its existence, as if she had come home to find the ideal and the real Gerald identically the same, in body, mind, and cha- racter. She had been mistaken; that was all! and she would abide, as best she could, the consequences of her fatuity, for the hap- piness of another was at stake. Had Gerald proved inconstant during her absence, or had he, upon her return, appeared lukewarm in his regard for her and desire for their union, the obligation upon her to dissolve the com- pact would have been as stringent as it was now to consummate it. Thus reasoning and redeciding a point she had told herself a hundred times already was never again to be debated, she seemed to con the book laid before her upon the table, while her father skimmed the evening paper, and her mother was intent upon a late review. ‘*My daughter!’’ said Mr. Lowrie’s grave voice, presently. Advised, by a nervous quaver in his accent, that some communication of weight was in store for her, Rizpah closed her volume, to listen for what was to follow. As has been said, the accurate man of busi- ness discharged his trust with strict fidelity to Gerald, as to himself. He recapitulated the arguments used by both in the conference of the morning, neither softening the state- ment of the suitor’s earnestness in the prose- cution of his cause, nor adding one jot to the objections that had then met his petition. These recited, he stopped. The verdict was for another to form and pronounce. Rizpah’s complexion had not varied from the dead, almost livid white it had assumed at the mention of Gerald’s name and errand. She did not trifle with her book, or hang her head, or exhibit any of the numberless other signs of bashful shame that are the usual re- sort of most young ladies in similar cireum- stances. But for her respiration and the scarcely perceptible contraction of the muscles of the throat, she might have been a statue. ae” eee! Se aoe cme @& A

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RIZPAH’S IDOLS. 119 ** You have heard something of this before, have you not?’’ interrogated Mr. Lowrie, find- ing himself unanswered. ‘‘ The idea of fore- stalling the date of the marriage is not a new one to you?’ “*T have never thought of it until to-night, sir!”? Mr. Lowrie looked surprised, now, as well as graver. **Yet Mr. Hopeton certainly intimated to me that he had your approbation in making this appeal to me, excused the apparent pre- sumption of the request upon the ground that your wishes and his corresponded precisely with respect tothe proposed change of time.”’ ** He took it for granted, then, papa. If he has referred to any such intention, since our return, I did not comprehend his meaning. Be has not made any explicit allusion to it,’’ replied Rizpah, yet with no manifestation of indignation at the course her lover had pur- sued. . ‘“*Then, my child, you had best talk the matter over with your mother. You can dis- cuss it with less reserve with her than with me. Iam pledged, moreover, not to attempt to bias your determination either way. Only’’ —clearing his voice, so as to speak cheerfully, and making a great rustling with his paper, as he arose to quit the room—‘‘ please let me know the result of your consultation before I retire, mamma! I am afraid that I could not sleep very comfortably with this burden of uncertainty upon my mind.’’ After he left the two ladies together, there was stillness between them—profound and long. Mrs. Lowrie had closed her Review, to signify her readiness to hear whatever Rizpah wished to say; but a glimpse of the rigid fea- tures and glowing eyes—like living coals in the midst of white ashes—cautioned her as to the inexpediency of hasty intermeddling with the bitterness or joy of the girl’s hidden heart. Rizpah remained, mute and without moving, her gaze riveted upon the chair her father had vacated, until the fiery irids had burned out into misty shadow and the tension of mouth and forehead relaxed. ‘**T have decided, mammth,”’ she said, then, composedly. ‘‘Unless you and papa urge the propriety of my acceding to Mr. Hopeton’s proposal, I prefer to remain bound only by the original arrangement. I cannot see what advantage either Mr. Hopeten or myself can derive from an earlier—marriage.”’ VOL. LXXIII.—9 The rebellious cords in the neck and cheek tightened as she obliged herself to articulate the concluding word. ‘*My precious child! why should papa and I urge forward an event that will leave our home to desolate silence—our hearts to sad- ness and yearnings? There is no law of honor or affection constraining you to agree to a speedy marriage. You are both young, and you can well afford to wait.’’ .Rizpah put up her lips for a kiss; then, sighing, laid her head in her mother’s lap. The tender hand stroked it for a minute or more, before the elder lady spoke again. ‘While we are upon this subject, my daughter, you must let me venture a step further. Without seeking to pry into the penetralia which my Rizpah, like every other true-hearted woman, has barred from sacri- legious touch and sight, let me remind you that now, if ever, is the proper season for a reconsideration of the feelings and motives that led you into this engagement. You were an unsophisticated and impulsive child when it was formed. It is possible such things have happened before, and with per- sons older and wiser than you were two years ago. It is a common experience with ardent and undisciplined hearts; it may be that a larger experience of life and a juster concep- tion of life’s work and human responsibilities have wrought a revolution in your nature which -has altered the whole tenor of your views and sentiments in respect to love and marriage. If this be so, if you have any mis- givings touching the wisdom of your former course, let me impress upon you the fact that the time for perfect frankness of speech and energy of action has now arrived. It would be worse than folly to let things follow the current they are now taking, if you are irreso- lute or unwilling. Marriage is no light event. The step you will take next fall will be irre- versible, and must, more than any which have preceded or which are likely to follow it, affect your temporal if not eternal destiny. Forgive me, if I have wounded you, dear! I am greatly your senior in years ; I know more; of the world, perhaps more of human nature,: than you do; and, above all, I am your mother ! I could not forbéar this warning.’’ Her heart vibrated wildly ’twixt fear and hope, while Rizpah’s face still lay buried in her lap, and the clinging fingers*pressed hers until the blood retreated tinglingly to their

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120 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. tips. She had uttered her ‘‘ warning’’ from the depths of a trembling heart, strengthened in the discharge of what she conceived to be a solemn duty to the motherless child, by the might and fervor of affection that enwrapped that orphan with the warmth and closeness jof maternal love. But hope died, and fear grew into sorrow, as she saw the resolute countenance, more livid than before, if that could be, that emerged from the folds of her robe. ‘*Mamma! I have neither the right nor the wish to dissolve this engagement. Gerald Hopeton loved me, and told me of that love; sought me as his wife when I was a raw, untrained, unlovely girl, rude in manner, uncultivated in everything, even in the affec- tions. I worshipped him then as a superior being ; regarded myself as the most fortunate of womankind in having gained his heart; marvelled continually at the goodness of Pro- vidence that had made me the object of his choice when there were others more showy, more beautiful, and more amiable, who would have been honored and pleased by his prefer- ence. Beside Ada and himself, nobody cared whether Rizpah Lowrie lived or died. I should despise myself, if I admitted the possi- bility of the supposition that the happy change in my circumstances, effected by your love and goodness, had wrought forgetfulness in my soul of their disinterested kindness— begotten indifference to their constancy.of de- votion. Gerald loves me very dearly, more and more every day. Iam the more firmly convinced of this with each hour that I spend with him !’’ There was solemnity in her manner of say- ing this, but she did not blush or falter in the avowal. ‘* There is no room for doubt on that head !’’ Mrs. Lowrie could not help remarking. It was an honest hour with both of them. Rizpah raised herself from the carpet, with a gesture that seemed to cast irresolution to the winds. cf ‘*Thank you for doing him justice! And granting this, you must agree with me in the inference that there is no place for doubts as to whether it is better for me to marry him or to violate a sacred oath nfade voluntarily and thankfully. You can end papa’s sus- pense by telling him that I do not mean to rid him of tis troublesome daughter yet awhile. But when the time comes he must not say me ‘nay!’ It may sound like foolish superstition to you, but I fully believe that the curse of Heaven—the doom that visits the unfaithful and the perjurer—would light upon my head, if I were now to retract my promise |”? A (To be continued.) THE BELLS OF SHANDON. BY CLARENCE F, BUHLER. Fortra from Shandon’s grim old abbey on the Lee, whose shadowed sheet Trembled like a tawny vassal crouching at a tyrant's feet, Sadly went an exiled friar, unto whom the convent bells Seemed the music of loved voices to have caught in their farewells ; For their lullaby in childhood was the only one he knew, And no voice e’er sounds so sweetly as when bidding us adieu. As he roamed, those bells were ever ringing iu his thoughts and dreams ; In the leaves their music whispered, and it murmured in the streams ; And as birds to Wirzburg’s cloisters by their mellow chimes were brought, So around that monastery’s gathered every bright-winged thought. Wildly sweet o’er moonlight waters came the songs of gondoliers, But a wilder tone and sweeter was the tone in fancy’s ears ; And ‘tween him and scenes so lovely that the sky stoops down and throws Its blue arms in love around them that old minster ever rose. Broken on the wheel of fortune, in life’s sunset home le roved, To be lulled to his last slumber by the vesper-peal he loved. On the cheek of day the roses slowly faded from the sight, And the moon her veil of silver drew across the face of night, As along the Lee he glided, while each dear remembered spot Gave an eloquence to silence, and a melody to thought; For from every soul, when rightly touched, old harmo- nies will start, And sweet voices long forgotten are their echoes from the heart. Through the trees where weary shadows swam along the waves of grass, Beckoned the old abbey-gables, and his heart filled like a glass From the fount of youth ‘perpetual ; but as pealed strains loved of yore, In that boat was one less spirit, and in Charon’s bark one mare; , For as nightingales with rapture die upon the minstrel's lyre, Did the monk in that ecstatic burst of harmony expire, ole ple Mee ae ee i el an

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THE TOILET OF DEATH. BY MARY FORMAN, (See Steel Plate.) Tuts toilet of death, though performed by rude hands, leads to immortality. —CHar.orre Corpay. Tue remarkable woman whose words, ut- tered with the fingers of the executioner in her flowing hair, the red skirt of the mur- deress by her side, and the guillotine threat- ening in the distance, were but the climax of her calm heroism, was one of those self-de- voted martyrs born in great ages for great deeds. To fully understand and appreciate the sacrifice she made, it is necessary to con- template the times in which she lived, and the character of the hideous and loathsome tyrant of whom she rid the world. Jean Paul Marat, whose name has come through the pages of history execrated ani despised, was a power in France when power meant authorized murder, unchained pas- sions, and a tyranny only understood in the word Revolution. Rising from a low estate, this man of vigorous intellect, venomous hatred, and unconquerable will, came forth as a journalist, and, espousing the cause of the mob, published his famous “‘ Friend of the People.’’ Joining the club of the ‘ Corde- liers’’ in 1789, and led by Desmoulins and Danton, he became at once noted for the ferocity of his proposals, his crimes, and his bitter, insatiable thirst for blood. His pro- posal to hang the 800 deputies on 800 trees of the Tuileries—Mirabeau on the first of them— caused him to be denounced by Malouet ; and from that period he was hunted by the Paris commune, besieged in his house by Lafayette, shielded by Danton and Legendre, hidden by Fleury the actress, and sheltered by Bassal the priest; pursued from one miserable re- fuge to anather, homeless and proscribed, he still issued his journal, until, upon the im- prisonment of the royal family, a new mu- nicipality was formed, and by the nanie. he had conquered, Paris called the ‘‘ Friend of the People’’ from his hiding places; and day after day he came to the Convention to de- nounce, pursue, and murder the suspects. With his hideous face, filthy dress, rancor- ous hatred, and voice of thunder, he was floating France in blood, when forth from her obscure country home came the avenger. Marie Anne Charlotte de Corday D’ Armont was the daughter of Jacques de Corday D’ Ar- mont, the younger son of anoble line. Poor, and wedded to a lady also poor, though of birth equal to his own, Jacques Frangois de Corday, esquire, sieur D’Armont, crippled further by an unsuccessful lawsuit, lived in obscurity at Argentan, where Marie, the fourth of five children, was born. In early life, Marie was sent to the care of an uncle at Vicques, the Abbé de Corday, who took charge of Wer education. He taught her to read, and from history she drew that love of republican sentiments that later became the ideal of her life. After the death of her mother, Marie, then fourteen years of age, was invited to the Abbaye des Dames by the abbess, Madame de Belzunce, and here, in her seclusion, she grew up with her fine mind feeding upon books, religious exercises, and the politics of the day, absorbed, introverted, and enthusi- astic. The echoes of the Ca-ira reached her from afar, fanning into a strong ardent flame that love of liberty imbibed from Corneille, Plutarch, Raynal, and Rousseau. It was during her residence in the convent that the young enthusiast became attached to the nephew of the abbess, the Vicomte Henri de Belzunce, an officer in the Bourbon army, an accomplished, handsome, young, and en- thusiastic man of about twenty. Like most of the officers of noble blood, he was an avowed and open royalist, and his death was caused by his political opinions. He was murdered in a skirmish between his own and a revolutionary company ; his heart was torn from his breast by a furious woman, and grilled upon live coals, while his head was borne on a pike through the streets of Caen. Such an ending to her love was well calculated to increase the maiden’s horror of the wretches who were daily murdering Liberty in the name of the Republic. A year later Madame de Belzunce died, and soon after, the convents being suppressed, the young girl was forced to seek another asy- lum. After a short visit to her father, she went to her cousin, Madame de Bretteville, 121

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122 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, and was there received hospitably, although a stranger to that lady. There, in a gloomy house in Caen, Marie studied and watched the progress of the revolution. Grave and reserved, her enthusiasm was seldom openly expressed, but, fostered in prayerful solitude, became deep and sincere, the ruling passion of her life. Just twenty at the time of her arrival at Madame de Bretteville, Mademoi- selle de Corday became at once noted for her wondrous beauty. Her figure was tall, but exquisitely proportioned, graceful yet digni- fied, with hands, arms, and shoulders of statuesque beauty. Her face, a pure oval, with regular features, was singularly gentle and peaceful in expression. A broad open forehead, eyes of deep bluish gray, straight nose, and exquisite mouth, were enhanged by a complexion of transparent purity, and rich brown hair falling in curling masses from her shoulders. Her dress was always severely simple, and the modest dignity of her de- meanor with her settled gravity caused her to appear older than she was. An anecdote related by her friend, Madame Loyer de Maromme, will show how, at this pe- riod, her political enthusiasm, though silent, governed her life. Some of Madame de Bretteville’s friends were assembled at a farewell dinner, prior to a departure from Caen, when the king’s health was proposed. Mademoiselle de Corday’s glass stood untouched. A lady friend touching her, said :— ‘*What! you will not drink the king’s health—the king, so good and virtuous ?’’ **I believe him virtuous,’’ was the reply, in her singularly musical voice; ‘‘ but a weak king cannot be a good one; he cannot check the misfortunes of his people.’’ A dead silence followed; the health was drunk, but the. company were evidently struck by the reply. During this silence the new bishop, Fauchet, entered Caen in triamph followed by cries of ‘‘ Long live the Nation! Long live the Bishop of the Constitution !’’ Mons. de Tournelis, one of Marie’s most ar- dent admirers, and her brother, Mons. de Corday, started from the table crying, ‘‘ Long live the King!”’ Mons. de Corday silenced his son, and Marie drew Mons. de Tournelis from the window, saying :— ** How is it that you are not afraid of risk- ing the lives of those about you, by your in- temperate manifestations? Ifyou would serve your country so, you had far better not go away.’ ‘*And why, mademoiselle,’’ he answered, impatiently, ‘‘why did not you just now fear to wound the feelings of your friends by re- fusing to join your voice to a toast so French, so dear to all of us ?”’ ** My refusal can only injure me,’’ was the smilingreply. ‘‘But you, without any useful end, would risk the lives of all about you. On whose side, tell me, is the most generous sen- timent ?”’ The fall of the Girondists was the blow that, falling upon the generous enthusiasm of Marie de Corday, first suggested to her the possibility of action on her own part. Caen became a refuge for many of the proscribed, who tried there to raise a force to march to Paris; seventeen men answered the call. Marie found a pretence to call upon Barbaroux, and came twice with an old servant to see the handsome Girondist. Péthion, meeting her on one of these occasions, said :— ‘*So, the beautiful aristocrat calls upon re- publicans ~”’ ‘*Citizen Péthion,’’ was the reply, ‘‘ you now judge me without knowing me. A time will come when you will learn who J am.”’ While with Barbaroux, Marie inquired about the Girondists imprisoned in Paris, and learned much of Marat. To this monster she had long ascribéd the persecution of the Gi- rondists and the miseries of her country, and upon him she now concentrated her thoughts. Little did she dream that Danton and Robes- pierre were stronger and mightier powers, controlling even Marat. ‘‘Ah!’’ said Barbaroux, later, ‘‘ had I fore- seen her design, and could such actions be counselled, it was not Marat I would have ad- vised her to strike.”’ Once resolved upon the death of Marat, Marie de Corday silently began her prepara- tions for her journey to Paris; she procured her passport, bade farewell to her friends, telling her father she was going to England ; distributed her little property amongst her friends, and on the 9th of July, 1793, she left Caen, hoping to accomplish her end, and be herself the prey of an infuriated populace. For two days after her arrival at Paris she remained quietly at her hotel, before seeking an interview with the tyrant, of whose death she thought, when she said: ‘‘A woman’s ae = © © G fw & ww hw ee Ff le

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THE TOILET OF DEATH. 128 hand shall check this civil war; a woman’s hand prepare the peace.”’ She attended the Convention, and there in- quired for Marat, learning that he was ill, and unable to leave his house. She then resolved to call upon him, and sent a note requesting an interview; this was refused, and she sent a second, pleading pressing business, and representing herself as perse- cuted for the cause of freedam. This second note she followed in person, without waiting for an answer. On the 13th of July, at about half-past seven in the evening, the citizen Marat was sitting in his bath, writing. The citizen cer- tainly affected, perhaps actually enjoyed, the luxury of poverty. A rough board laid across the bath served him for a desk; an unhewn block supported his inkstand. The floor was littered with numbers of his journal, but the room was bare of furniture. A map of France hung upon the wall, together with a brace of pistols, under which was scrawled, in large, bold letters, ‘‘ La Morr.”’ By and by comes in a young man named Pillet, bringing paper for printing the L’ Ami du Peuple, which was done in the author’s house. Marat asked him to open the window, approved his account, and sent himaway. As he came out there was a kind of altercation between the portress, who was folding sheets, and a handsome young lady, wearing a striped gray déshabillé, and a dark hat trimmed with green ribbons. She held a fan in her hand, and was complaining, in a singularly clear and musical voice, that she had come a long joarney—all the way from Caen—to see the People’s Friend. It appeared from the con- versation that she had already called twice that day. ‘Had he received her note asking for an interview?’’ The portress scarcely knew, he had so many. At this moment ap- peared another woman—Simonne Evrard— who, listening to the importunities of the stranger, consented at last to see if Marat would receive her. Marat, who had read her note some twenty minutes previously, an- swered in the affirmative, and the woman showed her in. It is not exactly known what took place between Marat and his visitor in their ten- minutes’ interview. According to her after- account, he listened eagerly to the news from Caen, taking notes ‘‘for the seaffold’’ the while. He asked for the names of the Giron- dist Deputies, then refuged at that place. She gave them—Guadet, Gorsas, Buzot, Bar- baroux, and the rest. ‘‘It is well! Ina few days they shall all be guillotined at Paris.’’ His hour had come. Plucked suddenly from her bosom, a bright blade flashed up, down, and struck him once in the chest. A terrible blow for a delicate hand !—under the clavicle, sheer through the lung, cutting the carotid. ‘* A moi, ma chére amie, @ moi!’’ he shrieked. The next moment the room was full. The young lady, coming out, was struck down with a chair, and trampled on by the furious women; the guard came pouring in, and down the street the news flew like wildfire, that “they were killing the People’s Friend.”’ They lifted out the livid People’s Friend, and laid him on his bed. But he had spoken his last. For an instant his glazed eyes turned upon the weeping woman at his side, then closed for ever. Medical advice arriving post haste was yet too late. His death had been anticipated by some eight days. All Paris rose to denounce the murderess, to pay honor to the dead. It was with diffi- culty that the authorities saved Mademoiselle de Corday, known from this time by her name of Charlotte, from the fury of the mob, and conveyed her to the Abbaye, the nearest prison. There she was questioned till mid- night by members of the Convention, but gave no signs of regret or fear. ‘‘I have done my task,’’ she said; ‘‘ let others do theirs.’’ Her trial was fixed for the 17th, and on the evening before she wrote to Barbaroux and to her father. To the latter she thus expressed herself :— ‘Pardon me, my dear father, for having disposed of my life without your permission, I have avenged many innocent lives; I have prevented many other misfortunes. The people, one day enlightened, will rejoice in being delivered from a tyrant. If I sought to deceive you by a pretended journey to Eng- land, it was because I hoped to remain un- known, but this has become impossible. I trust that you will not be persecuted, but, in any case, you have protectors at Caen. I have selected for my counsel Gustave Doulcet; , but such an act as mine admits of no defence 5 *tis but a matter of form. Adieu, my dear papa! lLIimplore you to forget me, or rather to rejoice that I perish in a good cause. I embrace my sister, whom I love with all my heart, as well as all my relatives. Do not forget the line of Corneille: ‘It is the crime that is shameful, and not the scaffold.’ At eight o’clock to-morrow I go to my trial. Mariz pe Corpay.”’

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124 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Corde et ore was the motto of the Armont family. Corde et ore before the dark bench of the Salle de l’Egalité, she sustained the deed thgt she had done. Impossible for the legal catches of President Montané to surprise any avowal of complicity. Answer after answer comes from her, prompt, to the point, clear- stamped with the image of truth, concise as a couplet of Corneille. Like Judith of old, ‘*all marvelled at the beauty of her counte- nance.’’ The musical voice seemed to domi- nate the assembly—the criminal to sit in judgment on her judges. ‘‘She had killed Marat for his crimes—the miseries that he had caused. The thought was hers alone; her hatred was enough ; she best could execute her project. She has killed one man to save a thousand; a villain to save innocents; a savage wild beast to give her country Peace.’’ ‘*Do you think, then, to have killed all the Marats?’’ ‘*This one dead, the rest will fear—perhaps.’’ ‘‘ You should be skilful at the work,’’ says crafty Fouquier-Tinville, re- marking on the sureness of the stroke. ‘‘The monster !—he takes me for an assassin!’’? Her answer closed the debates like a sudden clap of thunder. The reading of her letters followed. ‘*Have you anything to add ?”’ says Montané, as the one to Barbaroux was finished. ‘‘Set down this,’’ she returned: ‘‘the head of anarchy is dead: now you will be at peace.’’ Nothing was left but to demand her death, which the public accuser did at once. The form of a defence was gone through. She had called upon a friend; her request had never reached him. Montané named the famous Chaveau de la Garde. But she had confessed everything; there was nothing to say. How could he please her best? When he rose a murmur filled the room. During the reading of the accusation, the judge had bid him plead madness, the jury to hold his tongue. Either plan was contrived to hu- mniliate her. La Garde read in her anxious eyes that she would not be excused. Like a gallant gentleman as he was, he took his peril- ous cue. ‘‘The accused,’’ he says, ‘‘avows her crime, acknowledges its /ong premeditation, confesses to all its terrible details. This im- movable calm, this entire self-abnegation—in some respects sublime—are not in nature. They are only to be explained by that exaltation of political fanaticism which has placed a dagger in her hand, * * * Gentlemen of the jury, I leave your decision to the care of your pru- dence.”’ The face of the prisoner filled with pleasure. All fear of that dreadful plea, insanity, was at an end. She heard the sentence unmoved, after which she begged the gendarmes to lead her to La Garde. ‘‘Monsieur,’’ she said, ‘‘I thank you for the bravery with which you defended me in a manner worthy of yourself and of me. These gentlemen’’—turning to the judges—-‘‘ confiscate my goods, but I will give you a surer proof of my gratitude. I ask you to pay my prison debts, and I count upon your generosity.’”’ It need hardly be said that the duty was religiously performed. During the trial she had noticed a person sketching her, and had courteously turned her face towards him. This was Jacques Hauer, an offiver of the National Guard. As soon as she returned to the prison, she ex- pressed to the concierge a desire to see him. The painter risked his head, and came. She offered in the few minutes that remained to her to give him a sitting, begging him, at the same time, to copy the portrait for her friends, calmly talking of indifferent matters, and now and then of the deed that she had done. One hour, then half an hour, passed away; the door opened, and Sanson appeared with the scissors and the red shirt. ‘*‘ What, already ?’’ she asked. She cut off a long lock of her beautiful hair, and offered it to Hauer, saying that she had nothing else to give him, and resigned the rest to the executioner. Her brilliant complexion had not faded; her lips were red as ever. She still ‘‘enjoyed a de- licious peace.’’ The crimson shirt added so strangely to her weird beauty that the artist put it in the picture; but it was afterwards painted out. She asked Sanson if she might wear her gloves, showing her-wrist bruised by the brutal way in which they had tied her hands. He told her that he could arrange it without giving her pain. ‘‘True,’’ said she, gayly, ‘‘they have not all your practice.”’ The cart was waiting outside. When she came out, the furies of the guillotine greeted her with a how! of execration. But even on these, says Klause, a look of the wonderful eyes often imposed a sudden silence. Calmly she mounted the tumbril, and the horse set out along the road it knew so well. Upright, unmoved, and smiling, she made the whole of the journey. The cart got on but slowly

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we =~ SS we aoe 5S — FF & TFT wrewwa SS FZ we wv § oOo THE TOILET OF DEATH.—POETRY. 125 through the dense-packed crowd, and Sanson thought he heard hersigh. ‘‘ You are tired?’’ he asked. ‘‘ Bah!’’ said she, still smiling, with the old musical voice unshaken, ‘‘ we are sure to get there at last.’’ Sanson stepped in front of her, as they neared the scaffold, to hide the guillotine; but she bent before him, saying, ‘‘I have the right to be curious, for I have never seen it.’’ The red sun dipped down behind the Champs Elysées trees as she went up the steps. The blood rushed to. her cheek as the execu- tioner roughly*tore off the covering on her neck, and for an instant she stood in the ruddy light as if transfigured. Then, in a solemn silence, the axe fell. A hound named Legros (a temporary aid of Sanson’s) lifted up the pale, beautiful head, with all its frozen sweetness, and struck it on the cheek. Re- port says that it reddened to the blow; but whether it really blushed, whether the wretch’s hands were wet with blood, or whether it was an effect of the sunlight, will be never known. The crowd, by an almost universal murmur, testified its disapprobation. So died Marie de Corday, aged twenty-four years, eleven months, and twenty days. She was buried in the Madeleine, afterwards re- moved to the cemetery Montparnasse. There are two reliable portraits of Charlotte Corday. One by Siccardi, preserved at Caen, _ represents a magnificent young woman of three and twenty, in all the exuberance of youth and beauty; strong, yet graceful, ele- gant, natural, and modest, yet of a com- manding presence. Her hair of a beautiful chestnut tinge, escapes from a Norman cap, and falls in torrents on the close drawn ker- chief about her shoulders. Her eyes of gray- ish blue, and somewhat sad, are shaded by deep, dark lashes. Her brows were finely arched, her face ‘‘a perfect oval,’’ and her complexion ‘‘ marvellously brilliant.’’ ‘‘She blushed very readily, and became then, in reality, charming.’’ Add to these a strangely anusical voice, singularly silvery and child- like, and an expression of ‘ineffable sweet- ness,’’ and you may conceive something of that Marie de Corday whom men loved at Caen. The other, painted by Hauer in her cell, and wearing originally the red shirt of the murderess, is that Charlotte Corday of the Conciergerie whom death is nearing quickly, stride on stride. White-robed, white-capped, the figure is peaceful, statuesque, and calm. Something, perhaps, of severity sits upon the features—something, perhaps, of sorrow in the eyes. Not sorrow for the deed—rather the shadow of her long-nursed purpose—the shadow of those long, lonely hours in the Grand Manoir—the shadow of that loveless, hopeless, endless woman’s life she values at so little. For herself she is perfectly at ease. Her duty done, the rest the rest may do. She has prepared the peace. She had done ‘‘a thing which should go throughout all generations to the children of the nation,”’ ZITELLA. In a valley, sweet and wild, Lived Zitella—gentle child ; With a heart as puro, as free, As the bird in yonder tree ; And her song was like the birds’, Breathing nature’s simple words ; But no more her music swells With the birdlet’s gentle song, For in heaven Zitella dwells, Mingling with an angel throng. Oh, how bright as through sad tears Back we look o’er early years— Years when hope with sunny gleams Made life fairer than our dreams, How the heart with sorrow beats As memory her tale repeats— Bringing scenes of “long ago”’ To our dim and weary eye, Scenes of gladness—scenes of woe— These to darken—those to die. Why o’er youth should clouds be flung? Why with pain the young heart wrung? Why grief’s shadows darkly rest In Zitella’s gentle breast ? There are hearts that know and feel What our words may ne’er reveal— Though untold her silent grief, Though the tears that gave relief, Still alone in silence fell— Yet Zitella’s heart would swell With a sorrow not her own, Dark and fearful but unknown— Drinking sadness from the voice That should make her heart rejoice. But not always may the soul Bow to sorrow’s dark control, But when nature’s cheerful voices In sweet music meet our ears, Soon the saddened heart rejoices— Half forgets the cause of tears. As a cross word begets a word that is cross, so will a kind one beget its own likeness. If people only knew the power they possess in being kind, how much good would they achieve for themselves, how much misery: prevent for others!

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( THE CHEERY VOICE. BY SOPHIE DE LAMATER.* L ** GooD-MORNING.”’ ‘*Only this, and nothing more;’’ but the voice was so blithesome and cheery, the figure so dainty and trim, and the step so light and airy, that I turned to explore, with curious eyes, the features mysteriously hidden be- neath the baffling blue veil that screened their beauty from the sun, quite sure that lips over which flowed such clear and silvery tones must be the very prettiest. Con!—Ah! where wasI? Perhaps I was going to bestow a gentle malison upon my steed—a half-broken colt that I had that morning ridden into town for the first time, for it is a little provoking to have one’s in- vestigations interrupted as mine were by his abruptly shying to the opposite side of the street, because a little structure of stick and paper chanced to fall between his eyes. I think, however, that I was merely about to venture the mild remark that condign pun- ishment ought to be administered to all small boys who will persist in flying kites within the corporation limits, contrary to ordinances made and provided, and to the confusion of unsuspecting equestrians. I gathered up my bridle and the tangled thread of my reflec- tions as soon as possible, and turned for a * good look, but the object of my curiosity had disappeared, perhaps within the open doors of the ‘‘Institute’’ to exchange at the library the book that I had noticed in her hand. It was but an instant, and see what diag- nosis I gathered from that cheerful morning salutation to a passing friend. I would not care to defend it with reasons physiological and psychological before the learned faculty, nor would I recommend to them similar sum- mary conclusions; yet I believed I could not be mistaken in attributing to the possessor of that charming voice a pure soul, a warm heart, a joyous temperament, « healthy di- gestion, no melancholy, no misanthropy, no headache, no scrofulous diathesis with heredi- tary tendency to consumption, no ‘‘new- * The story “ Cut Out,” in the March number (see page 225), was written by this lady; the name “ Miss Lay- caster’’ should have been Mrs. De Lamarazr, rology,’’ no ‘‘high-strikes.”’ A good daugh- ter, a loving friend, a delightful sweetheart— I wish she was mine. But why should I be thinking of that? Columbia is my liege lady, to whom is due my sole devoir. In her de- fense I have lost much of the ‘‘circulating medium,’’ and I am willing, if need be, for her dear sake to lose the rest. Yet, as I pursued my homeward way to Heartsease, the clear cadences of that pleasant voice would keep returning to mingle with my thoughts. Overshadowing boughs of chest- nut, elm, and maple, with their rich and varied hues of living green, bordered the smooth road; fields golden with the ripening grain gave promise of a bounteous harvest ; wild roses unfolded their bright pink blos- soms almost within reach of my hand; the sky above was argent and azure; all things were serene and tranquil. I felt in a most genial and amiable mood, and the remem- brance of the cheery voice seemed to harmo- nize with these agreeable accessories like the trills of some glad and joyous bird-song. ° How lovingly, and with what hushed, sol- emn benedicite the ancestral trees stretched forth their kindly arms, as I rode through the avenue that led up to the old mansion of Heartsease. After four years of war, with its stirring incidents fraught with undying memories, strange, heroic glories, how blessed seemed the peace of the paternal roof! I paused to look off at the broad sweep of the beloved river, the verdant wooded point of Bella Isola, not far away, and the cool dark blue of the Catskills that gave so fair a back- ground to the fairest scene that ever man’s eye looked upon, and thanked God in my heart for my home. But how is it that the most favored lot in life still wants some charm to make it perfect? Why had Fanny taken advantage of my ab- sence to flit away? I felt somewhat, I con- fess, like bestowing an ‘‘inverted blessing’’ upon the wicked knight who had spirited off my pretty fairy, my merry, loving, teazing, delightful sister Fan. Before I went to the war, I had seen the tall fellow ‘‘ snooping around,’’ as the honored and benignant 126

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SS Sl ae ”.hClC Se ESE - _ | oc = ew THE CHEERY VOICE. 127 master of ‘‘ Wolfert’s Roost’? used to say, but I did not think it would come to that. 44 Grandma,”’ I asked, as I entered the snug sitting-room, where the dear old lady, in her rich dark silk and priceless antique laces, might have been taken for some stately dame just stepped forth from her olden frame to make a living picture; ‘‘Grandma, why did you let Fanny get married while I was away? The old home does not look the same without her.”’ Grandmamma took off her spectacles, passed her soft handkerchief over their shining glasses, and, looking into my eyes, said: ‘*Do I not miss her too, Philip, my dear boy, lonely old woman that I am? How do you think I lived before you came to put a little new life into the house? But it is the way of the world, Phil, the way of the world, and we must submit.”’ ‘£But I can’t get along without her, you see. A house is so lonely with no young people in it. I don’t know what to do!’’ ‘sThen I must tell you, as our good Presi- dent did Lord Lyons, when he came to an- nounce to him that the Prince of Wales would soon take a fair bride—‘Go thou and do likewise.’ We can have Fanny no more, for Cranstoun cannot leave his estate, and she must follow the fortunes of her husband. Dear child! I am glad to know that she is happy where she is. She says: ‘Grandma, when Phil comes home you must come and live with Charlie and me. We are so young, and need just such a dear old lady as you are to give dignity to our establishment and make our family complete. He will be for getting married soon, of course, and I speak first for grandma.’ ”’ ‘*T shall not get married, aud she cannot have grandma; that is certain!’’ I said. “No, I shall never leave my lifelong and beloved home. But why should you not marry, Philip, my dear boy? There’s Gretta Van Twiller, a nice girl, healthy and well-to- do.* She would take the care of the place off your hands, too. Hetty, housekeeper, is get- ting too old for her duties, and ought to be pensioned and live at ease. Many other changes should be made in the household, but I do not feel equal to the care, and it cannot be done in my time—no, not in my time.’’ Margaretta Van Twiller: I remembered her. A heavy girl, rather languid and moderate in her style, I used to think, and not likely to beguile me from my intention of spending yet some years in my present free and unfet- tered bachelor condition, for at twenty-two one need not be in a hurry ‘‘to range one’s self.’”? But I dutifully promised my kin@ grandmother that, from deference to her wishes, I would renew the broken links of my acquaintance with the young lady, and make myself as agreeable as possible, though I could not just then promise to marry her out of hand. So, a few evenings later, when, after my usual chat with grandmother, I found that she began, like Bottom the weaver, to feel ‘*an exposition of sleep’’ upon her, and time hung heavily on my hands, I bethought me of my promise, and sought out the path that led to the Van Twiller domicil. Heinrich Van Twiller was a lineal descend- ant of the renowned governor of Niew Amster- dam, and, like him, greatly given to smoking and doubting. Iam not sure that the curious long-stemmed pipe which he smoked so in- cessantly, was not the veritable one that had been the Stadtholder’s, and through which the tranquil Wouter puffed away his cares and perplexities. I found him seated in his broad arm-chair on the porch overlooking the river, enveloped in a gray cloud, through which I discerned a hale, round visage, whence issued a hearty and friendly voice bidding me welcome home from the wars. Each subsequent visit having found him in the same place, wrapped in a similar nubilous exhalation, I have no means of proving that he is not a fixture on the spot, or that the heavy cloud resting upon the mountain opposite, is not in part, at least, a tribute of that indefatigable pipe. The evening was a warm one, and Miss Van Twiller came out and joined us on the porch. A very nice girl she was, with quiet and lady- like manners. Dark hair, arranged in high rouleaux with the inevitable haversack ap- pended, which the ladies call, I believe, a waterfall; brown eyes; a clear, pale com plexion, and a very pleasant smile, combined to make a pretty and attractive tout ensemble. Her temperament might be classed with the lymphatic; certainly there was nothing of what romance writers admiringly denominate ‘* ethereal,’’ and ‘‘fairy-like,’? in her phy- sique, nothing piquant or sprightly in her conversation. She was just what every oye

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128 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. would pronounce a sensible, good girl, with ‘*no nonsense about her,’’ and pretty enough to satisfy any reasonable demands. No need of fatiguing one’s self to be brilliant and sparkling. It would have been a sheer waste of ammunition. I rather liked her quiet ways for the contrast they afforded to some volcanic and explosive ladies that I have met else- where. I found it a pleasant place to spend my idle evenings, for grandmother had an old-fash- ioned way of retiring early, and I sometimes really did not know how to dispose of my dulness better than to bestow it upon my neighbors. Meinherr with his long pipe, and I with my mild Havana, usually succeeded in making ‘‘a smudge,’’ sufficient to repel the advances of any adventurous mosquito that might be ‘‘ prospecting for a place.” Occasionally we paused to canvass the poli- tical prospects. I, thinking that we should come out of our troubles all right, and he, du- bitating. The onus of the conversation, how- ever, rested with me, his share being chiefly sustained by the judicious interjection of the monosyllable, ‘‘I doubt.’’ So Miss Twiller and i talked, with no appre- hension of disturbing the paternal reveries, while the old man puffed and cogitated, or watched the white sails flitting through the darkness, and the torch-like lights of the steamers as they ploughed their foamy track through the resisting waves. Sometimes the nights were cool, and sug- gested the superior comfort of the parlor, and then I used to listen to the magnificent Stein- way which she played so masterly. Contrary to all that might have been anticipated from her fair proportions, she had no vocal power, and the sounds that issued from her ample chest were so faint and muffled, that I was fain to admit that she had good reason for so long refusing to accede to my request that she would sing. As I passed through the porch to take leave, there still would be sitting the motionless old man, unwearily smoking, and apparently as indifferent to all changes as the silent Indian Yogi, or St. Simeon Stylites on his lonely and lofty mountain pillar. I used to wonder where his thoughts were straying, what memories, tender, sad, or joyous, occupied his mind; what visions of wife and children lost, and dead 80 long ago; what regrets for the past, what as- pirations for the future. But perhaps he was only dreaming of stock dividends, doubting whether Bulls or Bears prevailed in Wall Street, and wondering what might be the price of gold. Quien Sabe ? Grandmamma, I think, believed that her suggestion had taken effect, and that I was progressing famously at the Van Twiller man- sion. Already in imagination, perhaps, she saw the silver glowing with resplendent lus- tre, the Sevres porcelain and cut glass, as shining and pellucid, and the napery of the house at Heartsease as immaculate as that of our neighbors, a beatitude only to be attained under the domestic administration of a house- keeper as capable as the one who ruled in that favored ménage. Time went on, and my days were spent in superintending improvements on my estate, and in occasional hunting, fishing, and sail- ing along the shore. The early evenings I scrupulously devoted to my grandmother, be- tween whom and myself existed the tenderest affection. For while Fanny and I were still young, the death of our parents had left us to her sole care, and we owed not less to her judicious management of our affairs, than to her gentle and loving nurture. When it grew late, and she became too weary to talk or listen, I went to my library, for I had much to do to make up for the break of four years in my course of reading and study; or I strolled away to the soporific atmosphere of the Van Twiller porch, to help augment the cloud of smoke that might be seen rising like an odor- ous vapor from that locality. The vegetable life of this ‘‘Sleepy Hollow’’ was greatly in contrast with the scenes in which I had recently participated, the march, the bivouac, and the battle-field. Abrupt transitions do not agree with me. I like to be let down easy. As I got rested I grew restless. I became very impatient for the arrival of my sister Fanny, who had intended to come to us’ immediately on my return, but thus far had been detained by the illness of her housp- keeper, making it inconvenient for her to leave home. Grandmother, ever watchful of my health and happiness, feared that I was net well, but I was only in want of the cheerful companionship to which my soldier-life had made me accustomed. She proposed various **Springs,’’ and ‘‘ Falls,’? to which I might go for a few weeks, but it seemed very like folly to leave a home where I had every com- fort, and “‘ample scope and verge enough”

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THE CHEERY VOICE. -— 129 to move about at my pleasure, to immure myself in such quarters as a bachelor usually gets at watering places. Why had I not thought of it before? ‘*Grandmamma,’’ I said, ‘‘ this is what I’ll do. I’ll have up some of the fellows. How stupid not to have remembered my dear old comrades. There are Wardlaw and Demilt cooped up in a fourth story room at the Astor House. How they would enjoy a few days of Arcadian life in the country! I will write to them by the evening’s mail.’’ And so I did, and without loss of time my true friends and brothers in arms accepted the cordial summons. I drove my dashing bays down to the station, and received their hearty benison as they emerged, dusty and warm, from the crowded car. With what delight we inhaled the sparkling and invigorating air, as we bowled away over the smoothest and shadiest of roads, and how I enjoyed the en- thusiasm with which they revelled in the beautiful scenery of the fairest nook of ‘‘God’s own country.”’ You may be sure that they found cordial and courteous welcome in the house. I was proud of the stately and noble hospitality with which my grandmother received these, my deargand gallant comrades. All the re- sources of the mansion and domain were joyfully and freely offered for their service. Happy days were those in which no moment was lost that was not given to enjoyment. The mornings were usually spent on horseback, dashing and galloping through highways and byways; finding, in our explorations, shady lanes and fairy dells, of such marvellous beauty as I had not dreamed of, though from boyhood I had lived in their vicinity. My yacht had been put in prime sailing order, and we made many excursions up and down the river, landing at such accessible places as wooed us by their beauty, or charmed us by their wildness. When we went out for a day’s sail we had a repast served on board, and, returning by the light of the waning moon, would find, by my grandmother’s considerate orders, a bountiful supper spread for our re- fection. iow glorious the starry nights, when with our fragrant cigars we stretched ourselves in attitudes more picturesque than dignified, on the soft verdure of the lawn, where every tree painted its own dark shadows. The cloud- muffled mountains and the snowy sails glid- ing so phantom-like along the silent river in the argent moonlight, made a picture beauti- ful as an artist’s purest ideal. What odorous clouds of incense arose—what libations we poured! With the white statues of demi-gods and heroes looking down from their pedestals upon us, we might have been taken for some midnight devotees performing sacred and my» terious rites to Pan, the Oracles, and Fluvi- ales, divinities of mountain and stream. What talks we had of dangers and triumphs in which we had shared; of scenes and incidents tragic and bizarre, such as mingle in the woof of every soldier’s life! What cheerful and hope- ful schemes we planned for the future that looked so bright before us! ‘An enviable fellow you are, Phil,’’ said Col. Wardlaw, one evening as we were lying at®our length upon the grass. ‘Your life must be one long dream of happiness.’’ “‘T believe I am, Max,’’ I answered. ‘I do not know that I have much to wish for.’’ ‘‘Much! You have nothing,’ said Vane Demilt. ‘‘Surely, all the constellations smiled on your natal hour. Look at yonder moun- tain and river view. Perfection itself! A fine estate and mansion, endeared by every asso- ciation. A yacht in the river, and thorough- breds in the stables. In short, there seems to be nothing really worth having that may not be found on the premises somewhere.’’ ‘¢But I am afraid you find it rather dull in the house. It was so different when sister Fanny was at home. Then everything was as lively as possible, plenty of company, and something gay always on the carpet.”’ ‘*I can imagine how charming that must have been,’’ said Wardlaw. ‘‘ But I can never sufficiently admire the stately grace with which your grandmother presides over your household, like a good princess among her loving and dutiful subjects. Her own white hair becomes so well a face almost youthful in its fairness, that I fear I shall never again be able to tolerate a dyed and bewigged old lady.’’ ‘¢And have you no young ladies in the neighborhood ?’’ inquired Demilt, ‘‘ who can console you for the loss of your sister?”” + ‘*T have no doubt there are plenty of them. Four years ago there were many pretty girls who by this time must have blossomed into young ladyhood; but I have lost track of them, and have been a little shy of pushing the old acquaintance under the changed as

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130 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE: Our neighbors on the right, pect of affairs. the Ferneaux, have two daughters who are absent now; but on the other side is a very agreeable young lady to whom I shall have great pleasure in presenting you.”’ So, throwing away the remaining fragments of our Cabajias, we voted ‘‘to go in a body”’ to visit Miss Van Twiller. We found Gretta looking uncommonly well, and spent a very pleasant evening. I had never seen her so lively and sociable. Demilt seemed quite épris, and it occurred to me that my grand- mamma’s plans for me in that quarter were in some danger of being threatened, especially as the gallant captain subsequently found at- tractions there so powerful, that, whenever he was missing, we knew where to find him. But there must be an end of all things under the sun, however we may deprecate and Ge- plore it. Imperative duties peremptorily de- manded the return of my friends to New York, and they bade us adieu with the promise of returning to complete their visit as soon as possible. {wo better fellows, two more genial and agreeable confréres than Col. Maxwell Ward- law and Captain Vane Demilt could not be wished for. With them I had not only com- pany, but companionship, which is quite a dif- ferent thing. In losing them I felt a fearful ** goneness,’’ that all the charms of nature and art, horses in the stables, and boats on the river, with the loveliest weather that ever was created, could not fill, and was sadly threatened with ennui, when, most oppor- tunely, I received a telegram from Albany, saying that Charley and Fanny Cranstoun were on the way to Heartsease, and desiring me to meet them at the landing. Il. Fanyy came, and looking so handsome and happy that I half forgave the broad-shoul- dered freebooter who had robbed me of what I most prized in life, and with her came a new atcess of life to Heartsease. I think I learned new ideas of the worth and nobleness of woman when in the army. I remember gentle hands that ministered to me when faint from wounds; kind eyes that looked pityingly into mine, as, weak and help- less, I was lying in the hospital. Hands, whose tender touch came from innate refinement and a compassionate heart; eyes that beamed with feeling and goodness; feet that had hitherto known only the higher walks of life, but came at the call of purest philanthropy and pat- riotism, to proffer aid to the sick, comfort and hope to the dying soldier, and for this, thrice and forever blessed be the name of woman. Henceforth all was life and gayety at Hearts- ease. Flying about among her friends, it was not long before everybody knew that Fanny Cranstoun had come home, and there was no lack of visitors in the house. She impressed me into the service, and the redundant vigor that had been so oppressive, found ample and abundant uses. Driving across the country all the morning, guests to dinner, archery, croquet, dancing by moonlight on the lawn, picnics in the woods, and sails upon the water, surely my sister Fanny was possessed of infi- nite genius and versatility. Cranstoun proved to be an excellent fellow, and knew how to enter into and co-operate in all her plans, in the most admirable and enviable manner. My acquaintance with the young ladies was ini- tiated at once, and very pretty and agreeable were these friends of my sister. Margaretta Van Twiller, who had been very shy of com- ing to the house, was now there alfhost con- stantly, and though there were some perhaps more beautiful and spirituelle, there were none that I really liked any better. It was the last of July, I think, and I had been to Poughkeepsie to fulfil an engagement with my sergeant, a good fellow, and a brave soldier, to attend his wedding, and as I could not well withdraw very early, it was nearly morning when I reached home. I came down as usual, however, and met my sister Fanny in the hall, looking very bright and pretty in her becoming morning dress. ‘*My dear sister,’’ I said, ‘‘you are looking charmingly this morning.’’ ‘Am I? I am happy to hear you say so.’’ “Why ?’’ I asked, rather taken aback by her receiving my compliment so coolly, for the ladies, you know, will always disclaim flattery, however well they may like it. ** Because,’’ said sister Fan, ‘Sit shows a mind satisfied with itself, and in charity with al! the world, and I want you to be especially agreeable to-day. Yesterday I heard that my dearest friend and bridemaid, Grace Quim- perle, had returned home. I rode down to Rheinberg, and brought her off, vi et arms,

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THE CHEERY VOICE. 131 and I intend to keep her as long as we can make it pleasant for her. So, Captain Phil, I want to bespeak your hearty co-operation.”’ ‘* Anything to please you, sister mine! Do you think this toggery will do? Please take a critical survey.’’ ** Vain fellow! fishing for a compliment! But I know and forgive the amiable weakness of your sex. I think it will do for morning, and to-day I will try to collect some beaux, so that your duties will be less onerous.’’ ‘‘Malicious girlf Take that!’’ I said, and delivering a kiss that exploded like a bomb- shell, I passed out into the grounds, for I have observed that a view of the mountain and river inspires a peculiar equanimity and tranquillity of spirit, and a genial and kindly feeling towards all the world that makes me a happier if not a better man. The changeful lights and shades upon the hillsides, varying from green and sapphire to brown and almost black ; the white pillared portico of the Moun- tain House perched like the condor’s eyrie amid the clouds; the pretty villages with in- numerable heavenward-pointing spires; and Father Hudson flowing serenely and grandly on his seaward way. Could one care for a more enchanting prospect. But gallantry suggested the propriety and fitness of presenting to my sister the morning tribute of a fresh bouquet, and I turned away and passed into the conservatory to select some rare and newly-blossomed flowers to grace my gift. Perhaps I should have re- membered my sister’s guest as well, but I had seen 80 many young ladies of late that I felt little interest in the new arrival, and had quite forgotten her. I had succeeded in ar- ranging a bouquet as nearly perfect as I was capable of composing, and was returning across the garden to the house, when glancing up at a window of what we call par excellence our best guest chamber, I saw the fairest vision that ever blessed my eyes. A young girl had parted the light window drapery, and stood looking out with a pleased and admiring expression upon the landscape before her. I saw only a fair face framed in gold, with eyes of heaven’s own azure, lighted with a happy smile. But its beauty was so rare and ra- diant that involuntarily I stopped to gaze. Happily I became conscious of my rudeness before the lady observed me, and, without lingering for another look, I hastened to the house. I found my grandmother, with Charlie and Fanny Cranstoun waiting in the break- fast room, and, after receiving a sisterly kiss in exchange for my bouquet, I walked to the window, while they delayed a moment till our guest should come in. ‘*Good-morning.”’ The very voice that I had heard four weeks ago in Rheinberg, that had afforded me the theme for so long a reverie. My sister pre- sented me to Miss Grace Quimperle, and I heard my name pronounced in its most dulcet and charming accents. I am the only son of an only son, but if I had been the seventh son of a seventh son, for an indefinite number of generations, I could not have predicated more truly than I did on that memorable morning when I mentally affirmed that only sweetest lips had given utterance to the words I heard. I racked my memory for fervid Oriental similes, Shakspearian and Mooreish rhapsodies, but could find none adequate to the occasion. ‘Cleft pomegranate,’’ ‘* open- ing rosebud,’’ ‘‘ vermeil dyed,’’ and ‘‘ Cupid’s bow,’’ were in turn rejected, and I contented myself with the pithy and original sentiment : ‘Well, she’s a darling, anyhow.’’ [I re- peated it with emphasis when, in smiling, the delicately-carved coral parted, revealing two rows of shining pearls, and her face beamed with intelligence and goodness. Golden fair hair, no rats, no mice, nor any of those horsehair arrangements that the ladies so affect, but rippling away from her forehead in natural waves, and where it escaped a ban deau of blue, falling in an exuberant profu- sion of light curls—a golden fleece worthy of a new Argonautic expedition, of which Phil Schuyler would volunteer to be the Jason. A figure slender and of medium height, attired in some dry-goods of which my limited educa- tion in those materials does not afford me the name, but such as the fairies might wear, so white and diaphanous, with blue at the slender waist and throat, and I decided that now and for evermore this should be the style of beauty for me. All her ways were sweet and dainty, like herself, and even in taking her breakfast I thought she had a peculiar grace and did everything a little better than any one else. Like Chaucer’s Prioresse, Ma dame Eglentine at the Tabard Inn. “ At mete was she wele ytanght withalle. She lette no morsel from her lippes falle In curtesie was sette feel moche hire leste.’’ It is no small art, let me tell you, for a lady

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182 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. to feed herself prettily, and some who are accomplished in many things, fail in this. Our plans for the day were speedily ar- ranged. First on the programme, I was to order up Selim, our pet riding horse, trained for a lady’s use, and gentle and spirited as the desert race from which he sprung. With my own steed, Ilderim, I was to accompany Miss Quimperle, and show her all the winding woodland paths along the banks of our famous and immortal stream. If she looked pretty in the morning, she was twice as piquant in her trim riding habit and jaunty hat and plume, and I never per- formed a duty with more alacrity than when I received her diminutive gaiter in my hand, and lent her my aid in springing to her saddle. How merrily we rode away over lawn and glade, through the shadowy forest paths and thickets of bosky verdure, along the river bank. It was high noon when we returned, and I would willingly have absolved my sister from her promise of procuring cava- liers for Miss Quimperle, and taken the whole responsibility upon myself, but it was too late. Mrs. Fanny Cranstoun is an energetic lady, and not likely to leave undone anything that she has decided to do. So at dinner we were favored with the company of several young ladies and as many young gentlemen, who seemed to admire Miss Quimperle not less than myself. Margaretta Van Twiller was with us, of course, and for the first time I questioned myself, and scanned critically all that I had ever said to her, to see if I had given her any reason to suppose that my re- gard for her had been more than a friendly and neighborly one, and I was unaccountably pleased when I could remember no such word or expression. My opportunities for cultivat- ing Miss Quimperle, however, were very ma- terially curtailed by the circumstance of my being host, which made it imperative that I should be diffusive rather than pointed in my attentions to my guests. We had a dance on the lawn in the whitest anoonlight that I remember ever to have seen, and my sister gave our friends a pleasant surprise by inviting them into a marquée, where was spread a table laden with a variety of delicious fruits and confectionery, with abundance of cooling and refreshing bever- ages, after which our guests made their congé, the carriages rolled away, and so closed the first of a series of days replete with every pleasure, that left not one regret. I was sure of it. All day long the thermometer had stood at 90° in the shade, but towards evening a grateful breeze sprung up that invited us all to the cool shelter of the veranda. We watched the sun that had kinged it right royally the whole long day, descending to the west, flaunting triumphal gonfalons of scarlet, and purple, and gold. The dazzling pageant passed away; the sky grew gray and grayer. One of those sudden summer showers that pour straight down flooded the thirsty earth that joyfully received it, and prudence sug- gested a retreat. But Mrs. Fanny Cranstoun was not unprovided with resources for any emergency, however unexpected, and as we entered the parlor she unfolded a long paper, and requested our respectful attention to the following , PROGRAMME. Somer Hevsrcare. SALON AT HBEARTSEASE, Thursday Evening, August 3, 1865. GRAND OVERTURE— Piano, Miss MARGARETTA VAN TWILLER. Duret—Flute and Violin, Messrs. CRANSTOUN and SCHUYLER. GEMS FROM THE OPERAS—Piano Accompaniment, Miss Grace QuIMPERLE, ARIA, WITH VARIATIONS— Guitar, Mrs. Fanny CRANSTOUN, GRAND FINALE. VOCAL AND INSTRUMENTAL. Piano, Flute. Violin, and Guitar. By the entire strength of the Company. F. CRANSTOUN, Manager. Artists permitted to make their own selections, No one to decline encores. Impromptu as the affair was, we all entered into the spirit of it at once. I conducted Margaretta to the piano with great flourish and ceremony, and she opened with a mag- nificent overture in her most brilliant style. We cheered her with the greatest enthusiasm, and she dashed off into a sparkling fantasia that was applauded to the echo, and when she rose to retire it was amid a shower of bouquets improvised for the occasion from the flowers in the parlor vases and jardiniere. On the performance of Messrs. Cranstoun

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THE CHEERY VOICE, a. 133 and Schuyler, modesty would suggest a bash- ful reticence. We played a bizarre mediey of everything that we could think of, of which it will suffice to say that it was very favorably and flatteringly received. And now I was going to hear the singing of Grace Quimperle! How often I had wished for it as I listened to her charming voice, her clear enunciation, and her pretty way of say- ing pretty words. Yes, I was sure of it. How could it be otherwise than that she should sing divinely? She began a prelude, and as her deft fingers strayed over the transparent keys, they seemed to spill the music over them, as if at every touch they dropped a shower of pearls, and I should not have been in the least surprised to see them rolling about the carpet like hail- stones after a storm; indeed I rather looked for them—and then she began to sing. And then—ah me! language fails me new. I went off into a state of blissful, enchanted syncope, in which I was insensible to every- thing but the witchery of the songstress, and out of which I only returned at every pause to ery ancora. I was in the seventh heaven— the eighth, if there are so many—and deter- mined not to come down till I was obliged to. Every one was enraptured, and, the flowers having given out, a tribute of all the available bijouterie of the audience, from diamond bracelets to watchguards and sleeve buttons, was laid at her triumphant feet, regardless of expense. Mrs. Cranstoun tuned her guitar, fingered a light prelude, screwed the D string a semi- tone or so, and—snapped it. I think she did it on purpose, believing that, in the present state of ecstatic excitement, her performance would not be appreciated. She begged to be excused, and—we excused her. But we could not omit the Grand Finale, in which we all joined with hand and voice, with the spirit and the understanding. It wanted nothing but—an audience. We made our exits amid the rapturous bravas of—the per- formers, and with the happy conviction that our Soirée Musicale had been the greatest success of the season. 7 I was getting fearfully in love with Grace Quimperle, and every day growing worse. How could it be otherwise when so much in her sweet society, beguiled by her charming voice, and dazzled by her winning smile. I could have thrown myself at her feet a dozen times a day, but I could get no opportunity. She seemed studiously to avoid seeing me a moment alone. Iam sure I didn’t know why. She was bright and merry enough with Fan and Charlie Cranstoun, whom of all the gem tlemen she seemed to prefer as her cavalier, and I will do her the justice to say that sh} showed no disposition to flirt with any of the numerous beaux who fluttered like so many moths in the light of her beauty, singeing their wings in the most reckless manner in the flame, and still returning, nothing daunted by the disaster. But I determined to ‘‘have speech of her,’’ and address some personal remarks to her private ear, at all hazards Wardlaw and Demilt were coming, and I knew that Wardlaw would fall in love with her at once, and, if she were heart-free, she could not fail to be delighted with him, for he was a ‘personable man,’’ and well fitted to win a lady’s eye. We were to have a moonlight sail, and then I thought surely I should find the auspicious moment. If there is a spark of sentiment in the soul of man or woman, it will come to the surface under the witching influence of the stars. I would sit beside her, and tell her of my love, and then, if ever, she would smile upon my suit, and make me happy. But I was reckoning without my host. In spite of all my finesse, the society that I so much coveted was monopolized by young Arthur Ferneaux, a newly-returned graduate of Cam- bridge, who wore his ‘‘ blushing honors’’ any way but ‘‘meekly.’’ So I devoted myself to Miss Van Twiller, but I was disappointed, and, I fear, moody and rude. Grace near me listened indifferently to the flowery compli- ments, and poetical quotations of the senti- mental cantab, and seemed silent and distraite. I fancied that the stars were whispering to her soul some thoughts and feelings that she did not care to share with her companion. Thinking of her, I too grew silent, 4nd Gretta resented it as a personal slight. ‘*If you prefer sitting by Miss Quimperle,’’ she said, ‘‘do not let me detain you, Captain Schuyler. I think you can find room. I see that a return to civil life with you has no reference to common civility !”’ Gretta sarcastic! I had not thought her capable of it! ‘I was only thinking,’ I said, not noticing her palpable hit, ‘‘that she seemed very quiet and abstracted to-night.”’ ‘*Perhaps she is thinking of her fiancé,

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134 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Lieutenant Bopton, to whom they say she is soon to be married.’’ Did Gretta, with her calm, emotionless face, know what a poisoned arrow she had lodged within my heart? Grace Quimperle engaged to Tom Bopton! He had been in our regi- ment and unanimously ‘‘sent to Coventry’’ by the mess for conduct unworthy of a gen- tleman. The perversity of woman could go no farther. The delicate Titania might dote on the long ears of Bottom the weaver, and mischievous Puck still bathe with ‘‘ juice of love in idleness’’ the eyes of sleeping maidens, but I never would believe that Grace Quimperle could love Tom Bopton without the strongest evidence. - “Have you good authority for that report ?”’ I asked of Gretta. ‘*The best—his own,’’ she said. I could not believe it still. But the stars faded, the light and beauty had gone out of my life. Iwas glad when our boat touched the shore, and I could hide my heavy heart in the solitude of my own room. III. Warpiaw and Demilt arrived next day, and all the ladies pronounced them a delightful accession to our party. I was not mistaken in my*presentiment that Wardlaw would be charmed with Grace Quimperle. He was more than charmed, he was deeply interested. But I was mistaken in believing that she would fall in love with him, and her insensi- bility was confirmation strong of what Gretta had told me on the evening of our moonlight sail. ‘‘ Hyperion to a satyr,’? Max Wardlaw, with his manly grace and savoir faire, to be overlooked for a boor lixe Bopton! I felt that I had no reason to complain of her indif- ference to myself, after such a proof of bad taste. . Fanny had been meditating samething of extraordinary splendor to give eclat to our closing festivities, and had at last decided what it was to be—a fancy ball with tableaux, and invitations were to be extended to our friends and acquaintances, far and near. We hardly saw the ladies after this. Characters were to be selected, wardrobes and properties to be collected ; and a vigorous ransacking of old trunks and drawers, in search of veritable antiques, was instituted. I never found Fanny except she was surrounded by velvets, brocades, satins, laces, plumes, turbans, and tiaras; adapting costumes, mediwval, splen- did, quaint, and picturesque, for the grand occasion. There is little need toe inform any one who has managed a similar affair, of all the labor and solicitude attendant on its suo- cessful carrying through. But I had great faith in Fanny’s ability, and was sure she would succeed. It would be long to tell of all the curious personages that thronged our rooms that even- ing. All history, all romance, all nations, and all times had their representatives, and costumes of all sorts, from gorgeous imperial robes and crowns, and coats of mail of red- cross knights, to the scant gown and coif of the sister of charity, and the gray pilgrim from the Holy Sepulchre, and the shrine of Santiago de Compostella, with the blessed palm branch, ‘‘the scallop shell and sandal shoon.’’? Druses and Armenians with long, flowing robes; picturesque Greeks and Mag- yars; Hafiz the Persian, and Michael Nostra- damus flirting with a prim Quaker maiden and a fair Puritan; grim Miles Standish and pretty Priscilla Mullins; King Arthur and the sage Merlin. Saladin the brave follows the crescent that gleams in the crown of starry ‘‘Night ;’? the noble Tancred, forgetting the haunting mewory of the slain Clorinda, basks in the smiles of rosy ‘‘Morning.’’ Bayard, ‘‘sans peur et sans reproche,’- treads a gay measure with the haughty ‘‘Maiden Queen,”’ and earls, knights, and barons pass undis- tinguished through the motley crowd. The tableaux were faultless in costume, and mise en scene; but none pleased me so well as the last one, which was pronounced by all who saw it so perfect in all its details and accessories of attitude, color, and grouping, that the most practised eye could scarcely re- sist the illusion that it was a vivid and mag- nificent painting. The scene was in the Holy Land, and in the pavilion of the bold Coeur de Lion. Weapons and armor were scattered about the apart ment, or disposed on the pillars that sup- ported it. The moment was that when; wrought to enthusiasm by the ‘‘ Lay of the Bloody Vest,” the Queen bestows a rich bracelet in token of the royal admiration upon the gifted minstrel, Blondel de Nesle. Richard of England (Col. Wardlaw), seated

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THE CHEERY VOICE, 135 on a dais, with the golden circlet of kingly authority resting on his leonine head, is hab- ited in a tunic of sky-colored velvet, covered with plates of silver, and hose of crimson, slashed with cloth of gold. Depending from his shoulders is a mantle of white velvet, clasped with a blazing diamond star. Fair Berengaria (Grace Quimperle), with ‘‘ tresses of dishevelled gold,’’ and vest of white silk arabesqued with gold, long flowing cymar of Oriental tissue, inwoven with threads of silver, and profusely sown with diamonds, sits beside him. Near her stands the noble maiden, Edith Plantagenet (Fanny), in a rich dress of pale pink Persian silk, around her throat a triple row of pearls, and over her dark hair a veil of lace that falls upon her snowy neck and arms and shades her beauty, as a cloud floats round the moon, heightening what it does not hide. The honored son of ‘‘La Gaya Ciencia’’ (Vane Demilt) wears the guise in which he has just returned from Cyprus. About his neck hangs, in a scarf of sky-blue silk, ‘‘ the wrest,’’ or key of solid gold with which he tuned the harp that stands beside him. His ** bonnet with its buckle, set with one spark- ling gem,’’ is in his hand, and on one knee he bends to receive the royal guerdon from the fair hands of the Queen. The Nubian, the disguised ‘‘ Knight of the Leopard,’’ was the most difficult to achieve, but with the aid of some appliances known to the ‘‘sable opera,’’ young Arthur Ferneaux personated the character admirably. The ‘*milk-white turban and snowy mantle,’’ the ‘doublet of Leopard skin, and the collar and bracelet of silver,’’ ‘‘sandals and the straight broadsword and javelin’’ made his cestume complete. Stout De Vaux, and as many nobles and ladies of the court as could find room upon the stage, filled up the back- ground of the living picture. The throng of spectators in their rich and varied attire, and faces all intent, in the dim shadow of the footlight, seemed like the creations of some hasheesh-inspired dream, and added not a little to the strangeness of the scene. Tumultuous applause arose as the curtain fell, and so ended the summer festivities of Heartsease. Ended—though we had not intended it so; for before we were quite rested from fatigue and pleasurable excitement, our dramatis per- sone began to disappear. Her mother sent VOL. LXx111.—10 for Grace Quimperle, and so we lost our beau- tiful Princess of the Golden Locks. Wardlaw and Demilt went nex:, and last, and saddest of all, Cranstoun’s affairs required kis return, and Fanny went with him. They were all gone, and the house left to grandmother and I. How silent and deserted it seemed, no more mirth, music, and song. The birds practised only the ‘‘ Dead March.’’ The sun burned blue, the atmosphere wore the same lugubrious hue, the blue of the sea and not of the summer cloud, but nothing could be so darkly, deeply, beautifully blue, as Philip Schuyler himself. Grace Quimperle had departed, and I had no explanation with her, nor disputed one ‘inch of ground with that detestable Tom Bop- ton. What if that story were not true after all? But that was past hoping for. ‘‘ Disasters come not singly.’’ Hetty, house- keeper, had given up at last, a hopeless mar- tyr to the rheumatism, and as she was likely to be a sufferer from it for some time, I appro- priated to her use two unoccupied rooms at the porter’s lodge, secured a little maid to wait upon her, and made ample provision for her during life. My grandmother’s health began to give me much uneasiness. She was no longer able to make her daily round of inspection and ad- monition, and confined herself entirely to her own room. The servants, left to their own sweet wills—followed them, and household affairs were getting into a very chaotic state. It was plain that I must look at once fora housekeeper. Wearied and worried one day by an unu- sual and unbearable noise in the subterranean regions, my grandmother desired me to de- scend and quell the riot. Distrustful of my own administrative ability in the domestic way, I dreaded much to do so, but the noise increasing, it became imperative. With a dignity becoming the master of the house, however inexperienced, and with the resolu- tion to be mild but very firm, I proceeded to my duty. The maids had been having a frolie with the men-servants, and I found them gathered in the hall, from which they had just succeeded in ejecting the stronger sex, by copious sprinklings of cold water. Gravely and sternly I said, ‘‘I must have quiet in the house. Let this noise cease; it is not—it is not—in short, it is not—to edifi- cation !’’ Where did I get that word, I won-

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136 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. der? It was evidently ill-chosen, for the maids tittered audibly, though vainly endea- voring to appear impressed with my reproof. Iam not used to being laughed at by girls, and I added, severely :— ** Let this be remembered, for any disobedi- ence to orders will render the offender liable to—liable to—to court-martial !’’ Well! I had said it now; my audience giggled outright. Evidently scolding is not my forte. I ascended to the quarters where I was more at home, resolved to have no more to do with tittering and giggling girls. I would rather manage a hundred men. Grandmother had only her usual resource to offer—Gretta. But I knew very well it was too late for that, even if I had wished it, and however much my home might need a mis- tress, I vowed that it should have none but one that I truly loved. A letter came from Fanny, with a lively ac- count of her homeward journey, and inclosing in it a note for Grace Quimperle, which she desired me to deliver personally, as it was of the greatest consequence. Of course I could not refuse so small a favor to my absent sister. I made a careful toilet, and surveying my six feet of human nature in the mirror, | in- dulged in some invidious reflections not very complimentary to Tom Bopton. I was not very long in driving down to Rheinberg, where I delivered the important note in the most careful and conscientious manner. Grace Quimperle was very sweet and gracious, and seemed glad to see me. Her mother was with her, a charming lady of middle age, just such a one as I would like my wife to be when I get to be a stout, elderly gentleman. I wonder, sometimes, that the fellows are not deterred from marrying, when they see the mothers of their lady-loves, dow- dyish, snuffy, and disagreeable, and know that as they are, so will their daughters be. Grace’s mother apologized for being obliged to be absent for a short time, to attend a final meeting of the branch of the Sanitary Com- mission, of which she was a directress. Much as F admired her, the ‘‘ dissolving view,’’ as she went out, was the most charming one that I had seen, and I was never more impressed with the value of that noble institution—the Sanitary Commission—than at that moment. I had determined to rush madly on my fate! “*Grace,’’ said I, ‘‘are you going to marry Tom Bopton ?’’ Grace laughed merrily. ‘‘Have you heard that foolish story, too, Captain Schuyler? I learned when I came home that he had ‘been circulating such a report, and I forbade him to come again to the house.’’ ‘*Then why not take me? I love you to dis- traction, and have since the first day I saw you.”’ ‘* And are you not going to marry Miss Van Twiller, Mr. Schuyler ?’’ ‘*No. Where did you get that idea?”’ ‘*From your kind grandmother, who told me the first day of my visit, of all her plans and wishes for you.’’ Now, if anybody expects me to tell all that was said after that—I sha’n’t. I will mentien, however, that when good Mrs. Quimperle re- turned, I surprised her with a statement of all my present belongisgs and fature prospects, and abruptly asked her sanction to a littie ar- rangement that had just been made between her daughter and myself. I found out that Grace had not been im- pressed with the charms of Col. Wardlaw, be- cause—how delightful—she loved me, and that she had avoided me simply because she thought I was engaged to Miss Van Twiller. That important note of Fanny’s was the merest sham. There was nothing in the world in it. Fanny Cranstoun can see a long way without spectacles, and had divined my secret. She believed that in the existing state of af- fairs, if she could only bring Grace Quimperle and me together, something would happen— and it did! Prescient sister Fanny! The cheery voice is mine now—my own. It charms me more than ever. In the house, in the garden, wherever its beloved accents meet my ear. My household moves to harmonious music. Grandma loves my darling almost as well as I, and proudly challenges comparison between the China, the silver, and the linen of Heartsease, and that of our neighbor, Mrs. Vane Demilt. I have not forsworn my colors. I adore the red, white, and biue in the fair face of my wife. I am supremely happy, and forever- more will bless the auspicious moment when first I heard the cheery voice utter the words, ‘*Good-morning.”’ Trve moral courage is the diamond pin which may unite poetry and mildness with a world-braving stoicism.

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CONQUEST OF DIFFICULTIES. 187 CONQUEST OF DIFFICULTIES. BY REV. F. 8. CASSADY,. Between any desirable object and its indi- vidual possession there are always difficulties ; and these are necessarily proportioned to the greatness or value of the object desired. Things of but little moment are easily se- cured; but those of importance require the conquest of difficulties. To reach the summit of the Alps with his veteran army was to crown NApoLeon’s campaign against his ene- mies with complete success; but to do this was to conquer herculean difficulties—difii- culties such as the sublime genius of a Napo- leon only could grasp as within the range of the possible. The man of destiny rejected the impossibility of the thing, and the reader knows the result. Demostuenes had almost insuperable defects in speech, and yet his longing spirit was impatient to conquer his way to pre-eminence in oratory, which he did, proving thereby the old adage that ‘‘ per- severance conquers all things.’? Apam CLARK wore the Dunce’s cap at school over his blun- ders in Latin until his ambition was stung to the quick, and raised to the sublime resolve that conquer he would; and his Commentaries on the Scriptures with other works of acknow- ledged erudition remain as the monuments of his thorough success. His case is but one of housands, showing, as Longfellow has so well said, that “The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight ; 7 But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night.”’ Energy and will always conquer success. Within the range of the possible the resolute, determined spirit cannot fail. What has ever been done by man—and what has he not done?—can be done again! Perseverance and energy have won their triumphs on every field of conflict—have won empire, learning, fame, power, wealth, everything—and can these qualities fail in men now when they are properly combined and put forth? Impossi- ble. The road is open to the gains of wealth, the treasures of learning, the laurels of fame, or the exalted pleasures of piety as ‘ever. There are obstacles in the way, perhaps ‘‘a lion’’ to the apprehension of the timid, nerve- less spirit; but these may be conquered as. they have always been, by energy of will. Nothing can damp the ardor or prevent the triumph of the resolute, stout-hearted spirit. Conquer it must. = Resolve Shines ever on the front of victory— Resolve, that through the darkness Goes right on, true to its purpose. Pointing still forward to the flowery tops Of Fame’s great moveless mountains.’’ It is the plan of the Creator for man by his own action to make himself in his character and enjoyments. He has placed him in a world full of difficulties and obstacles in order that these may call out his noblest faculties and energies; and thus ennoble his life and make his fortune. Opposition makes the man who has the right element in him all the stronger and nobler. Many a name had never been illustrious in the world’s eye or memory, but for the difficulties its possessor had to subdue ia order to be great or good, as the case may be. Imagine man in the world with no opposi- tions to overcome, no obstinate, adverse ele- ments to master, what a passive, stagnant, inglorious life would be his! With powers of mind and body so fitted for the conquest of diffi- culties, his very being would drivel and become a thing of wretchedness and self-disgust. The all-wise Creator has given every man the weapons with which to conquer from arbi- trary, opposing circumstance, his own com- fort and happiness. To enjoy life and be happy is the aim of ali human existence; and this presupposes the ability of man, with Heaven’s blessing, to remove the difficulties in the way. Were this not the case, he had been altogether otherwise endowed. Evenin the night of disappointment and trial, the earnest, self-assured soul may raise its sub- lime philosophy in the beautiful words of the blind Mittoy :— “Yet I argue not Against heaven’s hand or will, nor bate a jot Of heart or hope; but still bear up and steer Right onward.” Life is a battlefield, reader, and if we would be either great or good, we must battle with its difficulties and evils, and battle with them till we conquer them. The elements of con- quest are born with us; and if we but rightly use them, the victory must be ours. The palm is only for the ‘‘hero in the strife ;’’ but no one who reads these pages, let it be remembered, need go uncrowned.

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BY MBS. CHAPTER I. ‘‘Coms, Frank, do put up that everlasting reading, and listen tome. I want to havea talk with you.”’ The tones were loud and harsh, and the speaker, a coarse-looking woman, with that disagreeable, bristling air that always cha- racterizes a certain class of people. usually designated —in neighborhood parlance—as ‘* great managers,’’ ‘* wonderful contrivers,’’ and the like, walked briskly across the room, and seating herself in a chair directly oppo- site her daughter, looked her full in the face, with an air of resolution and importance that surely |/betokened some important communi- cation. The girl addressed, a delicate, fair-haired creature of some sixteen summers, closed the book as requested, taking care, however, to ‘keep the place’’ with her finger, while a look of unmistakable annoyance crept over her fair face, as she said, petulantly :— ‘* Well, what is it, now?’’ adding in a dis- tinctly audible undertone, ‘‘I wish I could ever have a moment to myself.”’ **Seems to me,’’ retorted the mother, as she glanced significantly at the disordered chamber and slovenly morning wrapper of her daughter, ‘‘seems to me that you’ve taken time this morning, whether you was allowed it or not. But I didn’t come up here to scold you, bad as you need it. I want to know,’’ and she settled herself more firmly in her chair, and bent her gaze more keenly upon the vexed face before her, ‘‘ wher you mean to be married ?”’ The flush of wounded delicacy crimsoned, in an instant, that fair, girlish face, from brow to chin; an angry light flashed from the blue eyes, and the full lip quivered, as she ex- claimed, indignantly :— ‘*What do you mean, mother? It seems to me you’re in a great hurry to get rid of me, when you know as well as I do that Er- nest only graduates this fall, and can’t, of course, think of getting: married until he has made some arrangements for the future. Be- sides,’’ she added, with unusual thoughtfal- ness, ‘‘what kind of a wife would I make, only sixteen, and a school-girl, at that ?’’ 138 ADAPTATION. H. @. BOWE. ‘*A school-girl!’’ repeated Mrs. Wheeler, contemptuously. ‘‘How many times do you need to be told that we can’t afford you an- other term? It’s a sheer waste of time to send girls of your age to school. Girls look their best between sixteen and twenty-one, and it’s the best time in their lives to secure a comfortable situation for life.’’ Born of, and nurtured by, such a mother, it could not be expected that Frances Wheeler would be a particularly refined and delicate girl; but there is a natural grace and deli- cacy in the rose, even if it blooms in a corner of the barnyard, and some delicate, womanly intuition in the young girl’s heart, brought the blush of shame to her cheek, and a scorn- ful curve to her lip, but unheeding, the mo- ther. went on :— ‘*It’s all nonsense—this talk of ‘settled plans,’ and all that! He’s an only son, and his family is one of the richest and most aris- tocratic in B———-._He’ll always make it his home with his parents, of course, and he might just as well be married now, as five or six years hence. It’s a rule of mine to strike while the iron’s hot; and I tell you, now,’’ and she lowered her voice, mysteriously, ‘‘if you are ever married to him, it must be before he leaves this place.’’ ‘* Why, what do you mean?’’ demanded the startled girl. . ‘*Just this,’’ and Mrs. Wheeler laid her hand impressively upon that of her child, ‘*that Ernest Cleveland’s folks never will consent to this marriage, uniess,’’ and she spoke with emphasis, ‘‘they think that he has gone too far to back out with honor.’’ ** But,’’ eagerly interposed the now tearful listener, ‘‘what can they have against me? Ernest has said many a time that they made no account of wealth and family, and he told you, only yesterday, that he knew his mother and sisters would love me.’’ Mrs. Wheeler smiled, significantly. ‘I’ve heard of such a thing as the wish being father to the thought,’’ she said, coolly. ‘‘No. If you want Ernest Cleveland, you must make sure of him now, or never.”’ ** But why?’ persisted the daughter. ‘* Well, for several reasons,’’ was the coolly

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ADAPTATION, deliberate reply. ‘‘In the first place, as I said before, his folks will oppose it, and it don’t take a great deal to make a young man of twenty change his mind. They’ll think he’s too young; don’t know his own mind; needs age and experience, and all that; and second, there ’s three girls here in the family, younger than you are, and, of course, you ’ve got to be married off before any of the others can be brought forward. There’s Angela, now, poor child! has to wear pantaletes and a gypsy hat, when she’s as tall as you are, just to keep her in the background for your sake. It’s dreadful! The poor girl came home cry- ing, yesterday, because some impudent young man, on the corner, called to another, when she went by, to see that liberty pole with a hat on it. J’ve tried hard enough to bring this about, mercy knows, and if you had a spark of filial or sisterly affection, you’d bring matters to a point at once;’’ and Mrs. Wheeler assumed an air of wounded feel- ing, passing her handkerchief ostentatiously across her tearless eyes, glancing furtively at her daughter to note the effect of her eloquent appeal. **But what can J do?’’ was the rather curt rejoinder. ‘‘I can’t ask him to name the day ;”’ and Miss Fanny, or Frank, as her mother and sisters usually called her, looked both morti- fied and perplexed. **No, I suppose that wouldn’t be just the thing,’’ returned Mrs. Wheeler, musingly. ‘* Now, if you only had a little of my tact, you might manage it. But you haven't, and there *tis. But I don’t know,’’ and here the cal- culating dame paused, apparently in deep meditation. * What, mother?’ There was a pause, and then the mother asked, abruptly :— ‘*Is he coming here this evening ?”’ ** Yes; he wants to read me that new poem that he is so pleased with.”’ ‘All right, then! You will be confined to your room with headache, and J will see the young gentleman myself, and if I don’t man- age to put a flea in his ear, my name isn’t Mehitable Wheeler.’’ “But, mother, you won’t urge him to—to marry me. I would rather—”’ **You attend to your business, and I will to mine;’’ and with this very characteristic re- mark Mrs. Wheeler bustled from the room, and in a moment more thegloud slamming of ea 189 the kitchen door betokened her presence in that part of the Wheeler domicil. Left to herself, the young girl again resumed her book, wherein a certain brave and chival- rous Adolphus Gustavus carries off his lady- love, in spite of parental opposition, to a beau- tiful cave in the mountains, where they live for many years, in peace and happiness, the king and queen of a band of robbers, and at last die peacefully in each others’ arms, lamented and mourned by all of the brave banditti around them. ‘*Oh, dear!’’ sighed the reader, as she fin- ished the captivating tale. ‘‘It seems to me that parents were never willing, in old times, to let their daughters get married, but now they ’re too willing,’’ and with this profound reflection upon the past and present, the book was flung aside, and the necessary, but appa- rently tedious work of putting to rights the untidy room was, at last, commenced. Perhaps, after this glimpse of the ‘‘inner’’ life of the Wheeler family, some of our readers may turn away in disgust from any farther introduction to them, concluding that they have ‘‘ heard enough ;”’ still we are sanguine enough to hope that there may be some who, while agreeing with the immortal Mrs. Bum- ble, that ‘‘we are all poor creeters,’’ will not shrink from the study of their kind simply because of the deformity and weakness that the student of human nature must meet with in his search for the jewel in the toad’s head. For there is not, thank God! a being so stolid, so weak, so vicious, who has not, somewhere in his nature, a spark of the Divine life; often, only waiting for proper influences and helps to fan it into a flame. But to proceed. The nominal head of the family—Mr. Timo- thy Wheeler, as the faded sign over the door of the grocery proclaims him to be, ‘‘ Slow Wheeler,’ as his business acquaintance jo- cosely designated him, and ‘‘Tim Wheeler, you aggravatin’ old fool,’? which was the usual salutation of his devoted spouse, was a little, easy, good-natured sort of a man, honest and upright, yet possessing little shrewdness or forethought ; modest and timid to a fault, yet possessed of naturally warm affections, that made him the most indulgent and easy- to-be-entreated of parents. Of the real head of the family our readers have already had a glimpse, so that she re- quires no farther introduction; while of the five olive branches that had sprung up around °

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140 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. their table, four were, to Mrs. Wheeler’s in- tense disgust, of the feminine persuasion. ‘*It’s so provoking !’’ she exclaimed, as the fourth was presented to her notice by the smiling nurse, with the stereotyped remark, ‘* A fine little daughter, ma’am.’’ ‘‘ Four girls! Fit for nothing under the sun but to grow up and get married. Good for nothing but to eat and drink, and wear out clothes. Oh, dear!’’ Somewhat different from the cordial welcome extended to Master Tom upon his first appear- ance. ‘‘A boy! Let mesee him this minute! Now 1’ve got something to look forward to;’’ and the happy mother indulged herself in visions of the ‘‘ good time coming,’’ when, having married off all of the girls, she should ride by her son’s side in a coach and four, su- perintend the elegant establishment that he would have of course, and, in short, rest from all her labors on a real velvet sofa, with an embroidered footstool under her feet. All this was very pleasant to contemplate, but there was real work to be done first, and Mrs. Wheeler was not at all dilatory in its performance. Frances, the eldest daughter, was continually admonished, even in child- hood, of the expediency of playing only with ‘those little girls who wore nice dresses and lived in grand houses ;’’ and the poor child never forgot the severe cl:astisement that she received when her mother made the terrible discovery that she had been sitting in the same seat with Lottie Brown, the shoemaker’s daughter, for more than a fortnight. As the little Miss grew older, she was instructed in various arts by which to attract the attention and make the acquaintance of the college students. ‘**There are plenty of rich young men among them,’’ Mrs. Wheeler would say, ‘‘ and with your pretty face it’s a pity if you can’t find a husband among them.’’ ; By her skilful generalship, Mrs. Wheeler managed to get her daughter introduced into society at a very early age, so that, while yet a school-girl, the young lady’s mind was so filled with parties, party dresses, and beaux, that her lessons were almost entirely neg- lected, or, at best, imperfectly understood. ‘‘As great a dunce as Fan Wheeler,’’ came to be a standard saying in the school, while in society, people petted and praised her, laughing behind her back at the utter igno- rance that she often displayed of the most common subjects. Thus, with plenty of flat- . terers but no friends, the poor girl was daily growing weaker and more vapid, when a new emotion that had, hitherto, slept undisturbed in the recesses of her pleasure-dulled heart, awoke to life, and aroused her to new thoughts and feelings, more ennobling because less selfish than those that she had, heretofore, indulged in. The first emotions had been those of grati- fied vanity as, ina gay assemblage, she caught the dark eyes of Ernest Cleveland regarding her with a look of unmistakable admiration, and she cast a furtive glance at the arrange- ment of her blue tarletan flounces, as she saw him approaching, in the company of a young gentleman of her acquaintance, evidently seeking an introduction; but as she listened to the clear tones of his rich, manly voice, and marked the graceful deference with which he listened to her words, so different from the careless gallantry of her other gentleman ac- quaintance, that, for the first time in her life, the vain girl felt keenly her own insignifi- cance, trembling lest he, too, should discover it; while, stranger still, she actually forgot to ask herself the usual question, ‘‘Is he an eligible match ?”’ But however her thoughts may have wan- dered during the delicious hours spent in his company, from this most important subject, they were rudely recalled, as she entered her own home, by her mother—who had accom- panied her to the party—exclaiming, trium- phantly :— ‘Well, Fan Wheeler! I must say, you’ve baited your hook well this time, and if you don’t catch the fish it will be your own fault. Oh, you needn’t look so innocent,’’ she added, with a coarse laugh, as she caught the look of surprise and bewilderment in the blue eyes that met her own. ‘‘I suppose you didn’t know that young Cleveland is the only son and heir of one of the richest and oldest families in B————; that he is younger, and, consequently, greener than he looks, and, more than all, that he is head over ears in love with your pretty face.’’ A few hours before, the young girl would have listened to this tirade with complacency, or at least with patience, but now a sudden feeling of disgust, new but real, sprang up in her heart, as she listened to her mother’s coarse remarks, but she checked the expres- sion of it, merely saying, with an affected sigh of weariness i

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ADAPTATION, 141 **T don’t know anything about his family, and I’m sure I don’t care anything about them, either; and as to his being in love with me, J didn’t see anything of it, I’m sure.’’ ‘* Well, well,’? and Mrs. Wheeler laughed one of her disagreeably significant laughs, ‘*have your own opinion if you want to. But you’d better go to bed, now, so as to look fresh and bright in the morning, if any one should happen to call,’’ and with asly chuckle at her own wit, the mother sought her own apartment, to pour into the ears of her sleepy spouse the plans which she had already ar- ranged for entrapping the young heir. Ernest Cleveland was, as Mrs. Wheeler had said, ‘‘ younger than he looked,’’ having but just passed his twentieth year; tall, broad- chested, graceful, and easy in his manners, but with a spice of natural pride, that kept him aloof from all grossness and vulgarity, while he was the most affable and generous of friends. A phrenologist would instantly have pronounced him a painter or a poet, and he would have been right, for Ernest Cleveland was both, at heart. From his childhood, he had worshipped the beautiful in art and nature, with a devotion seldom equalled. Reared in the bosom of an educated and re- fined family, and constantly associated with pure and elevated minds, it is not strange that he should go forth into the world almost as ignorant as a child of the coarse passions and gross selfishness which the world knows so well how to conceal from the innocent and unwary. His father’s library had ever been his school-room until he had entered college, where, absorbed in the studies that were but a delightful stimulant to his fast-growing mind, he had, in reality, known but little of the world outside his own door. There were times when, fearing the results of this close application, Mrs. Cleveland had ventured to remonstrate :— ‘*Ernest,’’? she would say, ‘‘you are too much absorbed in your studies. Come out with me and study human nature a little. It will do you no harm, and the knowledge that you cannot fail to acquire will be very useful to you in this everyday world of ours.’’ ‘You ’ve enough for that, mother,’’ would be the cheerful reply. ‘‘I must improve these spring days in sowing the seed for future harvest ; summer-sown seed seldom ripens.”’ And with this Mrs. Cleveland was fain to be content, It was during his last year at college that he made the acquaintance of Fanny Wheeler, and to his artistic eye she seemed a perfect model of beauty and grace. Every leisure hour was spent in her society, reading to her from his favorite authors, never dreaming that the admiring light that shone from her clear eyes was called forth by aught but the elo- quence of his favorites; talking to her of his home and the dear ones there; and sometimes pointing out to her dazzled vision the steep and rugged path by which he would climb to fame, and carve for himself a name that should never die, even when its owner had returned to dust. And the young girl listened, with wondering eyes, hearing, yet far from comprehending the burning words that fell from his lips; shrink- ing back with a sickening feeling of disap- pointment as he told her of the plans already matured, that he should spend the next three years in Rome, studying the beautiful art that he had chosen as the business of his life, while it was with a vague, but painful feeling of inferiority that she listened, with a forced smile, to his fond praises of the tender, large- hearted parents who would shrink from no sacrifice to promote his happiness; of the two fair sisters, whose lives were, to use the ex- pressive words of Scripture, ‘‘bound up in the lad’s life ;’’ the warm-hearted, impulsive Laura, who, nearest his own age, had ever been companion, schoolmate, and playfellow, to him; and the gentle, loving invalid, the eldest, and yet the pet of the whole family, whose saintly meekness and patience amid her sufferings, were as a daily lesson to those around her, If Ernest Cleveland had not been in love, - he would have seen that, in all of their inter- views, the talking was left almost entirely to himself; that his companion merely assented to all of his opinions, while she never ven- tured to express one of herown. But so it has ever been from the beginning of the world until now: Love catches a glimpse, from one corner of his bandaged eyes, of some real or imagined perfection, and straightway invests the possessor of it with all the graces that his fertile fancy can conjure up, while the con- venient bandage forbids a glimpse, even, of the imperfections and deformities. ‘* Mine, now!’’ whispered the enraptured lover, as he placed the ‘‘ engagement ring’’ upon the slender finger, and pressed his lips

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142 must wait, perhaps, for years; but mutual love and trust can bear the ordeal;’’ but, as he drew the fair young head to his bosom, he did not see the tears of disappointment that filled the downcast eyes, nor hear the angry exclamation with which, when she had re- tired to her own room, the young girl gave vent to her vexation. ‘*He might marry me, and take me to Rome with him, if he only chose. I hate these long engagements !’’ and, with an angry comment upon the selfishness of men in generai, and Ernest Cleveland in particular, the dissatisfied fiancée sought the refuge of her couch to dream that she was in Rome, and that the young sculptor was busily engaged in cutting out her heart, and replacing it with one that he had chiselled from marble. CHAPTER II. Tive-A-Line—ahis ring, and now the never to be mistaken step in the hall; and involun- tarily Fan Wheeler dropped her sewing, scat- tering thread, scissors, wax, and muslin in wild disorder upon the floor, and flew to the glass to arrange her collar, and give an extra brush to the glossy curls that clustered around her softly-glowing face, when the sound of her mother’s voice below recalled the injunc- tion that she had that morning received: ‘You will be confined to your room with headache, and I will see him;’’ and she slowly resumed her seat and sewing, with a heavy sigh. **T wish I knew what mother means to say to him!’’ she murmured, uneasily. ‘I’m sure I want to be married as much as she wants me to, for I’m tired of living in every- body’s way. Not a day passes over my head that I’m not reminded, in some way, that I am a burden. Even father, if I ask him for a dollar, takes it out of his pocket-book so re- luctantly, and says, with a sigh, ‘Seems to me, Fan, it’s about time you were getting a husband to pay your bills.’ And the girls are all of the time fretting about having to ‘wear out old maid’s shoes.’ Even little Sue, who is just out of the intermediate school, wanted to know the other day if I didn’t suppose she could have some new school dresses, instead of old ones made over, after I was married? But, after all, I can’t bear to hold out my GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. reverently to the soft, blushing cheek. ‘‘We | finger for the wedding ring before it’s ready for me; and since I have known Ernest I have felt a diffidence about pushing myself forward that I never knew before. I hope mother won’t say anything to him, in her coarse way, that will make him angry. I would rather wait ten years for him than to have him feel that I was forced upon him. Heigho! what troublesome work this getting married is!’’ and thus turning and re-turning the subject in her own mind, never listening to her natu- ral womanly instincts that pointed out to her, though dimly, the indelicacy and mean- ness of forcing herself upon one to whom she must inevitably prove a clog and burthen ; and again turning a willing ear to the artful sophistries of pride and ambition. So en- grossed was she in her own meditations that she did not hear the closing of the outer door or her mother’s step upon the stair until she stood by her side; then glancing quickly at her face, the look of coarse exultation that it wore was enough, and she dropped her eyes upon her work, while Mrs. Wheeler drew a chair to her side, saying, ina low, triumphant tone: ‘‘He’s safe at last; and you may go to work upon your wedding outfit to-morrow, if you like.’’ She looked at her daughter, evidently ex- pecting some expression of satisfaction, but the young girl sat silently stitching, although a slight quivering of the lip, and a deeper bloom upon the fair cheek proved that she had heard and comprehended her mother’s words. **T’d like to see the one that can beat me in managing!’’ continued the speaker, com- placently. ‘‘in the first place, I took care to put on an extra long face when I went into the parlor, and when my young gentleman inquired for you, I looked sterner still, and told him that you were sick with a headache. Of course he was very anxious, hoped a night’s rest would relieve you, etc., but I in- formed him that headaches brought on by crying and nervous excitement generally lasted you several days. I said this just as significant as I could, and he started up, and says he: ‘Crying and nervous excitement ! Has anything happened to make her un- happy, for, if there has, I think I ought to know it?’ ‘*That was just what I wanted him to say, but I pretended to be dreadfully embar- _ rassed, and, of course, the more I hesitated

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ADAPTATION, 143 the more fierce he was to know what the trouble was, and at last I said very solemnly: ‘Mr. Cleveland, the happiness of my children is the one grand object of my life, and when I see them pining and unhappy it wrings my very heart.’ I took a look at him, just then, out of one corner of my eye, and I saw that T’d made an impression, so I went on: ‘Of all my children, I think that Fanny has the most sensitive and delicate nature. She is not fitted to bear disappointment or severe trial of any kind. Sire is one of those tender, clinging beings that need a strong arm to lean upon continually.’ Here I stopped, as if I would rather say no more about it, but my young gentleman would hear the whole, now, and, after a good deal of encouragement from him, I managed to finish my speech: ‘The truth is, Mr. Cleveland, my poor child is breaking her heart, because—because—’ ‘¢¢ What ?’ *« She feels that this long engagement that you propose proves that you want time and a chance to look farther. She says that she loves you well enough to marry you to-morrow, and that if you loved her as well, you would feel the same.’ **He was dreadfully dumbfounded, and turned all sorts of colors, and tried to say something about its being rather early in life to marry, and all that; but I put a stop to such talk mighty quick by telling him that if he didn’t love my girl well enough to marry her now, I should not consent to the engage- ment. I should look upon it as mere boys’ and girls’ play. ‘Then he grew more embarrassed still, and at last said that he was ready to be married whenever you was. That was just what I meant to have him say, and soI smiled as condescendingly as you please, and intimated that you could be ready at the close of this term, and he could surprise his friends at home with a new daughter and sister; and so what could he do but consent to it? I tell you, Fan, he’s dreadfully in love, or I could not have worked him round so; for I can see that he is as set as the hills naturally. But a man in love is always a fool!’’ and, with this profound comment upon the opposite sex, Mrs. Wheeler complacently smoothed the folds of her bright Cashmere, casting, at the same time, a sly glance at her daughter to see how she took it. ‘‘What’s this ?’’ she cried, harshly, ‘‘tears?’’ And angry at what she considered her childish unreasonableness, she shook her roughly by the arm. This naturally produced an angry retort, and for a short time the wordy contest was carried on with much spirit, the younger ac- cusing the elder of being a ‘‘meddlesome old matchmaker,’’ while the other retorted with equal warmth, until, thoroughly exhausted, the angry combatants were forced to retire from the contest, the mother remarking, with a chuckle, as she closed the door of her daugh- ter’s room behind her: ‘‘She may say what she will about disgusting him, and all that, but what’s done can’t be undone, that’s certain.’’ And, inspite of her anger and mortification, it is doubtful if even the young lady herself wished to have matters changed. Angry and ashamed she undoubtedly was, in view of her mother’s disgraceful mancuvring, yet the prospect of becoming a member of one of the most honored families in the State, with un- limited wealth at her command, and a name that must command respect wherever it was spoken, was a tempting prospect to one so young, so ambitious, and so vain; while the real love that, in spite of all this outgrowth of petty worldliness, yet lay warm and real away down in the innermost recesses of her heart, flashed up at intervals, casting all un- worthy emotions into shadow, and making wealth, station, honor, everything, seem in- significance itself, when compared with this one priceless treasure—the love of a true and honest heart. , And now Mrs. Wheeler was in her element: chaffering with the dry-goods clerk§ in a vain endeavor to get two dollars’ worth of material for one; teasing dressmakers for something ‘‘new’’ in the shape of sleeve patterns and bodices ; scolding her own family for their in- efficiency, particularly the bride elect, whom she expressively but rather coarsely denomi- nated a ‘‘sprawless hussy,’’ intimating, in pretty plain terms, that ‘‘ whoever got her would find himself mightily cheated.’’ But as all this was supposed to be merely a part of the preliminary arrangements, it troubled nobody, especially as, in the presence of those outside of her own family, the affectionate mother was profuse in her lamentations over the impending parting. ‘‘I don’t know,’’ she would say, pathetically, ‘‘ what I shall do without Fanny! She is both child and com- panion to me, the dear girl! The house will seem like a tomb when she is gone !’’

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144 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. The news of Ernest’s approaching marriage had fallen upon his friends at home like a thunderbolt. To them he was but a well- grown schoolboy, gifted and learned beyond his years, but far too young and inexperi- enced te know his own mind on a subject so closely affecting the happiness of his whole future life. But it was too late to interfere, too late for him to retreat with honor, and, trusting in God, and hoping for the best, the startled and grieved parents composed their minds as best they might for whatever the future might have in store. Kindly messages were exchanged, and, as unavoidable circum- stances prevented Mrs. Cleveland’s attendance at her son’s marriage, the childish heart of the bride elect was thrown into a perfect flutter of delight and excitement by the ar- rival of a handsome set of pearls accompanied by a kind note from her future mother-in- law.. ‘*Arn’t they beautiful!’’? exclaimed the young girl, delightedly, as she displayed the beautiful and appropriate gift. ‘‘ And the note isso kind and pleasant! I’m sure I shall love her!”’ Mrs. Wheeler listened silently to this out- burst of girlish enthusiasm, and, taking the note in her hand, unceremoniously perused its contents, while a cold sneer curled her lip, and she said, scornfully :— ‘*Mighty patronizing, seems to me! Hopes to find in you one whom she can love as a daughter! Now, let me tell you, you've got to show your independence, or they ’ll make a perfect nobody of you before you know it. Just let them know that you’ve got a mind of your own, and they ’ll begin to think you are somebody; but, just as sure as you give up to their opinions in everything, they ’ll ride right over your head.’’ ‘* But, mother, I don’t see anything of that sort in the note, and I’m sure there ’s nothing pompous or tyrannical in Mr. Cleveland’s manner. I did feel rather ashamed last even- ing, when he asked me to read that extract for him, and I couldn’t pronounce half of the words. But that wasn’t Ais fault.’’ **T don’t know about him,’’ was the rather hesitating reply. ‘‘There’s a look in his eye when I meet it that makes me feel uncom- fortable. It seems as if he knew just what I was thinking of. And I didn’t quite like what he said about their all devoting them- selves to that sick girl. It sounded to me as if he meant to give you a hint about your duties in that line.’’ ‘*He needn’t trouble himself to hint to me!’’? and the young girl’s cheek flushed angrily at the annoying suggestion. ‘‘I don’t intend to marry Ernest Cleveland’s relations when I do him!’’ The leaven of suspicion and uncharitable- ness had already commenced its work. The silly, short-sighted mother was recklessly sowing the seed of future discord and misery in the young heart whvse natural instincts led it to look to her as a mentor and guide. (To be continued.) THE RAIN. BY R. A. WILSON, THE rain, the rain, the pleasant rain! Dropping on the waving grain— Gently now it falls! Hear it as it hits the leaves— See it glisten through the sheaves— Watch it trickle from the eaves— Running down the walls! Now in tiny streams it winds *Tween the rocks—free passage finds; Meandering as it will. Yonder brook new life doth take, Onward now its way to make Quickly to the erystal lake Down beside the hill! Pleasant, joyous summer showers ! Giving beauty to the flowers— Nature lives again! Inhale the sweetness now she yields— Freshness rises from her flelds— And God His bounty thus reveals In the welcome min. Cuarity.—That charity alone endures which flows from a sense of duty and a hope in God. This is the charity that treads in secret those paths from which all but the lowest of human wretches have fled: this is that charity which no labor can weary, no ingratitude detach, no horror disgust; that toils, that pardons, that suffers; that is seen by no man, and honored by no man; but, like the great laws of Nature, does the work of God in silence, and looks to a future and better world for its reward, —VirtvE consists in doing our duty in the several relations we sustain, in respect to ourselves, to our fellow-men, and to God, as known from reason, conscience, and revela- tion.

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THE DAFFODILS AT A FANCY FAIR. BY 8, ANNIE FROST. Ovr fair was to open at seven o’clock on Wednesday evening, and Tuesday after dark found us busy as a hive of bees, our work- room being as usual the sitting-room at Mrs. Squrus’ ‘‘palatial mansion.’”? The whole corps of young ladies who were to assist Eu- phrosyne in her benevolent enterprise were assembled, putting the finishing touches to the articles, marking the prices thereon, and laying them before Pete, who, with the assist- ance of Henry, the ‘‘ African attendant,’’ was packing the boxes and hampers in which the goods were to be conveyed to the hall, where we were all to assemble at nine o’ clock the next morning to unpack the articles and arrange our table. Miss Lucy Morris, the ‘ gushing girl,’’ being a veteran at fairs, took much of the direction in our arrangements. ‘Do not forget, Captain,’’ she said, ‘*to put on the top of one of those hampers, ham- mer and tacks, this little box of sewing mate- rials, and the rolls of muslin for the tables. The hall,’’ she continued, in a lower tone, and addressing Mrs. Df&ffodil, ‘‘ will be a pretty sight; all the tables are to be uniform, covered with white, and festooned with red and blue. Of course the arrangements of the parapher- nalia of each table will be left optional with its proprietor, but the decorations will be no doubt gorgeously beautiful. I expect a mag- nificent tout ensemble.’’ The Captain, who had had his head buried in a box during this sentence, now rose to the surface. ‘* Well, mother,’’ he said, ‘‘ pass on some more. How are you getting on?’’ ‘*Lor me, Pete,’’.she said, ‘‘we’re getting off scrumptiously. Won’t it be fine if it’s like Miss Lucy’s prescription ?”’ ‘*How’s that? I was buried up here, and did not catch what she was saying.”’ ‘* Why, all the tables is to be in uniform, though how atable’sto be put in a blue coat and pants, with brass buttons, beats me, and they’re to be white, festered with red an’ blue, but the derangements of the paraphrase is to be optical with its propriety; but the declarations are to be gorgingly beautiful, with a tootin sample, and if you can make head or tail to it, it’s a speller’s blessin’, for I’m free to confess I can’t.”’ ‘* Well, this box is ready now,” said Pete, ‘and I’m coming to rest at your sofa, mo- ther. What a splendid array you have,’’ he continued, looking at chairs, tables, and sofas still covered with fancy articles in spite of the number he had packed out of sight. **Yes,’’ said the old lady, ‘‘them arteries has been a pilin’ in all day, from interested folks as wants to consist the objic, and help the cause of filagree.”’ ‘*Philanthropy,’’ suggested Ninny. ‘*Land of me, Nin, it’s all the same ’s long as Phil’s in it somehow, and, as I was a-sayin’, Pete, them Africans come from Mrs. G ’ kind of sofy kivers, she sez, sort of stuck-up blankets, an’ I was a takin’ ’em for shawls, an’ it’s only a massy I didn’t buy ene and take a promontory down Chestnut Street with it on, for they’re rale pretty. They ’re to be put upto rattle, an’ sold off by chance, though, for the life of me, I can’t see why they don’t sell ’em a-purpose; but I ’spose it’s some new kind of tradin’. An’ them dear, dony little boxes of bottles of confumery was dis- tributed by Miss Ella G for them as likes smells; an’ here’s a set of crochetted toiling mats for a wash-stand, an’, for my part, I think if the holes was much bigger this cotton’d never hold ’em together. And them skepticalized leaves was Miss Mary L.’s controversion, an’ you can call ’em fantailed buckets if you feel reclined. And Mr. M sent us a resplendent convolution of poto- graphs of all the extinguished generals, an’ celebration Polly Tishers, and perspicuous characters, an’ other folks of that sort. We’re ter sell ’em in ongwelopes, and git a quarter a-piece for ’em, an’ it’s mor’n the half of ’em’s worth, any day.’’ ‘¢ Have you any curiosities or relics ?’’ asked the Captain. ‘‘I understand they ’re all the rage at fairs, now.”’ ‘““Oh, yes,’’ said Miss Morris, ‘‘we have quite a notable collection. Here, for instance, is a sandwich from—”’ ‘The Sandwich Islands,’’ said Pete. “‘Q Captain, you are always so witty,’’ said 145

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146 the gushing girl, and a chorus of sweet voices echoed the compliment. ‘* Yes, Pete’s pretty good at a referee,’’ said his mother; “‘ but Pete, there’s a rale lot of relicts an’ curus things, an’ as for out of the way particles, they ’re plenty as hops. There’s a rag of caliker in this box, give by a lady, tored from a gown made in the fortieth cen- tury, and wore by her foremother when she came over with the pilgrimers in the Bell Flower, and had on that dentalized gown when she sot foot on what-ye-call-em rock. And in that glass box there’s a lock of hair that was severed from the head ef a China baby in Africa, whose ma chucked it into the Grandees where it was devoured by the Alle- ganies. Weren’t it orful? An’ there’s a hair-pin here, somewhere ’s, that Anna Bulle- tin had in her hair when she was a-goin’ to exhibition to have her head took off for rea- sonable conductor to her kingdom, and alla piece of spite, anyhow, ’cause she was better lookin’ than Elizabeth England, who prose- cuted her. see, so as to sell ’em off easy. Folks allers wants ter know the mystery of uncommon things. Now, there’s a bit of wood here, some’ers, nobody’d never respect it was a piece of Penn’s Charter Oak if they wasn’t telled, and who’d ever suspicion this old, rusty nail was took out of the ship Waterloo beat Wellington in, if somebody didn’t be there to tell’em. I like sich things, they are so constructive, and give you history for no- thin’. There’s a bit of a ram here, some- where, that was raptured on the Mississippi Ocean, but, bless my soul, rams was common enough at Babbington, an’ this one must a-been as old as Metropolis, for the bit of him’s as hard as a brick, though maybe it was soakin in salt water petrifryed him.’’ Here Ninny came in to her mother’s assist- ance. ‘‘Our most superlatively superfine rarity,’’ she drawled, in a languishing tone, ‘*is a tress of capillament severed from the sensorium of Jane Eyre.”’ ‘*Jane Eyre!’ cried Miss Belle Lee, ‘‘why she was a fictitious character.’’ ‘*Bless your heart!’’ cried the old lady, **that don’t make no kind of difference, no- ways. There’s all sorts of characters now-a- days. Great, literal characters, and millinery heroics, an’ navary officers, an’ mistorical characters, an’ defunct characters, an’ politic character, an’ the half of ’em might as well I’ve larned ’em all by heart, you GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, have no characters at all, for all the good it ’1] do their ancestors. Deary me, what’s the use, arter all, of spreadin’ yourself for the good of prosperity? Do your duty ’cause it is your duty, an’ let glorious alone, for the more rumpus a man makes in the univarsal, the more his enmities will execute and san- dalize him. Big tarcats is allers most shot at, that’s my theurgy. Snubblenary great- ness won’t count for much at internity long side of spirited defections, an’, after all, there ’s only pandemonium to look for’ard to, after all.’’ ‘ ‘*Gocdness, what a climax!’’ said one of the young ladies, sotto voce, but Mrs. Daffodil caught the echo. ‘*The climax is well enough,’’ she said, ‘if you ’ll only absorb the moral.’’ The Captain sprang to his feet to hide a suspicious twitching of his mustache, and our united efforts soon transferred all the pretty trifles from their places in the room to a temporary resting place in the boxes and hampers. There was an encouraging prospect for a clear day, when the party broke up, which was verified when we assembled in the morning to superintend the sending off of the goods to the hall. Pete and Ninny preceded us to receive the wagon, and their mother superintended the sending off of the goods. ‘‘ There ’s a fernery cart at the door, Miss Annie,’’ she said to me, ‘‘to transform all them baskits an’ boxes to the hall; an’ Pete, an’ Miss Lucy, an’ Ninny’s a committal of three to perceive ’em when they gits there. See here, you, sir,’’ she bawled to one of the men, ‘lift them baskits gingerly, for there’s breakables in ’em, an’ I’m responsive for any construction. D’ ye hear?’’ ‘*Yes, ma’am, I’ll be keerful,’’? was the reply. ‘*So do! There, the last one’s on now, and we may as well git on our bonnets, now, an’ precede ’em too."’ But we were not to start just then. Mrs. Daffodil was nearly ready, I quite so, when a scream from the dining-room startled us, and, forgetting her finery, the fair, everything, the grandmother rushed to the rescue. We found Evangeline yelling (no other word describes her shrieks) over a cut finger, gained by petty larceny of cake in the sideboard, the carving knife being the only one within her reach when she took a slice from the loaf. The injury was very slight, but the spoiled darling kept us an

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THE DAFFODILS AT A FANCY FAIR, 147 hour soothing and petting her, and only re- leased us at last on promise of mountains of confectionery to be enjoyed on our return. So it happened that, when we reached the hall, we found the table ready, and the ham- pers being rapidly opened. Euphrosyne had produced a rather startling effect by tying her blue festoons with green ribbon, and her red ones with yellow, while huge rosattes of gold and silver paper were placed in the spaces between. ‘*Here I am,’’ said the old lady, ‘‘at long last, all ready to help. ’*Vangeline she cut herself a-hookin’ cake, and we had to be sur- gery for her, Miss Annie an’ I, and course we was contained, but we are all ready now for work. Here, Henery, shove along that baskit, an’ we ’ill unpack it.’’ Henry obeying, we were soon busy. Miss Bella Lee passed the articles from the old lady’s hands and mine to those arranging the table, while Mrs. Daffodil kept up a running commentary on everything she touched. ‘‘Here ’s one of them books for autocrats,’’ she said, taking out an avtograph album, ‘*though what folks can see in a lot of names to spend their money for’, is ahead of me. Here, Miss Bella, ketch this here vase of wax posies afore I drop ’em. Look a-kinder nate- ral, don’t they; though I never seen wielets an’ dahlias a-growin’ at once in Babbington. Perhaps it’s various where the climax ain’t the same; an’ them roses is the most imita- tion things I ever did see.”’ ‘*Oh, there ’s my fernery!’’ cried one of the young ladies, rushing forward, and taking it from Mrs. Daffodil. ‘‘ Won’t you admire it, Captain ?”’ ‘*Course he will,’’ said his mother ; ‘‘ he’s bound to aspire everything, though, my dear, I can’t for the life of me see any finery in a lot of leaves under a goblin.’’ ‘* But they are ferns.”’ ‘‘Oh! Look for all the world like leaves, don’t they? Oh my! this baskit’s got the picters in! We’ve got some orful pretty painters, Pete. This is Christmas C’lumbus recovering Ameriky. The one with the roll of music iv his hand is C’lumbus, and them’s sailors, and Ameriky is somewheres out of the frame, I guess, for I don’t see it. Ninny says it’s in your imaginative, but any way *tain’t in the picter. And here’s the nine musics, though only one of them’s a-playin’ now. Rale pretty gals, too, though nine in a family’s an -orful responsive task for a mo- ther, in partickler,’’ and here she rolled her eyes fearfully, ‘‘1f there’s one rich young man, they ’re all wantin’. And here’s Aurora, but which of them gals is the roarer I’m sure I can’t tell. All look kind of lively. And here’s Solitude, though ’tain’t nothin’ but aman all alone by himself, sittin’ on a rock, lookin’ at the water, as if he’d jest chucked in his last friend, an’ got the rheumatiz a- doin’ it. Solitude, indeed! the repression of that man’s face is more like Susancide or murder than anything else !’’ ? ‘*Oh dear!’’ cried Miss Morris, ‘‘ever so many of the price marks have come off. Mrs. Daffodil, you have emptied your basket; won’t you help me pin on some more ?”’ ‘*Course I will, my dear! Here, Pete, you write ’em for me. How much is ‘this pin- cushion, Miss Lucy ?”’ ‘* Three dollars.’’ ‘* What ?’’ ‘*Three dollars.’’ ‘* Write it down, Pete. Goodness gracious! Three dollars! Why, it’s dear at fifty cents! Three dollars! Why don’t you say ten, an’ done with it? Jest as soon git one as the other, unless folks is bigger nidiots than I take ’em for. Always will make that mistake at fairs: pitchin’ up prices till folks puts all their money, or natural currant seed, an’ it’s jest as good, if it is paper, in their pocket, and walks off. Now, I say, what’s the use of puttin’ sich contortionate prices on these things? They was all give.’’ “This is twenty-five dollars,’’ said Miss Morris, as she handed Mrs. Daffodil a small round stone. ‘* Twenty-five dollars, Pete! Some kind of a pressin’ stone. Looks for all the world like a garden pebble !’’ ‘*It came from Bunker Hill Monument,’’ said Miss Morris. **Oh,’’ said the old lady, ‘‘a relict. Better put that on with the price, Pete, so’s folks ‘ll know it’s a curosity. Stun from Bunker Hill Monitor,’’ she dictated, adding in an aside, ‘‘ and ’tain’t nothing but a stun, after all !’’ ‘*Come, Euphrosyne,’’ said her brother, ‘thelp as a little! Here’s work for all, and you have done nothing.’’ ‘Oh, Ninny ’s superpretendent,’’ said her mother, ‘‘she ’ll tell us where to put the varia- able particles; she ain’t much of a hand to

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148 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. work, Ninny ain’t, never was,*even in old timey days when we was on the farm. Kind ef a superfluity ye know. Sez that territorial respirations are despiseable when sot ag’in a young heart’s sproutin’ refrections. Lor, Pete, how you gape at that stun; ain’t you marked it ?’’ ‘I was thinking,’’ said Pete, ‘‘of an Eng- lishman we had out with us, who insisted that if the English had exerted their whole force in the Revolution, they could easily have conquered us.” ‘*You don’t say so!’’ cried Mrs. Daffodil. ‘“‘Deary me,’’ she continued, innocently, ‘“‘why didn’t they do it, then? Now, Miss Morris, how much is this nice pitcher, with saveall and goblins ?”’ ‘*That ice pitcher is silver, and so are the goblets, but the salver is plated; say five hundred dollars.’’ ‘There ’s an awful mix here,’’ said the old lady ; ‘‘ jewelry, and sofy cushions, an’ sta- tutes, an’ wax flowers, an’ everything, and it’s grandmother all mixed up in one grand consternation !’’ ‘*‘Mark these hanging-baskets next,’’ said Miss Morris, ‘‘ten dollars. They were made by a lady eighty years old. The widow’s mite, she called them.’’ ‘*Goody!’’ cried the old lady, ‘‘there’s a mighty sight of work on them for an antedi- luvian of that age. How she ever had the eyesight is a misery even with speculums.”’ Many hands made quick work, and the day- light still lingered as we gave the finishing touches to Euphrosyne’s table. It was only one of many making a brilliant display in the hall; but still the old lady was justified in her exclamation :— ‘There! that’s as splendiferous a lot of gimecracks as I want to see anywhere, an’ if that ’ere table ain’t gorgingly kivered and magnanimously beautified, 1’m no conjuring. Let ’s go home an’ clean ourselves. I’m free to say, that what with,straw an’ dust an’ bits of paper, an’ ink, an’ sawdust, an’ the rest, I’m as dirty as a pig!’’ As Euphrosyne kad been home and changed her dress five times since morning, I expected she would volunteer to remain as guard over the table, but after much discussion this duty was given to Miss Belle Lee, the Captain, and myself. The doors had been opened to the public, and a number of the ‘‘ sovereign people’ were | already walking from table to table when the Daffodil party and most of the young ladies returned. Euphrosyne, leaning upon the arm of her liege lord, sailed in first. Her low- necked, short-sleeved dress of corn-colored silk was heavily trimmed with garnet velvet, black lace, and white buttons, while her huge waterfall was covered with a blue chenille net held on by a gold comb; a cluster of red roses rested upon the puffs of her hair, and her jewelry was, as usual, of every hue. The dear old lady wore black silk, but her cap had variegated flowers, and her jewels were almost a match for her daughter’s. As the party came up the hall, I heard a young lady, who was ‘fon duty’’ at the table next ours say, in a low tone: ‘‘Shoddy.”’ Mrs. Daffodil’s quick ears caught the word, and her sudden glance made the application. **Bless your heart, child,’’ she said, good- naturedly, ‘‘you’re mistaken. ’Tain’t shod- dy, it’s tle.’? Which brought down the house, and in the chorus of suppressed laughter the party took their places at the table. We were soon in the full tide of business. Our corps of pretty girls drew many pur- chasers, and the Captain’s shoulder-straps and well-known wealth added still more, so that goods changed hands rapidly, and the currency began to fill the cash box. We were only to keep the hall for one evening, and of course each and all were anxious to clear their tables. Mrs. Daffodil’s style of selling was original. ‘* Want one of them pen-wipers, sir? Lor, jist take it along, an’ if you can’t use it your- self, p’r’aps you ’ve got some friend that can write, to give it to. Too high! why, it’s for a charity; but ’tween you an’ I, a dollar and a half is high for that little footey thing. Take it along for ten cents. Nubias, dear? Well, jist show me which they are, will you? Oh! them things; thought they was scarfs for your head; three dollars for that one. Too much? Well, so it is; you may have it for one.”’ After she had been faithfully at work for two hours, the Captain and I coaxed her to walk round and see the other tables. Of course we were beset at every step, and fell into the raffling mania, till there was scarcely an article put up for this species of legal lot- tery but what bore the name of mother or son. The last one was on a table where arti- cles were sold by commission, or, as the old lady afterwards informed us, by permission.

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co m™ el ee ee ee * | THE DAFFODILS AT A FANCY PAIR. 149 ‘Take a chance in this safe, Captain ?’’ said the pretty saleswoman, pointing to an iron safe. ‘* Dear me, Pete, I wouldn’t,’’ said his mo- ther. ‘‘All the safes I ever saw good for anything was wire, to let the air vegetate through.”’ ‘* But this is a fire safe.’’ ‘*Eh? Where’s the fire ?’’ ‘*It is a safe to put goods in, to keep them from destruction by fire.’’ ‘““Why, dear me, anything’ll do to put things in to keep ’em from the fire, so it’s far enough off from the stove. I’m sure I wouldn’t want that great thing lumberin’ up my kitchen.”’ ‘*But, madam,”’’ persisted the saleswoman, “if your house should burn down, the things in this safe would not burn.’’ “Oh, that’s it! Well, it wouldn’t hold much,’? ‘It would hold a great deal of plate.’’ ‘*Oh, dear me, if the house was burnin’, there’s heaps of things I’d rather save than the plates. They ’d all git broken, anyhow, if it was shook, and I’m sure nobody we a lot of broken plates.’’ ‘*But you could put all your jewelry and papers in it.’’ ‘* Well, there might be some sense in the jewelry, but you needn’t tell me papers won’t burn in a fire, and I don’t read none but the ’Quirer, anyhow, and when it’s a day old I don't care if it’s burnt or not.’’ ‘*But you will take one chance, only fifty cents.’’ ‘* Why, dear me, [’ll take it to ’blige you, only if I draw the thing I don’t wantit.’”” And paying her fifty cents, she moved on. ‘* Ain’t it td0 ridiculous, Miss Annie,’’ she said, ‘‘the way the gals here is dressed, with their puffs an’ greasy curls, an’ their cochineal nets, an’ cataracts on the backs of their heads, to say nothin’ of the Grimaldi waists and skirts all kivered with trimmin’. Lor, Pete, there’s goodies at that table, an’ ice cream; let’s git some, for I’m het orful in this crowd.’’ Of course Pete dutifully obeyed. ‘‘Is that ten cents’ worth?’’ said the old lady, as about a teaspoonful of cream was placed before her; ‘‘ bring me a dollar’s worth, my dear, for I’m sure I can eat it.’’ ‘*T didn’t come here to be insulted,’’ said the waitress, firing up. **Bless you, child, I don’t want to consult you. Charge what ydt like, only bring me a good, heaping saucer full all round, and a big hunk of pound-cake.’’ Seeing that she was in earnest, the young lady filled her order, but what the Captain’s bill amounted to I never dared inquire. The refreshment department was on a raised platform at one end of the hall, and as the old lady ate her ice cream, she looked down on the moving crowd below us with much interest. ‘*Looks like a panoramming, don’t it?’’ she said; ‘‘one goin’ that way, and one comin’ this way, and goin’ through an’ across, an’ all of ’em goin’ every way. Lor, I do like to see folks enjoy theirselves at a festerin occa- sion like this. What’s the use of spendin’ your money an’ your time gittin’ ready for a jubiree, if you don’t git a reaction when you come to the pint? Some folks goes to a fes- tivitous with a face as long as a hearse, an’ I say, let your spirits match the place, an’ don’t cry at a swarry or giggle in church. I’ve eat better ice cream than this, Pete, though, to be sure, everybody don’t use chalk, and, as for cake, this has been kep’ six weeks at the least, but I’m done, if you are, an’—oh, land, Pete, they ’re rafflin’ ; let ’s go see what we’ve drawed.”’ It was nearly two hours later when, an auction having finished the evening, we drove home. The chancing had, of course, various results; but I may here mention that Mrs. Daffodil drew three hoods, two Afghans, a hearth-rug, a smoking-cap, a baby’s cap, a canary bird, a dish-mop, a coal-skuttle, a poodle dog, two white mice, a fernery, a globe of goldfish, three sets of mock jewelry, a Webster’s dictionary, and the /jire safe. Tue Capacity or Woman.—Women, in their course of action, describe a smaller circle than men; but the perfection of a circle con- sists not in its dimensions, but in its cor- rectness. There may be here and there a soaring woman who looks down with disdain on the paltry affairs of ‘‘ this dim speck called earth,’’ who despises order and regularity as indications of a grovelling spirit; but a sound mind judges directly contrary. The larger the capacity, the wider is the space of duties it takes in. Proportion and propriety are among the best secrets of domestic wisdom ; and there is no surer test of integrity than a well-proportioned expenditure.

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LIFE’S CONTRASTS. BY THE AUTHORESS OF “TWO YEARS OF HOSPITAL LIFE.” (Concluded from page 69.) CHAPTER III. Ecerton Mayor is one blaze of light. Col- ored lanterns are suspended from the trees in the grounds, and look like stars as they gleam through the thick branches; fountains are plashing into their basins beneath, and as the sparkling spray catches the varied colors of the different lights above, it seems like liquid rainbows falling through the air. Altogether it is a fairy scene. The sound of music and dancing is heard within. Let us draw near and look in at that window; we shall not be noticed by that gay throng, and we eagerly strive to search out our friend Florence, who must be the heroine of the evening, for it is in honor df her return that this entertainment is given. Ah! there she is. How lovely she looks in that simple dress of white, with those natural flowers in her hair—far lovelier than those girls by her side, so magnificently and gorgeously attired; but she has had a hard struggle to persuade her mother of that fact, who had provided for her an extensive and elaborate toilet, and is quite indignant that she refuses to wear it. See! she is coming this way, Whose arm is she leaning on? Ah! she has been dancing with Willie Fletcher, and he is leading her to a seat as he goes to fulfil his next engagement, Draw back a little. Here comes a couple fresh from the dance; they are in search of air from this window. What a pretty girl that is! her partner evidently thinks so, too, to judge from his eyes, as he stands there fanning her. Listen to their words. ** Just from school, did you say, Miss Car- ter? She is singularly lovely. Fortunate fel- low, Fletcher is—beauty, grace, and wealth combined,. However, with his fortune he has little need of the latter; but that’s the way things always happen; he’s drawn a prize, I must say.’’ ‘**I didn’t say they were engaged, Mr. Mid- dieton, only that Willie Fletcher and Florence have been very intimate since they were little children, and he will never look at any one else.’’ ‘*Miss Egerton must be very young, now; she doesn’t look more than sixteen.”’ 150 ‘*No! she can’t be much more than that. Her mother told me yesterday that she is not to return to school, and that she intends her to go into society next winter.’’ ‘*She will make a tremendous sensation when she appears. But see, Miss Carter, they are taking their places for the next quadrille, and you know you are promised again to me; let us go.”’ Let us, too, leave this heated, close air, and take a stroll through some of these beautiful walks, where the trees arching, overhead, form a thick canopy, almost excluding either sun ormoon. These colored lanterns may be very beautiful, but to our old-fashioned notions, they give an artificial glare, and we prefer to turn into this quiet path, where we may take a seat on a rustic bench, well knoww to us of yore, and where we are sure of resting, for a little while, quite undisturbed. But no! we are mistaken; something white is surely there; who or what can it be? The dim light which reaches us even here from those bright lanterns shows us a fair young form seated there—her beautiful arm resting on one end of the seat, and her hand supporting her head. It is—it can be none other than Flo- rence Egerton, the envied belle and beauty of the evening. All unused as she is to act- ing a part, she finds it impossible to endure it longer, and between the dances she has managed to slip out unperceived, and has sought this retired spot, where she can be alone—alone with her great suffering. It is just one month since we saw her last, weeping in the solitude of her own chamber, after her conversation with Mrs. Norton. Al- fred’s suit was received by Mr. Egerton with even greater indignation than Mrs. Norton had feared; and in his anger he had completely forgotten himself as a gentleman, using lan- guage of the most violent kind, and charging her with a deliberate attempt to obtain Flo- rence’s fortune for her son; forbidding his daughter, at the same time, in the most posi- tive manner, ever to see or speak to Alfred again. He had removed her instantly and finally from the house, without permitting a _ parting word of any sort, and it was this which

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~ LIFE’S CONTRASTS. 151 weighed most heavily upon her heart. If she might but have said one word to assure Alfred of her constancy, she thought that she could have borne it better; but her dread now was, that he might think that she had given him up, whereas this opposition and the harsh manner in which it had been conducted, had only fixed her more firmly in her determina- tion to consider herself bound to him forever. Her parents were most anxious, on her re- turn, to banish the whole thing from her mind, and had surrounded her with gayeties of every sort, but in vain. Florence refused to interest herself in any of them, and it was only at her father’s express command that she was present this evening; but soon finding the strain upon her feelings too great, she escaped to this quiet spot. But look! some one besides ourselves has found herout. The branches are parted, and we hear a light step. ‘*T was right, then. I have been searching for you, everywhere, Miss Egerton, and at last I thought of our old favorite, the rustic seat, where we have spent so many moon- light evenings; but, surely, you should not be here unattended. The room, I know, was hot and close, but why did you not wait till I was at liberty; you know that I can have no greater pleasure on earth than to wait upon you ?’’ ‘*I came here, Mr. Fletcher, because I wished to be alone,’’ said Florence, with a heavy sigh. ‘*Dear Florence, forgive me, but I cannot bear these stiff titles; above all, when you are sad. Why should we not be ‘ Willie’ and ‘Florence’ to each other, as we have always been? What has occurred to change you? Will you not tell me what it is that weighs so heavily upon you? I have seen it ever since your return, and it makes me misera- ble. Give me the right to share your grief; the right to console you. You know that my whole heart is yours, that from the time we played together as children, to this hour, you have been linked with every thought, with every plan. No hope of future distinc- tion or of future fame has ever risen in my mind, unconnected with you, and their sole value has been that I should win them for your sake.’’ ‘**O, Mr. Fletcher, Mr. Fletcher! please do not say so! Do not make me feel that I bring suffering upon every one I love.”’ ‘Suffering, Florence? What can you mean? VoL. LxxuI.—11 I am only asking now for a recognition of my life-long love; it can be no new idea to you. I merely ask for the acknowledged right to console and comfort you in every trouble. I do not seek to wake any new feeling; surely, that is unnecessary.’’ ‘OQ, Mr. Fletcher, why did you say this? Why must I pain you? As a brother, a most dear brother, I love and value you, but in- deed you can be nothing more to me.”’ ‘Nothing more? Florence, do you know what you are saying? Do you mean that you do not love me, that you will not marry me? Oh, say that you are not in earnest! You cannot, cannot be!”’ “Dear Willie! my own heart is too sore willingly to bring grief to another. I never dreamed of this. I do indeed mean, sorry as I am to say it to you, that I have never looked upon you save as a brother, and that there never, never can be anything more than the love of a brother and sister between us.”’ ‘*O, Florence, do not say never! I was hasty, I was wrong to speak to younow! I was so conscious of my own love that I thought you must know it too; but you have not thought of it in that light. Do not answer me now; I will wait any length of time. Think o1 it, and try if my devoted love will not make you feel differently; but oh, do not say that dreadful word, never !”’ ‘*You cannot tell, dear Willie, how it grieves me to give you such pain; but it must be, and this conversation must be final. It is only due to you to tell you that my heart is not my own: I am pledged to another.’’ Poor Willie! Look at his white and suffer- ing face as he leans for support against that old tree, and covers his eyes with his hand. All brightness, all sunshine, all joy, seem to have passed out of life, for. him, with Flo- rence’s last words, and he stands crushed, heart-broken, and utterly unable to articulate asingle syllable. A sound of voices comes on the air. ‘*Where can they be? I know very well wherever she is Mr. Fletcher will be too; so, if we can strike the trail of one, we shall find them both. Let us try this path.’’ Florence started, and rose instantly, but Willie remained riveted to the spot, caring for nothing, heeding nothing but the one great sorrow. ‘‘ This will not do, Mr. Fletcher; they must not see you so. Give me your arm quickly, and let us walk up and down.

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Remember, if you are questioned, that I felt the heat, and came here to recover myself. It is only too true.’’ Willie moved, and mechanically placed her arm within his own, just as a merry party approached. ‘*Oh, here are the truants! We have searched everywhere for you, Miss Egerton, and finally thought of having the ponds dragged. You have no idea of the consterna- tion in the house,’’ said Edward Ashurst, a tall, fashionable-looking young man, with an eye-glass fixed across his nose. **O, Miss Egerton,’’ said a pale girl in pink, on his arm, ‘‘you have no idea how angry Mr. Middleton was, when he couldn’t find you for the quadrille! You and he were our vis-a-vis, and Mr. Ashurst and I had to sit down; think of it! Don’t you feel sorry ?’’ ‘*Mr. Middleton is here to speak for him- self,’’ said that gentleman, coming up with Alice Carter upon his arm. ‘‘ Fletcher, this is a pretty business! There ’s but one way of settling such an affront: choose your weapons. Miss Carter promises to act as second.’’ ‘*T am quite willing,’’ said he. ‘‘ My life is at Miss Egerton’s disposal, and I ask no- thing more than to throw it away for her sake.’’ ‘*We all know that, Mr. Fletcher,’’ said Alice Carter, ‘‘and we thought it most prob- able that you had come out here té tell her so, and hesitated about interrupting you.”’ How unconsciously and unintentionally do we stab each other through and through! Willie Fletcher could not rally from this home-thrust, and Florence came quickly to the rescue :— ‘* Alice, I won’t have Mr. Fletcher teased on my account. It was all my fault: I felt the heat, and came out here, meaning to Mr. Middleton, I am really sorry, return in time for the dance. I owe you an apology; but cannot I go in now, and fulfil my en- gagement, or is it too late ?”’ ‘“*Too late to-night, Miss Egerton, but I shall hold your hand for the first dance to- morrow night at my aunt’s. I noticed that every one was scattering as we left the room. I assure you, when I found that you were missing, I should have blown my brains out on the spot, had not Miss Carter taken pity on me.”’ “That would have been rather a tragic termination, Mr. Middleton, to what you were GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, pleased to term ‘such a brilliant evening’ in the beginning of it; decidedly unpleasant we should have found it.’’ But even as she uttered these words so lightly, Willie Fletcher felt, as her arm rested on his, that she was trembling excessively, and, feeling that she was making a great effort, proposed that they should adjourn to the house. As they reached the hall door, he paused as the others entered, and Florence, drawing her arm from his, held out her hand to him, saying, in a sweet, earnest voice: **You will believe that I would have spared you this pain if I could ?’’ He seized her hand, pressed it earnestly to his lips over and over again, then turned, and hurried away. Florence hastened into the house, and in a moment was lost in the crowd. The hall was thronged with departing guests. Frederick Middleton and Edward Ashurst stood talking together, as they waited to escort the ladies home. **T say, Ashurst,’’ said the former, ‘‘I think there was more truth in Miss Carter’s words than she was aware of. We spoilt something, when we came upon that pair of lovers to-night. I was saying, only a few minutes before to Miss Carter, that Fletcher’s a fortunate fellow; he’s drawn a prize in Life’s lottery ; don’t you think so ?’’ **Don’t I think what? That Miss Egerton ’s aprize? Yes. That Fletcher’s drawn her? No. I watched them while you were talking: his face expressed despairing sadness, and hers was pale and constrained, even as she tried to jest with you. If there was any- thing going on, it looks to me much more like a refusal.’’ ‘¢ Nonsense; the heir of Fletcher Park isn’t to be thrown away lightly, even by the heiress of Egerton Manor! He’s a fine-looking fellow, too, just one to please a girl’s fancy ; besides, she’s just from school; not out yet, and can’t have had any other attention. No, that couldn’t be; your out m your reckoning there, old fellow; though I must admit that, were I as young as she is, I should think twice, before I gave up such a magnificent home as this.’’ ‘‘Yes, indeed, you may well say so! Miss Egerton seems to me one of those fortunate people who possess all that earth can give: great beauty, great wealth, and devoted parents. Hers is indeed a most enviable lot.”?

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LIFE’S CONTRASTS. 1538 CHAPTER IV. ‘Mamma says you’re to take me out to walk now,’’ said Emily Danvers, a pale, sickly, and spoiled child of twelve years old, as she en- tered the room where her governess was sit- ting at a table, wearily leaning her head upon _ her hand. ‘*Ask your mother if she will excuse me to-day. My head is aching so much that I am really unfit to go.”’ Surely we have heard that voice before, and as the child closes the door, one keen, earnest glance at the perfect oval of that face, and faultless line of feature, convinces us that Egerton Manor’s once proud heiress and Mrs. Danvers’ weary governess are one and the same person. Ten years have rolled by since that night we last saw her, in the grounds of her own beautiful home: ten long years full of sorrow, and struggle, and trial of no ordinary kind. But who can look upon that face without feeling that, if it has lost its girlish freshness and youthful bloom, it has gained a far greater attraction in the character which now speaks in those thoughtful eyes, and a sweet, pensive gentleness which tells us that the proud, haughty spirit of former days has been soft- ened and subdued by the sad ordeal through which she has been called to pass. Florence Egerton is indeed changed, but the hand which has smitten has also poured in balm, and she has found the only comfort and consolation which could have upheld her when her cup of sorrow seemed filled to overflowing. A few short months after that gay scene, her father became involved by the failure of an enormous speculation in which he had been rashly tempted to engage; and, ere he could recover from the loss, a terrible financial crisis occurred, sweeping away every- His mortification and humiliation preyed upon his health to such a degree that, in a few months, he sank thing that he possessed. beneath the blow, leaving Florence and her mother alone in the world, unprotected and unprovided for. Mrs. Egerton’s sister, who lived in a small village in the northern part of the State, of- fered them a home; but whilst Mrs. Egerton was glad to accept it, Florence’s independent spirit could not brook the idea of living in a state of dependence, and she had at once re- We solved to seek a situation as governess. will not linger over the sad history of her efforts and failures, nor of the frequency that her untamed spirit brought her into difficulty, until she almost resolved to abandon the idea of that mode of support; suffice it for our present purpose to say that the bitter trials through which she passed in the sad school of poverty taught her in time the lesson for which they were sent, and in the position in which we now find her, that of governess in the city of New York, to the daughter of Mrs. Danvers, a lady of wealth, but without refine- ment or delicacy of feeling, irksome and dis- tasteful as it is to her, she has learned to bear with patience and to endure with calm- ness, supported and sustained by that unseen strength which is never denied to those who have learned to seek it as she has done. What greater proof do we need that she is no longer the Florence Egerton of former days, than the meek though mournful manner in which she rises to prepare for her walk, on receiving Mrs. Danvers’ second message, de- livered in no very respectful tone :— ‘*Miss Egerton, mamma says the air will do you good, and she wishes you’d hurry and get ready, for she wants me to be out in the finest part of the day.”’ Florence had been engaged in dangerous work during the half hour which she had spent alone. She had opened the door of memory’s art-gallery, and had been walking through it, studying the pictures of Life’s ‘‘long-ago,’’ and the fascination which seems so strangely to fasten our gaze on such visions, no matter how painful, had carried her back and back, and compelled her to linger over them till the present was utterly forgotten. The aching longing which had beer with her through those weary years, came upon ber now, with a force which almost overpowered her. She had tried—tried earnestly—to crush out that love and forget, for she was conscious that her health was suffering under the strain, but she found it impossible; but one idea was in her mind, one thought ever with her. Where was he, and did he still care for her? Should she ever see him again, and how? as the husband of another, or as true to her? It was not often that she dared encourage these thoughts, although they would rise at times in spite of every effort to put them aside, but to-day she had yielded to them ; they had gained the upper-hand, and it was with great difficulty that she could bring herself back to

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154 her daily task of a tiresome walk with a tire- Little wonder, then, that, under these circumstances, whilst she performed the duty mechanically, her mind went back to the former reverie, and she was only roused from her abstraction by her pupil’s stopping her suddenly, as they were about to cross the street. **Oh, take care Miss Egerton! you’ll be run over; you’re going right under those feet.’’ Florence started and drew back; a handsome barouche with a pair of spirited horses was dashing round the corner directly in front of her. A lady very ele- gantly dressed reclined in the back seat, some and uninteresting child. horses’ whilst two gentlemen were seated in front, one of whom was driving. Just as she raised her eyes he turned, with a laughing remark, to the lady behind him, and Florence saw— could it be? yes, the sudden bound of her heart told her that it was none other—the face that had haunted her sleeping and wak- ing dreams for ten years; it was Alfred Nor- ton. They were so close that she heard the merry laugh in return, and as they dashed on, the mud from the crossing was thrown upon her dress, and stained her bonnet rib- bons. The sudden meeting ; the shock; the contrast between the two positions; the keen pang which the sound of that merry laugh She stopped, tried to rally, but her head swam, caused; all were too much for Florence. everything around her darkened, and, point- ing to a shop door, she had just power to tell Emily to help her to goin there. Frightened by the deadly whiteness of her face, the child seized her hand, aud hurrying her in, placed her inaseat. The man in attendance brought her water, and in a few moments she revived, and was able to control herself. ‘*Don’t try it yet, ma’am,”’’ said he, as Flo- rence attempted to rise, ‘‘ better sit a bit; you ’re too white-lookin’ to walk. Couldn’t I Poor Florence! the word brought to mind the elegant equipage she had just seen. call a carriage for you?’’ No carriages for her, no matter how unfit to walk she might be, and as her eye fell upon the soiled ribbons of her bonnet, the contrast overcame her entirely, and she burst into tears. ‘*What’s the matter, Miss Egerton ?’’ said Emily. ‘‘I wish you wouldn’t cry; I want to go home, and I know mamma wouldn’t like my going into strange shops in this way.” Perhaps this speech, unkind and selfish as GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. it was, proved more effectual in rousing Flo- rence at that moment than any kindness would have done, for, controlling herself instantly, she rose, and thanking the man, drew down her veil, and left the shop with her charge. Henceforth Florence made no opposition to the monotonous walk with Emily; on the contrary, she sought various pretexts to go out, with the feverish anxiety and eager hope of gaining one more glimpse of the form and face which made her earth. A thousand times she told herself how vain her hope was; that she had been given that sight to prove to her that he cared for another; that it now became a positive duty to overcome her faith- ful and persistent love. But even after she had most earnestly striven to do so, she found herself watching every face, as she walked, just as eagerly as before. Week followed week, however, without the longed-for meet- ing; and as the tedious time wore on, hope seemed to fade, and she began to wish that she had not seen him, as it had so completely unnerved her and unfitted her for every duty. ‘*Miss Egerton,’’ said Mrs. Danvers, coming in the room one morning, where Florence was giving Emily a music lesson, ‘‘should you very much mind taking a note and parcel for I only want it left at the door, and you can have the rest of the morning me to Mrs. Edgars? to yourself; I will excuse you from Emily’s lessons to-day. It is very damp, and my maid has a sore throat, so that I scarcely like to send her, otherwise I should not trouble you.”’ At another time Florence might have been indignant at being used in such a manner; but now, even though hope was almost dead, she still caught at every chance, and Mrs. Danvers was surprised at the alacrity with which she accepted a proposition which she had almost hesitated to make. Florence quickly executed her commission, and was returning home, when she heard a voice be- hind her—a voice she should have known among ten thousand—‘‘ Miss Egerton! Flo- rence! It must be.” She turned suddenly, and met the eager, delighted gaze of Alfred Norton. “It is! itis! Found at last. Thank God!’’ said he; ‘‘ but tell me, tell me, quickly, that you are Miss Egerton still—that you are Flo- rence, my Florence still?”’ ~ Florence’s feelings were strangely mingled ; the joy, the delight in his face, his eager words and manner, all would have convinced

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her instantly, that she was as dear as ever to him, but for the vision which would come up of that bright girl in the carriage, whose laugh had haunted her ever since that day, and the thought of whom now chained her tongue, though she trembled so violently that she could scarcely stand. Alfred saw this, and, drawing her arm within his own, turned out of the crowded thoroughfare into a quiet street, where they were comparatively alone. But the very intensity of his anxiety led him to misinterpret her increasing agita- tion. He waited for a moment, and then said, very gently, as though anxious to soothe her, but in a tone of the deepest sadness :— ‘*Do not distress yourself, Miss Egerton, if that is still your name; you were perfectly free, and had a right to form other ties. If the hope that I have lived on, through these weary years—the one idea which has sup- le ported and sustained me in every trial during that long, long time, can never be realized— only tell me, in mercy, tell me quickly, for this suspense is more than I can bear.”’ **O Alfred! did you doubt me ?”’ said Flo- rence, in a broken voice. “‘Then you are mine, my own precious Flo- rence,’’ said he joyfully, * for now there can be no barrier between us.’’ She started, as his last words brought to her mind her changed position. ‘‘O Alfred! it cannot be; you do not know all.’’ **I do not want to know anything, but that I have found you, and that your heart is still mine. I will listen to nothing more for the present.”’ ‘But you must. I will make no promise. I will not even hold myself bound, till you have heard me.”’ **T did not ask you to promise,’’ said Alfred, laughing, ‘‘that was done long ago, and I consider it just as binding as the day it was made. Circumstances have removed the one obstacle, and there can be no objection now. Are you strong enough to walk? You are so very pale.”’ ‘‘Oh, yes, strong enough for anything,’’ said Florence, to whose languid frame happi- ness seemed to have imparted sudden vigor. ‘**Then let us keep up this street for a short distance, and I will show you a spot where we shall be completely alone.’’ They did so, and Florence gave him, by degrees, the whole of her sad story, which Alfred heard with infinite pain, for whilst she LIFE’S CONTRASTS, had been suffering and struggling, he hal been rising, till he was a very wealthy man, at present, and one of the chief partners in a prosperous and influential business firm; hav- ing won the respect and esteem of business men to a degree very unusual in one of his years. ‘‘I find,’’ he said, at length, by way of turning the conversation, for Florence had been earnestly protesting against becoming a portionless bride, whilst he had been assuring her that she owed it to him to let him prove to the world that it was herself and not her fortune, which, in other days, he had sought, “‘T find that you used to know one of the partners in our firm very intimately. You are a favorite subject of discussion with us; indeed, I have discovered that he was an old rival of mine. He says that it was for my sake that you refused him. Was this so, Florence ?”’ ‘Not Willie Fletcher! you cannot mean it!’? said she, in the greatest amazement. She had never seen him since the night they parted at her own hall door in that crowded throng. The intermediate time seemed a blank, and she went back to that sad hour, the weight upon her heart then, and all that she had suffered since. She longed to ask if he were married, but something seemed to prevent the question. Alfred’s next words, however, satisfied her on that point. ‘* Willie Fletcher! how natural that sounds. We all call him so, because they do in his home, but I never hear it from any one else. What makes you look so grave over it? are you a little sorry that you refused him? ’Tis a pity if you are, for it is too late, now; you know he wasn’t so constant as some people that I could name,’ said he, with an arch smile. “Ts he married? Oh, how gladIam! Dear Willie! I can never think of him but asa kind and dear brother. How much I should love to see him again !”’ ‘“‘Is he married? Why, Florence, you surely know whom he married? No? Why, that’s the best joke, then; I sha’n’t tell you till you see her.”’ ‘*Some one that I know? Not one of our school girls, was it ?”’ ‘*Yes; but they will come to see you, and I sha’n’t say any more till you see for yourself.”’ ‘‘It must be Alice Lee, or maybe Kate Stuart; they both had friends here, and would be likely to meet him. I am truly thankful

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156 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, to hear it; but you have not yet told me how and where your dear mother and Anna are. How often I have longed for the comfort of their sympathy, and have sighed to think that all communication was forbidden.”’ ‘*Both well, and both very happy. They shall come to see you, and answer for them- selves.’’ As Florence was seated that afternoon at her window, vainly trying to still the tumult- uous beatings of her heart by reading, or at- tempting to do so, a very elegant barouche, which we have seen before, drew up at the door, and she saw two ladies alight, one of whom she recognized by her dress as her fancied rival, although her veil had prevented her face from being seen on either occasion. **Tt must be for me,’’ said Mrs. Danvers, to the servant, ‘‘they could not have asked for Miss Egerton.”’ ‘*Yes, ma’am, they did; they said Miss Egerton very plain, and they wouldn’t send their names.”’ ‘*Tell her, then,’’ said Mrs. Danvers, not very well pleased. ‘‘ Some one looking for a governess, I suppose.”’ Florence hurried down, and found herself warmly clasped in the arms of Mrs. Norton, and her dear friend Anna. ‘*And now, Florrie, darling,’’? said Anna, after the first excitement was over, ‘‘you are to come home with me. It is so delicious to think how much I have to tell you. Alfred says you don’t know that I have just come home from Europe; didn’t even know that I was married, till he told you. Think of it!’’ You, Anna? He didn’t tell me so, at all.”’ Anna smiled, and the truth suddenly flashed upon Florence. ‘‘He didn’t mean that you had married Willie Fletcher? O Anna! it is too good to be true.’’ ‘*That is just what I feel, Florrie, dear, every day of my life, and especially when I look at dear mamma. You know that she has come to live with me since my return from abroad, and now that I can have you, too, it seems still more ‘too good to be true,’ even if it is only for a little while,’’ said she, with a meaning smile, which brought the blood to Flurence’s pale cheek. ‘* Willie would have come with me, I know, but I wouldn’t wait till he came home. Alfred came to us at once, after he left you, and we felt that we could lose no time. Where is Mrs. Danvers? We must see her and make the arrangements.”’ ** Married ? In vain Florence protested that it would be impossible to leave Mrs. Danvers on such short notice. That lady was summoned, and finding that it was Mrs. Fletcher, whom she had been particularly anxious, for some time, to number among her visiting acquaintances, she was exceedingly gracious, and yielded her claim at once upon Florence and her services. Florence, however, declined returning with her friends, as they were most anxious that she should do, promising, instead, to be quite ready when the carriage came for her in the morning. Stand with us upon the crowded deck of this steamer just about to sail for Europe. It is a bustling scene. Men are pushing and jostling each other; freight is being received ; orders hastily given; passengers hurrying on board. What interest have we here? The sailing of a steamer is no novelty; its frequency has destroyed the interest, which, in former days, made it an event of great im- portance. We have come to take leave of friends, and, therefore, must join that group on the other side, where Florence Norton, a happy bride, is bidding a tender farewell to her mother, who is staying with Mrs. Fletcher, having come on, at her solicitation, to be pre- sent at her daughter’s wedding. Alfred has made a handsome provision for her during their absence, and has obtained her promise that she will come to them permanently, on their return. But who is that fine-looking man who is shaking hands so warmly with Florence? We find some difficulty in recognizing, in the broad-shouldered, muscular form before us, the boyish Willie Fletcher, whom we last saw pleading a hopeless cause. His bright face assures us that he has found happiness and peace in his present lot; and who can wonder, if they turn and look upon his sweet young wife, as she says good-by to her brother Alfred, who rejoices that he can leave his mother and sister so well provided for, and so tenderly watched over. ; The partings are done; the last words all said; and Florence has watched till the party are out of sight, then turning to her husband, her eyes swimming with tears, she lays her hand in his, saying :— ° ‘‘Dear Alfred, how strange life is! What should we have thought, when I left school, could we have foreseen that the day would

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HEALTH OF BODY AND MIND.—THE KISS. 157 come, when mamma and I should be utterly dependent upon you for everything, even to our daily bread ; but such are life’s contrasts !’’ —_—_—__ +e > + HEALTH OF BODY AND MIND. To promote soundness and vigor of mind measures should be adopted and habits formed analogous to those recommended for supply- ing the body with fresh air and change of air, and securing to it the advantage of free ven- tilation. We often, and very intelligibly to all, speak of the ‘‘atmosphere’’ in which a person lives; meaning by the term the moral and intellectual influences to which he is con- stantly subjected, in the family or in society. And we as often, and most justly, attribute to these influences the improvement or dete- rioration of his character. Above all things it is esseutial to a good education that the sentiments and principles, the demeanor and habits, of those with whom a child is in daily intercourse, should be such as, by the force of example and the necessity of conforming to circumstances, may contribute to the repres- sion of the evil and the development of the good instincts of our nature. These are ad- vantages which it is very difficult to secure ; impossible, perhaps, to secure to entire satis- faction. Especially it is found impracticable, in most cases, to select for a child such juve- nile associates as may merely do him no harm, to say nothing of such as may promote his progress in intelligence and virtue. We must be contented, and thankful, if we can effect an approximation to the best state of things, by keeping or placing our children under guardianship which shelters from the assault of the open and grosser forms of evil, and ander such a system of association with their fellows as shall insure the minimum of cor- rupting communication, and the maximum of respect for the principles of honor, justice, and truth. It may be considered, in some respects, a counterpoise to the difficulty ef pre- serving the mind in an altogether pure atmo- sphere, that much good is to be expected from what may be termed mental ventilation. A person who should restrict himself to company and connections in which nothing would occur that is objectionable, or other than edifying, would so limit his sphere of observation or range of thought that he would inevitably become narrow-minded, prejudiced, illiberal, and uncharitable. A close and secluded habit of life or system of education will also pro- duce, in most cases, a morbid reserve and shyness very unfavorable to progress in prac- tical knowledge and the development of the moral qualities, and often quite unfitting a man to take his place and perform his part on the stage of business and duty. On the other hand, by going into society and entering into free intercourse with persons of different opin- ions on all subjects, and of varying shades of character, we can hardly fail to improve in quickness of apprehension and accuracy of dis- cernment, and to acquire a spirit of candor and openness, to attain a facility of recognizing truth and goodness wherever they may really exist, and to strengthen ourselves in those convictions which have successfully stood the test of exposure to inquiry, and conflict with their total or partial opposites. But, although the practice of frequenting general and pro- miscuous society may be recommended, for the purpose of airing the mind and giving it holiday excursions into various regions of thought and sentiment, it is impossible to in- sist too strongly upon the importance to its health and soundness of a calm, pure atmo- sphere at home, and the selection of a limited number of habitual and intimate associates, in whose communications we may be perfectly assured there will be nothing unprofitable or evil. THE KISS. COZANS. BY JOSEPHINE c. Ir should be a token To tell of deep feeling, Of affection unbroken, Pure attachment revealing. Too dear should the gift be, To lavish at will, And the kiss of deception, Doth poison distil. The hand may be pressed, And the heart remain cold, And smile may meet smile, Yet, yet, we behold No deep feeling stirring The waves of the heart— They are calm, quiet, silent, unmoved— The pressure of hands doth not always impart That we love, or are dearly beloved. But a kiss is an emblem More sacred by far Than the pressure of hands, Than the sigh or the tear ; It should speak an emotion All others above, And ne’er be bestowed Save on lips that we love.

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158 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. MRS. JOHN SMITH. BY MARIAN DOUGLAS, PUBLIC OPINION DURING HER LIFE. HER HOUSEMAID’S TESTIMONY. Kyow Mrs. Smith? I should think I had ought to know her! I worked for her six months, and brought on a complaint—the doctor says it’s my liver—that’s . troubled me ever since. It was trot, trot, trot, up stairs and down stairs, garret and cellar, and no thanks at the end on’t. She was the hardest woman to please I ever saw in my life, and she didn’t have good sense about her housekeeping neither. She’d order cus- tards when there wan’t a drop of milk in the house, and expect me to make cake, and tarts, and rhubarb sauce, and then be pro- voked when the sugar was used up. And then she was so high-tempered; always in If she had the headache, or was put out with the neighbors, she’d turn round and scold at me and the children, whether we ’d done anything or not. I was younger then than I am now, and awful sensitive, andif she blamed me I couldn’t help crying; but Mrs. Smith, it never hot water with somebody. affected her in the least ; seems if the worse I felt, the harder she’d talk. I wouldn’t take such language now from nobody. And then she was so nipping; always trying to cut down my wages, and get extra work done for nothing. I was sick all summer after I left her house. Every body said ’twa’n’t nothing but overdoing. All the neighbors thought I was going into a decline, and we had a terrible doctor’s bill to pay; and Mrs. Smith, she never asked for me, nor called to see how I was, nor nothing, though we only lived a mile away, and though she kept a horse and carriage, and was driving by almost every other day. I shouldn’t have minded that, but, one day at the sewing-circle (I had it on good authority) somebody said: ‘* Lucinda Mitchell is very sick ;’? and Mrs. Smith, she spoke ont: ‘‘She’d be well enough,’’ she said, ‘if she’d exert herself; all she needs is a little hard work.’’ I thought that was Exert myself! I should like to see her exert herself! She would never do a thing as long as there was any one else to work for her! Her husband, she used to make him wait on her by inches, the meekest, patientest man in the world ; and his children, poor little creturs, how they did have to step mean. round! all except that yoangest young one, that child of her’n. She used to humor him in everything, and wouldn’t allow him to be crossed, and a more saucy, troublesome, into everything child it was never my bad luck to set eyes on! HER NEXT NEIGHBOR’S CRITICISMS. Mrs. Smiru has borrowed my Lady’s Book. She’s always borrowing and never bringing back! Icouldn’t count the magazines and pamphlets I’ve lost in her house ; and, if she ever does return a book, it’s spotted and dog-eared from beginning to end! My hus- band says I ought to refuse to lend to her outright, but it does not seem neighborly, and besides I’m afraid to do it. There is no guessing what she might say about us, if she should be offended, and half the gossip in town comes directly from her. I told Sarah Brown, if she did not want her engagement known, not to let Mrs. Smith hear of it: it would be in every one’s mouth before the week came round. Sarah wouldn’t listen to me at the time, but it was only yesterday she was saying she was sorry she had not minded my advice. Mrs. Smith used to pretend to like Sarah, and was very polite to her face, but it didn’t prevent her making a great many harsh remarks about her, when she ‘ was out of hearing. That’s the worst thing about Mrs. Smith—she is so deceitful. You can’t tell from her appearance when with you whether she is your friend or your enemy. And then she is so inquisitive; always ques- tioning my hired girl, and making impudent inquiries of the children: ‘‘ If I am not older than my husband?’’ and, ‘‘ How I like his cousins??? and, ‘‘ What the parlor carpet cost ?’’ and, ‘‘If my new bonnet wasn’t my old one pressed over ?’’ and everything of that kind. My husband says, if he could have his own way, I should never speak to her again ; but, dear me! what is the use of quarrelling ? I tell him we ought to bear with her as we would with any other trial, and be grateful we don't have to live in the same house. HER SISTER-IN-LAW’S PRIVATE COMMENTS. Ir there is anything I thoroughly despise, it is a family quarrel. When Brother John married Emily Jones, I said to my husband: ‘*Come what may, I am determined to avoid contention.’’ Not that Iam pleased with the connection—by no means; I never liked her

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MRS. JOHN SMITH. 159 when we were eight years old, and went to the district school together. She was a mis- chievous, disagreeable little girl, always mak- ing grimaces at the other scholars, and throw- ing paper balls at the teacher. When she grew older, she was so bold and forward that her conduct excited universal remark, and, when I first heard John was paying her his addresses, I denied it at once. I could not believe it. He never would have thought of her, but Emily is artful as well as bold. It was a regular plan for her to marry John, con- trived between herself and her Aunt Judith, and she broke an engagement with a young minister for the sake of carrying it out. Not that she loved my brother, but she thought he had property, and she could not do better. John’s first wife was a perfect lady, and the most tidy, careful person in the world. It is enough to break her rest in the grave to see how her house is left, and how her children are neglected. Poor little things! Emily never concerns herself about them, except to find fault with them; she does that continu- ally. And John himself, I don’t think he has He says nothing, but he looks paler and more anxious every time I meet him. His wife is a miserable housekeeper, and takes no pains to make things comfortable. His meals are never well served, nor his clothes taken care of. His stockings are not properly mended, and the buttons are all off his shirts; and then she is so fretful and peevish it must wear upon his spirits ; and, besides, she is so jealous. She found John, one day, looking at his first wife’s picture, and seemed really angry about it, and, after he had gone out, she went and hid it away where he could not find it again. And then mother, oh! that was dreadful! I think she might be living now, if she had had proper care, but she was staying at John’s when she was taken with her last sickness, and Emily neglected her shamefully. Only a little while before she died, mother said, ‘‘Poor John! poor John!’’ as many as six times. Emily thought she was wandering, but I shall always believe she was in full possession of her reason. had a happy day since he was married. HER OBITUARY NOTICE. “Diep ——— , in , Mrs. Emily Jones, wife of John Smith, and daughter of the late Samuel Jones, of ———. **Death loves a shining mark. Seldom is | | a circle of bereaved friends called to mourn the loss of so many ennobling traits and en- dearing virtues as those that marked the character of our deceased friend. ‘* By this calamity a fond husband is bereft of a most affectiona‘e and devoted wife; his children of a judicious, indulgent, and self- sacrificing mother; her acquaintance of a prudent and trustworthy counsellor, an affec- tionate and warm-hearted friend; the poor and dependent of a generous benefactor, ready alike with her sympathy and her alms; the community of a shining example; and the world itself of an earnest helper in every good word and work, whose broad heart embraced entire humanity in its unselfish plan of en- larged benevolence. ‘‘An almost more than earthly purity seemed to distinguish her, even in her child- hood ; and the unfolding of her character, like the opening of a rose, was only the develop- ment of new graces of the intellect and heart. ‘Fitted by the charms of her person and manners to shine unsurpassed in the gay world, her innate modesty and affectionate disposition made her shrink from its flattery, and find her chief pleasure in ministering to her husband’s happiness, and in guiding the young immortals committed to her charge. ‘**Love thyself last’ was the great motto of her life, and to do good was the one aim of her existence. But her almost faultless re- cord remains as a precious legacy, and, in many years to come, will she be remembered as a model of true womanhood, as one of whom it could truly be said in the words of the poet :— “None knew her but to love her; None named her but to praise.’”’ CowarpicE.—You are a coward, if afraid to tell the truth when you should doso. You are acoward, when you insult the weak. You are a coward, if afraid to do right, if you shrink from defending your opinion, from maintaining that which you know to be just and good; and you are especially a coward, if you know certain things of yourself, and care not to own them to yourself. TuERE is this difference between happiness and wisdom: he that thinks himself the hap- piest man, really is so; but he who thinks himself the wisest man, is generally the greatest fool.

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NOVELTIES FOR AUGUST. Fig. 1 is a very novel bonnet, formed of three rows of fullings of white thulle; at each side is a bouquet of white Marguerites, with bows of narrow green velvet at the bot- tom; from beneath these bouquets start the strings, which are of white silk, having a narrow green veivet carried down the centre, dotted at intervals by Marguerites. No cur- tain, but its place is supplied by narrow draperies of thulle, arranged in bandeaux, and ornamented by narrow velvet and Mar- guerites like the strings. Thecapis trimmed by bouquets of Marguerites. Fig. 2 is a bonnet of white thulle, trimmed by two wreaths of violets, one of which is 160 carried round the outside edge of bonnet, the other round the crown. In the centre of crown is a group of violets. Strings of white ribbon, with Benoiton of violets. Fig. 3.—Chapeau Marie Stuart. It is of white chip, edged by two rows of narrow black velvet, and is trimmed outside by a group of mixed flowers, comprising white lilac, Indian grass, ground ivy leaves, and berries, exotics, etc. Strings of black velvet. No cap whatever inside. Fig. 4.—Bonnet of blue Areophane ; at the left side is a branch of white Narcissus flow- ers with leaves. The crown is encircled by a bandeau of white thulle; at the back is an ornament of filigree silver, and this is united to the top of the strings by chains of filigree silver. Strings of blue ribbon, accompanied

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 161

by brides of white thulle, and filigree silver chains. Cap of white thulle, with Narcissus. Fig. 5.—Leghorn hat, having the edge cut in turrets, and trimmed round with a fancy velvet. The turrets are lined with white silk, half are caught up, and the others droop. The hat is trimmed with a band of scarlet velvet, and medallions of green bronze. In front is a scarlet plume and fancy ornament. Fig. 6.—Linen cuff, ornamented with me- dallions and insertions of Cluny lace. TWO DESIGNS FOR BERLIN WORK. THESE patterns are very easy to work, and very pretty and effective for a variety of small articles, such as slippers, bags, tea-cosies, mats, etc. Fig. 1 is composed of a pattern in black wool, with an edging of maize filoselle

on a green ground. Fig. 2 is a cross-stitch pattern in violet-colored wool, filled up with long stitches in maize filoselle. The size, number, and position of the stitches are clearly seen in our illustration. Fig. 2 is worked in two kinds of stitches. The leaves are formed of slanting stitches of graduated length in two shades of blue; the stripes which divide the pattern at equal dis- tances are worked in the Gobelin stitch, 1 thread only being taken in breadth and 2 in length; the two middle rows are worked in Fig. 2. ee eee nee “ ~ ESS FR. Se > SUS Sa a SE Siaeineiin, te Sein hein ahaa . Sa oe Se ES claret-color, with a border of yellow and black on each side. Part of the work, one row of

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_— 9 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

each, being shown unfinished in our illustra- tion, the way in which the stitches are made will be at once understood. The colors need not be adhered to that we have selected. Any bright shades can be chosen to work these patterns, care being taken that they har- mounize well.

A PETTICOAT BORDER IN ORIENTAL EMBROIDERY AND APPLIQUE. Tue interlaced outlines in the centre are worked, one in blue the other in yellow worsted braid, sewn on with black silk. The leaves are worked in satin stitch with fine wool—blue, red, brown, green, violet, etc. The small patterns between the groups of leaves are composed of two outlines worked, one with black the other with white wool, in chain stitch. The outer borders are worked

in double herring-bone stitch with blue and yellow wool. —_——-_~~»s.eoe. CORNER FOR A POCKET HANDKERCHIEF. a sk © ° o 9 Q 3 ° DRE, 7 209290 = O N 7] = Oo °290000 Z. SY <8 0o8 0009 29 } SS) 2 Toa / - 47 a IG 20000006 ; 900090000 2. S200000007 Dee, 2. DRE o DUIS.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 163 A NEEDLE-BOOK. Materials.—A strip of perforated card-board, nine inches long and four and a half inches wide; a piece of red sar- cenet ribbon of the same dimensions; two and a half yards of red ribbon, half an inch wide; red sewing-silk ; white flannel ; fish-scales, Tuts needle-book is composed of two stars, covered with small fish-scales and bound round with a quilling of ribbon. Each star is cut out of a piece of perforated card-board 4} inches square, over which a circle is traced measuring 4} inches across. Now divide the circle into eight notches ?-inch deep, and cut them out; cover both the star-shaped pieces with fish-scales, which should previously have been well washed in hot salt water and care- fully wiped and dried. The needle, threaded with red silk, is inserted in the lower part of the scales to fasten them on to the card-board as seen in Fig. 2, which gives a part of the pattern during the process of working. The indented edge of the scales should be placed upwards, and they should overlap each other. Cover in this way the eight notches first, and then the rest of the stars, arranging the scales in regular circles, and only leave a small space in the centre, in which place a rosette of red ribbon. Then line both the pieces of card- board with the red ribbon 4} inches wide, and Showing the way the fish-sca!es are sewn on. on the side of the lining sew on a quilling of the narrow ribbon so as to let it show a little beyond the edge on the right side. Place two

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16£ GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE,

pieces of fine white flannel inside the pieces of card-board for holding the needles; cut them out of the same shape, but rather small ; join both sides of the cover by sewing a small piece of ribbon over one notch of each star, forming a sort of hinge; then sew a piece of ribbon, six inches long, to two notches on the opposite side, which serve to fasten the needle-book by a bow. Fig. 1 shows the pat- tern in full size.

NAPKIN-RING IN BEAD WORK. Materials.—Green and gold beads; very fine wire; card-board ; a little white silk, ete. WE give, in a reduced size, a pattern for a napkin ring, made of card-board, covered with white silk and ornamented with bead The strip of card-board for the ring is 7 inches long and 2 inches deep. The bead rosettes are made in 3 separate rows, forming work,

If any difficulty should be found vandykes. in threading the beads upon wire, horsehair or coarse silk may be used instead. Each rosette is composed of 5 loops, for each of which thread 1 gold bead and 8 green upon the wire. Now pass the wire again through the gold bead, and begin the next loop with 1 gold bead. When the 5th loop is worked, pass the wire once more through the Ist gold bead, which completes one rosette, and begin the next with the same piece of wire. In the 2d and 3d rows, work 3 rosettes only at a time, and, before you go on, pass the wire in the lower rosette of each vandyke of preceding row. The last rosette of each row is joined to the first to form the ring.

KNITTED FRINGE. Tus fringe is suitable for furniture trim- ming or for antimacassars, in wool or cotton. It is worked in the width. Cast on 9 stitches on needles in accordance with the size of the material you are using. lst row. Knit 2, cotton forward, and knit 2 together three times. Knit the last stitch plain. 2d. Plain. The stitch that was made by bringing the cotton forward must be knitted as a stitch, so that you have constantly nine stitches in the row. LN > = 2 TEX STE a = 9 Bee Oe — ee a a = a’ =

Nw hi Ny i FEF Repeat these two rows until you have the length you require. Cut the fringe loops, and take care to keep the number of threads in them equal. Double the loops exactly in the middle, and insert the double part at the edge of the heading (see engraving.) Pull the ends through the double part of the loop, and draw them moderately tight.

—_ —~+vw eon EMBROIDERY. Sr oacPewyearas

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a A, el WORK DEPARTMENT. 165 RAZOR TIDY.—KNITTING. Materials.—Knitting cotton, No. 16; Pins, No. 18. Cast on 65 loops, knit 6 rows, alternately a plain and a pearl row. . 1st row of Pattern.—Knit 4, *, pearl 1, knit 2 together, knit 4, thread forward, knit 1, thread forward, knit 4, knit 2 together; re- peat from * three more times, and finish with pearl 1, knit 4. 2d. Pearl 4, *, knit 1, pearl 12; repeat from *. Repeat these two rows five more times; after which, knit six rows, alternately plain and pearl, so that the pearl knitting be on the right side to form the raised part of the work. Commence again from pattern rows, and repeat, until 12 sections of the pattern, with the raised work between, are completed. Knit 6 rows, alternately plain and pearl, then

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166 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. cast off loosely. Wash, stretch, and press under a weight. Take six pieces of linen, about an inch smaller in length and width than the knitted part; work these at the edge in buttonhole stitch with colored silk. Make a cord of cotton one yard in length, with a small tassel at each end, and make tassels also for each corner; pass the cord along the centre stitching at each side to the work, and fasten the cord at the ends with a bow. Place the pieces of linen underneath the cord, on the wrong side of the knitted cover. DESIGN FOR THE CORNER OF AN INFANT’S BLANKET OR SHAWL.

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~— ov & RECEIPTS. 167 Receipts, We. MISCELLANEOUS COOKING. Sounder or Murron.—A shoulder of mutton weighing about six pounds requires one hour and a half to roast ; if stuffed, a quarter ofan hour longer. Before cooking it, take out the bone, and fill the space with a dressing of bread-crums, pepper, salt, parsley, sweet marjoram, one egg, and a small piece of butter, mixed together. CABBAGE BorLeD witH Meat.—Select, for boiling, small white cabbages with firm heads; cut the heads in quar- ters, and examine carefully that there is no vermin lodged in them; lay them for an hour in salted water to draw out any that may have escaped observation ; skim the fat from the pot, and put in the cabbage while the water boils; drain well before serving; leave it as whole as possible. Should the meat be wanted cold, take some of the liquor from the pot to boil the cabbage, filling the pot with boiling water, as the cabbage imparts a disagreeable flavor to meat when cold. STEWED Lee on Neck or LaAms.—Dredge the joint with flour, and put it into a stewpan with half a pound of but- ter, some parsley, and a little salt and pepper; stew all together very gently for an hour. Choose some lettuces with good hearts, and cut them into small pieces; put them into the stewpan with a little sorrel, and let them remain another liour, still stewing very gently. Dish the joint, and add to the liquor in the stewpan half a pint of water, Give ita boil up, pourit over the joint, and serve. This is a French mode of dressing lamb, and is generally approved, Breap Savce.—Cut up into slices some bread, adding to it some pepper, an onion, a little salt and butter, and enough boiling milk to coverit. Let it siramer gently at the side of the fire until the whole of the milk has been soaked up by tne bread, then add a little thick cream, remove the onion, and rub the whole through a sieve Make it very hot, and serve up in a sauce-tureen. Rock Fisn.—Rock fish, bass, and some other kinds of fish, are boiled plain, leaving on the head and tail. It will take a half-hour steady boiling ; serve with drawn butter, in which mix hard-boiled eggs chopped fine. Hot Staw.—Cut eabbage in fine shreds, boil in clear water until perfectly tender, allowing so little, that when it is cooked sufficiently, there will be searcely none left in-the stewpan ; just before dishing, add to a common- sized stewpan a teacup of sarp vinegar, a piece of butter half the size of a common hen's egg, a little salt, anda dust of pepper; the latter can be added at the table if desired. To Bake A LARGE Fish Waoie.—Cut off the head, and split the fish nearly down to the tail; prepare a nice dressing of bread, butter, pepper, and salt, moistened with a little water. Fill the fish, and bind it together with small cotton cord or tape, so as to confine it; the bindings may be three inches apart; lay the fish on a grate in a bakepan, if you have one; if not, in the drip- ping-pan, and pour around it a very little water with butter melted in it; and baste it frequently, A good- sized but not over-large fish will bake in an hour; eerve, with the gravy of the fish, drawn butter, or oyster sauce. Corn Orsters.—Grate the corn; to every pint take three well beaten eggs, sufficient four to make the corn hold together in the shape of fried oysters. Season with VOL. LXxit.—12 pepper and salt, and brown on a griddle until cooked through ; serve with butter. They must be quite fiat, or they will not get thoroughly cooked. CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC. BLACKBERRY Puppixe.—Take a quart of blackberries, six large apples peeled and sliced in thin pieces, half a pound of sugar, and three or four slices of lemon-peel ; make a light paste, line a deep dish, and fill it with the above ingredients, and let the pudding boil steadily for one hour. A little grated nutmeg, with a small cup of sweet cream upon it, will render it a most delicious viand. Movntatn Cake.—One large cup of butter, three cups of white sugar, four of flour, fiveeggs—the whites and yelks beaten separately, one teaspoonful of cream of tartar, one of saleratus dissolved in one cup of milk. CaRoMEL Puppine.—Seven ounces of sugar dissolved in & pan in water, and burnt; take atin, and line the inside with a coating of it; in another pan one pint of new milk sweetened to your taste, the yelks of seven eggs and whites of two beaten well together; when the milk boils pour it upon the eggs, and mix it; pour it into the tin, and put it into a pan with three inches of water, and steam it for three-quarters of an hour; when quite cold, turn it into a dish Tuick GrInGERBREAD.—One quart of molasses, quarter of a pound of butter, quarter of a pound of coarse brown sugar, a pound and a half of flour, one ounce of ginger, half an ounce of ground allspice, a teaspoonful of carbo- nate of soda, quarter of a pint of warm milk, three eggs Put the flour into a basin, with the sugar, ginger, and allspice ; mix these together; warm the butter, and add it, with the treacle, to the other ingredients. Stir well; make the milk just warm, dissolve the carbonate of soda in it, and mix the whole into a nice smooth dough with the eggs, which should be previously well whisked , pour the mixture into a buttered tin, and bake it from three- quarters to one hour, or longer, should the gingerbread be very thick. Just before it is done, brush the top over with the yelk of an egg beaten up with a little milk, and put it back in the oven to finish baking. Lemon Biscvuits.—One pound and a quarter of flour, three-quarters of a pound of loaf sugar, six ounces of tresh butter, four eggs, one ounce of lemon-peel, two dessert- spoonfuls of lemon-juice. Rub the flour into the butter; stir in the pounded sugar and very finely-minced lemon- peel, and when these ingredients are thoroughly mixed, add the eggs, which should be previously well whisked, and the lemon-juice. Beat the mixture well for a minute or two, then drop it from a spoon on to a buttered tin, about two inches apart, as the cakes will spread when they get warm; place the tin in the oven, and bake the cakes of a pale brown from fifteen to twenty minutes. Crumpets.—These are made in the same manner as muflins ; only, in making the mixture, let it be more like batter than dough. Let it rise for about half an hour; pour it into iron rings, which should be ready on a hot plate; bake them, and when one side appears done, turn them quickly on the other. To toast them, have ready a very bright, clear fire ; put the crumpet on a toasting-fork, and hold it before the fire, not too close, until it is nicely brown on one side, but do not allow it to blacken. Turn it, and brown the other side; then spread it with good butter, cut it in half, and, when all are done, pile them on a hot dish, and send them quickly to table. Muffins and crumpets should always be served on separate dishes, and both toasted and served as expeditiously as possible,

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168 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Bake from ten to fifteen minutes. Allow two crumpets to each person. Seep Cakes.—Two cups of sugar, one cup of butter, one cup of sour milk, two eggs, one grated nutmeg, a tea- spoonful of soda, and two of cream of tartar. Flour enough to roll out. Caraway seed to taste. Smpte Puppixre.—Three-quarters of a pound of flour, one pint of new milk, four eggs, whites well beaten, a pinch of salt. Boil it for one hour and a half PRESERVED PINEAPPLE. PrneaPpLes.—Twist out the crown of the pineapple, and pare off the hard yellow rind; next slice the fruit about half an inch thick, and trim it quite clean round the edges, taking care of the trimmings. Put them into a preserving pan with one quart of cold water, and boil till reduced to half a pint; strain it, then put the slices on the fire with the juice and equal weight of f= white sugar ; boil gently half an hour. Or ; Make a thin syrup, a quart of water to two pounds of sugar. While this is dissolving, prepare the pineapples, eight medium-sized ones, by removing the skin, and cut- ting the flesh into slices, about half an inch thick. When the sugar is dissolved, and while the syrup is still hot, throw in the fruit. Give one boil up; let it boil for a quarter of an hour, and put it aside to cool. When cool, boil up again, and repeat this three times. This is some trouble; but the pineapple will not be enough cooked with less than three-quarters of an hour's boiling, and if boiled for that time without a break, it is apt to get pappy. Lastiy, make a thick syrup of four pounds of sugar toa quart of water, and add this to the other while both are hot. Boil up once more for a few minutes, and put away in a well-corked or stoppered bottle with a wide mouth. The preserve made as above is most delicious. PINEAPPLES WITHOUT CookInG.—Peel very ripe pine- apples, cut them in slices, take out the cores, and weigh the fruit; allow a pound of double-refined loaf-sugar to every pound of fruit. Spread the sugar evenly over the fruit; pack it in layers, and let it stand twenty-four hours; then drain off the syrup, and boil it as long as any im- purities rise to the surface; skim it constantly, and pour it over the fruit boiling hot. PINEAPPLE JELLY.—This is set with isinglass. To every quart of syrup allow one ounce of shred isinglass. To make the syrup, allow to a pint of juice a pound of the best loaf-sugar. PrveaPPpLs MARMALADE.—To every pound of grated pineapple allow a pound of double-refined loaf-sugar. Boil until thick ; then pack ‘in tumblers, and paste over them papers wet with the beaten whites of eggs. Keep in a dry cool place until wanted. SUMMER BEVERAGES. ORANGEADE.—Take half a pound of ground loaf sugar, ove and a half ounce of carbonate of soda; mix well in sixteen portions, and pat in blue paper; one ounce cf tartaric acid, in white paper. Dissolve the contents of a blue paper in half a pint of water, and the acid ina quarter of a pint of water, to which add orange-juice ; mix them together and drink. Two or three spoonfuls of the syrup of marmalade may be used instead of orange-juice, in which case it must be dissolved in the first glass. Eav Sucré.—Dissolve lump sugar in water. Thisisa beverage much used in France. It is considered whole some and refreshing, particularly just before going to bed. Larr Sucr£.—Take one pint of milk, add loaf sugar, and flavor with lemon. Drink cold. CaPILLAIngE.—Take one pound of loaf sugar, quarter of a pound of moist sugar, one egg well beaten, one pint of water. Simmer it one hour, skim it while boiling, let it get cold, then again boil and skim, and add one ounce of orange-flower water and two tablespoonfuls of brandy. Strain through a jelly-bag, and bottle for use. A spoon- ful in a tumbler of water makes a pleasant beverage. IupeRIAL.—Take half an ounce of cream of tartar, three ounces of fresh orange or lemon-peel, four ounces of lump sugar, and three pints of boiling water. Mix together ; cover the vessel till cold, then pour off the clear part for use, This is a very agreeable drink for hot weather, or in fever. ImpeRrtaL Pop.—Take three ounces of cream of tartar, one ounce of ginger, one and a half pound of white sugar, the juice of a lemon, and one gallon of water. Work it with yeast, and bottle it as ginger beer, which it resembles, except as being more acid in flavor, and more cooling in its medical properties. Necrar.—Take two pounds of chopped raisins, four pounds of loaf sugar, two gallons of boiling water. Mix, and when cold add two lemons, sliced, brandy or rum, two pints. Soak in a covered vessel for four or five days, occasionally shaking ; strain, let stand in a cool place for a week to clear, and then bottle. It will be fit for drink in ten days, Lemox Water Ice.—Half a pint of lemon-juice, and the same of water, to which put one pint of syrup, the peels of six lemons rubbed off on sugar; strain, mix, and freeze. Then mix up the whites of three eggs to a strong broth, with a litile sugar. When the ice is beginning to set, work this well into it, and it will be very soft and delicious. Grixcer Pop.—This agreeable beverage, which is little known, is made as follows: One quart of ale or stout, ten quarts of water, one pound of coarse brown sugar, two ounces of ground ginger. Bottle, and cork it well—it will be fit to drink in a few days. CONTRIBUTED RECEIPTS. BLACKBERRY CorpIAL.—Squeeze the juice from the ber- ries, and to every pint of juiceadd one pint of water, and to every quart of this mixture put one pint of whiskey or brandy ; sweeten to taste; use the best refined sugar; a few spices may be added if liked. This makes a very superior cordial, and improves with age. This receipt ‘answers for strawberries, peaches, wild grapes, ete. Sopa Biscurr.—One pint of buttermilk, two tablespoon- fuls sour cream, one teaspoonful soda, three-quarters of a cup of lard ; make a very soft dough, and bake quickly in a hot oven. ‘To Keep Savsace Fresno Att THE YEAR.—Make into cakes, and fry as if for present use; pack in stone jars, and ifthe grease that fries out of the meat is not sufficient to cover it, pour over hot lard eo as to cover it, and en- tirely exclude the air. Brack Cake.—One pound of sugar, one of browned flour, three-quarters of a pound of butter, twelve eggs, one pint of molasses, one glass of wine, one of brandy, one tablespoonfal of cinnamon, one teaspoonful of cloves, one of mace, two nutmegs, two pounds of raisins, two of cur- rants, one of citron, one tablespoonful of soda, two table- spoonfuls of cream of tartar, one pinch of black pepper. Dredge the fruit in four and put in last. M. A. D. ao +A - £4 ~~ -_- . 6 Gee. of Gee ot

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eS RECEIPTS. 169 BLACKBERRY CAKE.—One cup of sugar, three-quarters of a cup of butter, one and a half cup of flour, one cup of blackberry jam, three eggs, three tablespoonfals of milk, one teaspoonful of soda ; nutmeg, cinnamon, and allspice to taste. Bake in two sheets. Mr. Goper: We prepared a quantity of ordinary string beans last summer, by stringing them aad cutting them in small pieces as if for boiling. We then put them raw in stone jars, in alternate layers, with coarse table salt, each layer of both about one inch in thickness, leaving a layer of salt at the top, tying paper over the whole. During the winter we used the beans (boiling and season- ing them in the ordinary way, after soaking them in cold water for twelve hours), and they proved quite equal to the best beans, cooked fresh from the vine. The appear- ance and flavor are precisely the same. A SUBSCRIBER. In using concentrated lye, instead of filling it up with rain-water, it should be filled with weak lye, always using it warm as the hand can be borne in it; one-third the quantity will do for a washing, when used in this way, that it takes when cold, and it makes the clothes much whiter. When the lye is used it prevents the Worms getting in. In this way much labor will be saved. L. R. PRESERVED CiTRON.—Take some fine citron melons, pare, core, and cut them into slices. Then weigh them, and to every pound of fruit allow three-quarters of a pound of the best refined sugar. Make a syrup, skim it clear, then put in the citron and ginger, and boil until the citron is quite tender and clear. Allow a quarter of a pound of green ginger to two good-sized melons. When thecitron is done, put it in the jars, boil the syrup a few minutes longer, skim it till perfectly clear, and pour it over the fruit. Fine fresh lemons can be used instead of the gin- ger if preferred. Four large ones will be sufficient fortwo melons, slice and boil them with the fruit the same as the ginger. Lay upon the top of the syrup a double white tissue-paper, cut exactly to fit the surface, and paste paper over the top of each jar. Sweer Pickise.—Select fine cantaloupe or citron melons, ripe but firm, pare and seed them, and slice or quarter them Weigh the fruit, and to five pounds of melon allow two and @ half pounds of white sugar, and one quart of vinegar. The vinegar and sugar must be heated, well skimmed, and poured boiling over the fruit six times. In the last boiling of the syrup add the spices— stick cinnamon, white ginger, and a few cloves—and when the syrup boils put in the citron and let it boil for ten minutes, then put it in the jars, skim the syrup clear, and pour over it. CHILDREN’S HAIR. Trover medical writers, in the part of their several works that relates to the nursery, are explicit enough with regard to the general physical management of the children, it is remarkable that so little is said in regard to the course of treatment proper for the hair and scalp, Now, this reticence cannot be the result of indifference to the state of the hair, nor to the operation of physiological jaws with which every medica! student is familiar We can assign no more satisfactory reason for the fact above stated than this: The popular impression that the scalp is exempt from the operation of those laws of cleanliness which everybody admits affect all the rest of the body surface, is entertained also by the learned; or else the latter believe that they have but a choice of evils—the jeast being to let the scalp alone, while the greater would be to keep that surface thoroughly clean at the expense of constant trouble tothe hair. So that old bad custom of harsh combing and brushing, and the copious use of oil and grease, still constitute the practice of mothers and nurses, with the permission and implied approbation of the family physician. How many of the cases of serious disease of the scalp, in infancy and childhood, are directly or indirectly, the result of this objectionable treatment, it would be impossible to decide; but from the marvellous delicacy of the integuments at that tender age, and the susceptibility of the constitution, ere its habits have be- come fixed, and its processes part of a settled routine, we cannot but infer that diseases of the scalp must often have been produced in this manner, and that, in a vast number of other instanges, the disorder must have been terribly aggravated by the same malign influences. Does any sensible person, once fully satisfied of the infinite delicacy of the cuticle on the head of a child, imagine that so ten- der a surface may with impunity be daily raked and har- rowed with fine-toothed combs and stiff-bristled brushes, and also inflamed and irritated with violent frictions and stimulating applications? No; every touch, affecting so delicate a texture, should be soft and soothing; every application as mild as possible. MISCELLANEOUS. Grease Spots on Srone.—Pour very strong soda and water, boiling hot, from the spout of a jug on the spot, and then put over it fuller’s earth, mixed in boiling water ; let it remain on all night, and if the grease be not entirely removed, repeat the process. Another plan is to procure from a stonemason a piece of very hard stone, about the size of a brick, and to rub the spot well with it, using sand and hot soap and water. Hearthstone must not be used. A Sratr-Carpet should never be swept down with a long broom, but always with a short-handled brush, and a dust-pan held closely under each step of the stairs, Bronzed CHANDELIERS, LAMPs, ETC., Should be merely dusted with a feather-brush, or with a soft cloth, as wash- ing them will take off the bronzing. GeLaTiIne.—This is prepared for jellies by soaking over- night in very little water ; allow one ounce for each quart of jelly. Ifthe isinglass is not pure, it must be clarified. Mix in a half pint of water a teaspoon of the white of egg, and a little lemon juice; beat well, and stir it into two ounces of isinglass, which is dissolved in half a pint of water; heat these together gradually, constantly stir- ring; remove all the scum, and pass it through a flannel Jelly bag. To Remove Spots oF Patnt.—Rub the paint with spirits of turpentine; if dry, drop it on the paint and let it lie; rub the spot, and if not removed, repeat the process. Pitch or tar may be removed in the same manner. To Mount Drawines —The drawing must be carefully touched here and there, over the back, with moderately stiff gum, and then placed on the leaf in the book, closed down tightly, and a heavy weight placed on the book for some hours afterwards. Previously to putting down the drawing, the exact place for it must be marked on the leaf, leaving an equal margin all round. The same plan must be adopted in mounting drawings on paper or card- board. If mounted in the evening, and placed under a heavy weight, they may be uncovered in the morning ; but seven or eight hours ought to elapse to allow the gum to dry, otherwise the drawiog, and the leaf on which it is placed, will become wrinkled.

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VASSAR COLLEGE. Wr have before us the first ‘Annual Catalogue” of this great Institution. Our readers will recollect that it was opened last September; therefore, the doings of the first half year only could be reported. Lt us briefly sum up the results as thus far developed before the public. The number of “ Ufficers of Government and Instruc- tion’’ in Vassar College is just thirty ; the young ladies in attendance as pupils have numbered three hundred and Afty-three. Of the officers, from President Raymond down to the seventh Teacheress of music, there are eight gentle- men and twenty-two ladies ; being one man to three wo- mea. The proportion of Iustructors to the instructed is about one to twelve ; this shows that ample opportunities are provided for the careful training of each individual, so far as classes can do the work of education. In all material arrangements for the health, comfort, and personal improvement of this multitude of young girls, there seem to have been remarkable forethought, judgment, taste, and good sense, as well as generous liberality, exercised by all who have planned and pro- moted this noble establishment. They may well claim that ‘‘ nowhere is to be found an Institution so fully and appropriately furnished for the higher education of young ladies.’’ We might give a description of this magnificent College and its beautiful surroundings, that would, although set- tiog forth plain facts, seem like charming fancies to our readers, as if a palace for ‘‘Teunyson’s Princess’’ had been prepared in our Republican land. But we must refer all, who desire to know what wonderful t\ings “half a million of dollars,’’ well expended, can do for the world’s best improvement, to the ‘Circular’’ itself * In studying the munificent provisions now made for feminine education, no doubt many a woman, whose mind has telt deeply (because she has had to struggle painfully) the obstacles that hindered her improvement, will feel inclined to say, in her heart, ‘‘ Make me a child again, to enjoy the collegiate course now opened to the youag daughters of America.”’ The object ot this College, as stated by its Founder, is ‘to accomplish for young women what colleges of the first class accomplish for young men; that is, to furnish the means of a thorough, wel!l-proportioned, and liberal education, adapted to their wants in life.’’ No one who carefully examines the plan and course of study in this College, can fail to see that it is re~lly the design to educate women not merely in accomplishments, but to train her for the highest and noblest duties of life, that of being the best as she is the first teacher of man- kind. Then women Will become inspirers of the purest aud loftiest ideals of the masculine imagination ; and also the exemplars of goodness, tenderness, faithfulness. and piety in all the walks of life. To raise woman intellectually will increase her influ- ence morally, and thus tend to develop, at the same time, her powers of perception and of discrimination , thus she will be enabled to perceive her true work and the best means to reach it and to do it. * Send to C. Swan, Esq., Secretary Vassar College, Ponghkeepsie, N. ¥. The Editors of the Lady’s Book do not keep the Circulars for distribution. 170 Evitars’ Gable. We look to the graduates of Vassar College to elevate woman, not by changing her place in the Home, in the Social Circle, or in the World; but by showing how she ean, by the best cultivation and best use of all her facul- ties, bring about the elevation of Home, of Society, and of the World. We look to this College and to the other Christian Institutions of the same type and purpose, which ave soon to be organized in our land (see next article), for such just principles of thought and beautiful examples of conduct, as shall change, or rather subdue, the self-seeking spirit of ‘‘ Woman’s Rights,”’ by substi- tuting the true Bible idea of ‘‘ Woman’s Duties.” Thus will feminine education, in its highest develop- ment, be considered as the best and surest incentive to the faithful and capable performance of the womanly work of the world. What that work is may be surely learned from the Worp of God and the natural laws of His ordain- ing. It is the glory of Vassar College that it unites this ideal of womanhood inits moral, mental, and physical culture. The noble plan of the generous Founder has been so well carried out by the judicious Trustees, that only one ex- ception appears, and this may be not only easily oblite- rated and changed, but made a benefit to the cause of feminine education. America leads the world in Seminaries and Colleges for Young Ladies; yet strange to say, we have fallen into the evil habit (are not vulgarities evil?) of classing Ameri- can women with the animal tribes, by using the term Semale as a synonym for the human feminine. The magnificent structure at Poughkeepsie bears on its fa ade this inferior title! Let this misnomer be corrected ; then Vassak CoLLeGe For YounG Women would be an ex- ample of the moral fitness of perfect words to express the honor due the Name of. the illustrious Founder; and also honor the daughters of America who will there receive an education designed to make them the grace and glory of their homes and their country. IN THY PLACE. Be instant, in season, out of season.—BIsLr. In thy place for every duty In this world of strife, Strive to grow in saintly beauty Every day of life! In thy place, thy willing shoulder Under every load, Let thy heart grow bold and bolder In the heavenward road. In thy place, whate'er opposes, Stand up like a man, Never ask a path of roses, Working, lead the van! In thy place, not wait for others ; They may shrink and fail ; Thy good fight is not thy brother’s, Don thy coat of mail! In thy place, be up and doing, Fight the fight sublime: Still the fizht with zeal pursuing Till the Master's time! In thy place to weave life's story Full of golden lines, Till a crown of heavenly glory On thy forehead shines. LILLiaN. > os oe we ce ak oe a

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EDITORS’ TABLE. THE THREE FOUNDRESSES OF METHODISM.* Give her of the fruit of her hands, and let her own works praise her in the gates.—SoLomon. Wheresoever this Gospel shall be preached in the whole world, this also, that this woman hath done, shall be told for a memorial of her.—Jzsvs Curist. Is it not remarkable that this is the first time, since the Apostles’ day, that we have any consecutive record of the aid and work of women in founding and sustaining the worship of Christianity? The New Testament is the only volume where woman’s services for the church have dis- tinct notice aud memorial. “God sent forth His Son made of a woman.”” During all the public life of Jesus Christ women were His faith- ful followers; they drew His marked manifestations of approval and confidence. Indeed, two of the most nota- ble circumstances of Christ’s earthly ministry are—His own sympathy with the feminine nature; and the devo- tion, tenderness, and steadfastness, with which women believed in Him, and followed Him with their homage and their ministrations. Not in a single instance did our Saviour find an enemy or opposer among women. But, as in the Old Dispensation, the Church of the Gos- pel was to be placed, in its public ministrations and out- ward observances, under the government of men ; these Christ had chosen for the purpose and instructed in their duties by such miracles and commands as compelled their faith ; and yet even the favored Twelve were not always faithful to their Divine Master or to their own daties as His servants. Women came to Christ of their own accord. Lovingly He received their ministrations, tenderly he soothed their sorrows, and warmly praised their love, and faith, and works; naming one woman as worthy of a world-wide memorial, And Christ confided to a woman the secret of His own spiritual mission, before any of His chosen disciples understood it. Why was this, if not to show that woman's mind can apprehend, by intuition, Divine truths, sooner and with more clearness as to their appli- cation (did not “ the woman at the well’”’ feel at once that He who told her the secret was the Saviour?) than men can reach and comprehend by their powers of reason? Do we not find in these records proof that Christ in- tended woman should have place, and name, and work in his Church ? The Apostles seem to have thus understood Him. They employed women and publicly honored them by com- mending their piety and faithful service in the inspired History of those early churches. St. Paul was not ashamed to acknowledge his obligation to the ministry of women; he tells us of Phebe the deaconese ; of Priscilla the instructress, with her husband, of Apollos in the doc- trines of Christianity; of the four daughters of Philip, all prophetesses—or public teachers of Divine truths; of ** honorable women, nota few,’’ who believed: Of Eunice and Lois, who trained Timothy in the faith ; there was a ** Dorcas full of good works ;’’ a Lydia, who hospitably entertained the Apostle; and many others, These exam- ples of the fitness of woman for the offices of instructing the ignorant and doing good works in the service of Christ were thus placed on record in the New Testament. For two or three centuries women held those offices, and their faithful zeal and earnest piety were among the best hu- man elements of the success of the Gospel in its terrible conflict with Roman idolatry. Wherever the Gospel was preached women were found * A book worth buying, reading, and treasuring in every woman's heart. See Literary Notices, page 174. ready to receive it. Queens became nursing mothers of the church, and lovely maidens martyrs foritssake. The piety and moral influence of women changed the worship of the greater part of Europe from Heathenism to Chris- tianity. Could this humble and helpful religious influence of women have gone on unhindered, the world would, before this time, have become instructed in the Gospel; for the feminine nature has little power of doing good when not sustained and enlightened by Divine truth. When the “enmity of Satan’’ against the ‘“‘woman’’ (Gen. ijii., 15) prevailed over the spiritual in the church, woman was deprived of her offices and influences; and, during the last thousand years she has been but as a spectator in “the vineyard of the Lord.”’ In the Protestant churches woman has been a nonentity - from the beginning, so far as any public acknowledge- ment of her services or even her existence is concerned. Until now, in these new works of the Methodist denomi- nation, where shall we find, in American Ecclesiastical History, a word of woman's services or mention of any feminine name as worthy of being made known and hon- ored in the American churches? ‘Women of Methodism; its Three Foundresses. By Abel Stevens, LL. D.’’ Kas not the author of this book established a good right to his first name? Is he not the Jirst man in the Churches of Protestant Christendom who has given a fitting tribute to the pious women who ‘‘ have labored in the Lord ?”’ We do not doubt that quite as much may have been done by the “‘unknown saints’’ in other denominations ; but they have never found a chronicler. And, therefore, we feel that Rev. Abel Stevens deserves to be honored, and will receive the gratitude of woman! Not only of his own friends, the women of Methodism, but by all wo- men. It isa book for universal womanhood. American and British women will first take it up; then it will be translated into all the languages in which the Bible is found and women who can read! The examples of the Methodist Christians must make a great impression on the woild; feminine piety, talents, and services are so clearly shown, and the quiet, discreet manner in which pious ladies went about doing good themselves, and sustaining and cheering good and great men in their wonderful career—ali this has been so suc- cessful, that the prejudices of good men respecting wo- man’s sphere will be overcome; they will see that she was made to be “the help-meet for man’’ in the Church as in the home; not to govern, but to help him; and that she may have name, place, and memorial in the former, without injury to her family duties; indeed, with in- creased power of doing good at home. Whether we look at those in high position, such as Susanna Wesley (related to the Earls of Anglesia), whose life attracts us more than any other in the volume; or to Selina, Countess of Huntingdon, Lady Fitzgerald, and others of rank and station; or to the simple Nottingham maiden, Dinah Evans; the pure and modest Hester Ann Rogers, or the Dairyman‘s Daughter, we perceive in one and all the same controlling influence, the same high aim and singleness of purpose. Woman is lavish in her love. She gladly pours ont time, talents, health, and wealth upon a beloved object! Self-sacrifice and self-abnegation ara to her positive plea- sures, if she may, by their means, promote the happiness, temporal or eternal, of those dear to her. Thus we find that the noble, benevolent Countess of Huntingdon laid down her treasures at the feet of her

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172 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Saviour. Mr. Stevens tells us that “she gave away, for religious purposes, more than five hundred thousand dol- lars. She sold all her jewels, and by the proveeds erected chapels for the poor. She relinquished her aristocratic equipage, her expensive residence and liveried servants, that her means of usefalness might be more ample. She purchased theatres, halls, and dilapidated chapels in London, Bristol, and Dublin, and fitted them up for pub- lie worship.”’ The “perfect woman," Susanna Wesley, gave “ her jewels’’—her two sons—each worth more to humanity than the ransom of a thousand kings, to her Saviour and to Methodism. The lowly, pious Barbara Heck gave her- self and all she could do to God and His Church. What good has been done? One hundred and thirty- seven years ago, there was not a Methodist Church or congregation on the earth. Now Methodism (in its vari- ous branches) throughout the world, is estimated at 50,000 preachers, 3,000,000 members, and 12,000,000 hearers; more than one-seventh of the Protestant population of the globe! THE CLOSE OF LIFE. Mrs. BaRBAvtp’s beautiful lines on this subject have been greatly admired. It is said that the poet Rogers, in his latter years, was fond of repeating these to his friends, when his voice had just the kind of tremulousness which gave it the effect of deep feeling. Mrs, Barbauld wrote the lines when she was quite old :— “Life! we’ve been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; *Tis hard to part when friends are dear, Perhaps ‘twill cost a sigh or tear; Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not good-night; but in some happier clime Bid me good-morning.”’ Perhaps many of our readers would join in her sentt- ments ; but we confess that the sublime idea of duty which the Connecticut Judge so faithfully exemplified, bas our full sympathy. It happened in May, 1780, when the ‘Dark Day’’ was over the land, that the Legislature of Connecticut was in session. Some thought that the Day of Judgment had come; there was a motiop to adjourn ; then ‘‘Abraham Davenport arose and made a speech,”’ which the Poet Whittier has thus interpreted :— “*This well may be The Day of Judgment which the world awaits; But be it so or not, 1 only know My present duty, and my Lord's command To oceupy till He come. So at the post Where He has set me in his providence, I choose, for one, to meet Him face to face— No faithless servant frightened from my task, But ready when the Lord of the harvest calls; And therefore, with all reverence, I would say, Let God do his work, we will see to ours. Bring in the candles.’"’ And they brought them in, NOTES AND NOTICES, Tae Parcaperpara Home Weexiy.—It may be very fairly said that no other paper of this description can at all compare with this Family Journal in variety of mat- ter and ability of authorship. We need only to know the names of the regular contributors to understand that the articles must be worth reading. The liberality of Mr. G. W. Childs has drawn to this, his favorite plan of diffusing useful information among the people, combining improvement in literary taste and home enjoyments, many of the best writers in our coun- try. There are thousands of households in our land where this newspaper would be, in its information on subjeets of every-day life, worth five times its cost; and then the ‘‘ Fashions”’ are in it, and the fresh intelligence of European life that we Americans like to know, and should know, as our nation is cosmopolitan. COUNSEL FOR YOUNG LADIES. “Whatever may be said of ‘Women’s Rights,’ one right and one duty certainly is to keep yourselves abreast of the other sex in continued mental growth and culture, and in general intelligence. If you would awaken true respect in my sex, and I hold it not an unworthy ambi- tion, you must, in this matter, do as we do, at least, or those of us do who are worth your consideration at all. You must perseveringly, every year, add to your intel- lectual acquisition. You must continue steadily to grow in knowledge and mental power. Do not cease your studies, because you have ceased going to school. ‘an- age to have some elegant accomplishment or acquisition always at hand. A woman who is wise in this matter never loses her prime. I speak not, of course, of the decrepitude of old age and of the decay of faculties. But so long as the faculties remain unimpaired, a woman may become, and should aim to become, increasingly attractive as she advances in years. Poets have sung of sweet six- teen. Let me assure you, a woman may be charming at sixty. Mrs. Madison even at seventy was the most at- tractive woman at Washington.”’ So said Professor John S. Hart to a graduating class of young ladies. Follow his counsel. A Beavtirvt Woman.—One day last winter, a boy from the South, who was on a visit to the city, was taking his first lesson in the art of ‘‘sliding down hill,” when he suddenly found his ‘eet in rather too close contact with a lady’s silk dress. Surprised, mortified, and confused, he sprang from his sled, and, cap in hand, commenced an earnest apology. “TI beg your pardon, ma’am; I am very sorry.”’ “Never mind,” exclaimed the lady, “ there is no great harm done, and you feel worse about it than I do.”’ **But, dear madam,”’ said the boy, as his eyes filled with tears, “your dress is ruined. I thought you would be very angry with me for being so careless."’ “No, no,” replied the lady, ‘‘ better have a soiled dress than a ruffled temper.”’ “Oh, isn’t she a beauty!’’ exclaimed the lad, as the lady passed on. Man’s Lire.—Some modern philosopher has given, in these eleven lines, the summary. In this the young mother may see the destiny of her little son, that she thinks is to be the noblest man of the age. The founda- tion of his character is laid in the first seven years, re- member, and these are the mother’s special time of power. Be sure your teachings will lead him in the right way: and make bim, in the last seven years, turn to your teach- ing as the best wisdom of hig life. **Seven years in childhood’s sport and play. Seven years in school from day to day. Seven years at a trade or college life. Seven years to find a place and wife. Seven years to pleasure’s follies given. Seven years to business hardly driven. Seven years for some a wild goose chase. Seven years for wealth a bootless race. Seven years for hoarding for your heir. Seven years in weakness spent and care. 70 Then die and go—you should know where !’’ HINTS ABOUT HEALTH. THE HEALTH OF THE BAIR. We have received several letters from ladies who are suffering from loss of their hair through sickness, or dis- eases of the scalp. We cannot give any particular recipes as sure to be restoratives. The better way is to seek ad- vice from some person or physician who has made these **ills that flesh (or hair) is heir to,’’ a study. We have heretofore commended our readers who need any such aid,go Mas. L. M. Baker, 909 Chestnut St., Philadelphia. CHOLERA. As cholera is now the disease most dreaded. we give, from our usual authority, Dr. Hall, some words of coun-

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LITERARY NOTICES. 178 sel that seem just what is needed. In regard to the dos- ing of people in health, he says: ‘‘ Everything taken to prevent cholera will infallibly increase the chances of an attack ;” and, for precautions, he gives the following :— Cholera never attacks the body except in its time of weakness; hence, as from the fast of the previous twelve or more hours, the body is weakened, breakfast should be taken before going outside the door in cholera times, es- pecially as breakfast strengthens the stomach, and gives it a power of resistance against the poisonous qualities of an infected night air, and for the same reason, when the body is weak and tired by the labors of the day, it should not only be kept from the night air, but should be forti- fied by a warm and early supper. Exposure to the hot sun of a summer mid-day should be avoided, nor should any labor or occupation be continued until exhaustion. The time to stop work is when the feeling of tiredness first begins to force itself upon the at- tention. Eat only plain nourishing food, such as meat, bread, rice, the starches, with milk, eggs, oranges, and lemons. As fruit and vegetables in cities are sure to be more or less stale before they can be used, it is better to discard them altogether. Personal cleanliness is imperative, and scarcely needs to be insisted on. But all these things are useless against uncleaned houses and yards. Each householder should make it a matter of conscience to keep his dwelling and place of business scrupulously clean from cellar to attic, aad from the middle of the street to the rear line of his lot. Do not let the mind be perplexed by questions as to the contagiousness, or portability, or the infectious nature of cholera, or as to the value of a quarantine, for none of these things wil!, of themselves, prevent an attack of cho- lera in any case; but bear in mind always, that perfect and infallible exemption will be the result of personal and domiciliary cleanliness, of a plain and regular mode of living, and of a composed, confident, and fearless mind. Hall's Journal of Health, To ovr CoRRESPONDENTS.—We have accepted these arti- cles: ‘The Purple Heath’’—“ Eolime’’—* To Miss Mattie : *’-‘* Smooth Glides the Ship,’’ ete. (the other poem we mast decline for lack of room)—‘‘ Walking Home”’ (the other poem not wanted)—and “To a Friend.” These articles are declined: ‘Sunlight on the Hills’’— “Les Miserables’—“ The Moonlit Sea’’ (we do not insert poems that have been sent to other journals)—“ The Vacant Chair’’—‘‘ These Forests of Pine’’ (we like many lines and thoughts in this poem, but it is too long—we have not room; the writer can do better)—“ Sabbath Reverie’’—‘‘ Memory’s Chimes’’—“‘ The Love of Woman” —“‘ My Friends and Myself’’—“ A Chance for a Fortune” —and “‘ The Legend of Lucretia.” Other articles are on hand, which will be attended to. From Peterson & Broruers, Philadelphia :— THE ORPHANS; and CALEB FIELD. By Mrs. Oli- phant, author of “ Margaret Maitland,’ ete. In these days of sensation and society novels, Mrs. Oliphant may be regarded, by the superficial reader, as a Jittle ‘‘ slow ;”’ for her works abound neither in deep intrigues, astonish- ing situations, nor exciting denouements; nor are they the least Frenchy in morals. But in the class of English writers who evince deep thoughtfulness and purpose in writing, by whose labors the world is made some degree better, and whose productions are not most ephemeral, but will be fead and appreciated by successive genera- tions, she stands in the foremost rank. The book before us, containing two of her shorter stories, is not deficient in any of her most pleasing characteristics. MAD MONKTON; and other Tales. By Wilkie Col- lins, author of “‘ Woman in White,” ete. Though not of very recent origin, the five tales in this collection are strongly characterized by Collins’s well-known peculi- arities of style and constraction. THE ADMIRAL’S DAUGHTER. By Mrs. Marsh, au thor of ‘‘Emelia Wyndham,” etc. A new edition of one of Mrs. Marsh’s best productions. It is a powerfully told story, displaying a deep and delicate perception of cha- racter, and vividly portraying, the deeper workings of human passion, From Lippixcott & Co., Philadelphia :— CHAMBEKS’ ENCYCLOPEDIA. Nos. 104, 105, and 106. A Dictionary of Universal Knowledge for the People, on the Basis of the latest editions of the German Conver- sationes Lexicon. With wood engravings and maps. Brought down to the close of Volume VIII. This is the best Encyclopedia published. Price 25 cents a number. From Harper & Broruers, New York, through Lipprn- corr & Co., and Pererson & Brotuers, Philadelphia:— ARMADALE: A Novel. By Wilkie Collins, author of **No Name,” etc, With illustrations. Those of our readers who have, fer more than a year, been anxiously following the fortunes of the two Armadales, as they were, with almost provoking tardiness, unfolded in the pages of a monthly contemporary, will, we are sure, give the present volume a hearty welcome. As for those who have not done 80, but waited patiently for the story in full, we feel inclined to envy them the pleasure they have in store. Armadale is something of a psychological story, involving many of the more abstruse speculations with regard to fate and foreknowledge from a secular point of view. Sensational in a degree to be trying to weak nerves, it is yet not morbidly so; the characters are strongly marked and well contrasted, while the inci- dents, from the first chapter to the last, are of exciting interest. GILBERT RUGGE: A Novel. By the avthor of “ A First Friendship.”’ This book is remarkable neither as a sen- sational nor as a character novel, though its plot is suffi- ciently complicated, and there are some pretty little bits of character drawing too. The Sergeant is well imagined and well described, and Miss Harlixstowe differs some- what from the usual style of persons found in romances. SANS MERCI; or, Kestrels and Falcons. A Novel. By the euthor of ‘‘Guy Livingstone,” ete. A book written with considerable power, yet not such an one as we can, with perfect candor, recommend. Though professedly abjuring all evil, we cannot but believe its tendency is to lower the standard of morals; and such books we are much better without. LECTURES ON THE STUDY OF HISTORY, delivered tn Oxford, 1859—61. By Goldwin Smith, M. A., Regius Professor of Modern History in the University of Oxford. The author of these lectures is already well and favorably known in this country, not only as an eloquent and able lecturer, but alsoas a warm and sincere sympathizer with our people in the recent trials through which they have passed. With the lectures “On the Foundations of the American Colonies,”’ and “The University of Oxford,’’ the latter delivered before the New York Historical So- ciety, we have been especially interested. We give him the merit of being a truly conscientious and fair-minded student of history. HAND AND GLOVE: A Novel. By Amelia B. Ed- wards, author of “ Half a Million of Money,” etc. One great merit of Miss Edwards’s novels is the vivid reality with which she invests the localities in which their action is carried on. And every successive story introduces us

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174 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. to new seenes, new people, and new phases of life and manners in out-of-the way districts of country in which we find ourselves interested qrite as much as with the characters and incidents of the novel itself. The seene of “Hand and Glove’’ is in a part of Burgundy seldom visited by travellers, and the story derives much of its charm from the novel local coloring thus given to it. The plot, however, is one calculated to enchain the reader, and the incidents and characters are striking and strongly marked. FIRST LESSONS IN NUMBERS. By John H. French, LL.D. School Books such as the Messrs. Harpers pub- lish, combining simplicity and clearness in the letter- press instructions, with the most exquisite delicacy and artistic excellence in pictorial illustration, make us almost envious of the rising generation, to whom the so-called “thorny path’’ to knowledge is thus rendered so smooth and fair. From Carterton, New York, throngh Asumsap & Evans, Philadelphia: — “RECOMMENDED TO MERCY": A Novel. By the author of “Taken upon Trust,’’ etc. We cannot entirely approve of this book, or recommend it to the mercy of our readers. We have no doubt it has been written with the best intentions. But it treads on delicate ground ; treat- ing of subjects and characters which only the masterly mind of a Hugo, or the kindly heart and ready pen of a Dickens, can broach and handle safely. Any one gifted with less clear perceptions of evil and good, cause and effect, is almost certain, however innocent his aim, to get beyond his depth, and produce more evil than good. KATE MARSTONE; or, Happy Hearts make Happy Homes. A Fireside Story. This is, in some sort, a reli- gious and controversial story, involving questions which, however vital and important in themselves, are not likely to interest a wide circle of readers when introduced into the pages of a novel, and inat novel rather a dryly written one. It is dedicated to the teachers and pupils of St. Mary's Hall, of Burlington, N. J., in which town and in- stitution the scene is partly laid, and the book will there- fore possess a personal interest to many who have pleas ant memories connected with the place. 595 PULPIT PUNGENCIES, with a Table of Contents. This is a volume of rare and quaint excellence. It con- sists, or, at least, is represented as consisting, of brief and pungent extracts from sermons, delivered by its author on various occasions. These “pungencies” are witty without undue or blamable levity; and though thoir quaint humor and oddity of illustration may be provoca- tive of mirthfulness, the impressions they leave are such as will help men “toward the right and away from the wrong.” BEYMINSTRE: A Novel. By the author of “‘ The Silent Woman,” ete. If our readers wish a lively, entertaining and wittily written novel, illustrative of English society, and with a model heroine, we can safely recommend them to “Beyminstre.”’ It is, perhaps, somewhat wanting in depth, but as to amuse is what we first require of a novel, making instruction only a secondary consideration, few readers will be the less interested in its pages. Itis worth reading if only for the sake of forming the acquaintance of Winny Hopper, who deserves to be exalted, costume and all, from the pages of a book toa place before the footlights. JOSH BILLINGS: His Sayings. With comic Illustra- tions. It is not every one who can give to bad spelliag and bad grammar that rare mingling of wit, humor, aud wisdom, which characterize the seeming absurdities of “ Josh Billings.’? Sometimes, however, our humorist, in his search for oddity of expression, descends into the re- gion of vulgar slang, and whilst he is neither witty nor wise, will lose the favor of a large class of readers, who, after all, would probably be the best appreciators of what is really good in his generally pungent and piquant book. THE MUTE SINGER: A Novel. By Anna Cora Ritchie (Mowatt), author of *‘ Fairy Fingers,” etc. Mrs. Ritchie, the charming actress, charming writer, and charming woman, has given the world another of the beautiful art novels for which she is already so celebrated. The hero- ine of ‘The Mate Singer’’ isa young French girl who, on the very threshold of success as an opera singer, loses her voice, and for a time is doomed to disappointment and the poverty that results therefrom. There is an art- leseness about Mrs, Mowatt's writings, so different from the studied style of many of our modern authors and au- thoresses, that makes it refreshing to read them. From D. Appieton & Co., New York, tirough AsHMEAD & Evans, Philadelphia :— THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE'S NEST. By the author of “Tne Heir of Redelyffe.’’ This is a most beautiful and touching story—one which both young and old will read with ever kindly interest in, and growing sympathy with, the fortunes and destinies of its actors. In it we are shown what a patient, trustful, Christian woman, what- ever her physical weakness, may do in softening rugged and stern natures, and leading them into the paths of peace and moral and social progress and elevation, From M. W. Dopp, New York, through Asnmeap & Evans, Philadelphia :— ‘ THE MAIDEN AND MARRIED LIFE OF MARY POW- ELL, afterwards Mistress Milion. This book has already met the approval of the public. Purporting to have been written in the early part of the seventeenth century, it is consistent throughout in style of writing and typographi- cal appearance. The wife of John Milton, in her journal, details the public troubles and disturbances of her time, as well as her own household pleasures and crosses. It is an exceedingly attractive book, From Dick & FrrzaeRa.p, New York, through Perer- eon & Broruers, Philadelphia :— THE LADY’S MILE, A Novel. By Miss M. E. Braddon, author of ‘‘ Lady Audley’s Secret,” etc. Of all English authofesses there are few who display such a universality of knowledge as Miss Braddon. She is at home upon the stage: she writes of art as though she may have used pallette and brushes and made painting and pictures her study for years. And thus whatever subject she handles she proves herself equally at home init. Notwithstand- ing her brilliancy and versatility command our admira- ration, we do not number ourselves among her special admirers. If not theactual founder of, she at Jeast presses closely to the front, of a school which, from its rapid in- crease, bids fair to subvert the whole system of established English romantic literature, and to set up in its stead something very nearly akin to that which is most charac- teristic and popularin France. It stops somewhat short of its Gallic model, but it requires only a single step fur- ther to attain the same license and abandon in mora!s which it is the special privilege of Sue, Sand, About, and other French novelists to assume. Time was when the English novelist was contented to make the innocent loves of youth his theme; but it seems to be pretty generally

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LITERARY NOTICES. 175 acknowledged now that this subject is worn threadbare ; and nothing will do but to make the lovers, one or both of them married, and, stopping short of actual criminality, their misfortunes and unhappiness are dwelt upon with all the pathos of which the detailer is capable. A thou- sand excuses are found for their transgressions, and a glamour is thrown over what should, if mentioned at all, be stripped of all fine writing, and denounced as it de- serves to be. We trust English and American readers are sufficiently self-poised to be uninfluenced by books of this character, else we shall expect to find half the married men and women, if not actually committing bigamy, at Teast sighing over a lover in secret, or reluctant!y (!) hold- img communication with them. ‘*The Lady's Mile’’ pos- sesses for its heroine a most perfect, lovely, and virtuous woman who, strange to say, is only preserved from bring- ing disgrace upon her husband, and lasting sorrow to herself, by the timely and wise interference of that hus- bdagd. Such eases may, no doubt do exist, but we think their number is more likely to increase than to diminish by making them a subject of a romance, from Carron & Porter, New York, through Psrxrx- pine & Higerns, Philadelphia :— THE WOMEN OF METHODISM: its Three Foundresses, Susanna Wesley, The Countess of Huntingdon, and Bar- bara Heck, with Sketches of their Feminine Associates and Successors in the History of the Denomination. By Abel Stevens, LL.D. A Centenary Offering to the Women of American Methodism, from the American Methodist La- dies’ Association. This work is written at the request of the “‘ American Methodist Ladies’ Centenary Association,” who are intending to erect a memorial edifice in com- memoration of Barbara Heck, the Foundress of American Methodism ; and also of Mrs. Eliza Garrett, the foundress of the Biblical Institute at Evanston, Illinois, The plan ts on a large scale, as we find that they are “authorized to appropriate $100,000 from the funds first raised by the Association in equal parts of $50,000 each to the Biblical schools at Evanston and Concord severally.’’ The idea is, to “‘ erect a monument to the memory of a benefactress of the Church; to make a Centenary Offering to the Church ; and to furnish homes for the coming ministry of the Church.”’ We have, on page 171, given an article on t .ese eminent ladies of the Methodist Church, From Rospert Carter & Braotaers, New York, through James 8S. Claxton, Philfflelphia:— SCHOOL AND HOME; or, Leaves from a Boy’s Jour- nal. This is one of the myriad semi-religious books published for boys. It is superior to most of them, fer it keeps alive in the reader its interest to the end ; but it fails notably to fathom schoolboys’ feelings or imitate schoolboys’ talk. The author has, we regret to say, allowed his children to talk unlimited slang. In the intervals of the slang they utter select religious sentences apparently taken from Mr. Spurgeon’s sermons. The author appears to be aware of his weakness in character and dialogue: the plot is more defined and more import- ant than is usual in books of the sort ; and by frequent skipping a child might pass a pleasant hour over it. We are surprised, however, that it should bear Mr. Carter's name on the title-page. The publications of his house are usually so excellent, both in matter and in manner, that it becomes doubly necessary to indicate the few exceptions. F TIIE OLD PICTURE BIBLE. Another Sunday-School bovk, for younger readers than those for whom ‘School and Home”’ is fit. Its iutention isto put the Scriptural history of the life and miracles of Christ in a form which they may readily understand. Thereare severai illustra- tions; the type is large and, altogether, make up a work of much interest. From Loxtxe, Boston, through G. W. Pircrer, Phila delphia :— LOVE’S CONFLICT. By Florence Marryat (Mrs. Ross Church). We cannot deny that this novel is interesting and well written; nevertheless we must put the same strictures upon it, though ina lesser degree, perhaps, as upon Miss Braddon’s recent work, noticed in this number of the Lapy’s Boox. The heroine’s duty and respect to her husband is left to do battle with her love for a former, and, unfortunately, a still professed lover. Duty gains the day, and, though not subdued, love is silenced. BOYS AT CHEQUASSET ; or, A Little Leaven. By the authoress of ‘‘The Gayworthy’s.”” Fourth edition. The name of the authoress and the number of the edition truly indicate the excellence of the book. It is the history ofa boy whose habits of disorder, his worse fault, were cured by the example of a playmate, and by his own pride and interest in making a collection of birds’ eggs and a box to put them in. The story is natural and exceedingly well told. Most valuable lessons are here conveyed in an attractive form; embodied in the narrative, and springing out of it, not standing by themselves in para- graphs of good advice, which boys always take the privilege of skipping. The effect of a good example is beautifully and forcibly shown, and we warmly com- mend the book to our boy-readers, and to their MorHERS, Mrs. Whitney—we are glad to introduce the name of this successful American novel-writer in our Book, as we con sider she has fairly won her high position by her works— deserves her great success. From Roserts Broruers, Boston:— ECCE HOMO: A Survey of the Life and Work of Jesus Christ. The author of this volume has attempted, with out discussing theological questions, to trace the life of our Saviour in a manner which might at least prove satis- factory to his own mind, as in accordance with facts, criti- cally weighed and historically examined. POOR MATT; or, The Clouded Intellect. By Jean Ingelow, author of ‘Studies for Stories,’’ etc. A beauti- ful story, as anything proceeding from the pen of Jean Ingelow cannot fail to be, of the faith, and trust, and longings after better things, of a poor idiot boy. From Les & Sneparp, Boston, through Peterson & Bros., Philadelphia :— IN TRUST ; or, Dr. Bertrand’s Household. By Amanda M. Douglass. A quiet wholesome novel, the reading of which will lead to higher ideas of the duties of life, and a@ greater appreciation of self-sacrifice for the benefit of others. BRAVE OLD SALT; or, Life on the Quarter Deck. A Story of the Great Rebellion. By Oliver Optic, author of “The Soidier Boy,’’ ete. This is the sixth and last vol- ume of the ‘‘ Army and Navy Stories,’’ and is a record of “Life on the Quarter Deck,’’ mostly in the squadron of **the brave old salt,’’ as Admiral Farragut is familiarly called. Our old friend, Jack Somers, now a Lieutenant commanding, again makes his appearance, and, at the close of the story, is left in most enviable circumstances, with plenty of prize money, and a rich wife in prospect. A THOUSAND A YEAR. By Mrs. E. M. Bruce. The

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176 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, object of this quietly yet pleasantly told little domestic story is to excite the attention of church members to the necessity of either adding to the salaries of their minis- ters, or so modifying the conventionai requirements of society, as to render it possible for clergymen and their families to live with moderate incomes, without being forced to go beyond their means to maintain a social standing with their wealthy and fashionable conzrega- tions. It isa story of trouble and trial, patiently borne, and happily terminated, as the trials of all those should terminate, whose lives are devoted to the spiritual wel- fare of their fellow men. From the NationaL TemPeRancg Society and PusBiica- tion Hovuss, New York:— SCRIPTURE TESTIMONY AGAINST INTOXICATING WINE. By the Rey. William Ritchie, Dunse, Scotland. An elaborate little treatise, in which every passage in the sacred writings, referring to the use of wine, is carefully and critically examined. It seems to us, after a perusal of this work, that those who favor the use of what is new called wine, that is, the fermented juice of the grape, on scriptural authority, have rather the worst of the argu- ment. From Mritoy Bravxey & Co., Springfield, Mass, :— HAND-BOOK OF CROQUET. Illustrated. Those who are desirous of learning the exceedingly popular game of croquet, which is said to be a kind of out of door billiards, will find this little book all that is necessary to initiate them into all the mysteries of the game. REVIEWS, PERIODICALS, PAMPHLETS. THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW: April, 1866. THE LONDON QUARTERLY REVIEW: April, 1866. BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE: May, 1866, THE NEW ENGLANDER: April, 1866. THE AMERICAN QUARTERLY CHURCH REVIEW: April, 1866. THE AMERICAN JOURNAL OF INSANITY: April, 1566. A useful and important publication. THE MYSTIC STAR: April and May, 1866. THE NATIONAL FREEMASON: Washington, March, 1366. - 6a) en's Ar mObuir, AUGUST, 1866, We feel confident that our fair readers will admit our Steel-plate for this number to be of unusual beauty and interest. Its artistic merit, and the choice of subject will both recommend it. It represents the last prison-scene in the life of Charlotte Corday. The executioner is severing from the beautiful head, the long glossy tresses that might impede the action of the fatal knife, while the vic- tim gazes upon the painting representing the features so svon to bear the impress of Death’s seal. The moment chosen by the artist is the one when Charlotte answers to Hauer’s exclamation of pity. The artist-soul recoiled from the profanation of beauty, as his heart was touched by compassion for the young martyr. As the rough hand of the exeentioner raised the glossy tresses to the shears, the artist, looking up from his task of packing his colors, uttered a cry of horror. Charlotte looking at him with & smile, answered in the famous words that will live as long as her memory: ‘This toilet of death, though performed by rade hands, leads to immortality !’’ The littie folks, one and all, will sympathize in the de- light of the pretty child, who is enjoying her first swing this summer. Croquet is forgotten for the time, balls and hoops neglected, as careless, happy, and graceful, the little one swings to and fro, under the leafy branches, that keep out the rays of the summer sun. A new style of trimming shown upon a robe of white alpaca, very wnique and graceful, and a grenadine robe from Stewart’s bring our dress patterns down to the latest Paris dates. The Benoiton Coiffure is an entirely novel style of headdress and necklace in one. In jewelled bands this novelty might be made very costly and brilliant, but the favorite styles will be cord and strings of pearls. Two new breakfast caps will be useful, as they are so admira- bly adapted to the present style of wearing the hair. Seven new bonnets, ladies, think of it! for the amateur milliners to select from, all beautiful and all in the latest fashion. Bonnets never were worn in more varied styles than during the present season, as our great variety will prove. The new hat will be popular if only for its oddity. The linen cuff is something entirely new. This number is, as usual, rich in fancy work. For the toilet table we have a new toilet box and cushion, a knit- ted fringe and lamp mat; the gentlemen are remembered by a razor tidy ; the wardrobe beautified with a braiding pattern for a silk or cloth palefét, a petticoat border in Oriental embroidery and appliqué, and a corner for a pocket-handkerchief, in the natural history style now so much in vogue. For the work-basket we give a needle- book and two designs for Berlin wool work, for the table a pattern for a napkin ring, and the design for a blanket or shawl, shows that even the babies are not forgoiten. Our colored Fashion-plate speaks for itself. The literary department is enriched by both old favor ites and new contributors. Marian Harland’s story in- creases in interest, as her heroine develops her character. Mrs. Daffodil appears as lady patroness of a fashionable fair. Marian Douglas and Mrs. Rowe also contribute to this number. Tus following letter has been sent us by a young lady reader of the Book. We are always happy to receive such letters. They show a growing taste among the ladies of the land for the moral and instructive literature that the Lapy’s Boox furnishes to its readers, ‘ VIRGINIA, Dear Goper: I cannot resist the temptation to tell you how mueh pleasure I derive from your peerless Book. When I was a little girl I knew but one wish—to have a Lapy's Book of my own; and now, after five years’ wait- ing, I receive my Book, a present from a friend of prover- bial taste, and nothing he could have selected could give me so much pleasure, I count the weeks and then the days before the next number can arrive, and then such a nice evening's reading, and some new pattern that I just wanted; and next a good receipt—as all say when the product of said receipt is brought to the table, and then always some music to learn on rainy days, so that it is an endless source of pleasure to every one in the house; and I hope we may have it every year of our lives. I am not one that objects to lending; so my Book often takes a journey of ten or twelve miles, and always comes back in good order, and next spring, if I live, 1 will get some one going to your city to have them bound, so that they will Jast always. I need not wish you greater reward than that you must hourly reap—the consciousness of having done and of still doing so much to aid, elevate, and refine every one who comes within the sphere of your in-4 fluence is certainly enough to satisfy the most ambitious. Pardon me for having written such a long letter; but I do not feel that I am writing to a stranger, and uncon- sciously let m n run too far. . bes) Very respectfully, A. R. L.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 177 OUR MUSICAL COLUMN, Holloway's Musical Monthly for August.—The Moon Shone Over my Left, a new copyright song composed ex- pressly for the Monthly by the author of At the Gate, is the song in this month’s number of this favorite periodi- eal. The other music in the same number is fully up to the average, including a new and brilliant polka, The Cornet Polka, also composed expressly for the Monthly. Our list of contributors now embraces the best names in this country, and in our selections of foreign music we have the first choice of the compositions of Brinley Rich- ards, Balfe, Glover, Oesten, Abt, and others. Every house- hold that has a piano should receive the regular visits of the Monthiy. Terms $4 per annum, two copies $7. Single numbers 40 cents; or the June, July, and August numbers, one of which contains a handsome colored title- page will be sent to any address on receipt of $1, with 9 cents added for postage. Address J. Starr Holloway, Pub- lisher Musical Monthly, Box Post-Office, Philadelphia. New Sheet Music.—O. Ditson & Co., Boston, have pub- lished three characteristic humorous songs by Webster, Get Out of Mexico, addressed to Maximilian, 35 cents; Our Neutral Friend, addressed to John Bull, 35; and Pro- tect the Freedman, song and chorus, 30. My Heart is Over the Sea, beautiful song as sung by M’lle Parepa, 35. Wings, one of the finest songs yet written by Dolores, 30. Be Kind to Darling Sister Nell, touching song and chorus by Danks, 36. The Beautiful Stranger, Serenade by Nicholls, 30. Dedication (Widmung), by Schumann, Ger- man and English words, 30. Also, a fine Transcription of The Long, Long Weary Day, by Baumbach, 40. Horace Waters, New York, has published several fine new songs by Mrs. Parkhurst, a very prolific and popular writer: Happy Golden Days, song and chorus; Don't Marry a Man if He Drinks; The Patter of the Rain, as sung by Hooley’sMinstrels; The Freedman’s Lament ; My Bonny Boat Queen of the Sea, song and chorus. Even- ing Boat Song, quartette for men’s voices. Parted from Thee, is one of M'lle Parepa’s favorite songs. The Boys that Wear the Green, song and chorus. My Life is Like the Summer Rose, fine song by Maller. The Lost One, song by Kauski. Each 30 cents. Also, Fleur D’Hiver, a brilliant and beautiful Mazourka de Salon, by Muller, 40. Non ha Gioja, transcription of this fine air in the new comic opera Crispino @ la Comare, 60. Fantaisie de Salon, arranged by Ketterer from Myer- beer’s opera L’Africaine; this is a splendid composition of 15 pages, for good players, $1. Three fine transcrip- tions by Melling, Dost Thou Think of Me; A Mountain Home ; I Will be True to Thee, each 50. Three splendid sets of Waltzes, by Godfrey, Mabel Waltzes, 70; Guards Waltzes, 50; Hilda Waltzes, 50. Promenade Concert Polka, a very pleasing and popular composition by Mrs. Parkhurst, 50; the same for four hands, 75. We can also send the two new songs by Coralie Bell, now producing a decided sensation in musical circles, viz., Lillie Clare, and Speak My Name in Your Home, Nellie; each 30 cents. For Ever and For Ever, the most beautiful song yet written by the composer of Rock Beside the Sea, 40 cents; this has an elegant pictorial title. All Day Long, 8. C. Foster's last beautiful song, 30. At the Gate: Beautiful Valley; and Norah Mavourneen, new editions of these favorite songs, each 50. Down by tho Whispering Sea; We Met and Talked of Other Days; O say that You ne'er will Forget Me; and Trust net All who Whisper Thee ; four beautiful songs by Stewart, each 30. Orders for these, or any music published in the United States, to be sent addressed to J. Stark Hontoway. A Romantic Lovz Srory.—The Count de St. Croix, be- longing to one of the noblest and wealthiest families in France, became engaged, after a long and assiduous court- ship, to a lady, his equal in position and fortune, and famous for her beauty. Shortly after the happy day was appointed which was to render two loving hearts one, the count was ordered immediately to the siege of Sebastopol ; so he girded on his sabre, aad at the head of his regiment marched to the battle-field. During the count’s absence it happened that his beau- tiful fiancée had the smallpox; after hovering between life and death for many days, she recovered her health, but found her beauty hopelessly lost. The disease had assumed in her case the most virulent character, and left her not only disfigured but seamed and scarred to such a frightful extent that she became hideous to herself, and resolved to pass the remainder of her days in the strictest seclusion. A year passed away when, one day, the count, imme- diately upon his return to France, accompanied by his valet, presented himself at the residence of his betrothed, and solicited an interview. This was refused. He, how- ever, with the persistence of a lover, pressed his suit, and finally the lady made her appearance, closely muffled ina double veil. At the sound of her voice the count rushed forward to embrace her, but, stepping aside, she trem- blingly told him the story of her sorrows, and burst into tears. A heavenly smile broke over the count’s hand- some features as, raising his hands above, he exclaimed : It is God’s work; I am blind.” It was even so. When gallantly leading his regiment to the attack, a cannon ball passed so closely to his eyes that,. while it left their expression unchanged, and his countenance unmarked, it robbed him forever of sight. It is almost unnecessary to add that their marriage was shortly after solemnized. It is said that, at this day, may often be seen at the emperor's receptions an officer leaning upon the arm ofa lady closely veiled ; and they seem to be attracted to the spot by their love of music. Dr. Wiiper, late surgeon of the 55th Reg*t Massachu- setts Volunteers, discovered a species of spider on Folly Island, in Charleston Harbor, while in camp there in Au- gust, 1863. Wecopy from the Boston Journal. ‘*He wound from its body in one hour and a quarter 150 yards of yellow silk. The next year another officer wound from thirty spiders 3454 yards, or nearly two miles ofthe silk. A single thread of this was strong enough to sustain a weight of from 54 to 107 grains, fo 1865 Dr. Wilder showed his specimens to Professor Agassiz and others, to whom the species was new. Returning to Charleston, he succeeded in getting a number of the spi- ders. In the course of the season these all died, from lack of knowledye as to their habits, mode of living, ete. From the eggs deposited, however, many others were produced. It is the habit of the stronger to devour the weaker, so that out of several thousands only a few hundreds were raised. The fact, however, was clearly demonstrated that they could be raised and live through a northern winter. Specimens of the silk were exhibited, which was of a golden yellow and a silver white, and as brilliant as the metals in appearance.” Lockport. L. A. Gorey: In a late number of your Lady’s Book you gave a reason why strawberries received the name they bear, and inquired if any of your subscribers could give any other reason. Here is one that I read in a trea- tise on this fruit, a short time since:— “Strawberries first received their name, it is said, from the number of their runners, and were first called stray- berries, which name was afterwards changed to straw- berries.” Respectfully, A. CG. P. MADEMOISELLE RacueL, when giving one of her read- ings before the Duke of Wellington, was inforined that all her audience except the duke were ignorant of the French language. She went on, however, consoling her- self with the idea that the duke, at least, understood her. After it was over the duke approached the great actress, and said, ‘‘ Mademoiselle, our guests have had a great ad- vantage over me; they have had the happiness of hearing you. Iam as deaf as a post.” A Scsscrrper wishes to kuow of a sure remedy to get clear of black roaches.

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178 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. FANCY BALLS AT PARIS. (Extract from a Correspondent.) “Tre last fancy ball of the Duke and Duchess de Bo- jano, although not so magnificent as those of the Ministers of State, was perhaps more jovial and gay. They kept it up till eight in the mornirg. ‘*The costumes were less magnificent, though more convenient and comfortable, and still they were decent, the display of legs and shoulders not being sogreat. We cannot say so much for the arms, which were entirely without sleeves. The epaulettes are only as wide as a thread, and will soon disappear altogether. This fashion is sure at least to have the attraction of novelty, but is that sufficient ? ‘Let us return to Madame de Bojano’s ball, and describe the most noticeable costumes. The Countess de Tanbay and her daughter, in bouquets of flowers, looked ex- tremely fresh. Madame de Lovemberg had the costume, the youth, and beauty of Hebe. The Countess de Raney was dressed as a flower-girl of thetime of Louis XIV., and resembled the roses with which she was covered. What @ pretty gleaner Mdlle de Rougemont looked with her bluebells, her wheat-ears, and poppies in waves of gauze! Madame Levrat wore a splendid costume to resemble the Empress of China. Madame Abeille has copied Boulotte, in ‘Bluebeard,’ a play now acting at the Variétés, and Madame de Montaut achieved a great success as a white cat. Then came a crowd of ladies whose names I am sorry I am unable to give you, as their toilets were as remarkable as their beauty. **I will only speak of the gentlemen’s costumes to say that they were exceedingly beautiful, and leave this féte as a brilliant souvenir of the past season. “ A ball, already old by date, was given by the Princess de Metternich. It is pretended that it was a German im- portation, but it appears to me that it is fairer tu say that it was an imitation of the old bal masqué at the opera. There was an excellent orchestra playing all night, even when there was no dancing. The ladies were im black dominoes, and masked; the gentlemen in evening dress, and not masked. There was a file-fire of wit, a jolly gayety, though among the aristocrats; intrigue was tri- umphant amongst everybody, and many adventures were eoncocted and brought to an agreeable conclusion. “Well! Madame Metternich’s ball was a reproduction of those bygone ones offered to the real fashionable world by our Academy of Music—thea ‘Royal.’ But the domi- noes were not uniformly black; some were colored, and in all materials from satin to gauze. Windmills orna- mented the heads of several ladies; others had feathers, flowers, or other ornaments. The crowd was astonished by a wonderful cat, which left without being recognized, after creating a perfect furore. She had a white mechan- ical paw, the claws of which were shown and withdrawn at pleasure. She often scratched, and many peopie would have given much to seethe face hidden beneath that ermine mask, They may think what they like, but it is probable that she will preserve her incognita. Several ladies were veiled like Turkish women in nothing more tran- sparent than the Turkish yashmak. However, these masks neither said nor did anything disagreeable to any ene. The Princess de Metternich changed her domino three times. Whatever she does she is always the most distingué lady ; witty, but eccentric, she knows how to make herself charming, and her actions are so much the more powerful because they are spontaneous. **We are assured that one of our most noted dress- makers—the celebrated Worth, in fact—had sent to this promenade of masks one of his aésistants, a very young man, dressed as a female, who intrigued with everybody, both man and woman. This is very difficult to believe, however, and for this reason: every lady, on arriving, passed intoa particular saloon, where there waga reliabie person, and every one had to lift her mask and show her invitation, consequently trickery was impossible. ** Before leaving the graceful Austrian ambassadress I want totell you about the charming /ite given by the Baroness de Lowenthal on her birthday. The féte wasa German charade, very gay, very spirituelle, and very amusing, the word being ‘ Weinheim,’ the name of one of the princess's estates. To understand it you must know that Wein means wine, and heim return, and you must also have seen the castle on this estate of Madame de Metternich. The piece was in three tableaux. **In the first entered the Prince Metternich and the Count de Pourtalés, both dressed as fauns, with empty goblets in their hands, expressing by their gestures a desires to fill the goblets with generous nectar. Then followed Leopold de Meyer as Baechus—for this time only, for he is the great artiste that Madame Emile de Girardia has surnamed the ‘lion of the piano’—then this Bacchus, stout, as required by mythology, and crowned with vine- leaves, made his triumphal entry, holding in his hand a golden amphora, and took his seat on his barrel, after having put the two fauns in satisfactory relations with it, The success of this first tableau was so immense that it Was necessary to repeat it. “Tn the second the Countess de Pourtalés, dressed as a peasant of Ischia, awaits the arrival of his father, an old soldier, who is returning to his native country. To pass away the time the young girl plays the lute. The father arrives. He is the Count Radowitz, in a hussar dress. “The third tableau represented the inside of the castle of Weinheim. The chdtelaine is expected, and they are making immense preparations for a grand reception. When the princess perceived these decorations she under- stood the gracious attention of which she was the object, and appeared profoundly touched and grateful. The Baron de Lowenthal was the steward of the domain, and the Count de Solms had put on the dress of the steward’s wife. Nothing could bemore grotesquely laughable than this dress worn by a man tall enough to be a Life Guard. The Baroness de Lowenthal and M. Cattier performed with as much talent as wit a little comedy which received its share of success. “A magnificent féte was given not many days ago at the mansion of the Duc de Bisaccia, one of the family of La Rochefoucaulds, where, in contradistinction to a pre- vious one, not many doors off, at the Duc de la Rochefou- cauld-Dvudauville’s, and where all the ladies appeared with powdered heads, nature was allowed to display itself in all its varieties of blonde, brown, and even ebon locks. I say even of black hair, for the furore for golden locks seems somewhat abated, aud those who are not so happy as to possess the favorite tint, seem to make up their minds to put up with their own hair, reinforced with the usual supplementary quantities required by fashion. On the occasion above referred to, all the fash- ionable world of Paris was invited, and the coup dail of the noble staircase, entirely composed of marble, was most brilliant. This magnificent staircase, which is worthy of any royal or imperial residence, consists of steps of white marble, with precious red, green, and white mar- bles incrusted in the walls and forming the elegant balustrades. The whole construction was not raised under less than 250,000 francs for the staircase alone! which is besides decorated with five magnificent pictures, almost unrivalled specimens of the manufactgry of the Gobelins, set in panels of marble, and placed on the principal land ing place. “Of a different degree of magnificence was also a féfe which took place a few days ago at a mansion in the Place Vendime, belonging to the millionaire sugar-re finer, M. Say, on the occasion of the approaching wedding of his daughter, with a princely dowry, to the young Duke de Cossé-Brissac, an alliance which will serve to regild the somewhat faded emblazonments of the aristo- cratic escutcheon of that noble ducal family. M. Say’s mansion has lately been restored, and contains, besides the vaulted ceilings, painted by Cabanel, a modern French artist of eminence, a very valuable gallery of chosen Flemish pictures from the best masters of that school, which, however, scarcely appear to advantage amid the splendid Louis XV. style of decorations of the principal receiving rooms in which they are placed,” A Popvtar Detvston.—It is an error to suppose that a man belongs to himself. No man does. He belongs to his wife, or his children, or his relations, or his creditors, or to society in some form or other, It is for their especial good and behalf that he lives and works; and they kindiy allow him to retain a percentage of his gains to administer to his own pleasures or wants. He has his body, and that is all; and even for that he is answerable to society. In short, society is the master, and man is the servant; and it is entirely as society proves a good ora bad mas- ter, whether the man turns out a good or bad servant. CHARLes Lams was sitting next a chattering woman at dinner, who, observing he didn't attend to her, said :— ‘You don’t seem to be at all the better for what J am saying to you!” ‘No, ma’am,”’ replied Lamb, “but this gentleman on the other side of me must, for it all came in at oneear and went out at the other!”

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 179 Ir seems almost impossible, in this enlightened age, to believe in ignorance being predominant to the extent shown in the following sketch, cut from a recent English paper:— A Mopern Wrrca or Eypor.—A curious case of fraud on one side and credulity on the other has come to light at Carrick-on-Suir, Ireland. One Mary Doheny, it appears, has for years past lived there in affluent circumstances by selling love potions to romantic and foolish girls, while she occasionally netted respectable sums amongst far- mers’ wives with whom thiugs, were not going altogether smoothly. But she surpassed herself when she succeeded in enrolling two steady members of the constabulary foree on the list of her votaries, and enmeshing one of them at least in debt to a considerable amount. Sub-Con- stable Joseph Reeves is a married man, of some five-and- forty years of age, and the father of a family. Some time azo his eldest daughter became ill, and, hearing of the curative powers of Mrs. Doheny, his wife engaged her services, and the child improved somewhat. Hencefor- ward Mrs. Doheny became a frequent guest at the tea- tab'e of the constable, and after a time she predicted that ere long he would be in affluent circumstances, inasmuch as some of his relatives and connections who had been dead for years had come to life, and would soon be per- mitted to show themselves upon the earth. He was also led to believe that Sir James Power, who had died some ten years ago, took a deep interest in his well-being, and purposed giving him some landed property, and the re- sult was that a correspondence was carried on between them, and the constable received no less than twenty-five letters and a gold ring from the occupant of the grave, the missives in question being regularly forwarded by Mrs. Doheny, and the replies occasionally came through her, and were sometimes found inan old moat on the hill-side. To attest her powers still further, she made an assigna- tion with the constable to meet him in a certain field, and there she revealed to him the person of his father-in-law, William Mullins, standing ata few yards distance, dressed in a blue coat with brass buttons, knee-breeches, coarse stockings, and shoes; he was not allowed to address the vision, which was beheld by his son, a boy about nine years of age, at the same time. She also showed uim others of his friends, etc., who had been dead; among others, his son William, who departed this life some five or six years ago. This the constable deposed to on oath at an investigation before the magistrates, and as regarded her power in this respect he was corroborated on oath by his wife. Mr. Hanna, who, with Messrs. Jephson and Wilson, presided, asked him if he had been drinking at the time, and the man replied that he had not tasted spirituous liquors forthe past twenty-two years. There is further testimony. Sub-Constable Hayes is brought for- ward, and he deposes on oath that the woman has brought up before him several of his friends and connections who had been dead for years. He, too, is corroborated by his wife. For weeks after Mrs. Doheny is supplied with meal, potatoes, tea, etc., for the sustenance of the dead who have come to life, and on more than one occasion some tobacco was sent to old Mullins, who, it appears, was in his lifetime a great smoker. To meet these de- mands Constable Reeves got into debt, but the promise of gold and landed property induced him to resort to exten- sive credits to furnish supplies. New potatoes were at one time returned to him, with a request from the dead that they should be exchanged for old, and on one occasion some eggs were sent back with word that they had not agreed with the dead son William. Mr, Heard, the sub- inspector, at length got intelligence of what was going on, and he determined to make inquiries in reference thereto; Reeves was removed to Clonmel in consequence of the debts he had contracted; and, learning the cause thereof, the inspector proceeded to Mrs. Doheny’s house, where he found the letters (twenty-five) from Sir James Power, which had been returned by Reeves when the thing got noised abroad. He also got three bottles, containing tea, cream, and milk, made up in a clean white handker- chief, and which Mrs, Doheny acknowledged were to have been forwarded to some of her defunct clients on the same evening. The house was otherwise comforiably furnished, and the dame appeared to live well on the credulity of the people. She was, of course, arrested, and the criminal proceedings were instituted. It was a strange thing to witness in a public court a number of intelligent people, apparently in their senses, deposing to such things on oath. Whatever spell she may have wrought, there is no doubt that the policeman named 4nd their families still place implicit faith in her; for, when being removed to the dock, Reeves shook her by the hand, and, in reply to oue of the magistrates, said, “S.r, if you had seen as much asI have, you would be of the same opinion.’’ Mr. Heard has also had the woman’s husband—a blind (?) man—ar- rested. He travels through the country led along by a * dark” guide, and, on being questioned, he acknowledged that his worst day’s receipts for some time past were 2s. 91¢d., while occasionally they realized 6s. or 7s. a-day. Some time ago the prisoner gave a Woman a severe beat- ing, and yet nobody could be got to prosecute her, fearing that she might bewitch themselves or their children. Mrs. Doheny is apparently about forty years of age, with a good-looking face, and a mouth particularly expressive of cunning and intelligence. Can credulity go farther ? A Tugrvese inventor fills walking-sticks of an ordinary size, and not very heavy, with compressed gas, which, on being let out at the top, burns steadily for a considerable time, so as to be available for traversing mines and dark corridors, Precious Stones.—When the intense heat produced by the electric current was first observed, an additional im- petus was given to those experiments which have for their object the artificial production of precious stones. The diamond itself is but crystallized carbon, and there was certainly some show of reason in the assumption that if carbon could be melted it might be erystallized, and that its crystals would be diamonds. Now, although the method of making diamonds has yet to be discovered, other gems have been successfully imitated. The most energetic laborers in this field have been MM. Deville and Becquerel; the first of these chemists has already suc- ceeded, by the employment of exceedingly high tempera- tures, in forming artificial rubies and sapphires, and has just published an account of some experiments on the similar production of the topaz. M. Becquerel, who ope- rates in a different manner—passing a strong current of electricity into mineral soiutions—has lately succeeded in the formation of opais, and has hopes of being equally successfnl in the case of other gems. These imitations are very different from those of the jeweller, who merely colors a glass or *‘ paste”’ into the semblance of a precious stone; they are imitations which have the same chemical constitution as the natural gems, and differ from them only in a beauty which may be communicated when these abstract chemical researches shall have laid the basis of a pew art. Po.treness IN THE HovsEHoLy.—The laws of politeness should be observed not only between intimate friends, but between members of the same family, and those house- holds are most peaceful and happy where the courtesies of good society are observed. There need not and ought not to be formality ; but little attentions between brothers and sisters, marking mutual esteem, prevent that care- lessness and hardness which is so apt to creep into the family, and which grow out of intimacy. It is good manners, and consideration for each other's feelings that prevent familiarity engendering contempt, Dr. Darwiy, in his “‘ Zoonomia,” relates an anecdote of apparent ratiocination in a wasp, which has caught a fly nearly as big as itself. Kneeling down, the doctor saw the wasp dissever the head and tail from the trunk of the fly, and attempt to soar with the latter; but find- ing. when about two feet from the ground, that the wings of the fly carried too much sail, and caused its prize and itself to be whirled about by a little breeze that had arisen, it dropped upon the ground with its prey, and de- liberately sawed off with its mandibles first one wing and then the other. Having thus removed these impediments to its progress, the wasp flew away with its booty aud experienced no further molestation from the wind, Cvriovs PerrorMANCES Wita THE Mouta.—According to the Berlin papers, an Hungarian girl, born at Oeden- bourgh, without hands, now tweaty years of age, has been giving some curious representations in the Prussian capital. She performs with her mouth the functions of hands. She sews, embroiders, executes the most delicate work with pearls, even threads her needles and makes kuots, all with the tongue, apparently without difficulty.

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180 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, JUVENILE DEPARTMENT. RAINBOW BUBBLES, Tux beauty of a soap-bubble must have been observed ever since the invention of soap. To be ephemeral, “a moment here, then gone for ever,” is so well-known a characteristic of a bubble, that we use the word to denote anything that will quickly pass away. Now, however, in this age of variety, a change has been made even in soap-bubbles. When once formed they can be preserved for a considerable time. They can also be made so large that they will not go into a schoolboy’s hat. Then, again, these rainbow bubbles are so tough, or, rather, elastic, that they can be let fall from a height of six feet on to a carpet or worsted table cover, and made to roll about with every breath hither and thither, and yet not burst. As we are sure all our young friends will like to make these lasting bubbles for themselves, we now give the instructions :— Take three-quarters of a pint of water that has boiled and got cold, and put into it a quarter of an ounce of Castile soap, cut up fine. Put this into a pint bottle and set it in hot water, in a saucepan on the fire; there let it remain an hour or so (now and then with a shake up), till the soap is dissolved. Now let the fluid stand quiet for a few hours, for the impurities and coloring matter of the soap to settle; then pour off the fluid, and add to it eight ounces of glycerine, and your bubble sclution is ready. In an ordinary way, yeu may blow the bubbles easily with a clean tobacco-pipe; but if you wish to attain scientific perfection, you had better employ a glass pipe. We have been told that these bubbles are so strong that you can play at battledore with them. The iridescent colors displayed by these spheres in sunlight are so bril- liant that the term “‘ Rainbow Bubble’”’ scarcely conveys a correct idea of them. WE now give an amusing little game which is called THE AVIARY. A keeper is first chosen, and then all the company as- sume the names of different birds, which they communi- cate to the keeper, but do not make known to each other. The keeper then sets down the names of the players, with that of the birds they severally represent, lest he should make any mistake, and opens the game in a bombastic strain, somewhat similar to the following :— ‘Beautiful ladies and brave gentlemen. Regardless of toil, trouble, or expense, I have collected together the most magnificent aviary ever seen in this, or any other part of the habitable globe. My birds are distinguished by the beauty of their plumage, form, and color; the melody of their voices, and their general intelligence.” Ile then repeats the names of the birds thought upon, and expresses his desire to know which of his birds are objects of affection or antipathy to the company. Turning to the nearest lady, he says :— “To which of my birds will you give your heart?” “To which will you reveal your secret ?” “From which would you pluck a feather?” The lady may probably reply— “T will give my heart to the eagle.” “1 will tell my secret to the nightingale.” **T will plack a feather from the ow!l.”’ The keeper makes a note of these dispositions, and then addresses the same questions to a gentleman, who may reply— **T will give my heart to the dove.” “*T will tell my secret to the lark.’’ “T will pluck a feather from the rook.” When any player says he will give his heart to a bird named by another for the same gift, or which is not in the keeper’s list, he must pay a forfeit, and make a new choice ; and, if he makes a similar mistake a second time, he must pay another forfeit. The game being one solely depending on memory, the players must pay great atten- tion to the list of birds, when read by the keeper, and to the choice of those who speak first. When all have answered, the keeper announces the names of the persons represented by the birds, and com- mands each to salute the bird to which his or her heart was given—to whisper a secret to the one thought worthy of such confidence, and receive a forfeit from the one whose feather was to be plucked. The players are forbidden to give their hearts or secrets to themselves, under penalty of a forfeit, or desire to pluck their own feathers under a penalty of two. INTERESTING EXPERIMENTS. Ir a wafer be laid on a surface of polished metal, which is then breathed upon, and if, when the moisture of the breath has evaporated, the wafer be shaken off, we shall find that the whole polished surface is not as it was be- fore, although our senses can detect no difference ; for if we breathe again upon it the surface will be moist every- where except on the spot previously sheltered by the wafer, which will now appear as a “ spectral image” on the surface. Again and again we breathe, and the moist- ure evaporates, and still the spectral wafer reappears. This experiment succeeds even after a lapse of many months, if the metal be carefully put aside where its sur- face cannot be disturbed. Ifa sheet of paper, on which a key has been laid, be exposed for some minutes to the sunshine, and then instantaneously viewed in the dark, the key being removed, a fading spectre of the key will be visible. Let this paper be put aside for many months where nothing can disturb it, and then in darkness be laid on a plate of hot metal, the spectre of the key will again appear. In the case of bodies more highly phos- horescent than paper, the spectres of many different ob- ects which may have been laid on in succession will, on warming, emerge in their proper order. Akin to this is the curious phenomenon of the Breath- figure. Ifa clean surface of glass, or any other polished substance, be written on with a blunt-pointed instrument, and the surface be afterwards breathed upon, the charac- ters written will become visible ; or if the surface be first breathed upon, and the characters then marked upon it, they can be again made perceptible by breathing again upon the surface. A glass used to protect an engraving will receive an impression of the engraving on its inners surface, although it is not in absolute contact with it. Engineers have remarked that those parts of machines which are in contact with or near each other rapidly and easily impress themselves upon each other. Again, a famous Parisian watchmaker has stated that the letters and inscriptions on the back of the inner cases of hie watches have been often found impressed on the inside oj the outer cases. Eprrapus.—The following specimens of churchyard lite. rature were copied by a travelling stonecutter, while searching for employment among the gravestones in England and Wales:— * Poems and epitaphs are but stuff, Here lies Robert Barras, and that ’s enough.”’ * Here lies the body of poor Charles Lamb, Killed by a tree that fell slap bang.” Upon a rich merchant's wife in Coventry yard :— ‘She was What was, But words are Wanting to say what a One. What a Wife should be. She was that.”’ Wives should be downright ashamed to put over their husband's heads such things as we ofien see written over wives. Look at this! “Here lies my wife, poor Molly; let her lie. She finds repose at last, and so do I.”’ And here is what a Cornish gentleman finds it in his heart to inscribe upon his dear departed :— “My wife is dead, and here she lies, No man laughs and no man cries, Where she’s gone, or how she fares, Nobody knows and nobody cares.”’ UnpLeasant Remarks.—Never tell anybody an unpala- table truth when it can answer no good purpose. This eort of unnecessary candor is sometimés prompted by malice, sometimes by mere looseness of tongue, like that which Iago imputes to Cassio when asleep. Friendship is frequently made an excuse for unpunishable imperti- nence by people who pride themselves on speaking their micds freely. t

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GODEY'S ARM-CHAIR. 181 VILLA IN THE AMERICAN ITALIAN STYLE. FIRST STORY. Tue above building 1s in the American Italian style, that it cannot be otherwise will appear from the following reasons: It is not Roman, as most of its details are Greek ; neither is it Athenian, for some of its windows have arched heads ; it is covered with a Tusean roof, which is Roman. An Italian composition adapts it to the climate, wants, and customs of the United States, to which all the internal arrangements can be formed to suit, The building is of that character that demands a high situation, as it will appear to better advantage, and har- monize well with cultivated lawns and moderately varied grounds. A wide terrace will be necessary as a base to sit upon, as shown in the perspective. It will cost about $12,000, if built in a good manner, at present range of prices. First Story —A portico, 10 feet ; B lobby, 12 by 15 feet ; C library, 12 by 21 feet; D kitchen, 15 by 18 feet ; Edraw- ing-room, 25 by 16 feet; F back parlor, 16 by 26 feet: G hall, 15 feet: H dining-room, 16 by 27 feet; I billiard- room, 15 by 22 feet; K porch, 8 feet. SECOND STORY. Second Story.—L veranda; M dressing-room, 15 by 22 feet; N hall, 15 feet; O chamber, 16 by 25 feet; P cham- ber, 21 by 12 feet; R chamber, 16 by 27 feet; S chamber, 16 by 26 feet; T chamber, 15 by 22 feet, U veranda. Isaac H. Hopss, Architect, Office, No. 154 South Fourth Street, Philadelphia, Wnro’s tHe Foor ?—Some merchants went to an Eastern sovereign and exhibited for sale several very fine horses. The king admired them, and bought them ; he, moreover, gave the merchants a lac of rupees to purchase more horses for him. The king one day, in a sportive humor, ordered the vizier to make out a list of all the fools in his dominions. He did so, and put his majesty's name at the head of them. The king asked why. He replied, ‘ Be- cause you intrusted a lac of rupees to men you don't know, and who will never come back.’’—*‘ Ay, but sup- pose they should come back?”—** Then I shall erase your name and insert theirs.”’

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182 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

THE PARIS EXHIBITION OF 1867. On the Ist of April of next year, the French Government stands pledged before the world to have the gates of the greatest Universal Exhibition which has ever yet taken place thrown open to the visitants from the four quarters of the habitable globe expected to be present at this great triumph of modern civilization. Long before that period the most marvellous collection of the products of human ingenuity and industry ever brought together in one spot, will have been poured into France, and been distributed, according to their various classifications, within the con- *traction on the Champ de Mars. Every day brings the public some further details of the contemplated Exhibi- t.on—some new modification of the interior or outer ar- rangements; and some of these are of so novel a character as to promise gratification to all tastes and to the most curious investigators. At present all is a mass of inextricable bewilderment and confusion on the Champs de Mars, from the aspect of which the looker-on can gather little idea of future plans; aud yet much progress has actually been made. The basement has already been laid down, the superstructure is about to be raised on it, and vast iron pillars are on the spot, in readiness to support the enormous arches, or rather sections of arches, to be reared on these. From the raised ground opposite the Champs de Mars, knowa as the Trocadero, the lower surface of the former spot has wradually oeen brought to a proper level, while the su- perabundant material from the same heights has been disposed of around the site of the future building, in order to form the park which, distributed into pleasure grounds, is to surround the Palace of the Exhibition. In order to effect this gigantic work, one side of the Pont de Jena had, some wonths ago, been converted into a railway, upon which long trains of wagons and whole armies of workmen have been employed throughout the winter. The park begins to assume some shape, and already ‘lumps of shrubs and trees are being planted about the yieasure grounds, which are made to assume an arti- icially undulating appearance. The Moniteur advertises taily for further supplies of materials, and everything lenotes that the works are carried on with the greatest suergy and vigor. Of the building itself, the idea and arrangement is ex- tremely simple. The plan is evidently an elongated re- production from a Roman amphitheatre, with flattened sides and semi-circular extremities. The structure itself is to cover thirty-six acres of ground, and is elliptical, a form eminently suited to arrangement and classification, although offering some serious disadvantages as far as a general coup d’cil is concerned. Indeed, although asa magnificent receptacle of the products of industry the building will stand unrivalled in point of effect, it is ad- mitted that it will fall very short of that produced by the first London Exhibition of 1851, or, indeed, of the still ex- isting palace at Sydenham. All the products exhibited are classified in ten leading divisions, which again are subdivided into ninety-five classes. The ten divisions eomprise: Works of art; materials and applications of labor to art; farniture and household articles; clothing and personal equipments; mining and its rough products; justruments and machines; food, fresh and prepared; living agricultural products and specimens of practice; horticultural products and practice; and lastly, objects adapted to the amelioration of the physical and moral condition of the populations of the earth. Each of these ten groups will oceupy one of the elliptical concentric rings running with the form of the structure, while to each nation will be allotted a section of the ground floor, running from the outside to the centre. This arrange- ment will enable any one moving from the outside to the ceatre by atransverse passage, to see everything produced by each several nation, while, on the contrary, by mov- ing round the building, such an one can inspect succes- sively all the articles of the same sort which the world produces. The circular galleries as well as the sectional passages will be spacious and lofty, and every facility for circulating in and out of the building will be afforded by means of numerous outlets. In all inner arrangements the Exhibition of 1867, it will be perceived, only differs from previous ones in the ataeliorations which have been suggested by former ex- poriences, and in the greater extension afforded where exhibitors are expected to be more numerous, and from more varied portions of the world. It isin the outward surroundings of the Palace, therefore, that greater inno- vations are to be looked for; and if everything is accom- plished which is talked of, the Patis Exhibition will stand alone of its kind, at least in our generation. There, in the gronuds now being laid out, all sorts of constructions are to be raised. Some of these are to consist of the va- c I I tablish an international theatre in the immediate vicinity of the palace, where Shakspeare, Racine, and the more modern dramatists of the two nations will be heard in their turn with Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian writers for the stage. It has been decided in the committee for the Exposition, that an International Club should be erected in the Champs de Mars, to contain on the ground- floor saloons in which conferences can be held on great social and industrial subjects. Around these are to be galleries and bazaars, provided with every sort of article in the'way of clothing, food, and refreshment, which may be required by travellers, thus enabling them to visit the Exhibition and take their departure again, without incur ring the expense and fatigue of seeking out hotels and lodgings. The upper story is exclusively reserved for the exhibitors. This newly organized club will remain open till eleven o'clock in the evening; but all games of chance or of cards are strictly interdicted. CHESTNUT STREET FEMALE SEMINARY.?* MISS BONNEY AND MISS DILLAYE, PRINCIPALS. Tue THIRTY-THIRD Session of this English and French Boaiding and Day school will open at 1615 Chest- nut St., Philadelphia, the middle of September. Particu- lars from circulars. Turee feet I boast, but ne'er attempt to go; have many nails thereon, but not one toe ?—A yard measure. FEMALE MEDICAL COLLEGE OF PENNSYLVANIA Tae SEVENTEENTH Awnsvat Session of the Femate MepicaL CoLLeGe oF Penn’a will commence on Monday, October 15, 1866, and continue five months. For further particulars, address the Secretary, Mrs. E. H. CLeveLAnp, M. D., at the College, North College Avenue and Twenty- second Street, Philadelphia. ANN PRESTON, M. D., Dean. THE SAFEST, CHEAPEST, AND BEST. IVINS’ PATENT HAIR CRIMPERS. FOR CRIMPING AND WAVING LADIES’ HAIR, No heat required. They are put up in bean- tifui boxes, containing ore set (one dozen), assorted lengths, with full direo- tions for use accompany- ing each box. No lady’s toilet is com- plete without them. For sale throughout the coum 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.

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tte GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. ‘ 188 Asovt Lacz.—Flanders, or, as we now call it, Belgium, has always been famous for the manufacture of lace, one- fortieth of the whole population, or about 150,000 women and young girls being engaged in it. Charles I. of Spain, when the country was under his dominion, commanded it to be taught in the schools and convents, ‘and to learn the art is still a part of woman’s education. A curious story is told of the way in which Flemish lace used to be smug- gled into France by means of dogs trained for the pur- pose. ‘‘A dog was caressed and petted at home, fed on the fat of the land, then, after a season, sent across the frontier, where he was tied up, half-starved, and ill-treated. The skia of a bigger dog was then fitted to his body, the intervening space filled with lace. The dog was then allowed to escape and make his way home, where he was kindly welcomed with bis contraband charge.’’ This cruel practice was at length stopped by the French Cus- tom-house authorities, who detected the unfortunate four- footed smugglers. No fewer than 40,278 dogs engaged in these transuctions were destroyed between the years 1820 and 1836, a reward of three francs being given for each. An old lady who went into the poultry business some time since, under the expectation that she could make a fortune by selliug eggs, has quitted it in disgust, because, as she says, ‘the hens’!l never lay when eggs are dear, but always begin as soon as they get cheap.’’ THe CHALEeTs or THE ALPs.—Those who have not in person visited the chilets can form but little idea of the primitive simplicity with which these rade dwellings are built. In some places they are merely made of large stones piled on one another, with a sloping roof, and sur- rounded by a narrow gutter to carry off the rain; others, when situated within reach of the forests, are built of rough logs of wood, placed across each other, the inter- stices being filled with moss and dried leaves; these are better than the stone huts, as they are much warmer, and retain less damp. The whole building is about 20 feet by 14 feet, and divided by a slight wooden partition, the larger portion being used as a cowshed. Above this apartment, and under the sloping roof, is the place where the hay is stored, and which forms the shepherd's sleep- ing chamber. The remainder, a space of about 14 feet by 6 feet, is reserved for kitchen and parlor, and is not un- frequently shared by one or two favorite goats, or even a pig. This part is open to the roof, and through a trap- door, kept open by means of a long fir pole, the smoke finds exit, chimneys not being in vogue. It has also an- other slight partition or screen across one corner, which is appropriated as pantry or larder. There being vo win- dows, daylight is admitted through the door, which is kept open for that purpose. The floor is of stone, or rather a mixture of earth, rock, and stone; and there is no fireplace, a fire being made when required on the ground in a corner. Its furniture consists of a wooden bench or settle, and perhaps a large stone boulder, which serves as a table or seat, as may be required. The kitchen utensils comprise two or three porringers, a kettle, and a few wooden spoons, besides two milking-pails. Above the hearth, which is formed of stones, is suspended a little wooden crane that turns on a pivot, upon which is hung the great copper cauldron that the king of the herd brought up in triumph on his head from the village below, and in which the milk is scalded preparatory to making it into butter and cheese. There is no lack of ventilation in the dwelling, for around, above, and between the bare rafters which form the walls the wind and cold air from the gla- ciers above whistle freely, though this is in a measure tempered by the warm aud fragrant breath of the cows, which are closely packed every night within the hut. Wrr is life the riddle of riddles ?—Because we must give it up. MAGIC PHOTOGRAPHS. Tuese are attracting considerable attention among the curious. The effect is novel and surprising. We have made arrangements to furnish them at 25 cents a package by mail, VOL. LXxu1.—13 SOME HINTS. Ixy remitting, try to procure a draft, and don’t fail to indorse it; ora Post-office order. Address L. A. Godey, Philadelphia, Pa. That is suffi- cient. If a lady is the writer, always prefix Mrs. or Miss to her signature, that we may know how to address a reply. Town, County, and State, always in your letter. If you want your book sent to another post-office, state to what office it is sent to at the time you write When a number of the Lady’s Book is not received, write at once for it; don’t wait until the end of the year. When inclosing money, do not trust to the sealing matter on an envelope, but use a wafer in addition. Mrs. Haleis not the Fashion Editress. Address ‘‘ Fash- ion Editress, care L. A. Godey, Philadelphia.” When you send money for any other publication, we pay it over to the publisher, and there our responsibility ceases. We can always supply numbers for back years. Subseriptions may commence with any number of the year. Let the names of the subscribers and your own signa- ture be written so that they can be easily made out. OUR CARD PHOTOGRAPHS. We are constantly adding every celebrity to our very extensive list of card photographs—naval, military, pub- lic men, authors and authoresses, artists, and a charming variety of pictures and works of art, Send for a cata- logue. Postrace 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, payable yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in ad- vance, at the Post-office where the Book is received. News-dealers may receive their packages at the same rates, that is, 2 cents for each copy of the magazine, and muy pay separately for each package as received, PHILADELPHIA AGENOY. Nv order attended to unless the cash accompanies it. All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-office stamp ; and for all articles that are to be sent by mail, stamps must be sent to pay return postage. Be particular, when writing, to mention the town, county, and State you reside in, Nothing can be made out of post-marks. Miss M. A. H.—Sent Chambray by Adams’s express May l4th. E, P.—Sent curling fluid 14th. Mrs. F. J. M.—Sent India-rabber gloves 14th. Mrs. W. C. 8.—Sent pattern 14th, B. H. C.—Sent pattern 14th. Mrs. L, W. R.—Sent articles by Adams's express 15th, Mrs, F. 8, D.—Sent India-rubber gloves 16th. Mrs. A. H. W.—Sent patterns by Adams’s express 19th, Mrs. J, C. C.—Sent patterns 19th, J. P. B.—Sent box by Kinsley’s express 19th. Miss A. M. F.—Sent India-rubber gloves 19th. Miss F. E. N.—Sent hair crimpers 19th. H. I. M,—Sent box by Adams's express 22d. Mrs, J. L, B.—Sent articles 23d. Mrs. J. P.—Sent lead comb 23d. R. M.—Sent hair crimpers 23d. H, A, L.—Sent lead comb 23d.

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184 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Miss J. 8. P.—Sent hair switch and veil by Adams's express 23d. Mrs, G. A.—Sent patterns 26th. Mrs. 8. R. 8. E.—Sent articles by Adams’s express 28th. Miss L, G. W.—Sent articles 28th. Mrs, O. H. H.—Sent crimpers 31st. il. E. R.—Sent patterns 31st. Mrs. M. 8. W.—Sent patterns June 4th. Mrs. E, H.—Sent articles by Adams's express Sth. W. L. C.—Sent articles by Kinsley’s express 5th. Mrs, H. G. 8.—Sent articles 6th. Mrs, M. H. M.—Sent articles 6th, N. 8. W.—Sent album by Adams’s express 8th. Mrs, M. B. D.—Sent patterns by Adams's express 8th. R. 8. N.—Sent braid 9th. Mrs, F. I. M.—Sent articles by Harnden’s express 9th. Miss A. MeS.—Sent hair crimpers 11th. Miss H. B, C.—Sent hair crimpers 11th. M. W.—Sent India-rubber gloves lith. Mrs, D.—Sent silver wire, 13th. Skeleton Leaves.—In answer to your inquiry, we give the following method, farnished by a friend, who has prepared them in this way :— “Skeleton leaves are prepared by steeping the leaves in rain water, in an open vessel, exposed to the air and sun, adding water occasionally to replace that lost by evaporation, When the green part is putrefied, it may be separated by gently washing the leaves on a plate with pure water. This requires considerable time. It is said that the process may be accomplished in four hours by soaking the leaves in a quart of pure spring water in which a tablespoonful of liquid chloride of lime has been mixed. After they are perfectly separated, passing them through a weak solution of gum-Arabic will stiffen them.”’ J. E. Tilton & Co., Boston, publishes a work on the above art, containing fuller directions than can be given here. A Subscriber.—We cannot recommend anything. Julia.—A delicate question: no doubt put in good faith. Consult your parents, they are the best judges of the time. There should be no haste. Elsie H.—We object to whipping girls and also boys. There is a time in life that a few slaps may be all right, but not when they are grown up. Lessons set as a task is a good punishment. Mrs, J. P.—It is an old idea. Boys do not in general wear suspenders. You could not get a patent for what has been in general use for years. J. B.—We would advise you to devote yourself to the German and French, and let alone the Latin and Greek. You will find the two first the most useful. Ollendorf’s books are the best, A. L. 0.—Lotteries are illegal in this State. The circu- lar your received was decidedly an imposition. We have placed it in the hands of the police. Miss L. A.—-Write on one side of the paper. Jenny.—If the stripes of the Afghan are knit in plain stitch, the flower can be knit in. If it is done Afghan stiteh, they are worked on, as you would work on can- Fashions, NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. —_—- Havine had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, ete., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a smal! 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 the‘last, die tinct directions must be given Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expen- diture, to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq. No order will be attended to unless the money is first received. Neither the Editor nor Publisher will be account- able for losses that may occur in remitting. The Publisher of the Lady’s Book has no interest in thi. department, and kuows nothing of the transactions ; and whether the person sending the order is or is nota subscriber 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, ae 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 frora 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 fashions that prevail here govern the purehase ; therefore, no articles will be taken back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be considered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FOR AUGUST. Fig. 1.—Evening-dress of white silk, trimmed with puffings of crépe lisse caught down by bands of bright green velvet. The skirt is also trimmed with bands of green velvet, and a deep Cluny lace arranged to simulate atunic, The corsage is straight round, and finished with a bérthe formed of crépe lisse and bands of green velvet. The hair is dressed with pearl beads and a fancy coiffure of green velvet and a white plume. Fig. 2.—Dress of violet er‘pe Maretz, trimmed with black ribbon arranged in a pattern on the skirt and cor- sage. Hat offeather edge straw, trimmed with a long black plume and green rjbbon streamers. Fig. 3.—Infant’s dress of French muslin, trimmed en tablier, with rows of Cluny insertion and a worked edge. The dress is made high in the neck, and with long sleeves. A sash of wide Magenta ribbon is tied at the back in bows and long ends, Fig. 4.—Boy’s suit of brown alpaca, trimmed with blue silk cord. A wide sash of blue silk, with fringed ends is tied at the side. Polish boots of brown kid, matching the suit, laced up with blue cord, and trimmed on top with scallops bound with blue velvet. Fig. 5.—Dress of buff mohair, trimmed with folds of the same dotted with jet buttons and finished with a jet drop fringe. The corsage is plain, and trimmed to match the skirt. A wide sash is caught by a fancy ornameni on the right shoulder, and fastens under the arm on the left side. Derby hat of fancy straw, trimmed with an upright feather and a Jong plume of very light cuir-color. Fig. 6.—Skirt of white grenadine barége, dotted over with large Magenta balls, and fifiished with two bias folds of Magenta silk. Fancy corsage of black silk, made with deep basques trimmed with Ciuuy inserting. White chip hat, trimmed with a soft Magenta plume and a double veil of white crépe lisse. BONNETS AND CAPS. (See engravings, page 208.) Fig. 1.—Dress bonnet, with white chip front. The crown is formed of leaves of white silk dotted with black beads. The trimming consists of scarlet flowers and frosted green leaves,

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FASHIONS, 185 Fig. 2.—Bonnet of white silk, with dotted’tulle crown. A light white feather is laid on the right side of the bon- net, and is carried round the back. The inside trimming is a tea-rose in a mass of white thulle, Fig. 3.—The Mignon cap is intended for morning wear, and is made of mull muslin, Clany lace, and violet velvet ribbon. The crown is plaited, and falls as low as the centre of the chignon. Alternate luops of the velvet rib- bon and Cluny lace ornament both sides of the face, and in the centre of the forehead there is a rosette of ribbon and lace; a rosette to correspond at the left side of the back. The strings are wide violet velvet ribbon. Fig. 4.—Morning cap. This very simple cap is made of fine book muslin, with a hemmed quilling of the same. The hemming is done by the sewing machine, which gives ita very neat appearance. A Joop of very narrow ribbon is inserted in each plait, and a large rosette is placed just above the lappet at each ear, CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIA FASHIONS FOR AUGUST. GorED dresses which have been so persistently fashion- able for such a length of time, are, if possible, more in favor than ever. In fact, everything is gored. In front and at the sides the skirt should just clear the ground, while the back should slope into a decided train. The Princess robe necessitates a seam down the front of the skirt, which by some persons is very much disliked ; other methods are, therefore, adopted. For instance, in some skirts we find the front and back breadths perfectly straight, and only the side breadths gored. This style we recommend for muslins and lawns, Another style has a bias seam directly down the back, which forms an admirable train, and is very generally adopted, particu- larly for evening dresses. Skirts to be worn with jackets are formed entirely of small gores, and fit the figure the same as a Princess dress, but have the advantage of a seam at the side instead of down the centre of the front. To all those who wish to pay homage to that fickle goddess Fashion, but are obliged to retrench as much as possible, we recommend the removable basques. They have all the effect of a street basquine, and are made in various ways; some slope off suddenly in front and ex- tend down at the back one-half or three-quarters of a yard. They hook round the waist and are belted on with a wide waistband, The delusion is complete, and thus a very stylish walking costume is obtained without much ‘ucreasing expense, and in a very short time. We have mentioned these little accessories before, but we enter more into details as they are so extensively patronized, aud possess so many advantages. They are very conve- nient for travelling dresses and piqgués, and when made of silk form an exceedingly effective and elegant toilette. Some are slit up to the waist at the back, and others are cut on each hip. The ornaments generally adopted for silk are rich pas- sementeries enriched with beads, or else bands of Cluny Jace laid over a colored ribbon, or Benoiton chains formed of jet looped from shoulder to shoulder and down the seam of the sleeve being caught at the elbow and the wrist by a large medallion button. Another very pretty trimming is a bias band of silk studded one inch apart with crystal beads the size of a Jarge pea. On travelling and promenade suits the trimming fre- quently consists of bands of galloon, ribbon, or mohair braid arrauged in horseshoes, cheverons, arabesques, fan- ciful Grecques, trefoile, fleurs de lys aud intricate borders, Stars cut out of silk or velvet and sewed on with a fancy black and white braid trim very effectively. Buttons are scattered over everything in the greatest profusion, and loops, with streamers of belting still continue to be worn on the backs of paletdte and dresses. . The loose sack is still a favorite, and for a suit is gene- rally made sleeveless; the dress sleeve being all that is required. With tight fitting paletéts square or pointed pelerines are very popular. They are trimmed with Cluny lace, beads, or embroidery. Double capes of bright cashmere or white cloth striped with a gay color, are also found very convenient wraps for the sea-side. Cut skirts are very much worn, the upper part which reaches just below the knee is cut in points or scallops, and falls over the lower part of the skirt, which is set on underneath like a flounce. We should also add, that the upper part of the skirt, besides having two breadths less than the other, is also slightly gored, and is quite plain in front, all the fulness being thrown to the back. Wash dresses are trimmed with straps of insertion through which bright ribbons are run. Sometimes they are car- ried down the front covering the seams, or else they are arranged to simulate a basque or tunic skirt. Cluny lace has had an unprecedented success. It is used to a very great extent on underclothing, wash and evening dresses, collars, sleeves, paletits, shawls, jackets, and bonnets. We see sleeveless jackets formed entirely of Cluny, or else striped with alternate rows of Cluny and guipure, The contrast between the black and white is exceedingly effective. Small Cluny ornaments have also appeared for the trimming of lingerie. Linen and Cluny belts have come out to match the sets of collars and sleeves. One of the latest novelties in the way of Cluny isa linen set elaborately trimmed with a very fine sample of this lace thickly studded with pearl beads and drops. It is very beautiful, but a fleeting show, for we fear the pearls must be removed before the set can be done up. Beaded Cluny is very effective for bonnets, and is very much used for that purpose. Another decided novelty is yellow Cluny. It has the effect of a very delicate straw, and is mostly used for the composition of bonnets, or the trim- mings of Leghorns. Belts, galloons, wide and narrow ribbons, with many fancy trimmings are woven to repre- sent Cluny lace on a colored ground. The lace possesses little real value, much of it resembling a linen pillow-case lace, and is only pretty because it is fashionable. We may be creating a false alarm, but we think this lace will hardly be fashionable another season, One reason for supposing this is, that very excellent imitations can be had at very low rates. They trim admirably, and are sufficiently good for a thin dress. This, however, hasa tendency to make the lace common, and, therefore, we fear it may soon be ignored by the fashionable world. The newest ribbons are of white, pearl, black, or buff grounds, with humming-birds of the most gorgeous plu- mage darting over them. Wesee these same birds woven very effectively on black grenadine robes. The newest chemises are made without either bands or yokes, They are delicately embroidered and finished with Cluny or Valenciennes Jace, and between the em- broidered sprays or devices are long eyelets, through which narrow velvets or ribbons are run, drawing the, garment in to fit the figure. The most elegant parasols are formed entirely of fea- thers, for instance, white with a bordering of brilliant scarlet or orange. or the more delicate shades of violet, rose, green, or blue. A new trimming lace has lately appeared in Paris. It

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186 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. isa silk guipure half black half white, and is very advan- tageously employed on silk and thin dresses. One of the most attractive wraps of the season is the Queen burnons. It is of white mohair lace of the most -oxquisite point lace design, intersected by stripes of plain ‘black lace. The combination of the black and white be- sides being a salient novelty, is decidedly stylish and elegant, The newest collars are of the Louis XIII. and Vandyke styles, and have come out both in lace and linen. The small fanghon described last month is known as the Watteau. It is, however, difficult to distinguish the bonnets by these fancy names, as each milliner seems to christen her creations by the names which please her best. Our oracle, however, is Mme. Tilman, New York, whom we consider the highest authority on the bonnet and headdress question. We therefore assert that the Lamballe or Stella is the little saucer-like affair perched on the top of the head and bent down on the forehead. The Pamela is a gypsy sloped very much off at the ears. The Empire has long ears, & little straight cape at the back, and either a round or flat crown. The gypsy has short, rounding ears, but coming more on the sides of the face than the Pamela. Many of the new bonuets @re very effectively trimmed round with feather borderings, a small, round wreath of flowers, or a rose quilling of silk having the edges frayed out. We mentioned Jast month that tulle bonnets were fre- quently dotted over with small flowers, such as violets and daisies. Now, the idea is to give the effect of a single flower. The shape selected is the Lamballe of the smailest size, which is covered with puffings of tulle. A large rose sparkling with dew placed in the centre and surrounded with a shower of crystal beads, almost covers the tulle, puflings, and stems to constitute the entire bonnet. They are coquettish little affairs, and quite pretty. Another bonnet just introduced is the Neapolitan. It is in the style of the Mezzaro worn by the Neapolitan wo- men, It consists of a square piece of straw or Leghorn edged with a feather trimming, a ruching of silk, a gar- land of flowers, or a fringe of crystal drops. A charming little coiffure designed at the Tilman estab- lishment consists of a large rosette of blue ribbon, to be adjusted just over the forehead. From the centre of the rosette depend long cordons of lilies of the valley strung on a gold thread. These fall, @ la Benoiton, over the breast or on the back of the neck. Another artistically arranged headdress is in the Neapolitan style. It is formed of three double loops, caught by fancy buttons, and from these flow three streamers one yard in length, covered by Clany. These streamers are caught again just over the chignon by more flat loops ornamented by buttons. The effect is that of the squzre headdress worn by Italian peasants, Bridal wreaths are of the Benoiton style, consisting generally of a tuft for tlie centre of the head from which hang Benoitons formed of fine delicate flowers on pliant elastic stems. These cordons fali under the chin, and are caught in the centre by a bouquet of choice flowers. Many of the new headdresses are merely long cordons of flowers, whieh are so flexible that they can be arranged a la Grecque, in loops, or, in faet, to suit any fancy. Every day we see something new in the shape of hats. The Snow-flake is a dainty little affair resembling a Pa- mela braid, but in reality only linen pressed to imitate a braid. Theshape is somewhat of the Watteau, with wider brim. Another noteworthy head covering is the Polonsise, shaped like a"Polish cap pointed behind. It is ornamented with jet, straw, or steel chains fastened by fancy agraffes. Other styles have appeared, which are merely large round flat pieces of straw or braid, without any raised crown at all. These are kept on the head by a wide ribbon passed over the top, then through slits made in the straw at the sides, and are tied under the chin. The Madriléne, another successful creation of the Terry establishment, N. Y., has a rolled brim, drooping back and front, and a heavy roll at the sides, with a slightly oval crown four inches deep. It is usually trimmed with feather bands or ornaments. Broad brimmed hats have been revived for country wear, and are decidedly the most sensible head coverings, as these little fancy shapes afford but little protection to the face. Sleeveless jackets continue quite the rage, and when intended to wear over a white dress, are generally of some bright-colored silk, such as pink, cerise, violet, blue, or green. The long sleeves of the dress should be puffed and confined by bands of silk matching the jacket. The trimming is generally Cluny lace orcrystal fringe. These colored jackets are also very effective over a pearl-colored skirt ; in this case, however, the skirt should be trimmed with ribbon or silk matching the jacket. For morning wear at the sea-side, Senorita or Zouave jackets made of scarlet cloth or cashmere trimmed with biack, or blue trimmed with white are very popular. Unless in midsummer, it is generally requisite to have something a little warm over the shoulders in the early morning, and for this purpose these little jackets will be found very convenient besides being very effective. A very pretty dress from the Demorest establishment is of white coutil, tightly gored, and cut square at the neck, but merely to the depth of one finger. The trimming is a white wash ribbon, embossed with a Grecian pattern formed of black dots, and arranged to simulate a tunic skirt. Large pearl and jet buttons are carried down the centre seam of the dress in front. Small bells are now used as dress trimmings, and are particularly suited to sleeveless jackets.. A very pretty one lately brought out was cut in scallops, and from the hollow of each scallop depended a tiny bell. The shoul- ders were ornamented by bells connected by chains grace- fully festooned. The Greek style of dress is fighting hard for aseendency, and for evening is exceedingly stylish. Imagine a rose- colored silk skirt, with overskirt and body of white silk. This overskirt is in the peplum style, laid in deep box plaits at the waist. The skirt in the front and back is but half a yard deep, but slopes gradually down to the sides, which hang in quite deep points finished with tas- sels. We should also add that the skirt is slitup on each side to the waist. The trimming consists usually of velvet bands or rows of silver or gold braid. Thecorsage is cut square both back and front, and laid in very deep box plaits, and the sleeve is very short and perfectly plain. The hair should be dressed with bands matching those on the dress. These Peplums have lately been introduced for prome- nade suits. The Greek, which we have already described, is generally reserved for ball toilette, while the Directoire is for street or home wear. The distinction is that the latter describes a deep point at the back and front, and is hollowed out on the sides. It is slit up to the waist both in the back and front, the points being trimmed with acorns or tassels. Wide waistbands are frequently worn with these dresses; they are fastened at the side by a large rosette, FasHiox,

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ban F i ii * 4 ‘ : MUSIC AND DANCING, Luxx. 14 vcL.

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WORDS BY FRANK W. POTTER. ONDER THY LATTICE. SERENADE. MUSIC BY M. F. H. SMITHL COMPOSED FOR THE PIANO-FORTE, FOR GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK, Moderato. = « J Un-der thy lat I touch my guitar, = and ten-der -ly fair one to do ce. = = U TTT moo ul Jd a —— re — er — s i —— ces ee a eee ~s ate . a Siesta fee = 3—s +" === —— — : Soft as the breath of the zephyr from far, TLLLl bbbbb 7 aes te: | ime J q

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UNDER THY LATTICE,

—— eee $5 —* i oeeeenenaiitiamnninmnaiamtiiaen == Se ee ee ee 2 0g) 644g et

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espresstvo

Espress.

Shame with thy dark eyes the heavens above; And as the bright stars look down on the deep, cres. —<=— slentando. rall.

. Semplice.

List while I sing theea song of my love. a tempo.

a lhe das Koda Reba oe eed bienne sobaeas es ~

Under thy lattice ’'m waiting for thee,— Hasten thy footsteps my fond one, my own; Soon shall my pearly barque over the sea Fly like a star thro’ yon glittering zone. Fly to our home in some far distant isle, Brighter than enchantéd palace of yore, Where shall our lives, beneath love’s sunny smile, Firmly united, be one ever more.

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RIDING-HABIT. (Front and Back view.) ee 2 nee ee == ~— Riding-habit of dark green cloth, trimmed with a rich black cord ornamented with beads. The buttons are of jet, with erystal centres, The two figures give the front and back views of the same habit: the hats, however, are different. Fiy 1 wears s high biack felt with a narrow band of black feathers and a veil of green er‘pe lisse. The other hat isa black velvet turban, with a full band of peacock’s feathers, aud a short tuft in front, faxtened by a fancy gilt and jet ayrafe. Both of these hats ean be fuund at the establishment of J. R.-Terry, 409 Broadway, New York.

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“PALL MALL MANTLE.” It is fall behind, and crossing over in front on the The fronts are This pretty and elegant mantle is made of black gros grain silk. right side, where it is secured by a passementerie clasp, from which depend two long silk tassels. slightly curved at the bottom, forming two separate points, each terminated by a large silk tasxel, The whole garment is entirely trimmed with @ rich passementerie, edged by a row of small grelots. The seams nnder the arms are covered The sleeve is very small at the bottom, and has a seam with appliquéd passementerie, finished off with gimp fringe. at the elbow, covered by the trimming, which forms a cuff at the wrist. passementerie, with gimp fringe to match the side-piece. The epaulette is composed of appliquéd 197

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BRAIDING DESIGN FOR A FLANNEL SKIRT. PROMENADE SUITS FOR CHILDREN. Fig 1 —A skirt of fawn-colored poplin de laine, trimmed with narrow black velvet, forming a pattern upon each width, and small round stee) buttons. A high bodice of white cashmere, with ornaments to correspond, and a bund of black velvet with a rosette in front. A tight-fitting casaque of the same material and trimming as the skirt, with a waistband fastened in front by a steel buckle. ‘iv. 2—A frock and short tight-fitting casuque of gray alpaca, trimmed with rather thick gimp cerd of al! the colors of the Stuart plaid, arraused iy small tabs. and with round jet buttons “00

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THE DUCHESS TOILET-TABLE. (See Diagram, pags 253.) = r ~ r ble tae COR WW i We give an illustration of a toilet-table at once elegant and not very expensive to get up, easy enough to be mauu- The little table is made of deal ; two laths, each forty inches long are nailed on to it at the factured by an amateur. back, and joined together at equal distances by narrower laths. Two half circles of thick wire, supporting a frame of the same material, are fastened at the top. This foundation is covered with pink glazed calico and white maslin, either plain or spotted, and trimmed with plaited quillings. The top is of course arranged in the same manner. The toilet- table might also be covered with glazed chintz, with a pattern of flowers upon a light-colored ground ; quill.ngs of the A strip a yard and a half long is required to form one yard’s Jength of quilling 201 same material. 14*

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