Godey's Lady's Book And Magazine 1867-05: Vol 74

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FOL. LXXTV. IN o. 248. MAY. ‘The Lapy’s Book is worthy in every respect of all it claims, and of all that has been said for it— News, Cynthiana, Kentucky. ‘“YzUm pvetg 7Dd 27DYS NOY) Uasayn Ptr) V ss * LADY'S y. s\n is s¢ nh Sabin) \s 4 a \j! Mi 'BOOK.| EDITED BY } MK MRS, SARAH J. HALE, L. A. GODEY. 1867.

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FOR 1867. J. W. BRADLEY’S CELEBRATED DUPLEX ELLIPTIC (OR DOUBLE) SPRING ISKIR TS, [Saeeeeccenc. Are universally acknowledged by all Ladies throughout the length and breadth of the Land to be the most perfect aud agreeable ever invented. They will not BEND or BREAK like the Single Springs, but will PRESERVE their Perfect und Graceful SHAPE, when three or four ordinary Skirts are thrown aside as useless. They are the LIGHTEST and most DURABLE Skirt now made. The Hoops being of Dove sPRINas, and covered with DOUBLE TWISTED THREAD, the lovcer or bottum rode being twice or DOUBLE COVERED, and the entire Garment manufactured from the best materials and in the best manner possible, has made the “DUPLEX ELLIPTIC” the STANDARD SKIRT of the FASHIONABLE WORLD. Their wonderful flerihility, admitting of compression into the smallest possible space, and consequently their wnegua led comrort to the wearer for Church, Carriage, Opera, Party, Promenade, or Home dress, and other superior qualities not found in any other Skirt, has justified every Lyapine Fasaion MaGazine and Opinions of the Press GENERA‘ LY in universally recommending their use to the Ladies, and proclaiming them the MOST GRACEFUL AND STYLISH SKIRT WORN, and the Free? and ony article of the kind which presents perfection for the purposes intended. For Misses and Young ~ Ladies they are saperivr to all others, and all things considered, the most =conomical. FOR SALE in all stones where FIRST-CLASS SKIRTS are soLD TEROVGHUUT the Unirep States and ELSEWHERE. SOLE ownens of PATENT aud EXCLUSIVE MANUFPACIUKERS. WESTS’ BRADLEY & CARY, Warehouse and Office, 97 Chambers, and 79 and 31 Reade Streets, New York. N B.—To guard against imposition, be particular to notice that Skirts offered as ‘‘Durtex’’ have the red ink Stamp, viz.— 3. W. BRADLEY'S

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DUPLEX ELLIPTIO STEEL SPRINGS _ upon the Waisthands, Also, notice that every hoop will admit of a pin being passed through the centre, thns revealing or proving that there are Two Springs (or Duplex) braided together therein, Which is the sxcrer of ther fevibility and strength, @ combination nut to be found in any other Skirt. FLORENCE Lock Stitch Sewing SHlachines.

<a _.. Highest Premium, Fair of American Institute, 1865. . . ’ ‘ = ‘ \, F . Best in the World! Great Simplicity! Great Capacity! CELEBRATED REVERSIBLE FEED MOVEMENT. UNIFORM SELF-ADJUSTING TENSION. FOUR SEPARATE DISTINCT STITCHES. WILL GATHER AND SEW A RUFFLE AT ONCE. OFFICES OF THE COMPANY, 505 Broadway, N. Y., and 97 Cheapside, London, England. PRINCIPAL AGENCIES: 141 Washington Street, Boston. 242 Main Street, Buffalo, N. Y. 630 Chestnut Street, Philad:Iiphia. 29 Calle d’Oficios, Havana, Cuba. 100 Washington Street, Chicago. 272 Court Street, Binghamton, N.Y. 26 West Fourth Street, Cincinnati. 13 Lake Street, k liunira, N. ¥. 43 Public Square, Cleveland. 312 Broad Street, Newark, N. J. 155 Baltimore Street, Baltimore. 6 Union Street, Nashville, Tenn. 27 Nerth Pennsylivanta St., Indianapolis. 2 Vates Block, E. Genesee St., -yracuse, N.Y. ew and Woodward Avenues, Detroit. | 20 State Street, Rochester, N.Y. lontgomery Street, San Francisco. 54 Nerth Fifth Street, St. Louts. io 376 Main Street, Hartford, Conn. 303 River Street, Troy, N. Y. eadway, Albany, N.Y. Cor. Genesee, Cotumbia, & Seneca Sts., Utica. 200 Main Street, Worcester, Mass.

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LISTS PEPE 477 C4448 22, Ib + pb, Wp yy, WY, oe

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e4 ica ° = =x (>) - < i ie j=) fos ” Zz oc [s} = kK <x a.

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SLEEPING IN CHURCH. vou. Lxxtv.-——26 399

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MAMMA’S LULLABY. WRITTEN FOR THAT “THREE MONTHS’ WONDER,” BY PAPA. [Entered according to Act of Congress, A.D. 186€, by C. T. Murpny, in the Clerk’s office of the District Court of the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. } - mee — Andante. ———$——_ —_ Pp | Nes - tled close in mo - ther’s arm,

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bt i=E == ———— | pS Ss == Fold-ed safe from harm. oa Rest - less hands and na - ked feet, (\ te SF = =e Breath re - call - ing as oe -o- ling sigh, With Why should lit - tle Love thy mother, little dear, Love her more each coming year ;-- All her soul goes out to thee— Helpless on her knee. 4 dar - ling sigh, Why should lit - tle eo =% such lov - ing With such lov - ing watch-ers by? Start not, baby, mother’s nigh, Close thine eyes and do not sigh. Now our precious darling smiles, Some sweet thought her heart beguiles, Some sweet thought her heart beguiies, In her sleep our Baby smiles,

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Alphabet for Crochet, Tapestry, etc. Fig. 1.—Habit of dark blue cloth, made with peplum trimmed with velvet and bead passementerie. Turban hat of biack straw, trimmed with black velvet and a small feather pompoa. Fig. 2.—Habit of gray cloth, tightly gored and buttoned up the front with large jet butions. The corsage is turned back, en revere, showing a pointed linen collar, with linen bosom. Hat of gray straw, trimmed with a gray veivet band and rosette, also a gray gauze veil. 402

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SPRING DRESSES WITH GORED SKIRTS, (See Description, Fashion Department.) Fig. 3, Fig. 4.

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THE HILDA APRON. This apron is made of black moire antique, and the battlements round the bottom and pockets, as well as the waist- band are all corded with silk. The pockets are fastened down at each side with white mother-of-pearl buttons. This forms a simple but effective apron for morning wear. Straw trimming looks well on morning aprons. PATTERN FOR A LADY’S CHEMISE. ey RN RS A S \ QO \ RN \S RRS SANs SS) SS a gs This chemise is made with a sort of bertha in front, which may be turned down over the-stays,__ It is trimmed with insertion in embroidery and edged with lace. The sleeves are very short, and trimmed to match. This pattern is very convenient for wearing under a low dress. 404

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ist- his rith ery INFANT’S BASKET. (See engraving of closed Basket, Work Department). This engraving shows the form of the uncovered basket, which is an octagon with four handles. In the Work Department will be found an engraving showing the basket closed. The basket should be neatly covered on the outer side with glazed lining, of a color to suit the furniture of the room for which it is intended. The inside should be neatly padded with wadding, theu covered with glazed Jinieg, and afterwards with spotted muslin. Three nicely-shaped pockets, padded, lined, and covered with muslin, and then ornamented with a flouace of muslia round, and edged with daisy fringe. A row of the same fringe goes round the top of the basket. The handles are bound with ribbon the color of the lining, and bows are placed on each side. A pincushion, covered with the same muterial as the covering of the basket, and edged with daisy fringe, is placed on one side of the basket. One of the pockets is fitted with little straps in which to put the thimble. scissors, needle-book, cotton, etc. The outside of the basket is trimmed with a flounce of spotted muslin, edged with daisy fringe; then a flounce one half the depth, scalloped, and also edged with fringe. A cover of an octagon shape is next put over the top of the basket. 405

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Figures ‘sueeee for Crochet, Tapestry, etc. sae ec oe" TOOTHPICK OR MATCH SAFE. Fig 1. > » yn These droll looking individuals, intended for match safes or toothpick holders, are formed of portions of lobster shell and pieces of bright-colored velvets or silks. For Fig. 1 take the left claw of the lobster, the head, and two small claws. Care should taken to keep the shells moist while working on them. !f, however, the thin skin, which answers the purpose of hinges, should become dry and break, it may be replaced by a few stitches of red silk. To separate the different parts of the shell a small saw, or else @ very sharp kuife should be used. The lobster claw 406 as we = oo =

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ss] | ter all ich To Ww TOOTHPICK OR MATCH Fig. 2. a ¥ \ = \ HE ‘ i} ini } HH) “ite le in im intended for the lady's head is securely fastened on to a body formed of wire covered with rags or wadding. The feet are also made of wire worked over with orange-colored wool, and the figure is then dressed according totaste. The small claws form the arms, and the joining of the head to the body is concealed by a wide ruffle or ruching. The open part of the lobster claw forming the head is covered by a black velvet cap bordered by a white or scarlet pinked out ruche. The eyes aro represented by two Jarge black beads. The head of the lobster is fastened like a pack on the old woman’s back. It is lined with green paper finished with a ruching of ribbon, and fastened round the neck of the figure by wire, covered with ribbon or wool. The old gentleman (Fig. 2) has for his head the right claw of the lobster; his coat is formed of the lobster’s tail, and his arms of the small claws. The body and legs are arranged the same as for the other figure. The top of the head, intended for the matches or toothpicks, is lined with silver paper, and bordered with a band of Astrakan. The figure is then dressed as fancifully as possible. 26* 407

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HATS AND OAPFPS. SKETCHED FROM SAMPLES NOW ON EXHIBITION AT THE * ESTABLISHMENT OF J.R. TERRY, 409 Broadway, New York. 4 (See Description, Fashion Lepurtment.) The above are only a few of the many and elegant styles of Hats now on exhibition at this popular establishment. 408

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SG fof this GODEY’S Kady s Book and stlagusine PHILADELPHIA, MAY, 1867. “FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.” BY MARION HARLAND, (Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1867, by Louis A. Gopey, in the clerk’s office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. ] (Continued from page 325.) CHAPTER II. Ir occurred to Sydney, several times, during the week succeeding the evening described in | the last chapter, that Kate was more. quiet than was her wont, and, once or twice, that it was a sad quietness, but his affectionate que- ries as to the cause of her depression, if such existed, were easily parried, so easily that she was cut to the quick by his seeming indiffer- ence to her visible unhappiness. He was the more astonished, therefore, when, upon the day preceding Miss Lambert’s arrival, she broke out impetuously with—‘'Sydney! I wish you would tell me truly if you were ever in love with this girl who is expected to- morrow !’’ They were sitting upon the spot where we had our first glimpse of them—*‘‘ Sunset Rock,’’ Kate had named it—side by side, her head upon his shoulder. They had been silent for perhaps five minutes, and he started at the vehement question that ended the pause. ‘* Hey-day!’’ he said, merrily. ‘* What is the meaning of this? You are not growing jealous, surely, my pet ?’’ ‘*Not jealous! no—I should scorn to be that! At least’’—more slowly—‘‘I think I should! But it annoys me to hear Eliza’s perpetual allusions to your ‘old flame’ and *Love’s first young dream,’ and the need of redoubled brilliancy on my part, if I would not be eclipsed, and the like unkind remarks. If | knew the truth, I should not be so entirely at her mercy.’’ Sydney laughed heartily. ‘‘My precious child!’’ he said, recovering himself, ‘‘ what a frightful man of straw you have been manu- facturing for your discomfort and my amuse- ment! Is it possible that you mind Eliza’s fanfaronades’? They affect me about as se- riously as does the rustling of these leaves above and about us in this westerly wind. She does not mean one-hundredth part of what she says. It is only her way—a habit she acquired when she was a gay, giddy girl, and has not laid aside. When you come to know her better, you will learn that she pos- sesses some admirable traits and a thoroughly kind heart. She always shows the worst side first.’’ **He defends her readily enough at the least approach to censure from me!’’ thought the wife, sullenly. ‘‘ But she may deride and berate me all day long, and he dare not utter a syllable in my indefence. Is this difference, or moral cowardice ?’’ Sydney mistock the meaning of her lower- ing brow. ‘‘ Will you smile again for me, dear, if I assure you that I was never the least bit in love with Miss Lambert? that I never desired to marry any other woman than her whom ‘I now hold by the hand,’ whom I hepe to hold closely and fondly, as I do this moment, until we go down, hand-in-hand, into the dark valley at the end of life ?’’ Her disengaged arm crept around his neck, and her blushing, happy face was hidden upon his shoulder. ‘‘Thank you! thank you! 409

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410 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. I did not know, until now, that I am so glo- riously happy. How I dreaded lest you should say that you had loved and wooed her before you did me!’’ ‘*Do you know, little one, that it is naughty to be greedy ?”” said Sydney, with the playful tenderness that became him more than any other mood, smoothing her brown head, then lifting her head with gentle violence, that he might search her eyes with his. : **Indéed, I am not selfish—so selfish, I mean —about anything else, but I have been miser- able, and uncharitable, and cross’’— He stopped her mouth with a kiss. ‘‘No more hard words about my wife, madam! But’’—laughing again—‘‘how emphatically you brought out those words—‘that girl!’ You looked so spiritedly beautiful as you enunciated them, that I cannot regret the oc- casion that excited yourire. Wait until you see the dangerous rival, Katie darling, before you conclude that I was ever ‘daft’ with love forher. She is pretty, insinuating, and clever, after a certain fashion, but she has no more real heart than there is in an iceberg. She is a mere flesh-and-blood doll, with Nature’s own red and white cunningly laid on, dressed in the height of the mode, with exquisite taste in the matter of ribbons, laces, and per- fumes. Further, this deponent saith not.’’ Miss Lambert was expected to supper, the next evening, and when Kate appeared in the family sitting-room a quarter of an hour be- fore the carriage which had been sent for her returned from the depot, Eliza met her with a disagreeably meaning smile. **Gotten up to order, I see!’’ **How handsome you are!’’ said Mrs. Ris- ley, the married sister, whom Kate liked and esteemed as thoroughly as she despised the elder. ‘‘Sydney ought to see you just now, while your roses are fresh and new.’’ ‘*He is remarkably well entertained where he is,’’ rejoined Eliza. ‘*I doubt if he would exchange his present companion for any other.’’ He had gone in the carriage to meet the guest. Kate—as was but natural and seemly—had attired herself as he liked best to see her, with just a sufficient touch of ambition to outshine the new-comer to make her crimson guiltily at Eliza’s coarse commert. She had said to herself, up to that instant, that her foolish jealousy of the red-and-white doll had evaporated into the merest mist before Syd- ney’s emphatic denial that there had ever been any tender passages between him and the beauty. She had been very happy since the restoration of her confidence in him, and she was resolved not to regard pin-pricks however annoying they might be. So, she smiled gratefully at Mrs. Risley’s compliment, and seated herself near Mrs. Bentley, a placid old lady, who had thrown up the reins of government to her energetic eldest daughter so many years before that she had outlived the very memory of freedom. ‘* You are looking very sweetly, my love,’’ said the amiable mother-in-law. ‘‘ White is very becoming to you.’’ ‘*T must beg leave to differ with you there, at least,’’ contradicted Eliza. ‘‘She is too dark and sallow to look well in anything but bright colors. It is a pity, Kate, that your style is not more decided. You are neither very fair, nor yet a clear brunette. Rita Lambert, being an unmistakable blonde, with a brilliant complexion, looks magnificently in white.’” It was very hard to bear—these continual exhibitions of personal animosity and viola- tions of the commonest rules of civility and good breeding, but Kate was a genuine lady in uature and breeding, and she restrained her rising choler. Since the mother and sis- ters tailed to rebuke the rudeness offered her, it was not her place to complain of it. She would not have had time for remon- strance, indeed, for the carriage rolled around to the front entrance as Eliza ceased speaking, and the four ladies pressed into the piazza to receive the favorite visitor. Kate did not arise from her seat, and was left alone in the parlor. She distinguished, amid the confa- sion of other voices, a strange one—a mellow contralto—the accents of which affected the ear as the downy surface of silk velvet the finger-tips. ‘‘T have been telling him that he has ac- quired the look and air of ‘ Benedick the mar- ried man’ sooner than any other person I ever saw,’’ was the one connected senténce that reached the solitary inmate of the drawing- room. Then Eliza’s thin treble jingled discordantly upon the duleet tones. ‘*‘Hasn’t he? You see, Sydney, I am not the only one that thinks you have been tamed in a marvellously short time.”’

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— Sa eS ae. — — Ss om C- I- er at ‘‘FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.” 411 —_ Sydney made some jocular retort, and as the clamor of woman’s voices died.away up the stairs, he entered the room where. his wife awaited him. His eye kindled in falling upon her, and when she arose to receive his kiss, he smiled and said a caressing word., His next movement—a singularly abrupt one for him whose motions were habitually delibe- rately graceful—was to approach a mirror and inspect his full-length image as therein reflected. ; ‘*Have I really grown so much older. and graver, Katie, love? Do you see any marked change in my appearance f’’ ‘Since when?’’ she asked, somewhat shortly. ; His mind was so full of the derogatory cri- ticism passed upon his good looks, that he had not noticed hers; was more blind to the pleasing effect produced by her tasteful ap- parel and heightened color than his mother and sisters had been. Kate—albeit her. be- setting sin was not personal vanity—felt the oversight keenly. ‘* Rita Lambert will have it that I am quite another man from the one she parted with a year ago. She more than intimated that I was looking sober and dull—passé—as she put it.’’ Looking up to scout the assertion of the saucy belle, Kate’s face beamed suddenly with love and pride, approximating adoration. ‘* Apollo was never more royally beautiful!’’ escaped her, before she knew what she was . saying. Royally beautiful!. The epithet was not too forcible for the features and figure upon which her eyes feasted. The honest outburst of the fond heart went straight to that of the hearer. What signified the praise or disap- proval of others while this loyal lover was his—all his—and he perfection in her estima- tion? Catching the contagion of her impulsive manner and speech, he dropped to one knee upon the rug at her feet, and raised her hand to his. lips. ‘‘My queen! noblest, dearest— and, to me, fairest of women!’’ She bent low to kiss his forehead, without care or thought of rival or mischief-maker. ‘*#or decency’s sake!’’ said Eliza, angrily, fromasidedoor, ‘‘ For decency’s sake, don’t be enacting your private theatricals in this part of the house! You can rehearse in your own room to your heart’s content. I never saw such absurd and shameful carryings-on as we have here, nowadays, Sydney! I am astonished at you /’’ The etress upon the pronoun rendered her insinuatior too offensive for Kate to brook. ‘*Do you hear what she says?’’ she ex- claimed, to her husband, her cheeks white as her dress, and her eyes sparkling with anger. ‘‘Am I to endure this always, without com- plaint or redress? to be hourly brow-beaten, slandered, insulted, and you not speak in my defence ?’’, ‘‘Hush! hush! my dearest!’? Sydney glanced nervously towards the open door. ** Eliza is in jest’’— ‘*Not I!’ interrupted his sister, stoutly» ‘*Everybody laughs at love scenes,’’ con- tinued the worse than perplexed Benedick. **T dare say we—you and I, my pet—would be highly diverted ourselves, were we to stumble upon a tableau vivant like that which Eliza interrupted. She did not mean to wound you’’— **Don’t apologize for me! I can take care of myself! If your wife has taken umbrage at my language, I don’t call upon you to pro- tect me. Only fools and cowards run scream- ing to ‘husband,’ whenever any one crooks a finger at them. Pah!’’ and the virago left the field clear, before her brother could re- cover wits or breath to answer her latest and most audacious remark. Kate sank upon a sofa, and buried her face in ber hands. ‘*T am very sorry this has happened, my precious one!’’ said Sydney, sitting down by her and trying to draw her towards him. ‘* Eliza was very wrong. She had no right to address you, or to speak of you in the way she did’’— ** Why didn’t you teil her so, then?’’ de- manded the outraged bride, confronting him sternly. ‘‘Remember! I shall never appeal to you for help, comfort, or protection again! no! not if the knife were at my throat, and I knew that a word from you would save my life !”’ Sydney drew back aghast. ‘‘Kate! are you raving? You cannot mean to say such terrible things !’’ “T always mean what I say, and I am not afraid to say what. I think!’’ Without wait- ing to witness the effect of this ‘‘ double- header,’’ she shook off his hold awd marched out of the room. Sydney had a profound respect for appear-

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412 tlt GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ances, ard sorely discomposed though he was by this stormy episode, he met Miss Lambert, as she descended to the parlor, twenty minutes later, with the urbane cordiality that rendered him so popular as a host, and a handsomely- turned compliment to her unimpaired come- liness, which won from her a reconsideration of her expressed judgment as to the traces of Time and matrimony upon his. She had been premature in pronouncing her verdict, she was graciously pleased to acknowledge. He was looking quite his former and younger self, “‘ But where is Mrs. Bentley ?’’ she asked, looking around the room. ‘I am all impa- tience to behold your divinity.’’ *¢She has been suffering with headache all day. She is lying down, just at present. I hope, however, that she will be well enough to appear at supper-time. Her desire to meet you surpasses yours to know her.’’ What further lie he would have improvised to cover the awkward gap left by his wife's retreat to the rear was not to be proved. At this point of his discourse he detected a lurk- ing glimmer of malicious amusement in Miss Lambert’s eye, and the truth rushed upon him, to wit, that his beloved sister Eliza— with her customary contempt for the ordinary expediencies and proprieties governing most family squabbles—had, without doubt, primed her favorite Rita with the latest bit of house- hold scandal before she left her dressing-room. Controlling his countenance as best he could, he exchanged a few not very dexterous sen- tences of badinage with the fascinating visi- tor; resigned her to his sisters, and wended his way, with a quaking heart, to his wife’s chamber. Her scornful words had cut him deeply, but the smart was already less keen than it had been at first, and gauging her nature by his own more placable one, he hoped to find her amenable to reason and coaxing. He had no reproaches for her. Why should she not be a3 willing to forgive and forget? All young warried people had these slight altercations— passing clouds—that made mgre fair and dear the restored sunshine. Kate unlocked the door promptly at his familiar tap, but left him to turn the bolt for himself. This was an inauspicious beginning, but he must not be daunted by trifies. Since the task must be accomplished, he would go straight on with the work of reconciliation. He had ex- pected to see her dissolved in tears, but her eyes were dry—and resolute. “Come, my beauty!’’ he said, in blithe coaxing. ‘*Tea will be served in a few min- utes, and Miss Lambert is in the parlor await ing anxiously an introduction to you.”’ **T am not going down.” ‘* What?” queried Sydney, incredulous as to the fidelity of the auriculars that conveyed to his mind the stunning reply. ‘I shall not leave this room until Eliza asks my pardon for her unprovoked inso- lence!” rejoined Kate, in calm determination. Sydney absolutely staggered to the nearest chair. ‘‘Don’t say that, my love, I beg! You do not know how obstinate she is! She will never retract one iota of what she has once said.”’ “Very well! Then I stay here, until it pleases you to take me away from this house, never to return.’’ ‘*Kate, my sweet girl! in mercy to my father, my mother, and the sisters who have not offended you—who love you dearly, and who would be heart-broken were they to know of this unhappy estrangement—in pity for me, whose very soul is bound up in your happiness, do not persist in this cruel resolu- tion! You punish the innocent with the guilty !”” He talked on and on, arguing, soothing, and entreating. Kate stood like a statue— every line of her face fixed and pitiless. In . the midst of the scene the tea-bell rang. Sydney was in an agony. ‘This wretched story will go the rounds of my acquaintances !’’ he exclaimed, in frantic despair. ‘*Rita Lambert would enjoy no- thing more than to get hold of it, and repeat it to everybody she meets who ever saw or heard of me. I shall be the laughing stock of town and country! I can never hold up my head in the world again !’’ Kate turned. A swift change went over her countenance. It was not relenting, or sym- pathy with his anguish. I* looked more like contempt. ‘‘I am ready! shall we go down, now ?’’ She would not suffer the fondling with which he would have thanked her for her altered purpose ; paid no apparent heed to his praises of her good sense ‘and amiability. While he was still pouring these forth she walked past him to the door, and he only overtook her upon the staircase.

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i i ‘‘FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.”’ 4138 Miss Lambert, who had been gloating over the anticipation of witnessiny a conjugal thun- derstorm, was disappointed at seeing them enter the supper-room, arm-in-arm, he radi- ant and talkative, she colorless and taciturn, but that might be her usual deportment to strangers. ‘*She can be agreeable enough, when it pleases her Highness,’’ Eliza had said to her friend, in sketching her new and unloved sis- ter, ‘‘but at other times she is lofty as a duchess. I should as soon have thought of Syd, with his ardent temperament, marrying a graven image, as such a woman.’’ Miss Lambert quickly concluded that the present was one of the ‘‘ other’’ and ungenial times, and was not daunted by the iciness of the bride’s demeanor. The beauty was not the doll Sydney had described her. She was a magnificent blonde, with a creamy skin, dark-blue eyes, melting lips, and golden hair. She, too, had chosen to bedeck herself in white on this evening—a sheer muslin, that floated in redundant waves downward from her pliant waist, and rolled in fleecy heaps upon the floor, and that softened, without concealing the bewitching contour of her arms and shoulders. A scarlet shawl had slipped from the latter to her elbows, and supplied the needful dash of coloring to the picture. She saluted Kate effusively, and the unim- passioned reception of her demonstrations put a slight check upon Sydney’s recovered cheer- fulness. **T sincerely hope that your headache is much better!’’ said the sympathizing Rita, when she had squeezed Kate’s hands very hard in both of hers, and been ‘‘so rejoiced to meet one of whom she had heard so much.’’ ‘*T have so longed for this moment! Sydney —I beg your pardon—Mr. Bentley—’’ cor- recting herself with charming naiveté—‘‘ told me that you were suffering intensely. I am a martyr to headache, myself; therefore I can feel for you. Do you often have these turns ?’’ ‘Very seldom! I did suffer for a while,’’ replied Kate; ‘‘ but I am better now--quite well, indeed—thank you!’’ Sydney caught the meaning of the équivoque, and bit his lip. But he did not interpret the language of the scornful ray that gleamed suddenly through her long eyelashes. ‘*He is consistent, at all events,’’ was her thought. He puts his principles into practice whenever occasion warrants their exercise. He has ‘hid’ us both ‘out of the scrape,’ and done it with his usual cleverness.”’ The evening went off gayly. Sydney had never shone to greater advantage in person, conversation, and musical display. Rita was graciously lavish of flattering phrases, hon- eyed words, and languishing glances; Eliza, caustic and unscrupulous of others’ feelings and opinions, yet in a very decent humor for her. In originality and sparkle of thought Kate bore off the palm, and she appreciated her superiority as thoroughly as did the exultant husband, whose beaming eye or delighted smile applauded her every bon-mot. Still, there was nothing that could be mistaken for geniality in her words or manner. Her wit was like tie play of northern lights upon ice —wierd-like and dazzling. Even Miss Lam- bert was kept at a respectful distance, and there were few who could remain proof against her blandishments. **Sydney !’’ she said, abruptly, by and by. “* Again—forgive me! It is hard to forget old habits.’ **Don’t trouble yourself to forget this one,’’ rejoined Sydney, pleasantly. ‘‘Mr. Bentley is very stiff and awkward from your lips. What were you about to say ?’’ ‘*To ask if you saw Rachel as Camille in ‘ Les Horaces,’ when she was in this country ?’’ “T did. Why?’ ‘Look at Mrs. Bentley—not your mother —your wife! as she stands now, and tell me if you do not see her wonderful resemblance to the great artiste ?’’ ‘ Kate and Anna were engaged upon the fa- mous duet in Norma. Anna was singing, and Kate stood quietly by, awaiting her turn. She wore a dress of white alpaca, with a very full and long skirt. The evening was a cool one, in early autumn—so cool that a wood-fire had been kindled upon the hearth. Kate had coughed slightly an hour before, and Sydney, taking alarm, had rushed up-stairs for a shawl. Man-like, he had chosen to bring down the handsomest she possessed, a white one, with a rich Indian border, the ony article of dress he had as yet given her. She had thanked him, quietly, as he folded it about her, and Miss Lambert had gone into ecstasies over the beauty of the cashmere. Kate wore it, as she did everything else, gracefully. Her white draperies fell in motionless curves and folds, that looked like classic marble. Her eyes

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414 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ah rested upon the piano-keys and Anna’s swift fingers; her mouth was sad and stern. ‘* Rachel was very homely—was she not ?’’ asked Eliza, feigning childish simplicity. **She was beautiful when she willed to be so,’’ responded Miss Lambert, adroitly. ‘‘ You observe the likeness—do you not?’’ to Syd- ney. ‘sI certainly do! It is wonderful—as you say !’’ He was gazing at his wife, as if he would never let her pass from his sight. Kate’s hearing was remarkably acute. She had not lost a word of all this, although Anna was expending all the strength of her sweet little voice in agonizing entreaty that Norma would in pity hear her. But she did lose that look of prideful affection, and the smile that ac- companied his reply. Eliza saw both, and her acidulated nature overflowed. ‘*How differently people are impressed by the same object! Now, I was just thinking that Kate reminded me painfully of a cornse, laid out, 2 /a mode, in white merino, with a bunch of flowers upon her breast.’’ This re- ferred to a bouquet held carelessly between Kate’s fingers. ‘* You shocking girl!’’ cried Miss Lambert with a hysterical giggle. Sydney was silent. Anna glanced up surprisedly, at Norma’s delay in beginning her part, and all conver- sation was suspended as the responsive burst of passionate music filled the room. * When the heart is cold that should have cherished Every hope of joy it falsely gave, Wouldst thou have melive? Ah! no, thou wouldst not! My only haven, alas! is but the grave!” CHAPTER III. ‘Kare, I met Rita Lambert in the street to-day.’’ ** Ah 1”? The interjection did not encourage a con- tinuation of the subject, and Sydney waited a moment before renewing the conversation. ‘“She sent her love to you, and told me to say that she meant to waive ceremony with such old friends, and come to see you.”’ ** Did she say when I might expect her?’’ ‘*She mentioned to-morrow evening, I think. Will that be perfectly convenient to you?” ‘*Quite as convenient as any other time.’’ Kate leaned over to take up her sick child from the crib, and busied herself with her, smoothing her hair, adjusting her wrapper more comfortably about her limbs, and moist- ening the hot lips, Then she laid the little head upon her shoulder, and commenced rocking her to and fro. i ‘*How is she, to-night?’’? asked Sydney, affectionately, stroking the feverish cheek with his cool fingers. He was a very woman in his knack of treating invalids and babies. ** About the same.”’ ‘* Papa has something pretty in his pocket for Lulu!’’ pursued the father. ‘‘ Will she come and see it?” The little one sat up and stretched out her arms. ‘'Papa’s darling!’’ murmured Sydney, taking the light weight into his own. ‘She has fever still—has she not ?”’ ‘‘She has, all the time,’’ answered Kate, in patient weariness, unable to repress a struggling sigh. It caught the husband’s ear. ‘‘ You are not anxious about her—are you, dear? I met the doctor, to-day. He says that her symptoms are the inevitable consequence of scarlet fever, such as he sees in dozens of other cases in his daily practice. He assured me, voluntarily, that there was no occasion for alarm. I am much more uneasy about you than on her account. Children have a wonderful surplus of vitality. She will come out all right, by and by. You are growing very thin and pale, my pet! It gives me an incessant heartache to note and think upon the change. When baby grows up, she must never forget what mamma has done and suf- fered for her, during this sadly anxious fall.’’ Kate made ro answer. Not a muscle changed in her still, grave face. She wrap- ped the child’s afghan about her feet, as she lay in her father’s arms, engrossed by the examination of her new treasure—a picture- book emblazoned in glowing and varied colors. The mother resumed her chair, and seemed to be occupied by an elaborate piece of needle- work. But her eye never, in reality, left Lulu. She had been married more than six years, and this frail bud only had been given into her bosom. She was now in her third year— a remarkably pretty child, a softened minia- ture of her handsome father, yet so delicate FP fy S eee re ee

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‘“POR BETTER, FOR WORS3.” 415 that the mother had never known the perfect sweetness of proprietorship in this, Heaven’s best gift to her woman's heart. One after another the maladies incident to infancy had done their will upon the fragile little being, until it seemed as if each had left her no strength to meet and cope with the next. Still, she did resist the blighting influences, and, within the past week, the watchful nurse had allowed herself to hope that the elasticity of constitution which had borne her through so muvh might eventually triumph; her cares be abundantly rewarded by the es- tablishment of healthful vigor. She was not dreaming of this to-night, however, while her needle moved rapidly through the slip she was fashioning for her darling. She was doubting whether the dainty garment might not become her baby’s burial robe. The ap- prehension had started into life out of the apparent plenitude of her husband’s confi- dence in the child’s convalescence. ‘*He is trying to deceive me. The doctor has admitted to him the fact that my baby is in danger. His pretended solicitude about my health is a plausible blind for his true feelings respecting her.’’ She asked no questions. Her life seemed failing her, drop by drop, as she followed to its heart-rending conclusion the fancy that had gained a lodgment in her mind, but there was no present remedy for the slow torture— for that felt like mortal heart-sickness. ‘*He would not tell me the truth if I begged for it upon my bended knees. If he did, I should not believe him.’’ The shadow of distrust that had fallen upon Kate Bentley’s spirit with the beginning of the second month of her marriage, had in- creased steadily until it was enshrouded in bopeless gloom. Never too merciful in judg- ment, she had brought her kindly-tempered husband—easy of conscience and facile of speech—to the test of her rigid rules of mo- rality and taste, and found him wanting. His careless tongue she condemned as wickedly mendacious; his dread of annoyance, his horror of disagreement with those he loved, moral cowardice. Her eyes once opened to these flaws in a character she had wilfully chosen to consider faultless, her verdict* far outran the positive evidence of his unworthi- ness, and she believed him in nothing. In- stead of regarding his foibles as mere offshoots, the pruning of which would bring symmetry VOL. LXXIV.—27 out of irregularity without touching the vital part of the plant, she had settled stubbornly down into the persuasion that the stock was evil to the root. Not to another living being had she ever breathed a hint of the deadly corrosion that was eating into the fine gold of her wedded happiness. She was bound to him for life, and she must support, as she could, the wretchedness resulting from her great mis- take. She would be to him still a faithful and obedient wife—yes! and a loving—de- spise herself as she might and as she often did, in that her affections yet clung, like ivy to ruins, to the fragments of her shivered idol. She yet felt a thrill of pride, sometimes, in his beauty, undimmed by the years that had passed over them since their bridal day ; in his heroic presence; his manly accom- plishments and conversational powers. Her heart had not learned to beat evenly when other tongues praised these things in him, and congratulated her upon her fortunate lot. She schooled herself to indifference; to the mechanical performance of the duties incum- bent upon her as wife, housekeeper, and mother. For weeks together she would de- lude her reason into the conviction that this conscientious regard for moral and legal ob- ligations was her sole incentive in making his home pleasant to himself and his friends; could meet, unmoved, his loving eyes, and re- ceive, without a quicker motion of the languid blood, the caresses that had once been sweet- est luxuries; could reply, in measured, pas- sionless accents, to his fond inquiries as to the origin of her visible depression. Again, in an unguarded moment, when the thirst of the emptied heart was at its height, a fond word— an act of tender generosity—it might be the inflection of a tone that recalled those early, blissful days—would rend the frozen rock to its centre, and the tide of anguished yearning baffle her attempts at control. At these seasons she had wept hysterically upon his bosom, or lain in his arms for hours together, the great silent tears gathering and dropping—grief he could not fathom or un- derstand, but which distressed him none the less because the source lay deeper than his ken. Gradually, he had ceased to inquire into the cause of her disquiet. When the fit came on, bis arms and heart were open to her as ever, and his fond soothing as freely be- stowed. In the cold reaction—the hauteur

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416 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. or apathy that succeeded the indulgence, he likewise refrained from remonstrance. He never complained of her, let her humor be reserved or reckless, gloomy or sarcastic. What he suffered as these periods of apparent indifference lengthened and the breaking ep of the frost occurred at rarer intervais, she never thought. ‘Nothing hurts him long!’’ she would reason, bitterly, when a pained lonk crossed his face, or his voice, always gentle to her, had a pathetic cadence that touched her, against her will, in her angry or contemptuous mood. ‘* Natures like his have the faculty of forget- ting whatever mars their selfish ease. For that matter, how can I be sure that the sor- rowfal expression and sad tone are not coun- terfeits ?’’ Lulu was mightily entertained, for a time, with her pictures and her father’s explanation of them, but at length the mother detected a sharper ring in her eager voice, noticed that she was growing excited and irritable. ‘*Let me take her!’’ she said to her hus- band. ‘‘She will weary you.’’ “Not she! Papa is never tired of amusing his birdling. I wish you would leave her entirely to my care and lie down for an hour, dearest.’’ Conscious that she had been guilty of a virtual equivocation in not assigning the true reason for her interruption, Kate colored slightly. ‘*She is talking too much,’ she replied, without noticiag his affectionate proposal. ‘‘The doctor warned me against excitement.”’ Putting by her work, she tried to coax the little one to resign her plaything. ‘Lulu shall have it again, to-morrow. Mamma will rock her and sing a pretty song.”’ “*No!’’ screamed the child, clutching the books with one hand and twisting the fingers of the other in her father’s luxuriant hair. ‘IT don’t love you one bit! Go away, naughty, ugly mamma! Lulu will stay with her sweet, pretty papa !’’ ‘There! my baby inus’n’t cry! Shall papa walk awhile with her?’’ asked Sydney, pressing his cheek to hers, and hushing her sobs as by magic. ‘‘And the beautifulest book shall sleep in Lulu’s arms while she is riding !’’ Kate had not avoided the slap aimed at her face by the tiny hand, but she paid no outward regard to it. Retreating to her chair as the child became composed, she took up her work. ‘*His policy in everything !’’ was her medita- tion. ‘‘Temporizing and flattering! raising no issue that cunning or coaxing can avoid— not even to set a mother right, or to uphold her authority in the eyes of her child!’’ Forgetful that she had cautioned him against exciting the sick babe, not two min- utes before, she observed, with envy that was not far removed from savageness, the pair in their turns through the room, the feeble hand still intertwined in the raven hair, and the weary head sinking lower and lower toward the father’s shoulder, until it lay there in motionless slumber. Sydney continued his walk and the low murmur of his lullaby until the picture-book slipped from the nerveless fingers to the floor; then he halted in front of his wife with a happy satisfied smile. ‘*Papa is not a bad nurse, after all—is he? Shall I lay her in her crib, or do you wish to hold her ?”’ ‘*She will rest more quietly in her crib. It spoils a child to hold it upon the lap after it is once fairly asleep,’’ answered Kate, frigidly, and Sydney felt rebuked for having suffered the precious head to lie upon his shoulder one instant after the golden lashes had fallen together. Without offering to touch the sleeper, Kate smoothed the sheet and warmed the pinow, and motioned her husband to lay his burden there. Then she turned away, leaving to him the task of covering the child. ‘* My beautiful angel!’’ said the fond father, kissing the sunny curls floating over the pil- low. ‘She grows more lovely each day— does she not ?’’ “She is a very pretty child!’’ without a look toward her. Sydney’s task of love being accomplished, he came to the back of his wife’s chair, and rested one arm upon it, watching her darting needle and the work that grew under it. “‘That is very handsome! Is it for your- self?” ** No—for Lulu.”’ He said no more, when she did not offer to unfold the pattern for his further admiration. One might have fancied him abstracted, but his thoughts did not wander beyond the silent figure before him. These reveries had become habitual to him when she was indis- pesed to converse. Her moods were often less than inviting—seldom so repellent as that

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“FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.” 417 which now possessed her. She had not, how- ever, concealed her feelings so adroitly that he had not gathered from her demeanor and chance utterances that her married life had proved to her a bitter disappointment. This, a humiliating discovery to any husband, is pregnant with keenest mortification and sor- row to those who have loved most truly, striven most faithfully to bring about a con- trary result. He had not succeeded in mak- ing her happy, ardently as he had hoped to do this. Yet how hard and how long he had tried to meet her every wish, to ward off every care! Not that he had any just cause for complaint. She had consulted his tastes and comfort in every arrangement of her house- hold; been a true wife to him in sickness and in health; winning daily upon his regard by her womanly virtues ; the graces of her mind and person; her steadiness of purpose in all worthy enterprises ; her avoidance of all that was mean and base. He loved her with a depth and sincerity which was a higher tribute to her character than had been the more de- monstrative passion of the honeymoon. She seldom encouraged him to express this in words, and the pain of repression, at first so new and sharp, had settled into a dull aching that never left him. It had made a different man of him than the buoyant, sunny-tempered Sydney Bentley, who, people used to say, was born to good- fortune—it appeared to come to him so natu- rally, and he was so well suited to the enjoyment of the bounties showered upon him by Nature and circumstance. Trouble went hardly with him, especially the pangs of grieved affection, but, in the strength of his love for her, it was easier to endure these, and make no sign, than to see his wife droop with mysterious sadness, or unexpressed de- sire, and not dare ask why she mourned. ‘Dare!’ That was just it! He stood, with bound hands and sealed lips, and saw the distance between them grow wider and wider. Her will was not to be questioned, and that will was an impassable barrier to his inclination to search out the reason for their growing estrangement, his longing to restore matters to their old footing. Her lightest wish was his law, and she knew her power. He feared her frown more than the reproba- tion of the whole world beside, and she knew that too. It was impossible to brood upon these things and not grow restless under the yoke, let her who imposed it be never so dear. He caught himself wishing, in a vague sad way, that she were less rigid in her ideas of right and wrong; less scrupulous in her performance of what she held to be duty, in its remotest particulars, wishing, in brief, that she were more like other women, or he better suited to her needs. She had left him behind—so he excused the tincture of disloyalty in this thought—out- stripped him so far in the march toward ex- cellence that he could not hope to aspire to her level, and he felt lonely. He had never, until this hour, allowed the shadow of a reflection upon her conduct to enter his mind, brut he was weary with disappointment and chilling failures. His nature craved “A creature not too bright aul good For human nature’s daily food.”’ He was tired of making all the advances and receiving all the repulses. Kate looked hastily up at his heavy sigh. Her eyes were full of tears, and the unguarded movement dashed one over the brimming lids. She averted her head, as she felt it upon her cheek. “IT am a pitiful fool!’’? said Sydney, in- wardly. ‘‘ButI’ll be hanged if I can stand that! I’li risk annihilation first! stake all upon one chance!’’ He knelt down by her side and wound his arms about her. ‘Kate! love! my precious wife! What is this name- less, terrible sorrow that is killing us both? What have I ever said or done to wound you so deeply that for weeks and months together, I am never blessed with a real heart-smile, a voluntary word of love? Upon my knees I pray for a return to the dear, early days of our love. If tears came quickly then, smiles were more ready to chase these away. I know the fault must be mine—mine alone— for you are the soul of goodness and justice. You would notAnflict the horrible pain I have felt in the dread lest I migkt have forfeited your love and respect, without excellent cause for punishing me. Have I not done penance long and severe enough to atone for my un- intentional wrong-doing? And I so love and worship you—my darling! my darling |”” He would not let her go, although she struggled to unbind his arms. His pleading eyes, misty with feeling, gazed. up into hers ; his mouth quivered with pain, and his voice was plaintive as a child’s. Kate was terribly tempted. Tempted to

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418 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, forget his weakness ; his laxity of principle; his manifold deceptions and misrepresenta- tions; his deficiency in moral heroism—all the blemishes that had degraded her impossi- ble ideal into the very human and therefore, very fallible man; tempted to bury these in the recollection that he was still her husband, whom she had taken ‘‘ for better, for worse,’’ in a compact naught but death could annul; tempted to cast over every blot that marred her present conception of his character, the veil of pitying affection; to cling to him yet more truly because of the frailties that begot that compassionate tenderness, and while clinging, strive to correct the faults which had wrought his debasement in her esteem, and her consequent misery. Before this temp- . tation, whether it was the weak plea of a woman’s too partial love, or the instigation of her guardian angel—her usually firm will swayed and strained momentarily, like a reed before a rushing, mighty wind, then stub- bornness—she hailed it as rectitude—re- turned to her spirit. She ceased to struggle. Unmoved in aspect and calm intonation, she gazed straight into the mournful eyes that besought her clem- ency. She even lifted a lock that had strayed over his forehead, and laid it back—but it was rather the action of a mother rectifying a chance disorder in the appearance of a grown-up son, than the toying of a wife with her husband’s silky hair. **My poor Sydney! Are you then unhappy, too? Dear, return to the blind, blissful days of which you speak is impossible. I should only deceive you were I to raise hopes I can never fulfil; were I to lead you to suppose anything else. With me, the desire has failed with the expectation. This is a merci- ful provision of Nature. When we have ceased to hope, we learn, with greater or less ease, to curb our wishes. We are no longer boy and girl lovers, each believing the other a combination of angelic perfections, and life to be made up of midsummer holidays like our wedding-day. That phase of our joint existence has passed. It is, hereafter, to be remembered as ‘the tender grace of a day that is dead.’ You know that can never eome back.’’ She paused. Still that fixed look of sup- plication; still the clasp of the arms that bound her waist like bands of steel. ** It was bitter to let it go, dear! to see the romance fade, little by little—one ray after another—out of one’s life. But we are too wise to waste our time in useless lamenta- tions over the irrevocable. Let us accept our destiny as it is, like a brave man and a sub- missivewoman. Duty, when rightly pursued, is not a bad substitute for hope.’’ The sad eyes lingered upon hers with one last look, so earnest and penetrating, she feared lest it had read her soul to its depths; then closed—a quiet fall of the lids that sig- nalled to her apprehension the farewell to hope she had advised. When they were lifted, the mist was gone. Dry desolation, that expected and asked nothing—was there in its place. In arising, he stooped over and kissed her. **Let it be as you wish. I would not force your love and confidence. Mine can never change. I was never good enough for you. I warned you, long ago, that you would, some day, discover this for yourself. I think that I loved you well enough to have made myself over again, if you would have liked me better for the change. But let it pass! You never say what you do not mean, and you say that it is too late.’’ Another sentence and her rigid self-pos- session must have given way. The simple dignity of his acquiescence in her verdict ; his gallant vindication of herself from all blame in their estrangement, wrought more power- fully upon her determination than oceans of tears and volumes of protestations couid have done. The sentence was not spoken. He laid his hand upon her head, in blessing or as a token of forgiveness, if he had aught in his mind of which other men might have complained, and left the house. She listened until the echo of his slow foot- fall died away im the quiet street; then bent her forehead upon the railing of the baby’s crib, too wretched to pray or to think oon- nectedly. ‘‘T have cut away the last prop that stood between me and utter despair!’’ she mur mured, by and by. ‘‘ But it must have come at some time. As well now as later! Delay would have made the wrench no easier.’’ During Lulu’s illness, her mother had spent many nights upon a low bed in the chamber adjoining her own, and which was fitted up as a temporary nursery. The child required much attention at night, and her restle«sness and the attendant bustle in the room would

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“FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.” 419 have disturbed the father’s slumbers as well as those of the untiring nurse. ‘I could not sleep if she were awake,”’ Kate had replied to her husband’s entreaties that she would permit him to relieve her pro- tracted vigils. ‘‘It is unnecessary that two should lose their rest, when one can do all that is needed for her comfort.”’ Yet, each night, Sydney had come into the nursery before retiring, with minute inqui- ries as to the health of the little one and her mother’s ability to sustain the fatigue of the approaching watch, and not left them until Kate had lain down and Lulu was asleep. To-night, he ca:zne home at the usual hour. There had been an undefined dread upon the wife’s spirits until she heard the click of ‘his key in the outer door, that she might never see him again; that his solemn, unspoken leave-taking presaged a final separation. She had undressed and betaken her aching head to the pillow, half an hour earlier—a freak of pride or wilfulness, which sk:e deluded her- self into fancying was a judicious measure for one suffering and exhausted as she un- doubtedly was. In reality, she meant that he should not imagine that she had sat up for him, or expected his accustomed visit. The childish folly was sufficiently punished by the agony of expectation that hearkened to every sound from the adjacent chamber; to Sydney’s slippered footstep upon the car- pet; the rattle of his watch-chain, as he laid it upon the marble top of the bureau; the fall of a book he had accidentally struck from the table—and still he did net approach the door of communication. Finally, the line of light beneath this went out, and all was quiet. For the first time, since their marriage day, he had laid himself down to rest with- out kissing her ‘‘ good-night.’’ The haggard countenances of both, when they met in the breakfast-room, showed that their rest had not deserved the name, but neither alluded to the conversation of the previous evening. They talked of Lulu, whose fever had left her entirely, and whose clearer eyes and playful tricks they hailed as auguries of speedy recovery ; of the weather; the morning news; of everything excepting themselves. There was no need for Kate to play the defensive, now, against the loving demonstrations and inquiries she had learned to avoid lest they should begaile her into open- ness of speech and corresponding warmth. Sydney’s tone was friendly, kind, pleasant. A third party at their meal would have de- cided that there was nothing to conceal on either side; that he was as fond as are a ma- jority of husbands ; a trifle more attentive to his partner’s wants, perhaps, but that he, with his ladylike and self-possessed wife, had outlived the period of wedded sentimental- ism. And nine out of ten people would have decided that their behavior was eminently decorous, pre-eminently sensible, and quoted, knowingly, the hackneyed saying setting forth the interesting character of love talk and love scenes to the parties engaged in it, and their exceeding stupidity to the beholders thereof. ‘“‘When did Miss Lambert say that she would be here?’’ inquired Kate, in pursuance of her laudable design of preventing awkward breaks in their chat. ‘*To tea, this evening. She said something of a wish to pay you a visit of a day or two, but I did not encourage the intimation. I mentioned, in reply, that Lulu occupied much of your time.’’ There had been a scarcely perceptible sha- dow on the wife’s brow, as the proposed visit was named, a knitting of the forehead, which the husband knew signified dissatisfaction. It had vanished when the concluding clause of his remark was spoken. ‘* Where is she staying ?”’ ** With her sister, Mrs. Shenley.’’ ‘*She has been in St. Louis for two or three years—has she not ?’’ ‘*She has. Her eldest brother lives there. She is the youngest of a large family.’’ ** Has she altered much since you last saw her ?”? ‘*Hem-m-m! No—I think not. She looks just about the same. I expected that she would have married at the West, but she seems to be in no hurry to resign the liberty she evidently enjoys.’’ Etcetera, etc. etc., until breakfast was over, when Sydney arose from the table, kissed his wife formally; took up his child in a warm embrace ; inquired if there were anything he could do for the pleasure or comfort of either during the day; advised Kate to leave Lulu with the nurse long enough to take a walk or ride herself in the bracing outer air, and went off to his office for the rest of the day. Their divided life had fairly begun. (To be continued.)

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. IDOLATRY. BY MRS. HOPKINSON. TuackeRAy tells no more than the truth when he describes the idolizing way in which many women treat ‘‘the man of the house.”’ If they do not absolutely ask to be trodden on by the domestic Juggernaut, they do what in them lies towards a general crushing of their own privileges in behalf of the coming man. Of course, there is and can be no objection to a reasonable supremacy on the part of the bread-winner tothe establishment. It should be a settled matter that he be deferred to: not from fear that the rations will be abso- lutely stopped, even if the Grand Mogul should be disturbed; but simply that there is a certain claim of respect for the man who, by the power of his wits or the strength of his arm, supports a whole family. If it bea large family, with a great many and various wants, and if those wants are supplied, and even luxuries added, the mind naturally combines in one the ideas of producer and produced; and, inasmuch as we all like soft carpets, music, and strawberries in their sea- son, we naturally hold in high esteem the person who puts these things within our reach. This is, to be sure, a dreadfully low view to take of the supremacy of the ‘‘ good man.”’ One leaves out all the charming things that may be said upon the subject ; and that there is a sentimental side to this, as to most other things, we would by no means be understood to deny. That the man is the head of the woman, the head of the house, the head of the family, we have Scriptural authority for, and we are not in any danger, nor perhaps is he, of forgetting it. But pray, why is the head of the house to be an idol? Why have a special and fresh pat of butter for his individual palate, while his wife and children eat very poor and salt butter? Nay, why must I, myself, a visitor, be regaled also with the poor and salt kind, while he revels in the fresh pat? And why, pray, is dear Edward to have all the best strawberries? The best, the ripest, the largest, piled in unmitigated profusion on his plate, while wife, children, and the guest who tarrieth but for a day, are served with the smaller and baser sort? Is not this worship- ping idols? I should like to know! And how are the children to get any prac- tical notions of disinterestedness, and gene- rosity, and self-sacrifice, when they see the head of the family, to whom they naturally look for an example, deliberately accepting the choicest and daintiest morsels set aside for his own delectation ? A child of my acquaintance called out, the other day at the dinner-table, ‘‘Give me a peach, father; the largest and the best!’’ Why not, my boy? why not be greedy and selfish as well as your papa? I don’t see what else should be expected of you. Proba- bly the parents of this boy will be much astonished at finding him possessed of such unpleasant qualities; but why should he be expected to follow the example of the mother rather than that of the father ? As I said before, there is a good side to this subject. Thereis something always delightful in the thoughtful tenderness and self-abnega- tion, which induces the reservation of the limited delicacy or choice dainty for the weary husband and father. The lesson of self-denial and habitual deference for othors is good. But I am not looking on the good side now, but on the other—and I say I have often been thoroughly provoked fo see the cool way in which the idol helps himself to the luxury purchased at the cost of all around him, as if it was an inalienable right of his to have all the goodies. He becomes a selfish man, if he is not one originally. At a!l events, dear Henry, or dear Edward, would be far more delightful in my eyes, aud would set an infinitely better example in the family, by partaking patiently whatever adverse butter, or short-handed strawberries come to the general lot. Let Edward range with humble livers in content, nor be perked up in glisten- ing selfishness. In one of Lamb’s charming essays, he des- cants on the behavior of married people, touching indirectly on this point of idolatry. ** Testacea, for instance, kept me the other night two or three hours beyond my usual time of supping, while she was fretting be- cause Mr. did not come home till the oysters were all spoiled, rather than she would be guilty of the impoliteness of touch- ing one in his absence. This was reversing the point of good manners; for ceremony is an invention to take off the uneasy feeling which we derive from knowing ourselves to be less the object of love and esteem with a fellow-creature than some other person is.

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ae. Or = 4q3@PrPon oOo Teo IDOLATRY. 421 Had Testacea kept the oysters back for me, and withstood her husband’s importunities to go to supper, she would have acted accord- ing to the strict rules of propriety. I know no ceremony that ladies are bound to observe to their husbands, beyond the point of a modest behavior and decorum; therefore, I must protest against the vicarious gluttony of Ceraséa, who at her own table sent away a dish of Morellas, which I was applyiug to with great good-will, to her husband at the other end of the table, and recommended a plate of less extraordinary gooseberries to my unwedded palate in their stead.’’ If there is a common thing in the world, it is this same idol—a husband—yet one would think him a rarity, by the way he is served up on a silver dish to a wife’s acquaintance. I wish and hope that some wives will read here what I dare not tell them to their faces, that ** Edward’s opinions, and Edward’s. views,’’ which are perpetually thrust into my face, are not of the smallest consequence to me, whatever they may be to his wife, and I wish wives would educate themselves as fast as possible in silence, on their husband’s plans, adopting the same notions and political views, and then come out boldly with them. I wish I might never again hear that “ Henry thinks,’’ and ‘‘ Henry says;’’ if I must have it, let me have it at first hand. Doubtless his wisdom is great; doubtless he beams with ambrosial whiskers like & god on his adoring wife. Let her ‘‘admire his dulness as manly simplicity ; worship his selfishness as marly superiority; treat his stupidity as majestic gravity.’’ In short, let her give him all the best strawberries, if she will; only don’t let her hand his opinions to me as the least of a treat. Each woman admires her own Jonathan or John, and let her keep him to herself, and by no means distribute him among her ac- quaintance. Whatever they may pretend, they have not the smallest appetite for his opinions; On the contrary, they are only wishing the company had the advantage of their own domestic instruction, which, on all political and financial subjects, is so infinitely superior to Jonathan’s. If they could only hear, or would only listen to what Henry thinks! The Apostle says, ‘‘Little children, keep yourselves from idols.’’ I only ask that each woman will keep her idol to herself, and, in short, do unto others as she wishes others to do to her in this matter. There are other sorts of idolatry which do not come under general condemnation, but which deserve it not a whit the less. Amcng these are the idolatry of one’s con- nections ; and of one’s own house. All agree that nothing is more admirable than family love. It is the nursery of almost all the vir- tues, courage, prudence, effort, self-denial, sympathy; these are strengthened most of all in the family circle. Of course, then, I ex- cepé everything virtuous, for I am not talking ofa virtue. Perhaps I can more clearly state what I mean by repeating a dialogue between Mrs. A. and Mrs. B. ‘*Have you heard lately from your Sister L..?’’ says Mrs. B., who does not care at all for Sister L. ‘*Had a letter only this morning! The loveliest letter—full of charming descrip- tions !’’ **Is she travelling ?’’ half yawns Mrs. B. ‘Oh no—just sketching the scenery from her window as it strikes her. But she has such a poetical mind! now I should look out of a window and see but a read, or a field, or a meadow—I see only what there is— “* & primrose by the river’s brim, A yellow primrose ’twas to him ;’— ’Twas that—and nothing more,’ ‘¢ That ’s your style of mind, isit ?’’ answers Mrs. B., quite worn out. ‘*Exactly! but my sister is so different! everything clothed upon with fancy hues—so that when she writes to me of the view from our chamber window, I feel as if I couid not have looked at it half my life, which is reaily the case.’’ A young daughter passes through the room, and Mrs. B. gladly changes the subject from Sister L.’s love of the picturesque to the pre- sent company. Noticing that the child looks pale, she asks how Laura does? ‘*Oh,’’ sa¥s the gratified mother, ‘‘ Laura is coming out finely, we allthink! She really seems quite equal to either of her sisters! full of talent, and so interested in everything useful, aswell.’? Andsoon. Andthestrange part is that Mrs. A. is not a twaddling silly woman at all—but a sensible and interesting one. Only as soon as the conversation turns on the A.’s, small or great, near or distant, she begins applauding them, wholly uncon-

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422 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. scious of the least impropriety in her so doing. If she should read this in the Lapy’s Book, I have not the smallest hope she would see her own face, though the mirror is not a whit distorted. We all know this idolatrous habit in our friends. We seeit in large family connections forming independent mutual admiration socie- ties, where it is an understood thing that whoever has any of this and that blood in him, rejoices in a manifest superiority over his fel- low creatures. Is it a mere extension of self- love? or what is it? There i¢ not always a corresponding affection and admiration between individuals of this same race. It is rather in speaking to outsiders, that they be- gin to glorify their own relatives. Whatever it may arise from, this is not so stupid a vice as idolatry of one’s own house and furniture. To tell the truth, I have frequently given up a visit to a valued friend, because I am so annoyed at being sacrificed to her furniture. Everything in the parlors is arranged with the utmost precision, never moved from just sucha place. Thecentre-table has just so many books onit, placed at just such angles, and the chairs stand in exactly such spaces. If I take down a book and leave it on the mantle or the other table, my friend soon rises gently from her seat, and puts the book back at right angles with another, just where it was before. I dare not raise the window lest thé dust should blow in. I dare not open the blind, lest the sun should shine in and fade the pretty green earpet. By the time I have been a day in the house, i have a frenzied desire to throw the chairs out the window, upset the flower-pots and ink-stand on the carpet, and. at any cost break up the distressing order in which every- thing is kept. It is not comfortable dérder, which is a pleasure to see, where you know the order is for your use, and not for your tyrant. But it is uncomfortable order, and the mistress of the house offers up herseif and her friends on its insatiable altar. If I tip a tumbler of water on the table-cloth, an ex- pression of acute pain passes over my friend’s face, which not all her politeness can conceal. If the mustard will fall.and stain something, I feel as if I deserve to be turned into a cas- ter. And of course, in such temples of method and niceness, everything is happening wrong to visitors. The husband and children have been trained, in peril of their lives, to the utmost precision, regularity, and nicety. I should like to see that husband presuming to stay past three o’clock from his dinner! or those boys daring to put a dusty foot on mamma’s carpet! Such a house is no home to any body. It is a horrible prison of order, an idol for foolish people to fall down and worship. I have called these vices, in distinction from household virtues. Properly speaking, they do not merit so hard a term, since di- rectly or indirectly there is a desire in their possessors to contribute to the general well- peing. The exquisite housewife who is haif the time dusting and spying out dust, does not mean to make everybody uncomfortable, but the reverse. And the glorifier of family excellences does not look at the effect of her outpourings. But they both nevertheless do their part towards making their homes un- pleasant. Much as the family may profess to admire the nicety which is the paramount feature in the house, they would willingly exchange it for the permission to lounge oc- casionally or even to put their feet in an unconventional attitude; while to visitors, this exquisite housekeeping is simply dread- ful. The whole machinery of domestic econ- omy and rule should be made to serve the happiness of the family, not to tyrannize over it—to help their enjoyment, not to encumber it. To this end trifles should take their proper place, and hot be perpetually set up in important niches. The idols should be broken up, smashed, and dismissed from the temple. HAUNTED BY ELIZA F. MORIARTY. On ever through the long, long day His image flits before my sight, In crowded streets or lonely rooms I seem to see my lost delight. The image of my lost, lost love Is ever with me day and night; Where’er I go, where’er I turn, I see again my lost delight. I ever see his dark, dark eyes, They shine on me like twin stars bright From out the depths of memory’s skies, While I deplore my lost delight. Though other eyes oft smile on me, And chase away the shades of night, Yet in the soul sad tears arise For my beloved, my lost delight. -. ic oe

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EYES, NOT THEIR OWNERS. BY 8. A. R. Lerry ArnspEw lived in the country, but you needn’t infer from that fact that she was one of those limpsey, uncorseted simplicities authors hard put are wont to indite spas- modie yarns about, depicting them embodied in innocence and pink calico, and eventually borne off by the young man, in preference to the silken-clad, gold-braceleted houris of the town, any of which he might ‘of course’’ have had for the asking. “Letty had spent the years of her little girl- hood in a very sizable village, and when pantalets were, in the course of time, dis- carded, was shipped, per Erie R. R., to the tender mercies of Madame Fusser, not to emerge thence until finished, complete, inca- pable ci being taught, in after existence, any single thing not hitherto known. Armed with a certificate of these perfec- tions in the shape of a bundle of abridged sheepskin and blue ribbon, labelled ‘‘ Diplo- ma,’’ she met Madame Fusser’s classic nose in a parting salute, and returned—not to dim the gas-lights of Carbonwood ball-rooms by this culminated brilliance, but to retire ten long miles from that universal hub, to dwell with the leaf and the rock, to live a care-free, active, beauless life. Not but Carbonwood city was easily attain- able, for that same Erie Railroad ‘‘ serpen- tined’’ its vicious sinuosities very near the cottage, and thence to Carbonwood direct. So, notwithstanding her countryfied sur- roundings, Miss Letitia was no recluse, and, as the second summer of her retirement waned, buggies, with crinolined or mous- tached inmates, became so frequent a sight as to fail to awaken the ‘amaze which commonly regulated the aborigines who dwelt in the neighboring habitations at any foreign incur- sion, and few weeks passed where a prolonged flourish of pocket ‘‘ weepers’’ from the window of the approaching train did not herald relays in that direction. So, between-whiles of pie and cake baking, of putting up endless lunches for Twist-like haymakers, feeding turkeys and chicks, and other plebeian unheroine-like occupations, Miss Letitia enjoyed the cream of Carbonwood “‘ goog society ;’’ the sweet cream, without the staleness constant presence and standing are apt to give. No wonder Letty liked to live in the coun- try; no wonder she did not care, though whole days of the most splendid flirting wea- ther should pass and find her solus, when she had such books to study—books alike of print and paper, of leaf, and rock, and water. There was a lakelet full of pickerels and water lilies just below the house. Many a moon- light night did she push the littJe shallop from the shore and glide up the raining path the moonlight made, or float softly into dim coves which lay in the tender shadow of trees above them. At these times she only lacked the “‘light of the firefly lamp’” to render the poet’s illusion complete. Still, she was in nowise one of the great army classed under that comprehensive, and never rightly-defined term, ‘‘sentimental.’’ Not a bit of it. She never felt any of those namby-pamby movings which send feminine impressibles out, to catch their deaths, sitting on damp grass upon the margin of damper streams. She was much out of doors because she liked it, and felt happier and better for it, not at all because it was ‘‘so romantic.’’ ** Letty Arnsden, you shall stay down to my party.’’ Letty had run down to Carbonwood for a day’s shopping, and, going to dine with Josephine Mixell, found hér deep in festive arrangement. An invitation sent a week before had not reached her, and this was her first apprisal of this important epoch in the social existence of her friend Josie. **I don’t see how I can. I’ve nothing under the sunto wear. My only decent party dress is all ripped up, and if I were to write home to-night, to have it sent down by the morning express, it wouldn’t reach here in time to get it fixed, since the party is to-mor- row night.’’ ‘*We will improvise a tarletan for you, Letty. I can’t give you up. Ah, I guess if you knew what Mr. Farnham said about you, you ’d want to stay.’’ Whether ‘‘Mr. Farnham’s’” disburden- ments had any effect, we are unprepared to say. Letty concluded to stay and try the 423

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424 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. i. improvising plan, providing ‘‘ mother’’ should be willing. A cheap boy was dispatched on Ned Mixell’s horse to convey the note of interrogation, and returning in the ‘‘gloaming,’’ brought the welcome intelligence that Mrs. Arnsden “did not know, but rather thought she might, this once.”’ Josie could hardly wait for breakfast next morning before she marshalled Letty to her favorite ‘‘fussery store’’—as Ned called it— to decide on the degree of fineness requisite to prevent a tarletan from being ‘‘ absolutely hideous.”’ Soon the sitting-room was in a perfect foam of the breezy, voluminous fabric. Josie so- lemnly discussed double skirts and pink satin puffings with Miss Meggs, who, by a stroke of unparalleled good fortune, they had been able to secure to fit the waist. Letty left most of it to Josie’s superior ex- perience, and sat veiled in the mist of the skirt she was running up. Ned Mixell, allowed to be in the presence at this incipient stage of things, sat pretend- ing absorption in ‘‘a book,’’ but looking beyond it, and thinking of bridal veils and the like, as some vigorous flirt of the vehe- ment Josie threw the sailing stuff over the head of her guest. In fact, I think Ned was in danger of get- ting up a small personal crisis, had not some freemasonry of Miss Meggs caused the whole trio to vanish sudderly within the penetralia of Mrs. Mixell’s bedroom. When the evening came at length, and Letty stood before the dressing-glass, looking anything but hastily rigged, even the good- natured Josie could hardly forbear a pang of jealousy. Josie in ‘‘ silk and satin sheen,’’ a limitless jewelry box, and every toilet appli- ance, was ‘‘nowhere’’ beside this floating- robed improvised maiden, roses only at her breast and in her hair. Well, this young lady from the country, who ‘‘did housework’”’ every day of her life, was belle that night. That Apollo, par ez- cellence, Carleton Kingsbury, though Miss Brewster, with the thousand dollar diamonds, flashed diamonds and smiles at him enough to put his eyes out, all the evening, acknow- ledged it. Stanley Harding, by no means an Apollo, assented to the verdict in fewer words, yet, perhaps, felt it all the more from that very fact. Letty waited for no party calls, but donning her quiet gray travelling dress and sacque, was off bright and early for the depot. The dress of the evening hung high and dry in Josie’s closet, Letty telling Josie she would either come down and be her bridemaid in it, or have it sent up in a dry-goods box; she couldn’t undertake to get it home single- handed. She did not escape ungreeted, however. When Ned Mixell showed her gallantly into the waiting-room of the depot, she found several of last night’s party among the erowd. All of them bowed profoundly, and one or two ventured upon a more direct address. Yet, after the train with a great sigh had gathered itself for departure, and then, shak- ing off its lethargy, pushed boldly over the high tressel-work; when the bowing group had resumed their hats and gone their several ways, the entire number, strangely enough, resolved themselves, in Letty’s mind, into two persons, Carlton Kingsbury and Stanley Harding. Both these gentlemen, now met for the first time, impressed her; yet I think, in her revery, the former stood where we have placed his name—foremost. It was quite natural it should be so, for to a new acquaint- ance, especially were he or she young, Carl- ton Kingsbury was the more attractive. There was something very pleasing in his tall, per- fectly-arranged figure, his pale, handsome face, and with that choicest weapon a man can have—fine dark eyes. It would take a long while to count the tremors those same eyes had shot through muslin-covered hearts, as they met the eyes which belonged to them in that glance so taking to a woman’s fancy—the “slightly melancholy.’’ It was not possible to think a large and noble soul could do otherwise than dwell in such a fitting temple or look out of such eyes, at least young folks couldn’t think it so, and young folks, you remember, know what is what, considerably in advance of their parents. Stanley Harding had few of these graces to recommend him; he was tall enough, and well knit, yet he lacked that airy, indescrib- able grace nature gives to some few of her sons, Kingsbury among them. His eyes, too, were not brown, like that gentleman’s, but gray, large enough, yet having little of that style of expression which rendered the hazel — hee os =

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re Ov fer) tly ind | in es, and , is nts. 3 to and rib- her too, but that azel EYES, NOT THEIR OWNERS. 425 ones so ‘‘taking.’’ But there was one thing he had which Kingsbury quite lacked. A noble helpfulness for self and others you might find in his face, that look of brain power so many of our American men wear so visibly and so well. So it was the little country girl, going back to her making and baking, carried these two images with her. Carbonwood generally had had a vague idea of the existence of a certain Miss Letitia Arns- den. It seemed, since the occasion of Josie’s party, to have awakened fully to that fact. Mrs. Arnsden would have been—to use a favorite expression of hers—raving distracted at the terrible accession of visitors; but Letty was more active than ever. Good bread at the Arnsden cottage was perennial; berries always to be had, and light, fine cake never lacking in Letty’s vicinage, and the little lady never cared to present tea visitors with any- thing more elaborate. When Carlton Kingsbury bared his fine chestnut locks to make his parting bow to Letty that day at the depot, he probably re- sumed his hat with the resolve of adding her to the not trifling list who had already suc- cumbed* to the fascinations aforesaid. Just possibly, also, Mr. Harding, in briskly wend- ing his way to the office, might have thought what avery lovely girl Letty Arnsden was, and how pleasant it would be to see her oftener. Therefore it was the irresistible Kingsbury offered his escort to two young ladies who where discussing the feasibility of spending a day with Letty. Why could he not have come alone, upon his own independent hook? Ah, some years’ experience in the divine art had taught him better than that. You never caught Aim doing anything overt, anything that other folks could take hold of; no matter how unmistakable his eyes and actions whispered to the lady her- self, he took fine care of everything else. What if some women of discernment would have estimated Carlton Kingsbury’s brain and soul at an astonishingly paltry price, were they to be compared tothe physical man? All women are not speciaily discerning, and there- fore it was that more than one heart felt tremulous hands pressed over it to keep down its tumult as the handsome man passed the window or was met in the thoroughfare. Carlton Kingsbury knew it well, and liked to think of it. The first visit was most pleasant; he had not, for a long time, been so much interested in any one, as in this fresh, fair graduate of Madame Fusser’s; there was a piquant com- posure, a ‘‘not-give-in’’ air about her, some- thing different from the ‘‘open your arms and we ’ll drop in’’ style of damsels with whom he so generally dealt. Yet, for all that, Letty was young, and beauty loving, and moreover didn’t know that Carlton Kingsbury was a flirt. So it is not wonderful that the brown eyes with their tender fascination seemed before her long after the owner thereof had departed. Mr. Harding was also among the visitors now frequent at the cottage; she liked him very much indeed, but felt that he couldn’t compare to Mr. Kingsbury. He never looked or spoke as Kingsbury did, not at all; he was silent—and eyed his boots as often as any- thing. She was sure he could not have his friend’s capacity for liking, and was equally sure he would never care for her. ° Love after all conducts itself more on the give-and-take plan than we are willing to believe. It is astonishing how little one cares about falling in love with a man who seems te feel no pos- sibility of falling in love with us. This is one reason why these tenderly demonstrative flirts make the headway they certainly do. In her reception of company at home, and returning these favors in Carbonwood, she met these two men oftener than she had ever met any men of their calibre before. Kingsbury was most flatteringly yet cautiously attentive, and this would have of itself been suflicient to set the pulses of a novice like Letty al, a-glee. It did not fail in this case; Letty never went to her pillow now so dreamlessly as she had done before the evening at Carbon- wood. Yet though the fine image of Carlton Kings- bury came very near filling her heart, there was still a great pure chamber in it where reason, and truth, and discernment held steady council. And it was by the aid of these that a vague doubtfulness began to creep be- tween Kingsbury and the bright estimate she would place upon him. It is hardly possible to be in free and friendly converse with one, hour after hour, without catching some glimpses of the ‘‘in- side heart ;’’ no matter how carefully policy may curtain it off from us, some breeze of human issue will fintter the curtain aside,

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426 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, and we shall see if the occupant is of those who walk in white, or, alas, of another class. So it was that Letty was sometimes startled by sentiments and acts—shallow, unmanly, unchristian—hardly bold and obvious enough to be laid hold of, held up, and despised, yet still sufficiently palpable to betray an unpleas- ing consciousness of their presence to one whose soul was still white. Letty was mournfully puzzled. It could not be that the heart never shared the beau- ful thoughts that seemed to look out of the tender eyes. It could not be that the soul within held nothing of the nobleness instinct in every motion of this handsome man. Are we not taught to associate sin and mean- ness with the sinister unpleasing outside? Always; it is very difficult to think a wholly polished and pleasing person full at heart of everything trivial and unbeautiful, and when we have proved it so, it is still hard to keep the fact proportionately in sight. But Letty, with that partial vagueness of vision insepa- rable from people in any degree in love, was on the point of giving up the unpleasing in- vestigation, and tacitly opposing Longfellow’s assertion that— ** All things are not as they seem,” when, one day, in a leafy haunt out of doors, she sat down to read ‘‘ Adam Bede.’’ She turned page after page with varying interest untilshe came upon a paragraph which stopped her wholly. It ran:— ‘There are faces which nature charges with a meaning and pathos not belonging to the single human soul that flutters beneath them, but speaking the joys and sorrows of foregone generations—eyes that tell of deep love which doubtless has been and is some- where, but not paired with these eyes—perhaps paired with pale eyes that can say nothing; just as a national language may be instinct with poetry, unfelt by the lips that use it.’’ Here was an answer directly opposite to the one she had tried to frame for the satis- fying of her own doubts. Those doubts came back with ten times their former force, and she felt somehow as if Carlton Kingsbury’s description stood forth in that paragraph com- plete. “Letty, do you want to go a berrying this morning ?’’ called Mrs. Arnsden from the pantry, from which the sound of sundry muf- fied thuds proclaimed that bread was being forced into bakeable shape. **Q yes, mother; I had far rather do it than be busy in the house this clear cool morning.”’ ** That shows how little ‘ambition’ you ’ve got. In my ddy a girl of your age would be ashamed to say there was anything on earth she liked better than housework. Run along, however.”’ Letty gayly ran to gather berrying costume and utensil, and tripped swiftly down the slope toward the pond, thinking what very remarkable girls those must have been in the ‘young days’ of which her mother spoke. **Letty!’’ called that lady, appearing with hands ghostly white upen the porch, “if anybody comes, or anything in particular happens, I will blow six toots on the dinner horn, and you can run right back.’’ ‘*Very well!’’ cried Letty, laughing and kissing her hand as her mother disappeared to renew her onslaught upon the bread. On the further side of the pond lay a slop- ing hill covered with tall trees. A patch of these had been cut down, and over their fallen trunks the luscious blackberry weaved its thorny thicket. It was indeed, as Letty’s mother said, a ‘‘dreadful place’ to get through, but Letty understood this sort of woodcraft excellently well; she could engin- eer past Scylla and Charybdis of threatening briers, with less tears, scratches, or berries spilled, than any maiden thereabout. The only way the *‘ blackberry reach”’ could be conveniently gained was by water. The little shallop was soon unmoored, and Letty, seizing the light oars, skimmed over the waters at a rate which soon brought her to the tan- gled haven she sought. The fruit hung in that great fresh lusciousness it seldom reaches save in some silent, sunned, and shadowed haunt. Letty walked along the prostrate moss-covered tree trunks, parting the vines which closed high above them, picking gayly and rapidly ; when any place of extraordinary ‘‘thickness’’ of berries came into view, she would sit down upon her log, the laden vines drooping over her in cool canopy. The shining, jetty store within the basket was growing high, when the stillness of the September day was cut in twain by the shrill appalling blast of the great tin horn. Letty had never heard it blown so loudly before—it was positively piercing; she was sure some- thing dreadful must have happened, so, never pausing for the basket she had set upon the log, she made quick journey to the boat, and “. £0 0 2. 666 26 tee 2 lh ek Le ste

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jd ket the rill tty —it ver and EYES, NOT THEIR OWNERS. 427 in still less time than she had come made her way to the shore opposite the house. She ran breathless up the slope, and had reached the garden gate when she observed two figures on the porch, which made her pause at once, divining now the true state of the mat- ter. It was Messrs. Kingsbury and Harding who awaited her approach; the latter having relieved her mother of the exertion of making the promised summons. Of course his vigor- ous lungs held greater power of waking echoes than Mrs. Arnsden’s possibly could; so the shrill blast was accounted for. Now you will think Letty was finely caught, remembering the plight in which certain dam- sels are wont to return from similar excur- sions. Notabitofit. True, her dark-brown calico was appallingly short for those days, showing even a little thought of ankle above the thiek shoes (thick shoes are in fashion, mind), but it fitted her as well as satin could have done. She had one of those brown straw affairs—something like half a cocoanut shell—upon her browner head, and there was neither stain nor sunburn upon the hand she drew from the Lille thread glove to offer her guests. We may as well tell the truth at once— viz., that both of the gentlemen who occupied the rustic seats in the piazza while Letty was gone in to don a light muslin, think of the little lady, performing toilet offices in the cool sanctity of her pretty chamber, a /ittle more frequently than of any other lady of their ac- quaintance. Neither is aware that it is mu- tually so. Their coming together owes itselfto the accident of Kingsbury’s meeting his friend Harding riding out of the city, and, learning his destination, inviting himself to be of the party. Harding, though in nowise trans- ported, could not of course refuse, and his companion mounted, congratulating himself upon this opportunity of seeing the object of his dreams in the usual non-committal manner. The youth’s style of argument was somewhat in this wise. Past experience had taught him that the ‘‘needle to the pole’’ rule of con- stancy applied but poorly to himself, therefore should he ‘‘ enact the devoted too obviously, there would be a deuce of a hobble if he hap- pened to change his mind.’’ He felt as if his’ mind were in no danger of changing for the present, at least when, dinner over, the trio sat under the cool trees before the house, Letty busying herself with certain little hand work, while Harding, at her asking, read aloud. Kingsbury felt a little piqued that she had not asked him to exhibit his voice instead, but concluded it was because she did not wish even the rival of a book toshare his eyes. The truth was, reading was not among the gentle- man’s fortes. Letty had discovered that he read in a singularly soulless, tasteless manner, as different as possible from the one who now poured out the thoughts of the author he held. The shadows of the trees had crept all over the cottage porch. Letty sprang up. ‘Oh my berries! Mother will want them for tea, and they are on a log over at the ‘reach.’ All your fault, sir,’? and she shook her finger playfully at Harding. ‘* A fault I will endeavor to expiate by going after them straightway,’’ returned he. ‘* Ah, that is much easier said than done. How are you going to find them when you get there? They are quite hidden from sight, and you might hunt all night in such a jun- gle without a glimpse of them. I will take the boat and row across, and, if you like, you can come down to the beach and wait for me.’’ The tiny boat had but a single seat in the middle, and would very comfortably hold but one, though two persons might be smuggled upon it. Letty did not by any means covet such an arrangement, so the utmost the gal- lants could do was to assist her in and push the shallop afloat. The pond was not above a fourth of a mile from end to end, so it was not long before the light craft had left the lilies, which fringed deeply the edges, quite behind, and rode in the smooth, deep water of the centre. A certain pricking about the head made Letty aware that the pins which bound her hair were becoming loose. Hers was one of those few heads graced by long, heavy, shining coils of original hair, most difficult to restrain from its natural downward tendency. Shipping her oars for a moment, she took off her bon- net, but her hair was farther gone than she had imagined, and the little avalanche of coils rolled triumphantly down, one long end reaching down to the water. ‘“‘There, now, they will think I did that just for effect !”’ thought Letty, with a weird consciousness of the two spectators on shore. She began hastily to gather it up, but it was not so easy a matter; the treacherous pins had to be sought out among the hair, and she

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428 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. almost forgot she was in a boat over, waters thirty feet deep. A creeping coldness over her feet made her start and look down. Merciful Heaven! The water was swiftly rising in the frail craft; already it was beyond the lattice of her shoe. Her heart sank down within her, silent and eold, then it rose again with a hot, aching bound; she stood up in the trembling boat, and stretched her bare white arms towards the shure. ** Kingsbury— Carlton, help me !”’ As the cry floated to the land, the two saw for the first time her fearful strait. The man to whom she had appealed clasped his hands in nervous, incapable dread; but the other, though his teeth were firm set, and his face covered with gray paleness, flung away coat and boots, and was in the water, forcing himself through it with mighty strokes, as if it were his own life he sought to save. There was good need, for even with this speed he did not reach her before the boat had sunk far below the water’s surface, and the bright head, though struggling wildly to keep itself up in the free blessed air, had gone down and risen up for the first of those three terrible times allotted to the drowning, in which, perchance, succor may come before they sink down into the depths, white and stark, forever beyond all aid. Help was here, however, for as she came to the surface an arm clasped her close, and its mate struck out boldly for the shore. Now you will suppose, according to the invariable rule of such affairs, I am going to tell you that these two, at the instant of their meeting in the limpid element, so near a grave to Letty, ‘‘looked into one another’s eyes,’’ and straightway discovered they loved each other. Nosuch thing. Letty, at the moment such an event should have taken place, was most unromantically strangling, and ejecting the water from mouth, nose, and eyes, which, in other heroines, are always so opportunely ex- pressive. Yet, as the steady strokes brought them nearer safety, and she in some degree revived, she felt the delightful strength of the arm which held her so firmly, and glanced at the quiet face, and found there a beauty she had never seen before. I fear the irresistible Kingsbury lost im- measurably in the comparison, and certainly one more in love than Letty had been, an hour before, might have forgotten that he was so very handsome, as he stood rather sheepishly on the shore when they at length reached it. ‘¢T am so rejoiced you are safe !’’ cried he, throwing the most meaning tenderness into his air. “Thank you, sir!’ But her steady glance at Harding pointed and limited the words. Kingsbury offered the pretty dripping little figure the assistance of his arm, but it was declined, aud the three sought the house where, after the first spasm of amazement, the motherly aid of Mrs. Arnsden furnished dry garments, and seated them snugly at tea. No berries graced the table that night. At last the visitors were gone, and Letty sat in the little dimity-draped room where she had that day donned the breezy lawn which now hung wet and limpsy by the kitchen fire. A strange contempt had grown up in her heart toward Kingsbury in these few hours. The eyes had lost their power over her, that was certain; for as they gazed with the lover-look into hers, at parting, they did not awaken the old thrill in the least. It was to him she had called in her agony, and why had he not come? Yes, why? That ques- tion can never be answered to Letty in such a manner as to bring back her old feeling towards its subject. But we, who have nothing to do with the matter, may dispassionately inquire how it was that Carlton Kingsbury, being, as he considered himself, very much in love with Letitia Arnsden, was not the first to fly to her in her deadly peril? Well, in the first place, he was not by nature a prompt or ceurageous man. All his life long he had stood by and - seen other men fill up breaches where he should himself have been. In that knight- errantry peculiar only to the parlor carpet, he was indeed without peer, but was first in nothing else. Then, also, if he loved Letty Arnsden, he loved himself much better; na- ture’s self-preservation cry—‘‘ thyself, first of all,’’ rose strong within him. True, he was a good swimmer, and might possibly have reached the shore with-his burden; but then there were the long, tangling, twining lilies— they would catch her trailing garments, or she herself might cling to him with that fran- tice, unreasoning grasp with which so many women insure the destruction of themselves and their rescuers, It takes a long time to or to tir foe na

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0 t. By 0 er as ve POETRY. parade these motives in review, but they shot quick and full through the man’s brain as Letty’s appeal rang over the waters. It was partly with relief and partly with shame he had seen the one to whom she had not ap- pealed rush to the dangerous errand. But* he thought he had studied too long every phase of the feminine mind to let his non- chalance fail him now, so he greeted Letty as we have seen, not thinking his chances over or much diminished by any means. After this occurrence, this veteran flirt dis- covered himself to be quite as much in love as it was possible for a man of his calibre to be, so, in order to ease this ‘‘ sweet sorrow,”’ little doubting the result, he one day alighted at the Arnsden cottage gate, his flirting vocabulary in the same exquisite state of ar- rangement with his elegant person. But these desirables, together with the eyes, which assumed to the fullest their réle of tender, irresistible pleading, failed utterly in having the desired effect upon Letty, who proved, to her own entire satisfaction, that eyes may be very lovely and entraneing, without having any immediate connection with the soul of their owner. Not long thereafter Letty had another visit- or, who scarcely looked at her at all, but the tongue put on a greater eloquence than eyes can ever have, as the owner plead (in a figura- tive sense) for the life he had saved. What Letty said here we are unable to relate, but fancy the drift of her sentence can be gathered from the fact that the firm arm which threw its shield between her and death, often encircles her now, without any such obvious necessity. Or all the passions there is none so extra- vagant and outrageous as that of anger; other passions solicit and mislead us, but this runs away with us by force, and hurries us as well to our own as another’s ruin; it falls many times upon the wrong person, and discharges itself upon the innocent instead of the guilty, and makes the most trivial offences to be capital, and punishes an inconsiderate word perhaps with fetters, or death; it allows a man neither time nor means for defence, but judges a cause without hearing it, and admits of no mediation; it spares neither friend nor foe, but tears all to pieces, and casts human nature into a perpetual state of war. SPRING RAIN. BY E. Cc. K. I roves the Spring rain! Its liquid refrain Is music to me; It sings of new birth To the well-watered earth, To meadow, hill, valley, and tree, Rejoice, little seed ! In the time of thy need It comes to thy heart; Patters first at its door, Then descends to the core, There riches of life to impart. “It quickens, it lives! Now upward it strives To look in day's face; When lo! at the view, It opens anew— The flower takes the little seed’s place. I love the Spring rain, With its liquid refrain! Soul-music it seems ; Tt sings to my brain, While it patters the pane, Such singing as one hears in dreams, Nor singeth alone ; In sweet monotone It brings life indeed. I love the Spring rain, With its liquid refrain, It quickens the soul’s early seed. Now upward that shoots From the well-watered roots, In daylight to bloom. I love the Spring rain, With its liquid refrain, It sings of thonght’s harvest to come. It sings of that Power Which sendeth the shower For nature's new birth : I love the Spring rain ; Its liquid refrain Sings ever, ‘‘God loveth the earth !”’ SONG. BY 8. J. Love knows neither time nor place— Ever liveth strong and deep, Through the daylight’s sunny race, Through the night of quiet sleep. In the world, where men are thronging, Warm it clings around the heart; Cherishing a silent longing From life’s labor far apart. » "Tis a holiday for ever To the heart that feels its truth ; Like the sun, its rising never Robs our spirit of its youth. When the evening comes, its setting Mildly closes in a day, Full of joy sad self-forgetting, Leaving still a ling’ring ray.

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ESQUIRE GREY’S DOG; OR, HOW GOSSIP IS MADE. BY BELLE BUTLEDGE. “Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth.’’ Karte Purpy and Netty Armstrong came up one of the streets of Oldtown, from the post- Office, one pleasant October evening. They were firm friends, as the test of two full years’ intimate acquaintance had proved. The evening was a fine one; and the girls walked on slowly, chatting busily as they went, about such matters as interest young girls in their teens—lectures, musical soirées, the new minister, the latest fashions, their to-morrow’s lessons, and the like. The new moon had come up for a space and then dropped silently away again into the west, and a few stars alone studded the vault of heaven; but the streets of Oldtown were radiant with the gas-lamps set at intervals throughout its precincts, to light its denizens on their nightly walks, either for business or pleasure. As the two young ladies came in full view of one of these lamps, placed at a corner where two streets met, they paused a moment before bidding each other ‘‘ good-night,’’ for here their paths diverged. As they paused, a man came up the opposite sidewalk and passed into the yard of a house just below where they stood—a pretty cottage, with run- ning vines, which, in summer, were fragrant with honeysuckle and rose blossoms, but now was stripped of leaves, yet still clinging to the latticed framework of their support which was set against the house. The gas-light emanating from the lamp op- posite shone full upon the man’s figure as he passed up the walk, and, stepping upon the piazza, rang the bell. A young lady quickly answered the summons, and the gentleman entered, the door closing behind them; but a large spaniel, which had followed his mas- ter, was left outside upon the piazza. ‘*In the words of Mrs. Talkwell, ‘I wonder what Esquire Grey calls upon Agnes Cutter for?’ for that was him, was it not, Netty?’’ asked Kate Purdy of her friend. **Yes, but probably it is upon some law business with Agnes’ father. I heard my father say, to-night, that Mr. Cutter had an important case, concerning some property, coming on at the next court session,’’ replied Netty Armstrong. 430 ‘‘Oh, yes! that explains it; but if our very interested, lequacious neighbor, Mrs. Talk- well, had seen him enter, I think she would have put a different construction upon it,’”’ said Kate; ‘‘for Iam certain that nearly all the ill luck lighting upon Oldtown proceeds from her, and a few other kindred spirits, prying natures, and voluble tongues. We met her to-night, coming from her house, you remember, as we came down street; and I shouldn’t wonder if your mother, or mine, had been favored with a call ere this.’’ ‘Oh, I hope not; for deliver me, say I, from her soft, silky manner and oily tongue!’* exclaimed Netty Armstrong, ‘‘ for, as you say, she is one of the scandal-loving portion of our goodly town, and no doubt this would be her version of Esquire Grey’s call at Mr. Cutter’s, were she aware of it :— ‘¢*Isn’t it strange, Mrs. Smith, or Mrs. Brown ?’—as the lady addressed might be— ‘ Esquire Grey was seen going into Agnes Cut- ter’s house a night ortwo since! What busi- ness could he possibly have with her? Don’t you think it very singular; and that Annie Warwick had better look a little closer after him?’”’ ‘* You forgot to quote, that ‘ Agnes met him very cordially at the docr,’’’ put in Kate, laughingly. ‘“Yes; and that ‘the two were so much engrossed with each other, that they quite “forgot the poor pet spaniel, left out in the cold,’ who, I see, is upon the piazza, mourn- fully pacing to and fro,’’ added Netty. ‘Well, goon! That isn’t sufficient to set four persons by the ears, and the whole town in a ferment; so here’s more !’’ said Kate. ‘¢¢ A dim, suspicious light was seen burning until a late hour that nightin Agnes “utter’s parlor; and some late trave)’er, chancing to pass as the town clock struck a dozen peals, witnessed a tender parting at the door!’ *’ fin ished Kate, in a merry tone. ‘' Why, Netty, what a deal of misehief might be culled out of our foolish nonsense in personating poor Mrs. Talkwell! But au reveir, now! My French lesson will suffer, if I stay longer. Come round early in the morning and call me for school, and we’ll look out that last exer- cise together.’’ oe et ea sf ma ehlUCUrlhlUCUhrhlUClhthlC

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Too ESQUIRE GREY’S DOG; OR, HOW GOSSIP IS MADE. 431 ** Yes, you may expect me. Now, bon nuit, ma chére amie!’’ answered Netty, as she turned up the street leading to her own home. Arriving there, Netty Armstrong found a visitor sitting with her mother—no less a per- sonage than their neighbor, Mrs. Talkwell, who had come in with her work, as was her custom of an evening, thereby accomplishing a double share with fingers and tongue. ‘You have had a caller, my dear,’’ said Mrs. Armstrong, as Netty entered the room. ‘*Agnes Cutter came in just after you and Kate went out.”’ ‘Oh, yes; she came for the chess-board, I suppose. I forgot to tell you that Agnes was to send her brother Johnny up for it. She spoke about it to me this afternoon. I sup- pose she came herself, perhaps thinking little Johnny might be careless, and lose some of the men,’’ explained Netty. ‘‘ Well, I gave them to her,’’ replied Mrs. Armstrong. ‘‘She was in great haste, and couldn’t wait till your return, as she said she was expecting company this evening.”’ ‘¢* Expecting company!’ I wonder who it can be?’’ said Mrs. Talkwell, looking np very interestedly from the garment upon which she was sewing—a jacket for the young hopeful Talkwell, left at home, but probably now canvassing the streets in quest of the com- panionship which he never found beneath the parental roof of an evening. It was invariabiy Mrs. Talkwell’s practice of an evening, after hastily washing and re- moving the tea things, to take her work and run into some neighbor’s house for a social chat, thereby satisfying her propensity for gossip by gathering up the news of the day; while her husband—a quiet, subdued man— so long used to the rule of his spouse that the thought of remonstrance never crossed his brain, remained at home in charge of the household. Mrs. Talkwell was, emphatically, the head of her domestic ménage; and, as she often told her intimate friends, ‘‘ she always had her own way in all matters!’’ The ejaculation and surmise of Mrs. Talk- well caused Netty Armstrong to pause a moment before removing her hat and casaque, and look at her mother’s visitor. Then she answered quickly, without pausing to think of the consequences :— **T saw Esquire Grey going in there, as I came up street just now.”’ ‘*? Squire Grey there ?’’ cried Mrs. Talkwell, VoL. LXxIV.—28 excitedly. ‘‘I have heard that he plays chess a great deal. Bui I should think he’d better stay at home, or go and play chess with Annie Warwick !”’ Netty Armstrong smiled to herself as she took her books, and, seating herself at a dis- tant table, prepared tostudy. She knew why Agnes Cutter had borrowed the chess-men, as her friend had, that day, told her she expected a cousin over from Byfield, who was an excel- lent player, and had offered to teach her the game. But Netty determined that Mrs. Talk- well should not be the gainer for this know- ledge; so she wisely—or unwisely, as it afterward proved—held her own counsel, and said nothing, only smiling to herself as she remembered Kate Purdy’s and her own re- marks a little while before. A half hour later, as Netty still sat over her books, their guest rose to go; then, after her mother came back from the door, whither she had accompanied her, and sat down again, Netty told her why her friend Agnes had wished the chess-men. We will now follow Mrs. Talkwell on her homeward walk. Her house was but a little distance below Mrs. Armstrong’s, but she did not turn into her own gateway. The lightin Agnes Cutter’s parlor windows, a little farther down street, attracted her eye; so she thought slie would just go past and take a reconnois- sance of the premises. Tbe gas burned brilliantly, and sent a broad sheet of light up and down the street, reveal- ing all around within its circle. It shone on Agnes Cutter’s home, lighting the house, with its skeleton vines and leafless trees; the garden, sere and frost-bitten; the parlor win- dows, wherein burned a light. Mrs. Talk- well’s heart beat quickly. She saw the shadows of two heads reflected upon the plain white window shades; then her eyes rested upon the piazza, and upon a dark object lying upon the mat at the door. As she came nearer this object moved; and to Mrs. Talk- well was revealed the fact that it was not a kitten, or a rabbit, but no more or less than adog. The gas-light revealed this, and, also, that it was neither black nor white, but a slender gray spaniel; and she knew there was but one such in town. Mrs. Talkwell held her breath and walked slower, as the dog got up and commenced te whine and paw against the door. Then she saw oue of the shadows move away from the

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432 GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ny window; and, in a moment, the hall door was thrown open upon the piazza, and Agnes Cutter appeared, calling to the dog to come in. That was sufficient. ‘Oh my!’ ejaculated Mrs. Talkwell under her breath. ‘* How lucky that I should hap- pen along just this minute, and see the dog, and hear her call it in! Ido believe I was born under a fortunate. star, for I always do happen to see just what I want to! I think, now I’m down street se far, I’ll just step into Mrs. Fellows’. It’s two days since I was in there!’’ and the lady went onward, and rapped at the door of a house several rods below. Mrs. Fellows opened it, and her friend followed her in. A few minutes later, seated eomfortably in the rocking-chair which Mrs. Fellows had set for her near the air-tight stove, Mrs. Talkwell answered her friendly remarks. ‘* What a stranger you are, Mrs. Talkwell! I hav’n’t seen you for two or three days; not since you were in, and we were talking of Mrs. Grant’s trouble.’’ ‘* Yes, that was day before yesterday,’ re- plied the visitor. ‘‘ Yesterday I was very busy with company all day. Some friends came up from Newton unexpectedly; and I was obliged to devote myself entirely to them, and so could not fet a chance to run out, as they did not leave till quite late in the even- ing. I’ve just come from Mrs. Armstrong’s, for I took my sewing in there a few moments after tea; and, as I was out on the street, thought I’d just step in and see if you’d heard anything new about poor Mrs. Grant since Iwas here. J hav’n’t heard aword; for you know Mr. Talkwell’s such a quiet homebody, that he never brings in anything of interest. Why, in half an hour, Z could learn more than he would in a week! so I just leave him to take care of the house of an evening, and run out socially to see my friends. Do tell me what you have heard since I was in!’’ ‘* Well, not much, only Mr. Grant has left town, and they say it’s a separation’; and that she—poor woman—has taken her bed, and refuses to leave it. I pity her. It must be so unfortunate !’’ answered Mrs. Fellows. **Yes—poor thing—I feel for her from my heart, for I never want anybody to be in trouble!’’ said Mrs. Talkwell. ‘To be sure, she had tried to set herself up above some of her neighhors, aad hasn’t appeared to wish to mix much in Oldtown society ; but then we can afford to overlook that now, for, as I told Mr. Talkwell to-night, before I came away, J wouldn’t be one to throw it out to her now, in her trouble. Though, sometimes, it does people good to see those that have held them- selves up so high come down to where othera are. But, lam sorry now; for it’s a dreadful thing that he should clear out and leave her, and with the boy, too!’’ ‘*Well, I don’t know as 7 ever saw anytbing wrong about Mrs. Grant, though she wasn’t very neighborly, running in and out socially as a good many do,’’ replied Mrs. Fellows ; ‘fand I’m really sorry for her. I told Mrs. Drown so this morning, when she wasin. I told her what I had teard; but she said I must be mistaken, and that Mrs. Grant’s illness was not brought about by his treatment—that it was only some sudden news about the death of a friend in the army, and that he had gone on to attend to the body. As if we didn’t know it was all a story with which they try to gloss over the truth, hoping we may credit it !’’ ‘It’s a dreadful thing, any way; andI hope she ’ll be able to keep up, for of course it’s a great shock to her. But is there any more news stirring, that you have heard of?’’ asked Mrs. Talkwell. ‘*Granby has failed, I suppose you knew; and his family will be poor, they say! That’s all; but of course you have heard of this before ?’’ said Mrs. Fellows. ‘*No, not a word! I do declare, I wish my husband would ever stir about and learn what’s going on, and not sit down to read the moment he’s in the house!’’ exclaimed Mrs. Talkwell in a vexed tone. ‘‘ But go on, and tell me all about it!°’ ‘Oh, that’s all! He only pays twenty-five cents on a dollar, but that leaves his family poor as church mice. But I was going to say of the Grants that I shouldn’t have heard anything more about them, as I have hada wretched cold which has kept me in for two days, if I hadn’t sent Melissa over to Annie Warwick’s this afternoon, telling her she’d better run over and !earn what she could, for I thought she ’d be likely to hear all about it there, as you know the Warwicks and Grants are very intimate. Well, Melissa heard Mr. Warwick tell his wife that Mr. Grant went away early in the morning train, and then he asked her ‘how Mrs. Grant bore it?’ Mrs. Warwick replied, that ‘she had just come from there, and that Mrs. Grant was so over- a. we tte at

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SS ae ae a a SC e *# © = rd ant he irs. rer- ESQUIRE GREY’S DOG; OR, HOW GOSSIP IS MADE. 433 come she had taken her bed, and she feared would not be able to leave it very scon.’ Melissa came right straight home to tell me; and I have been looking for you ever since, for I thought you hadn’t any way of finding it out so direct as this,’’ said Mrs. Fellows, as she concluded her items of news. **T’m real glad you told me, for I did want to know how it would come out! i suppose Mrs. Warwick went over to try and cheer up poor Mrs. Grant. It was very kind in her@ and I only hope she won’t want a comforter in her own family very soon!’’ said Mrs. Talk- well with a wise look, shaking her head and sinking her voice as she spoke. ‘““Why! Do you mean that there’s any trouble there?’’ asked Mrs. Fellows, raising her eyes, and with an awakened interest in her tone. ‘‘Mr. Warwick always appears to think so much of. his wife, and Annie, too. Why, there never was a more indulgent hus- band or father in the world, to appearances, I’m sure; and if he tu.as out anything like Mr. Grant, I declare we can’t tell what the world’s coming to!’’ she exclaimed. **Oh, I didn’t mean ¢hat,’’ said her visitor. **I don't know anything to the contrary but what they get along as well as families in general. But what I mean is this—and I wouldn’t have you lisp a word of it for the world, for I never like to get mixed up in anything of the kind; but I should not wonder if Annie Warwick saw trouble yet!’’ ‘*Why, what is it? Do tell m@¢what you mean !’’ asked Mrs. Fellows in astonished, in- terested tones, drawing her chair nearer her visitor. ’ ‘Well, I’ll tell you; though you mus’n’t say anything as coming from me. But, as I said, -I happened to call in to Mrs. Armstrong’s this evening a little while before coming down here; and I hadn’t been there more than five minutes before the bell rang, and Agnes Catter called to borrow Netty Armstrong’s chess-board for this evening. In about a quarter of an hour Netty came in from the post-office, and her mother mentioned to her about Agnes’s call. I just happened to say then that I wondered who was going to play with her—for you know it isn’t every one who understands that game—so, when Netty mentioned that she saw young ’Squire Grey go in as she came up street, and as I know he is a fine player, of course it was all clear as day. But, to make it more sure, as I passed the house coming down here, I saw the shad- ows of two heads upcn the window curtains— and then saw his dog—you know that pretty spaniel, that always foilows ‘Squire Grey about? well, I saw him upon the piazza, scratching away at the door and whining for his master to come out. The poor dumb beast knew that he ought not to be there! And, just then, Agnes came to the door and called the dog in, and then, of course, went back to her game of chess with his master again! Now, what do you think of that, Mrs. Fellows ?’’ asked Mrs. Talkwell triumphantly. **Don’t you think Annie Warwick had best look out, or she ’ll lose her lover ?”’ ‘*Why, I'm perfectly astonished at your news!’’ ejaculated Mrs. Fellows, ‘‘ for I always thought Grey was a most devoted suitor to Annie; and he’s such a splendid lawyer, and every one calls him a fine young man, too! It seems hard to believe. But it must be true, if you saw it. You’re sure it was his dog? for you know it might be another, and so prove a mistake after all!’’ said Mrs. Fel- lows. **Oh, Iam as sure as that I am talking to you this moment!’’ replied Mrs. Talkwell. **T couldn’t be mistaken in the spaniel, for you know there isn’t another like him in town; and I looked sharp, because Netty Armstrong had mentioned she saw lawyer Grey go in there as she came by; and then, Agnes’ coming to borrow the chess-men, and he being a player! You see, I just put this and that and the other together, and had the whole affair as plain as day. Poor Annie! it’s a shame that he should neglect her, after having been so attentive this year or more; for Annie’s a nice girl,’’ she added, com- miseratingly. ‘*It certainly does seem strange,’”’ replied Mrs. Fellows. ‘‘I hope it’s nothing serious. Perhaps he only went ia for the evening, and Annie may be with him!”’ **T don’t think so,’’ persisted her visitor, **for I only saw two shadows upon the cur- tain. But I must be going. Suppose we just step into Mrs. Warwick’s as I go along. Maybe we s) all learn more concerning the Grant troub'3; and we can easily ascertain if Annie is at home. To be sure, it’s rather late—nearly nine o’clock—but then it’s a beautiful evening, and we must improve the pleasant weather before winter sets in.”’ Mrs. Fellows rose, and, putting on her bay

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434 . GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. net and shawl, went out with her guest. Five minutes later they were seated in the pleasant sitting-room of Mrs. Warwick’s That lady and her daughter Annie were at home, and received them cordially, though they both well knew the proclivity of their visitors to indulge in gossip. Their house. stay was brief, however; as the knowledge for which they came was revealed when they saw Annie sitting composedly at home, with her crochet work in her hands. They knew she had not been out that evening; and Mrs. Warwick was not disposed to talk freely of the Grants. As the two left, Mrs. Talkwell said to the other, ‘‘ Now, just walk up a few steps with me, Mrs. Fellows. We may learn more yet. Hist!’’ she said. ‘*‘Go slower,’’ as they neared the house, where their unsuspecting victims were supposed to be busy at a game of chess. ‘*What’s that on the piazza?’’ said Mrs. Fellows, grasping her friends arm nervously. ‘“‘The dog again, as sure as I’m alive! Probably he grew restless, and they put him out. Now you can see who he belongs to, for the piazza is light enough for us to learn.”’ ** Yes, thanks to the gas over opposite!”’ replied Mrs. Fellows. ‘It is Esquire Grey’s spaniel, as true as I’m alive! I don’t know what to make of it. He and Annie must have had a falling-out lately, for it isn’t like him to flirt with any other lady. But somebody’s coming up street, and I must hasten home!”’ and she turned to go. ‘* Wait a bit and let them pass, and we can see who it is,’’ said Mrs. Talkwell, detaining her friend by the arm. But the person proved to be young Master Talkwell, who, following his mother’s example, had left the house after her departure the first of the evening, and, since, had been paying visits to sundry con- fectionery shops and refreshment saloons down town. Mrs. Talkwell said :— ‘*Why, Robbie, darling! Why are you out at this late hour? I left you at home with your papa. You ought to be in bed and fast asleep now !”’ ‘Oh, I just thought I’d take a walk, like you, mother!’’ answered young hopeful. ‘‘Father was stupid, and I got tired of plaguing the cat, and concluded I’d go down to Ward’s and get some confectionery. Hlere’s a little left im this paper, mother. Wil you have some?”’ ‘Where did you get money to buy candy with, my son?’’ asked Mrs. Talkwell, as the boy held out a paper of maple sugar for her to partake. ‘*Oh, father got asleep, and so I just pulled his pocket-book out and took a dollar. It wasn’t much, for I wanted to get some grapes, too; but the old book looked rather slim, so I thought I’d leave the rest for him,’’ said Master Robert, generously. @ ‘‘ Why, Robbie, you bad boy! what shall I do with you?’’ said his mother. ‘‘ Hav’n’t I told you before to let your father’s money I shall punish you severely if you Come home, now,’’ she added, ‘*“:ood-night, alone ? do so again. twitching him along with her. Mrs. Fellows! I will run down some time in the course of the day, to-morrow, and we will talk over the events of this evening!" and, pulling her young hopeful along, Mrs. Talk- well wended her way homeward, while Mrs. Fellows turned in the opposite direction to seek her own house. A little over a week later, as Agnes Cutter came out from church one Sabbath, she over- took Annie Warwick. ‘¢Good-morning, Annie!’’ shesaid. ‘* What a beautiful day, and what a fine sermon we had from our new minister !”’ ‘*Good-morning, Miss Cutter!’’ replied the young lady addressed, in a cool, reserved tone; and, not replying to the last remark, she slackened her pace, walking very slowly. Agnes started and flushed, for Annie War- wick’s cool tones and manner hurt her, they were so unlike her friend’s usual pleasant words, and she knew not what to think. But she felt touched, and so passed on, wondering what odd fancy had gotten possession of amia- ble Annie Warwick’s brain. A little farther up street she met Fred. Armstrong. He passed her with a very cool bend of the head, and no smile on his lips. For a moment after he had gone by, her steps slackened, and she half waited for him to turn and join her, as usual; but he went stalking onward in a remarkably dignified manner; and so she set off again in a quick walk till she reached her home, and, with flushed cheeks, ran up to her own chamber. That night Fred Armstrong did not call on her to attend the evening lecture as usual; and Agnes waited awhile, then went in late, with her cousin, Ned Southworth, who had come over from Byfield the day before and

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ESQUIRE GREY'S DOG; OR, HOW GOSSIP IS MADE, 435 remained over Sunday. The next day Agnes received a note through the post-office to this effect :— **Miss Currer: Our acquaintance is at an end. I cannot consent to be tampered with longer, and made the medium for the success of your plans upon another. ‘* Yours, with good wishes, ‘* FREDERICK ARMSTRONG.”’ Agnes received this note from the hands of the village postmaster, and at once recognized the superscription and paused to open it. She paled as she read it, and her heart beat with a sudden flutter, then seemed fdr a mo- ment to stand still. But she recovered herself and went home—not to faint and sob, weakly, for Agnes possessed a brave heart, and she felt innocent of anything wrong on her part to call forth this treatment at the hands of one who had professed to place her first in his esteem. So she only placed the letter in the pretty rosewood box with others she had received from him, and locked it out of her sight. **T will not seek an explanation i”’’ she said to herself proudly. ‘‘If he sees his error, and acknowledges it, and asks forgiveness, per- haps I may graat it; but, till then, we will be strangers, as he has desired.”’ There were many painful wrestlings with her heart in the week that followed; and es- pecially when the two met on the eleventh evening afterwards at a social party given by Kate Purdy; but no one knew how she felt, so she got on bravely, excusing herself when the evening was half through by urging an engagement at home. ‘“*T wonder who Agnes expects to-night ?’’ said Melissa Fellows to her next neighbor, Netty Armstrong. ‘‘I saw Lawyer Grey com- ing up street as I just came in. I was very late, on account of mother’s going out, for I had to stay with little Lizzy till her return. But, while she was away, Mrs. Talkwell came in with Robbie, and so I got hold of lots of news from her. Ma never lets me hear all that’s said when she comes in, but usually sends me away on some excuse or other; but to-night I had a grand chance, for Mrs. Talk- well was there a full hour before ma came back. But don’t say a word about it, and I’ll tell you what she said about Agnes! Hush! come a little nearer, or your brother Fred will hear. And it must be true—though I don’t think you know it—or Fred would have gone home with Agnes to-night, instead of Arthur Loring, whom I met with her just as I came in. What a flirt Agnes is getting to be! Only think! I saw Esquire Grey go in there as I passed the house; and of course she ex- pected him, and only came here to blind us, and .poor Annie Warwick, to whom he has been so attentive !’’ ‘* Why, Melissa, how you talk!’’ said her listener, as the girl paused a moment to re- cover breath. ‘‘It must be all a mistake; for I don’t believe that Esquire Grey and . Annie Warwick have had any falling out, or that Agnes and Fred have ceased to be friends.”’ **Oh, it is true enough, I know!’’ replied Melissa, ‘‘ for Esquire Grey does visit Agnes Cutter; and I only wonder you hav’n’t heard of it before, for nearly everybody in town knows it. But then, yeu have been sick for a week, and probably that is the reason.’’ **So I have!” said Netty thoughtfully, as she glanced back over the last week. ‘‘I do remember, now, that brother Fred has ap- peared strangely; though I was so much engrossed with my own ailments that I didn’t notice him as much as usual.’’ ‘*And, then, wasn’t you with him at the lecture, a week ago Sunday evening—and Agnes wasn’t ?’”’ asked Melissa. ‘* Yes, so I was; but supposed, as Agnes came with her cousin Ned, that it was an agreement between them,’’ replied Netty. ‘* Well, you may depend upon it that your brother and Agnes have had trouble; and it’s about Esquire Grey’s going to see her; for he don’t visit Annie Warwick now, that’s cer- tain !’’ exclaimed Melissa, with emphasis. Netty Armstrong stopped; asudden thought flashed athwart her brain. The news her friend told her was singular and strange. It could not all be true; but that there was some trouble between her brother Fred and Agnes was certain, for now, as she though of it, she did remember that he had appeared restless and troubled for a week past—and also, that, through the illness to which she had been subject during that time, Agnes had not been to see her! Annie Warwick’s and Esquire Grey’s friend- ship broken up, too! what could it mean? She glanced over to where Annie Warwick stood—a tall, slender girl, with blue eyes and a sweet face—and as she heard her break forth in laughter she fancied it was forced and unnatural, and the smile upon her face only

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436 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. worn for the occasion. She glanced around the well-filled room, and she saw that Esquire Grey was not of the number. To be sure, he did not always attend the evening parties to which he was invited, but then he always ap- peared punctually to attend Annie home just before their breaking up; but if he was this evening spending his time with Agnes Cutter, and she had gone home to meet him, as Melissa Fellows said, then there was too much truth in what had just been told her. She turned to Melissa, and asked :— ** What did Mrs. Talkwell say to you about this ?’’ **Oh! she said that it was true that they had all broken friendship—your brother and Agnes, and Annie Warwick and Esquire Grey —and Agnes was keeping company with him, for she saw him there a fortnight since, and his dog was outside upon the piazza, and, as she came by the door, Agnes came and cal'ed him tocomein. Then Mr. Cutter and Esquire Grey have been very intimate of late! They have been seen talking together, and riding and walking, nearly every day since that time; and mother and Mrs. Talkwell called in to Mrs. Warwick’s that night to see if Annie was up to Agnes’ house with him, but she sat at home, innocent as could be that she was neglected. And Mrs. Talkwell told mother the next day, when she called down, that she thought Annie ought to know it, and said she’d half a mind to run in and give her an inkling of it—and I expect she did, for, when I went in a little while afterward, I saw Annie’s eyes were red, as if she’d been crying. And the next Sunday evening Mrs. Talkwell told mother she was in there when Esquire Grey came for Annie to go to lecture ‘“—but that Annie declined his company, say- ing she had a bad headache, and so he went without her, as he was obliged to introduce the lecturer—and pretty soon Annie went to bed, and so she knew that she wouldn’t see him again that night.’’ As Melissa Fellows had been talking, and her auditor’s ear was open to her, Netty’s mind also had been busy thinking over the events of the past few weeks. She re- membered clearly the evening, about a fort- night since, when she and Kate Purdy had seen Esquire Grey go in Mr. Cutter’s—also recollected seeing the dog outside upon the piazza, though she didn’t think further of it at the time. Then she recalled the circum- stance that on her return home Mrs. Talk- well had been their guest—and of her mother’s speaking of Agnes’ call for the chess-board, and Mrs. Talkwell’s apparent interest and que-‘ion as to whom Agnes expected—and her own quick, thoughtless comment, that ‘*she saw Esquire Grey go in as she came past.” It all flashed across her brain. She had the trail now from whence this matter had sprung—she knew from what a little spark this great fire had been kindled. Turning to Melissa, she asked :— ‘*Do you remember what evening it was that Mrs. Talkwell first called and told your mother about this ?’’ ** Yes, perfectly, for it was the night of the very day that Mr. Grant went on to Washing- ton; and you know it was thought then, by some, that he and his wife had had trouble and separated. But, as he came back the next week, it couldn’t have been true; though I suspect Mrs. Talkwell half wished it was, she had so set her mind upon it’s being so, and all from the fact that little Johnny Grant said to Robbie Talkwell that his father was going away off in the army to leave his mother, and you know he went to remove the body of her brother, who had fallen in battle a little while before. She said that night she had just come from your house, and you men- tioned that you had seen Esquire Grey call in as you came up street.”’ It was all plain to Netty Armstrong now! She remembered her thoughtiess reply to Mrs. Talkwell’s inquisitive question. So here was the beginning of it all! She turned from Melissa, determined to set it right immedi- ately. Crossing the room, she went up to her friend Kate Purdy. ‘Kate, have you heard anything about this trouble between Annie Warwick and Esquire Grey, and Agnes Cutter and brother Fred ?’’ she asked. ‘Not till to-day,’ replied Kate, “and I wanted to ask you about it, but have been so busy that I couldn’t find opportunity. What do you think of it? for of course you know about Fred and Agnes. I am surprised, for I thought they were more than friends,”’ she added. ‘‘Who told you of it ?’”’ questioned Netty. ‘*Panny Green. She said that hi: sother heard it from Mrs. Graves.’’ “Stay here a bit, till I come back!” said

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ESQUIRE GREY’S DOG; OR, HOW GOSSIP IS MADE. 437 Netty, as. she left her friend, and went over to where Lucy Graves stood with a host of others. Drawing the young lady aside, Netty put the question—‘‘ Lucy, do you know who told your mother about Annie Warwick and Es- quire Grey’s trouble—and also brother Fred’s and Agnes Cutter’s?’’ she asked. ‘“*Oh, yes! Mother and I were making a cali upon Mrs. Butler, and Mrs. Trewitt-was there at the same time. She had just come from Mrs. Smith’s, and heard it there. Is it really so?” asked Lucy, sympathizingly. ‘‘I am sorry if it is, for they all seemed to think so much of each other.’’ ‘Wait a few days, and say nothing, and you will perhaps learn the truth,’’ replied Netty, as she left her, to still seek another, saying, ‘‘There’s Nellie Smith! I want to see her a moment.’’ ‘Nellie’? she said to that young lady a moment afterward, as she paused before her, **T suppose, of course, you have heard about the trouble between Esquire Grey and Annie Warwick, and Fred and Agnes ?’’ ‘Oh, yes! Mother had it right from Mrs. Talkwell, who saw him go in there with her own eyes!’ exclaimed the young lady in lively, vivacious tones. ‘‘Isn’t it horrid that they should do so? Oh, excuse me! I for- got your brother when I spoke!’’ she added, apologizing confusedly. **Oh, no offence is taken, where none is intended,’’ Netty answered, in a pleasant tone. ‘‘But I see that Kate Purdy is looking for me, so I must go!’’ And she returned to Kate, who, seeing her friend flitting here and there, had followed her with a puzzled look of interest, and uow stood awaiting her with expectant countenance. “Well, Kate, I’ve found it all out—have traced the whole matter to our two individnal selves, as the prime movers in this affair; and then to Mrs. Talkwell, who, as avante courrier of gossip, scattered the news through- out the whole community. She, with one or more others, has kindled the fire and kept it burning to this great blaze, till it threat- ened to make four lives unhappy for all the future !’’ exclaimed Netty. Then she related to her friend all she had gleaned from those she had questioned—referring to their even- ing walk from town, and their laughing re- marks then, and her own thoughtless words to Mys. Talkwell afterwards. ‘‘To think, Kate, that all this should have sprung from the fact that Esquire Grey called there to see his client, Mr. Cutter—for I know it was that, as father said so at table that night, and I think I mentioned it to you then—and to think what an important pari a poor little dumb animal may be made to act—for even Esquire Grey’s dog has been made to sustain one of the principal characters in this story !’’ she added, laughingly. A half hour later, Fred Armstrong stood waiting for Annie Warwick to come from the dressing-room, ready to accompany her home. His sister Netty came out first, and saw Es- quire Grey waiting in the hall, for he also had come to attend Annie Warwick home. Then, as the latter came out, and was about to pass by her former lover and take Fred’s arm, Netty stepped in between them saying, in a low voice to her brother, as she placed her hand upon his arm :— ‘*Fred, I want you to wait a few moments, there is something I wish to tell you!’’ She had caught Esquire Grey’s tones, as he prof- fered his arm to Annie, saying :— ‘*Annie, I have come for you, notwith- standing your coldness.’* Will you walk home with me, and tell me why it is you treat me thus ?’’ The lady was about to reply, but Netty stopped her with— ‘* Please, Annie, come into the drawing- room a moment; and Mr. Grey, too! Bro- ther,’’ she continued, as they all stepped back within the apartment. ‘‘ Fred, will you please be so accommodating as to go over to Mr. Cutter’s, and ask Agnes to come over here a few minutes with you? There is something very particular, which she must learn to-night.”’ ‘Netty Armstrong! are you beside your- self, to ask me to do this?’’ exclaimed Fred Armstrong, excitedly. ‘‘I must positively decline going !’’ ‘Fred, if you do not go, you will regret it all your life!’’ replied his sister in a very decided tone. ‘‘ You have wronged Agnes by false suspicions. Now let me set it right with you, and with two others who have also an interest in this explanation, which shall be given when Agnes comes.”’ The young gentleman looked at his sister a second in an astonished way; then, without a word, went out to do her bidding. Ten minutes later he returned with Agnes.

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433 Then Netty briefly explained all to her atten- tive listeners—from the beginning until the present period of their tronbles—and merry laughter rang out from Kate Purdy’s parlor at her amusing recital of the story. ‘*We shall have to vote you an honorary member of the bar, in the future, Miss Arm- strong!’’ said Esquire Grey, after they had talked the matter over for the second or third time. ‘‘ Your skill in tracing facts has been proved so successful, I have half a mind to wager you have taken lessons of a certain legal friend of yours and mine, now absent from town !”’ Netty blushed a little, then she replied, saucily :—— ‘Well, you see that, in this instance, as sometimes is the case with you, the trouble originated at home; for I have heard it said that the legal fraternity often adopt the ruse of setting their clients by the ears in order to bring peace again by their after advice. Now, Kate and I—upon that very eventful evening a fortnight or more since, when we saw you enter Mr. Cutter’s house, and, very neglect- fully, leave the poor dog outside to shiver in the cold—Kate and I gery mirthfully conjured to each other the harm which might accrue if some of our social neighbors had been favored just then with our eyes, and then, as you already know, after arrived home, and found a certain visitor there, I chanced to mention your call. So that proves that Kate and I are responsible for, and yet innocent of, all this misunderstanding, which I have traced back to its starting-point.’’ ‘*And fortunate for us poor mortals that you have, Netty!’’ said her brother Fred, “‘ or otherwise—as Katie’s medical adviser hap- pens to be out of town just now—four broken hearts might have been laid at your doors, and no physician nigh to pour in healing balm.’’ **Oh, pray, don’t prophesy such a fearful event !’’ cried Kate Purdy, smilingly, ‘for ‘ All’s well that ends well,’ and—as Netty has already explained her share in the mis- chief—now let me add the concluding charge, which is this: As long as you all remain the favored residents of Oldtown, never credit what ‘they say,’ but always prove the truth of all things for yourselves ; for we have seen a good illustration of the very wise proverb— ‘Behold how great a matter a little fire kindleth.’ ”’ en Pa GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. TO MISS MATTIE WHEELICE, BY VIRGINIUS HUTCHEY. Tue Hindoo flings on Ganges river The bloom of lotus, fresh and bright, When Sol from out his burning quiver Speeds arrows of the morning light; So, on the stream of thy passing days My willing hand and heart world fling The passion-flowers of verbal praise, The sweetest song a bard could sing. Thy home is by the forest wild, Where ‘‘ God’s first temples’’ stood— And thon art like a sylphide child, Amid the Druids of the wood. I would a home like that were mine, Where I might sweetly rest or rove, And thou wert with me--Proserpine— In each green dingle, vale, and grove, Sigh not for the lot that darkles O’er life ou this broad globe of men—- Drink of wine of joy that sparkles In love of stream, and mount and gien; For Nature spreads a feast for all, And half of life is blooming hours, And gay Earth wears a coronal And em’rald robe emboss'd with flow’rs. Bat once I’ve met thee—yet I know That thy pure heart is true and kind; That sweet words from thy red lips flow, Like Sappho’s music on the wind. And I, who saw thee once, sweet maid, In trancéd fancy see thee now, With rose hue on thy fair cheek laid, And thought-shade on thy Parian brow. Thy laugh is sweet as the vesper chime Floating from Italia’s lofty hills, Or the weird, voluptuous rhyme Of the wild Pharpar’s gushing rills; Ne’er Amphion with his cithern played A tuneful note I'd love so well, Though sweet as in the Asian shade Thrilled Apollo’s cadent shell. Narcissus, in the Grecian stream, Could never with his bright eye see A reflex of himself, or dream, Half, half so fair as I've seen thee. My heart, alas! no longer free, Must feel thy ’wiidering spell, For thou art beautiful as the Young Venus in her cradle-shell. Wortpty Success. —There is a glare about worldly success which is apt to dazzle men’s eyes. When we see a man rising in the world, a foolishly high opinion is formed of his merits. It is said: ‘‘ What a wonderful man this must be to rise so rapidly !’’ forget- ting that dust, and straw, and feathers, things with neither weight nor value in them, rise the soonest and the easiest. It is not always the good and great man who rises rapidly into wealth and notice. a

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DRAWING

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A LEAF FROM MY FRIEND’S DIARY. BY MES. L. 8. GOODWIN, Gorne, last autumn, to visit a former friend, a young wife, resident in one of our large cities, I was startled to see her in the garb of mourning. In reply to my inquiry what re- lative had died, she said it was not a relative, though one as dear—her best beloved school- mate, her constant companion in childhood, in spirit a twin sister. ‘‘ You remember hearing me speak of Ella Lee?’’ she added, turning away, her voice tremulous, her eyes filled with tears. I saw the subject had some peculiar pain- fulness to her, and, during my three days’ stay, forebore adverting to it again. The evening before my departure, however, as we were sitting together in her chamber, by her sleeping babe, she took from the drawer of a writing-table her diary, and selecting 2 num- ber of leaves, cut them out and gave them to me, bidding me read the same when I should have returned home, and make what- ever disposition of them I deemed proper. The tale thus unfolded needs no further intro- duction from me. Human nature being the same everywhere, I have thought a practical lesson might be afforded by the publication of this fragmentary record of a life. April 25th.—It is too bad! I must murmur at Fate. The minister would tell me gravely that Fate means Providence; but till he can show me how it is right that, without any act of their own, one person is happy and another is wretched, I can neither repent the daring words, nor cease repeating them in my heart over and over. Lend me a page, dear diary, truest friend who ever kept a secret, on which to spread out my complaints; then, we will contemplate them together, and you shall say whether they are not indeed too bitter for any measure of mortal faith to sweeten. Ella Lee and I were born in the same May- time. Though, now I think of it, I wonder I had not my birth in some dreary November night, when the sheep bleated piteously, huddling themselves in the fold; when the last belated summer bird, with sleety wings, crept among the branches of the fir in the courtyard to die; and the few faded leaves of the peach-tree struggled with the wind like 440 shipwrecked mariners clinging to the masts and swept by the billows. Up to the date when each became a wife, Ella Lee and I tripped up life’s easy slope in the same bright pathway. There our course suddenly diverged. I married a poor, sensible man; Ella, a rich dolt. I had been engaged to Charlie two years ; Ella’s acquaint- ance with Mr. Pelham was limited to as many months. To both Ella and me it was a source of unbounded joy, that when we left our vil- lage homes and the parents who for twenty years had cherished us, we should be dwellers in the same city—still to be bosom friends. Neither of us took thought of the different social positions we—the wife cf a banker and the wife of a mechanic—were to occupy. To Ella’s unchanging affection I owe everything. But for her I must have been more alone in this crowded metropolis than ina desert. My husband was bred a mechanic, and is unam- bitious to rise. He delves early and late; though whenever we do have an hour’s social intercourse together, I find in him all those qualities of mind and heart which mark the trueborn gentleman, but which the world will never think of his possessing. Ella was my chaperone to many assemblies which, without some such friend, I could never have entered. I am not, however, dependent for enjoyment on society abroad ; I find that there I can have no legitimate claim, and pre- fer debarring myself from a sphere where I must go in as a contraband article. But it is * the one, two, or three choice spirits whom one like Ella can receive in her own home fami- liarly and frequently — whose appreciation would be dear to me above all things. Ella knows this, and a short time ago she told me she was going to introduce to me a gentle- man—Doctor Harris—with whom she had _ lately become acquainted, and who seemed to her the personification of all excellence. To-day, fair and genial (would it had been the most inclement of the season!) she came to redeem her promise. I was boiling a din- ner of vegetables, and cleaning the paint in my little parlor. Two had rung the bell already—the first a woman begging cold vict- uals, the second a boy peddling tin-ware— th col he: ble It 5 is n

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een ATES din- t in bell vict- so-—= A LEAF FROM MY FRIEND’S DIARY. 441 and each time I took off my work apron and the kerchief I wore in a sort of turban, and could have received a friend without embar- rassment. The third ring, when I had scarcely recommenced work, and without even these simple preparations, cunfident of its being but a repetition of what had preceded, I opened the door and beheld, with mute dis- may, who were my visitors. A flush passed over Ella’s face, then, with entire self-possession and apparent frankness, she inquired—looking in my reddened face— **Is your mistress at home, Jane?’’ As if I had answered negatively, though I had not the power to utter a syllable, she added: ‘*Tell ber, as soon as she returns, that Doctor Harris and Mrs. Pelham ecalled.’’ With that she turned with her companion from my door. Oh, the sweat of the brow that is bitter with humiliation! Four years ago who could have said that Ella Lee would one day be compelled to pass me off to her genteel acquaintances as a servant girl? Is Mrs. Pelham no less than myself—with her magnificent wardrobe and unsullied hands—is she indeed a descendant of those on whom the curse of the first trans- gression fell? Ah! ah, the struggle, the misery of living! J wish I lay here dead. 26th.—The wild words with which I ended last night, I see are blotted, and it is well. I am more a child of reason, now. Before the ink had dried upon the page, Ella sprang into my apartment; and I closed the book hastily and thrust it aside, that she might not see what I had here revealed. It was not possible, however, to conceal from her that I was troubled. The darling girl flung her arms around my neck, and, with every tender epithet, implored me not to believe for an instant that she could ever, under any ci. zum- stances, hesitate to acknowledge me before her friends as the oldest and dearest of them all—except for my sake. She saw, she said, how mortified and distressed I was to be at the interview; and took the only course she could think of to spare me. I needed not her assurance; I never doubted this. What I most wonder at now is, that she was capa- ble of assuming a part, and that so readily. It was very unlike Ella Lee. I hope society is not instructing her in any small hypocrisies. How happy she seems! more buoyant, gayer-hearted than even in our girlhood. While I—I have thought to day I could feel lines of care coming uponsmy forehead and about my mouth. But I must not envy her. I felt no disposition to do so on the day of our marriage; I will not do so now. May 15th.—Ella sent for me to-day to take tea with her and spend the evening. I was alone and low spirited, as I have sometimes been of late, and the summons came like a real benefaction. So, putting Charlie’s supper on the table, and leaving a note to tell where I had gone, I went over early. Ella saw me as I reached the foot of the steps, and sprang up from an ottoman in the bay-window to meet me; where, to my surprise, : perceived Doctor Harris, who I supposed had gone South, sgit- ting beside her. I had not thought, if we were to meet again, I should know the gen- tleman from the glance I had of him, en pro- Jile, on that unfortunate day; yet I recog- nized him instantly. I believed he would recognize me as well, and I shrauk from en- tering his presence. Ella seeing this, drew me at once to her chamber. ‘*But he will never dream of your being Jane, never,’’ she assured me, emphatically. ‘*Why, Ella,’’ I asked, ‘‘did you not let me know Doctor Harris was to be here ?’’ ‘*T was afraid you might be foolish and not come,’’ was the reply. “It might have been so,’’ I said, looking down on the simple delaine dress I wore. (I may say I have nothing better now.) ‘*Do you mean to affront me?’’ cried my friend, playfully, and she laid her sleeve against mine; when for the first time I no- ticed that she was wearing a dress precisely like my own. She must have provided it on purpose. How delicately thoughtful it was in her—the darling ! ‘*Ella Pelham!’’ I exclaimed, turning round from the mirror where she stood peeping over my shoulder, ‘‘ how beautiful you look! You grow lovelier every day.’’ ‘* Ah,” returned she, laughing and going from me, ‘‘you are as great a flatterer as Doctor Harris. He has been filling my ears with such meaningless stuff.’’ We then descended to the parlor, and I must freely indorse, so far as one interview goes, my friend’s excellent opinion of this Doctor Harris. He is a little upwards of thirty, in figure tall and very erect, with a most noble and graceful bearing. His face is not handsome, ud Ella tells me that, the

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442, GODEY’S LADY’S ROOK AND MAGAZINE, ladies of her circle generally pronounce him plain. But his light gray eyes are deep and very expressive, and his beard, of a dark, rich brown, worn full and-flowing, is certainly He is a profound scholar, yet his In conversa- superb. nature is simple as a child’s. tion he bears you away as on eagles’ wings, till, just when you grow giddy from the flight, you suddenly find yourself reclining on soft meadow grass, with strawberry blos- soms at your feet, and a sparrow’s nest within reach of yourhand. The gentleman has been five years married, and has a son about four. His wife, who is quite delicate, I believe, has been spending the winter in the home of an uncle in Cuba; and he has delayed going for her on account of the lateness of the spring and the ungenial weather. He speaks of her as of a pet lamb, and of their boy as a king might cf his crown, put choicely away and securely guarded. Charlie came for me about nine, as I ex- pected. Ella had just proposed euchre; and beth she and the doctor insisted, first on Charlie’s remaining, and secondly, when they found he would not be prevailed on (he told the doctor it was necessary for laboring peo- ‘ple to have the night for rest—he needn’t have said that), united in protesting against my departure at so early an hour. Doctor Harris offered to attend me home; but though I wanted very much to stay, and Charlie freely consented, I felt, for some reason, that I ought to come with my husband, and, wise or foolish, did so. Charlie had just completed a cortract to build a house for Mr. Smith, and, as we waiked home, told me the particulars. How those dry busivess details grated on my ear after the brilliant conversation I had been listening to! And never hefore did my home appear in such mournful contrast with Ella’s as to- night. I found it difficult, as I sat down and looked around me in this very room, to re- strain myself from a passion of tears. Charlie, who had not spoken for a minute or two, finally followed my glance to the right and left, then, throwing his arm around me and drawing me towards him, exclaimed: ‘*‘ How happy we are, dearest!’’ Happy! I half be- lieved he had uttered a bitter jest. But no, he looked altogether content; and by a strong effort I subdued my emotions and assumed a ‘ cheerfulness I could not feel. I never ima- gined our tastes were so different. Mr. Pel- ham was not at home to-night, and, now I think of it, I did not hear him mentioned. June 20th.—Ella called for me this morning to go out for a promenade. I thought I could not well leave home, but she wouid hear no excuses, and took off her bonnet and gloves, and wiped my breakfast dishes which I had been prevented from attending tc sooner. Then, while I dressed, she set my room in the nicest order, and even began the preparations for dinner, that I might be abic to stay out the longer. ‘*What a pair of skilful hands!’’ I ex- claimed, on coming back into the room, ‘*Ella, you ought to be obliged to work.’’ “*As willing as they are skilful,’ she re- sponded merrily; ‘‘I would work if I had anything to do.’’ ‘*Ah,’’ I said, ‘it might do for a short time.”’ ‘*It would do for along time, Abby,’’ she responded. ‘It is you who have tallen into the error that rich people are often accused of—considering labor a degradation. You should have heard Doctor Harris talk on this subject; he spent the whole evening with me.”’ ‘* Indeed! and his wife was with him, I pre- sume ?’’ ‘*Oh no!’’ Ella answered, a little contempt ously. ‘*The doctor says he shall not be able to persuade her into the air three times this season. I should judge she is as listless as a wet roseleaf.’’ ‘*What!’’ I said, ‘‘the doctor is only two days returned home with his family, and spends a whole evening with an acquaintance of a few months! I would not like Charlie to do that.” ‘*Pshaw!’’ said Ella, with a little scorn- ful laugh, ‘‘I hav’n’t done as I would not like to be done by. Mrs. Harris, if she liked, might monopolize my husband, and welcome ; and for ought I know does. Ihave not seen him these three days—though the servants say he breakfasts at home.’’ We arrived at the park, ‘and just then were joined by Doctor Harris, who shook hands with us very warmly, and after walking with us for some time, invited us home with him to recieve an introduction to his lady. (He called her his lady, though I do not like that use of the term.) We found a spirituelle woman reclining in &

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A LEAF FROM MY FRIEND'S DIARY. 443 luxurious easy chair, in a dim, closed parlor, which, entering as we did from the free air and sunlight, seemed very like atomb. She wore a lilac silk wrapper, with a scarf of white worsted, en crochet, about her shoulders. Her left hand held a vinaigrette, her right a fan which she found no occasion for using. She talked without vivacity or apparent feeling, and her smile was as transient and as desti- tute of warmth as the glimmer of a fire-fly. While we sat, the doctor’s child came into the room and took a position beside his mother, leaning on the arm of her chair. He answered Ella’s questions with an aspect so grave and still as to seem very unchildlike. ‘“*T wonder what people marry for!’’ said Ella, suddenly, as we walked homeward. ‘* Marry for!’’ I repeated with a start, for I confess a similar train of thought was run- ning in my own mind. ‘‘Ay,’’ she rejoined, almost vehemently, “what did you and J marry for? or, if that is ‘oo close a question, what did Doctor Harris marry for ?’’ ‘Marriage,’ I said, ‘‘was divinely insti- tuted.’’ ‘‘Pshaw!’’ cried Ella; ‘‘ you understand wine, Abby. What did he marry that woman for? He had no temptation to marry for money; he never did marry for love. I have read of Hindoo widows freely offering them- selves on the funeral pyre of their husbands —our friend, the doctor, in this Christian land, has simply reversed the case.’’ ‘‘Is not your judgment a little hasty ?’’ I asked. ‘‘It might be, if I had not known all abont her before,’’ Ella replied. ‘‘The doctor says he quite agrees with Bryon, that the sum- ming up of feminine attractiveness is in the one word animatign. Did you not notice his gesture of impatience (1 knew he could not help it) when the poor bird-egg of a wife spoke of feeling symptoms of a cold ?”’ We parted, Ella and I; though she said she should not return home before evening. It seems to meif I had a home like Ella’s, the embodiment of taste and beauty, I should care very little for anything that was beyond it. August 1st.—How close and stifling the air is! Oh for one breeze from the wooded hill by my childhood’s home! I feel very lonely this week; Ella has gone to Saratoga with some friends, Doctor Harris among them. Her husband could not be of the party, as by @ previous arrangement he spends the re- mainder of the summer travelling in the west. Mrs. Harris was already out of town at some quiet stopping place, for the season. Ella, doubtless, is dancing to-night in the ball- room of the United States. I fancy I see her light figure whirling in the waltz, with Doc- tor Harris her partner. J shall never dance again. Yet I was very fond of the recreation. How soon the bud of my youth is decayed; while that of my friend has opened into the most fragrant of blossoms. God knows how long I shall be able to bear up. My life is nothing—nothing like what I would have it. So far, all my strivings and discontent have been kept a secret from my husband. I have said I would not pain him with what he was not responsible for and could not remedy. Not responsible? Of late I have at times been forced to inquire with myself how a man (men are so wise!) was justified in drawing a young, unreflecting girl from her accustomed sphere to one for which she is not fitted, and in which, consequently, she cannot be happy. The bitterest part of this reflection is, that others have thought of it as well as I. Ella, the other day, gave me an intimation from Doctor Harris, that it was impossible I should find much companionableness in one like my husband. Yet Charlie is very kind. 28th.—Mrs. Pelham end the doctor called upon me to-day, which was the first I knew the party had returned. It happened, I am glad to say, that I was neither cooking nor house-cleaning, but dressed and every way in proper condition (considering circumstances, I mean), which, I know, I might oftener be, except that I am, and have been all along, Then it ig so I felt ashamed indifferent and discouraged. seldom that company calls. in giving my hand to the gentleman; a glove is convenient in more ways than every one has proved; my hand is becoming actually rough and hardened by labor. How pleasing Doctor Harris is! so versa- tile, so genial. Sucha friend! I could envy a person his society more than I could envy them all riches. Yet is it not wealth alone which secures to one the society of such cul- tivated minds? Oh, poverty! bitterest of all art thou to me in consequences like this! The Congress-water has hardly agreed with

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444 GODEY'S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. —— Ella, it would seem. She looks a shade paler than when she went away; and I could not help thinking it cost her an effort to be gay. September 2d.—I am exceedingly pained on a new point. This afternoon I went out of an errand, and, when returning, overheard from two women who came up behind me, and who, it appears, were of the Saratoga party, sufficient to show that there is some whispered scandai respecting Ella and Doctor Harris. I was never so confounded in my life. I shall go to her, tell her what I heard, and exhort her to caution. I would have gone this even- ing, but that I know she is from home. She will be very justly indignant, I am sure. Mr. Pelham is expected home in a week or two; Mrs. Harris also returns to town shortly. I trust these changes will put an effectual stop to any idle rumors coming into circulation against the fame of one who ever hitherto would have answered the requirement of the ancient Roman in a wife—being ‘‘ not only spotless, but unsuspected.’’ Even the *‘ up- per ten,’’ I may find, after all, are not exempt from annoyances. 6th.—Four days have passed, and as yet I have had no communication with Ella on the subject mentioned above. On reflection, per- haps it would be better not to repeat anything so absurd. I called once with that intention, dndine her in her chamber where bed, bureau, and chairs were literally piled with the vari- ous articles of a rich wardrobe. ‘* What are you doing ?’’ I inquired. ‘Taking an inventory of my ‘nothing to wear,’’’ was her reply, carelessly folding a Cashmere shawl which I had not seen before. **Ella,’’ I said again, ‘‘ you look tired, or half sick; what is the matter?’’ She made no direct answer; but after a pause said, ‘‘ Doctor Harris came near losing his life, yesterday.’’ “Is it possible !’’ was my exclamation, fol- lowed by questioning after the particulars. Ella said the doctor was passing by where some workmen were taking down a building, when a section of brick wall fell from a height inadvertently, showering around him in a hundred fragments, any one of which, had it struck him, might have killed him on the spot. ‘‘He told me,’’ she added, ‘that for a full minute he stood quite still, looking at the missiles, and then said, in his heart, ‘ J wish you had crushed me!” ‘‘Preadful!’’ Ieried. ‘* Does he then find life so burdensome? Had he not, at least, some thought for his wife and child ?”’ ‘‘There lies the treuble,’’ responded Ella, gloomily. ‘‘ His wife, he says, is most distant from him when present with him; and as for the child, he would be as well off without his father. He always told me, Abby, he had no home. There is no affinity. Thisis a strange world,” she added, abruptly, and passed her hand slowly across her forehead. Feeling quite shocked, I was collecting my ideas to tell Ella she was at fault in listening to sentiments of that nature from any one; and this would have led directly to the sub- ject with which I came laden; but just then callers were announced, and Ella went down to the parlor, while I was obliged to leave and return home. For a day or two I have almost forgotten self, in a vague anxiety on Ella’s account. 8th.—Just Heaven! can I write the words ? Must it stand as truth to all eternity, that Ella Pelham has eloped with Doctor Harris ? I feel as though I were dreaming; but it is a reality, and the talk of the town. 16th.—More appalling news. A western railroad train ran off the track, and Doctor Harris is killed. Ella was with him, but es- caped uninjured. We hear she is at Chicago, among strangers. To-morrow morning I go to seek her and to bring her to my home—a penitent, I have no doubt. I do not know whether her husband would ever receive her back; he takes the matter of her elopement quite passively. Poor Mrs. Harris has gone to her friends at the South. My heart is too sad, and my eyes too dim with tears, to allow of my writing more. October 10th.—Since.I closed my diary with the last brief record upon its trustful pages, what a scene have I been through! The friend who was in all my thoughts, whose name is oftenest traced here, is no longer aught but a memory. Alas for thee, Ella— oh, Ella! Thou wert ever my benefactress while living; and thy mournful death, was it found requisite in the decrees of Heaven, to warn me from the precipice whose brink my unwary feet were treading, to restore me to myself and to duty? With an eager, aching heart I hastened toward the distant city where I hoped to find Oo Beh &© =» =» =

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SS aew w ay VS! — POETRY. my misguided friend, gather her to my bosom, and help her in future years to wipe out the cruel stain her character had suffered. My dear husband, not consenting that I should take the journey alone, bore me company. Before arriving at our destination, we were met by the terrible intelligence that Ella had taken poison at the hotel, and died. + « * * * I have returned a changed being, my spirit chastened, my energies redeemed, my ambi- tions purified. I have thrown open to the sunlight of reason, and the yet more blessed radiance of a husband’s tender affection, those secret chambers of feeling, where morbidly I used to sit down with phantoms of my own creating. Now no more the witch-laugh rings in my affrighted ears; no more I behold a skeleton finger mapping out my future. Mine is the divine promise—as thy day is, so shall thy strength be. I see, I see the wisdom of God and the goodness of God in sentencing our fallen race to toil for a subsistence. Those who annul it, are like a convict who should break through his prison walls, only to fall on sharp rocks and into engulfiing waters below. Laboris the salt of morality. Thank- fully will I season my life with it. In a few months I expect to become a mother; I feel no shrinking from the respon- sibilities that state will bring; but the pros- pect fills me with joy and praise too great for expression. Henceforward home is the casket in which to gather choicely all my most pre- cious hopes, my purest joys; and he who ever watchfully guards its treasures shall have precedence next to the King of our be- ing, the Giver of our blessings. The sole shadow which sometimes will fall on our hearthstone, is the remembrance of one who was dear to us, and whom fortune deceitfully lured to her ruin. CHARITABLE buildings are excellent things, but charitable thoughts are better. Kyow.LepGs.—Just as food must have bulk as well as nutriment, the stomach requiring a certain degree of distension to enable it to act properly, so do the generality of minds assimilate knowledge far more readily and perfectly if it is spread for them over a tole- rably large surface, than if it is concentrated, no matter how clearly and forcibly, in a small compass. - TWILIGHT. BY CONSTANCE BRUCE. WuHen o’er earth the night is falling, Thoughts of thee before me rise ; I hear thy voice my name still calling— Through the gloom I see thine eyes. In the twilight rise unbidden Thoughts and hopes of long ago— Hopes that died with Spring’s sweet blossoms-— Thoughts that perished with the snow. Now the stars are calmly peeping From the sky like angel’s eyes— Art thou smiling? art thou weeping? Say, do thoughts of me arise? Now the moon is proudly rising; Soft o’er earth she sheds her rays; Is her pale light o’er thee streaming ? Dost thou dream of by-gone days? Oh let memory’s magic power Bring my image back to thee, In this calm and holy hour When night descends o’er earth and sea. And when, upon the * nightly plain,” The stars like gems begin to shine, Then know on them I sadly gaze, And that my sweetest thoughts are thine. THE VIOLET. (Translated from the German of Goethe.) BY EB. K. @, A VIOLET in a meadow green, Grew unregarded and aaseen ; It was a charming violet. A shepherd maiden, young and fair, With springing step and sprightly air Thither came, Carolling forth a song. ** Ah,” sighed the violet, “ were but I A flower of nature’s brightest dye, Aught but a tiny violet, Plucked by the darling—closely pressed Upon her bosom, I might rest— Ah me! ah me! One little hour long !”’ Alas! the maiden, tripping by, O’erlooked the violet’s pleading eye, And crushed the humble flower. It sank and died—and so may I Breathe at thy feet my latest sigh, For thee—for thee— And perish at thy feet! toe >> ——— In prosperity we are apt to feel too inde- pendent. It is when we stumble in dark and difficult ways, beneath starless skies, that we feel and acknowledge the blessings of light. In all evils which admit a remedy, impa- tience should be avoided, because it wastes that time and attention in complaints, which, if properly applied, might remove the cause.

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5 ALL THE WAY APART. BY MARY. J. I sat in the kitchen porch, one morning, shelling peas for dinner, when my nephew, Edward Adams, came along. The elder (I usually speak of my husband so, having formed the habit before our marriage, and, besides, he is twelve years my senior) had gone ovt in the country to attend a funeral service, but was to return by one, our dining hour. Edward took a chair, and sat down by the pail I was shelling from and began helping me. After a little he said, rather abruptly, ‘‘ How do they pop the question, Annt Debby?’ (I was christened Deborah Louise, but Han nah’s children always call me Aunt Debby, and so did Joseph’s boys till after they ’d been to college ;. noue of our family ever called me Louise; but I write the word tremblingly. I remember those accents, so clear and melo- dious, ‘‘Lou,’’ **Lou!’’? but the voice is hushed—the dark eyes are sealed; he who in weakness wronged me has for twenty summers slept beneath the waving grass.) I wondered that Ned should ever lack for words among the ladies, but I knew from his forced, indifferent manner, that he was in earnest, and answered, ‘‘ Just as it happens.’’ **Oh, I thought there was some particular formula,’’ he laughed, reaching into the pail for more pods. ‘*That’s one point of difference between mathematics and matrimony—circumstances in the one do, and in the other do not alter cases,’’ said I. ‘*But come, Aunt Debby, tell me, please, some of the romance of your life, now that I’ve helped you to shell the peas ;’’ and the winning tones of my nephew persuaded me, for all that morning my thoughts had been straying toward youthland; so, putting the peas in the pantry and sweeping off the porch, we went to the sitting-room, and I took up the cap-strings I was hemming, for it was a good while yet to dinner. I spoke more freely than otherwise, for we both knew that the elder had his history— that the wife of his youth was not forgotten— ah, no; her memory held in his heart a sacredly guarded place, so I felt he was suf- fering no wrong. “446 | CROSMAN. Edward’s question furnished me a start- ing point. ‘* You know,’’ I began, ‘‘that we always kept a good many silkworms at the old homestead. One evening I was winding silk, when somebody came in to spend the evening with me, and kindly offered to hold — my skeins. One was badly tangled, but by dint of patience and perseverance, by putting the spool through here and there, it finaily came into good shape and wound off nicely. ‘** Now,’ said James, for he was quite a hand to moralize, ‘life is a skein—sometimes snarled by a careless hand, like that one we wound; again, running off beautifully from beginning to end—and how nicely you can wind two of these latter skeins together.’ His eyes glistened with a merry twinkle at first, but they took on a look of happy, so- lemn earnestness as we promised, then and there, God helping us, that together we would double the life-thread so smoothly, so truly and evenly, as to merit in Heaven the plaudit, * well done.’ ‘*Several months passed, and his uncle from the city wrote very urgently, offering him a clerkship in his store. James was de- lighted with the proposal. Leaving me was all the objection he could urge; ‘but,’ said he, ‘you know I shall write you often and make frequent visits besides.’ had not been pleased with the plan of his going; but when, with his curling head in her lap the night before leaving, he said, ‘Mother, you know I’ll be a good boy’ (he said the words in his old, childish way), all her fear was turned into trust. ‘* After a while he went into society, was courted, flattered, and became quite a pap ticular star to the circle ‘n which he moved. There was a good deal of presence about him —an air and manner that always impressed a stranger strongly and favorably; the cast of his features was very fine indeed, but the lines about his mouth, to a close Observer, would indicate lack of firmness and purpose. ‘*His uncle’s partner had a daughter, a brilliant, showy girl, but héartless and un- Her fascinations were altogether Before this James had professed to principled. physical. | worship beauty of soul, its lovely revealings, His parents | > 2 of hee oe. Ua a) [Oe

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eo. & i= ALL THE WAY APART, 447 its warm, outgushing tenderness; the fumes of mirth and pleasure bewildered him, and he forgot, in the hour of his temptation, all the * past. She, the daring girl, after hearing that . he was engaged, and feeling a little piqued for want of attention, declared that his heart should yet be in her possession. ** Finally his letters ceased; I knew why, though none had told me—knew as well as when, six months afterward, his mother sent for me one morning, and, with tears in her eyes, handed me the letter bringing news of his marriage. ‘* Now it is very easy to say, ‘ Well, I’d let him go; I’d be gayer than ever; I’d do this, that, and the other, for there’s just as good fish left in the sea,’ and so on. And all this may be said or done, and yet some trace of sorrow be left, some memory of what has been and what is not, and in an unguarded moment the sad burden may roll back, so heavily, oh, so heavily ! ‘*True, we feel an indignation, 2 turning from, almost a loathing of those who stand before us, inconstant, treacherous, perjured— yet clad in a shining robe of truth and love; sometimes they will enter our hearts, and walk through its choicest rooms; Love, the priest- ess, will burn sweet incense on her altar, half- forgetting, half-remembering—looking upon these ‘as deceivers and yet true.’ ‘*T prayed for them when it seemed that I had power to call down curses on their heads, even as Moses cursed Pharaoh. They walked in joy, I in sorrow; clouds gathered thick about me, for I had unconsciously made thoughts of him the golden woof of all my future; but, I say it reverently, the angels were with me; they helped me to say, ‘I can bear it.’ ** And I warn you, Edward, never to trifle with a woman’s heart. Her deep, fervent love, her affections, that are as strong, ay, stronger than death, are among the choicest gifts that God has given to man; they are the stars of his night—the bright, life-giving suns of his day. And, Edward, is it not dar- ing Divine justice to reach after, win them, and, in a little while, cast them in the dust, and with trampling feet walk over them? It were better for a man or woman that a mill- stone be hanged about his neck, and he be cast into the sea, than that he should thus offend one of these loving, trusting, God-given natures. Ah, Edward, love is not a light VOL. LXxIv.—29 thing; it stirs very deep, it.towers very high; and especially with that class, of whom it may be said, though they move threugh a crowded world—whether walking beneath dark or dazzling skies, by faith or by sight— one chooseth one, soul clingeth to soul, murmuring the Scripture, ‘I cannot let Thee go.’ 9 ‘*T never saw it so before, Aunt Debby; I feel guilty’’—and my nephew looked really aroused, for I had (and intentionally, too) driven him to the confessional. ‘*But, aunty, all do not love thus,’’ was his self-justifying argument. *T know, Ned, but if their affection has not the same height, and depth, and duration, it may have the same yearning, and hope, and trust.’’ ‘But were you long, Aunt Debby, in quenching this light ?”’ For a moment I could not auswer; Edward spoke carefully, but so ignorantly—he who had dealt so much with hearts ! ‘* Awhile, I prayed that God would take me to himself; for it seemed that henceforth my life could not honor him, and amid multi- tudes, thronging like forest leaves, one weary, broken-hearted toiler would not be missed; but it could not be—and I took up my life work with a strength and cheerfulness that surprised me. Jesus became to me ‘the one altogether lovely, the chief among ten thou- sand,’ and his service a great joy. Those for whom I suffered were beaten with many stripes. I pitied them, especially him who. had been tempted more than he was able to bear—him whose life-thread had been tangled by areckless hand. I met him twice after his marriage; the last time he spoke indirectly of early choosings and early separation; of treading the life-path all the way apart ; of the guilty being the sufferers. The last words were spoken with a bitter emphasis, and his dark eyes looked sad and misty; I longed to reply: ‘ Not the only nor the great- est sufferers.’ ‘* During the sixth year of his marriage life he saw the last of earth. When on his death- bed they said that, during the intervals of pain, he begged of them to send for ‘ Lon ;’ his wife ‘tried to comfort him, but he would gently put her arm away, saying: ‘Let Lou take my hand now; the river of death is so near—so near—we must walk together a little way.’

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448 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ‘¢*He wants my brother Lewis,’ said his wife to the nurse; ‘it isn’t likely he’d know him when he got here, half crazy as he is— but then we ’ll send for him ;’ and it was well for her that she saw no farther.’’ ‘* What became of her after his death ?’’ ‘She came back to her father’s, and in about a year was married, they said.’’ i then went into the kitchen; after stirring up the fire, and putting over the peas and potatoes, I went back to the sitting-room and resumed my hemming. ‘‘ Now, aunty, let’s know something of your second courtship,’’ said my nephew. ‘* You may wonder that I could love again ; but remember that years had passed—years of struggling to forget, of earnest effort to accept aright every gift the Giver might reach toward me. Like the human body, the harp of human feeling is not only fearfully but wonderfully made; its strings may be reat- tuned and swept by another hand, and though the tones lack something of the depth and fervor of love’s first music, yet they wind through the soul deliciously ; they thrill with electric power—they bind us captive v iether we will or not. ‘* My second lover was very unlike my first. He never sought to fascinate or dazzle, but all loved him. His Saxon features and deep blue eyes would wear such winning smiles, and his cordial manner give one such a happy, home-like feeling in his presence. His judgment was distinguishing ; always, in court, his decisions were eminently marked with ‘ability, candor, and fine discrimination, His wife of only eighteen months had died, leaving him an infant son, then about seven years old—but I need speak no farther of him or our acquaintance; four months before we were to be married, he died very suddenly of heart disease. **His life was like grand music, wherein deep and stirring bass-tones alternate and mingle with delicate minor notes; but he was stricken down upon the threshold of his thirty-second year.’’ ‘*‘ And was this sorrow as hard to bear as the other, Aunt Debby ?’’ “No, Edward; man had not wronged me. God had only called for his own, and though my heart ached from its heavy burden, yet I could be comforted. Two years after this your uncle, the elder, asked me to share ‘his lot, which after some hesitation I did. We ¢ have been very happy together, and I have had opportunities for usefulness that belong * peculiarly to a minister’s wife.’’ “Tt think differently about some things, Aunt Debby ;’’ and Edward’s words more than repaid the effort I had made, for I knew of 3 gentle, true-hearted girl who loved Edward devotedly, while he was carelessly flirting with a dozen others. I then left him with his thoughts, and went out to hurry my dinner. Just as it was ready, the elder drove in—his dear face flushed with weariness and heat. Ned took care of his horse, and as he came in, he said, in his kind, appreciating way— well, never mind what—it was but a few words. I write it gratefully, that in the afternoon of life, when the west will soon take on the crimson tints of the sun-setting—I repeat it to myself again and again: ‘‘ The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places.’’ ———_+ eee. EARLY SPRING. BY Ww. I WALKED into the woods; the boughs were bare, Only the creepers’ slender arms were green, Which, clinging to the oak’s rough side, were seen ; And even these were scattered here and there. The sun shone midway in the western sky, Casting long shadows through the leafless glade, And blurred reflection of its image made Within the lake which bosomed here doth lie. No perfumes do the whisp’ring zephyrs bring, Chanting their madrigals to the sere leaves, And one, on nature's thoughts intent, perceives The face of Winter bat the breath of Spring. Tus VALUE or Prupence.—-A prudent man will repair his house while the weather is fair, and not put it off till winter; a careful pilot will take advantage of wind and tide, and so put out to sea, not stay till a storm arises ; the traveller will take his time in his journey, and mend his pace when the night comes on, lest darkness overtake him. The smith will strike while the iron is hot, lest it grow cool, avd so he lose his labor. So we ought to take heed to our day of grace, to make use of the present time, that, when we come to die, we may have nothing to do but to die, for there will be a time when there will be no place for repentance, when time will be no more, when the door will be shut, when there will be no entrance at all. fa sy kr lin ing pla

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Cow ae USC’ an sir, lot | $0 es ; ey; on, will ool, to e of die, for no . no nere NED BRYANT’S WARD. BY MES. H. G. ROWE. CHAPTER I. Tuere had beeti a ‘‘slight skirmish,”’ one raw, cold morning, and the papers of the day gave the unimportant event a medest para- graph in one corner, while the public glanced at the record, ‘‘ten or twelve wounded,’’ and forgot it all. But there was a group in the corner of the hospital tent to which this skirmish was, to one, the opening to Eternity ; to the other, an era in life never to be for- gotten. Charley Brennan lay dying; while over him, pallid with grief, yet crushing back his own agony to watch every change in the fair, boyish face before him, bent his sworn friend and comrade, Ned Bryant. As the chill morning air penetrated the canvas folds of the tent, the dying man shiv- ered. In a moment two stalwart arms raised him, while a touch, gentle as a woman’s, folded close about him the overcoat of his friend and comrade. With a feeble, yet grateful smile, Charley Brennan spoke :— ‘*It’s no use, Ned; it’s the cold that no- thing can help—the chill of death !”’ Poor Ned! All his manliness could not check the hot tears that proved how true the words were that fell in the feeble sweet voice upon his ear. Again the pallid lips moved. **Yes, Ned, my campaigning is over, and the regiment must march home without me; and now, dear Ned, I would leave a charge to you—remember, comrade, a dying man’s charge—my poor orphaned, friendless sister. You know, for I have told you, that we are alone in the world, and she will be all alone when J am gone. Oh, my poor sister! my poor little Gracie!’’ and, covering his face with his hands, the poor fellow sobbed aloud. With the tears streaming down his honest face, Ned strove, with a tact born of true sympathy, to comfort his dying friend. “TI know what you mean, Charley. You would have me take her to my heart and home—to be father, brother, friend to her, in her lone- liness and desolation; and I will. God help- ing me, I will, as far as in me lies, fill the place of the brother that she has lost.”’ ‘*God bless you! I can die in peace, now, for I know that your word, once pledged, will never be broken,’’ was faintly breathed from the white lips. ‘‘Tell her, when you meet her, that my last thought was for her, and my last wish was that she should love and trust the protector and friend whom I have chosen for her. The last words were so faintly spoken that the listener was forced to bow his head until his warm cheek almost touched the cold lips of the dying. There was a gasp, a struggle, and the brave, true soul passed away, and naught remained but the senseless clay, whose doom is comprised in those sadly sig- nificant words: ‘* Dust to dust.’”’ Kindly hands dug his grave, and laid him down to rest by the waters of the blue Poto- mac, with only a roughly-carved board to mark the spot. It was with a heavy heart that Ned Bryant watched them as they piled the earth above the head of him whom he had loved as a brother; but it was with a heavier heart that he set himself to work to fulfil the last wish of his friend—to say to that orphaned girl that she was brotherless. In the now unused knapsack he found more than one token of a sister’s love, that brought the tears to his honest eyes, as with reverent care he placed each article in the package that was to carry to the sister who, in her far away Northern home, waited and watched for him, whose face she was never more to see, the news of her sad bereavement. In a snug corner of the knapsack, and care- fully secured from harm, was the miniature of a young girl, or, rather, child, of ten, pos- sibly eleven years. It was a sunny, childish face, round and rosy, while the soft blue eyes and short, crisp, brown curls, were the only marks of resemblance to her brother, for, that it was the face of Grace Brennan, or ‘* little sister Gracie,’’ as poor Charley always called her, he well knew. ‘** Poor child !’’ he murmured, pityingly, as he watched the bright unconscious face. ‘‘It is a hard thing for even a strong man to be left all alone in the world, without a drop of kindred blood in the veins of any living crea- ture; but for a child, a poor, little, helpless 449 “

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450 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, child, it must be terrible,” and, with a sigh of regret for the dead and compassion for the living, honest Ned closed the locket, and, pro- ducing his portable writing-desk, sat down to write the dreaded letter. ‘*I know that she is at school in L——,”’ he mused, as he arranged his writing appa- ratus, ‘‘for, only a few days ago; Charley was reading me something that she said, in a letter he had received, that her time at Madame Teachem’s soon expiring, he must come home, and let her be his little house- keeper. Poor fellow! he’s got a home now that don’t need any keeper,’’ and Ned drew the back of his rough hand across his eyes, and, grasping his pen with an air of determination, commenced his letter. Did I say commenced it? I should rather say began to commence it, for the commencement was a decidedly tedious process. Ned’s writing was like himself, upright, plain, and honest; no foolish flourishes, no dainty, mincing characters; but a writing, like his own manly heart, free to be read of all men; and the ‘‘ Dear Miss Brennan’’ at the top of the page was certainly no disgrace to the hand that penned it. But, somehow, it failed to satisfy the writer. ‘‘So stiff and formal!’’ he muttered. ‘‘Just as if I were writing to a young lady, instead of a child,” and the sheet was pushed aside, while a look of perplexity settled upon the young soldier’s face. ‘'‘Miss Grace.’ Thatsounds cold, and I want the poor child to feel that her guardian is also her friend and brother. No, that won’t do. ‘ ‘* «My Dear Little Friend.’ Bah! The child will think I am going to give her a lecture on behavior (that’s the way they always begin). Oh, dear! if I could only find that ‘happy medium’ that we hearso much about. I don’t want to frighten her by too much familiarity, while, at the same time, I am afraid that too much formality will have the same effect, and make her look upon me as cold and unsympathizing. But what should a brotherless and sisterless boy like me know about children—girls, especially ?’’ Upon the desk, before him, lay the picture, whose childish beauty had already gone far toward winning the heart of the young guar- dian. The merry blue eyes met his own with a trustful, unsuspicious look, that seemed to— him an assurance of the single-heartedness ani childish innocence of their owner. ‘* How cruel it seems to cast a shadow over that happy face,’? he mused, and his eyes grew misty as he thought of the desolate child, weeping in her loneliness, with not a friend to cheer or comfort her in her hour of sorrow; and, from the fulness of his own warm and tender heart, he hurriedly indited the note which was to convey to the orphan the sad news of her bereavement :— ‘*My Dear Cuitp: This is asad task that I have undertaken, to inform you of the death of your brother; but as his most intimate friend, it seemed my duty to perform it. He died this morning (June 20th) from a wound in the side, received during a skirmish with the enemy, yesterday. Although fatal, it was not a painful wound, and he suffered little, being perfectly sensible to the last. His last thoughts were of you, and he entreated me, as his dearest friend, to love and protect the sister whom he could no longer care for. I promised, and as I loved the brother, so I will gladly cherish and love the sister whom he has -committed to my care. When my term of service expires, I shall most heartily wel- come you to the shelter of my own home, where you will be willingly received as the daughter and sister of its inmates. I would gladly comfort you in your grief if it were in my power, but I know that words of consola- tion have but little meaning at such a time. Your brother died honored and regretted by all who knew him. ‘I inclose the few trinkets that he had in his possession, together with his pocket- book and diary. I hope to hear often from you, for it is my earnest wish that you should regard me as the representative of the brother whom you have lost; and I shall be interested in all that concerns you—your studies, school trials aud pleasures, everything that interests you. A year will soon pass away, and then your school days will be over, and you will find a home and friends ready to receive you. Good-by, and may the God of the orphan bless and comfort you in your sorrow! ‘* Your friend and brother,’’ ‘*Epwarp Bryant.”’ The missive was despatched, and in due time an answer came—an answer that made ‘‘Sar- geant Ned,’’-as his comrades called him, pull the cap lower over his brow, and bow his head to conceal the lip that quivered beneath the thick moustache, as its owner read the hurriedly written note, blistered with tears, and bearing in every word and line the im- press of a wounded and desolate heart. “T never knew until now,’’ she wrote, “the true meaning of that terrible word ‘alone,’ for he was father, mother, and brother, all in one. Ob, my dear, lost brother! it seems as if my heart must break when I think of him as lying in his bloody grave, far away ee i et it te > oO «4

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ewe ee SS CU Qrememuew vr mnm qa? VT pRow TE OH mor or e ~ t- m ld er vol sts en ill ul. SS me ull his ith the rs, te, ord er, it ink way NED BRYANT’S WARD. . 451 from the peaceful graves of his fathers, in a strange land, where his sister’s hands may not even plant a flower upon his lonely rest- ing place.’’ { Then followed words of gratitude, some- ' what timidly, but earnestly expressed to the kind friend who had cheered that brother’s last hours, and now kindly sought to calm and comfort the bereaved sister. ‘*Poh! nonsense !’’ muttered Ned, coloring up like a detected schoolboy, and thrusting the letter hurriedly into his pocket. ‘‘ Just the little that I could do don’t deserve all these thanks; it’s no more than anybody w-~'d have done that has a human heart in his bosom. But how well the child writes!’’ he mused, thoughtfully, tapping with his finger the pocket that contained the precious letter. “Why, when I was of her age I couldn’t write a decent hand, to say nothing of the composition. But I guess girls are usually more forward in that line, than boys—and at a boarding school, too, that accounts for it;’’ and, satisfied with this explanation, the young soldier rose from his seat upon the moss-grown trunk of a fallen tree, and was about to retrace his steps to the camp, when his eye fell upon an object so familiar as to send the warm blood to his heart, while an exclamation of delight escaped his lips. It was a bunch of blue violets—a true, modest, blue-eyed New England flower; just such as he had gathered, hundreds of times, beneath the trees that shaded the old homestead, and, bending over them, he inhaled their delicate perfume, so like a breath from the dear old home, while with almost boyish delight he parted the soft, green leaves, searching for the wee flowerets as eagerly as if they had been a cluster of precious gems. “It makes me think of mother and home,”’ he murmured, half sadly, as if addressing the timid strangers, whose blue eyes met his own so naturally. Ther a new idea seemed to cross his mind, and carefally loosening the earth around them, he drew them tenderly from the soil, and as he placed them safely upon his broad palm, he added, mournfully : ‘Their place is on a New England soldier’s grave. He will sleep sweeter with these home flawers above his breast.’’ And in the next letter that Grace Brennan received from her guardian, were words that sent a thrill of pleasure to her aching heart :— “His grave is no longer desolate, for, a few weeks since, I found a bunch of blue violets in the woods here, and they seemed so sweet and homelike that I transplanted them to his grave. These dear familiar flowers seemed so strangely appropriate that I could not re- sist the feeling that prompted me to place them there.’’ CHAPTER II. **Loox here, girls! quick! quick!’’ cried Nettie Staunton, and as some half dozen of the girls crowded to the window, eager to see whatever was to be seen, she added, in a lower tone: ‘‘See that soldier just turning the corner! I wish I knew who he is com- ing to see, here. But isn’t he handsome, though?’’ she continued, admiringly, as a turn in the walk brought the young man’s face more fully to view. ‘‘ What will you bet, girls, that he isn’t Gracie Brennan’s guardian, that she says so much about?’’ and Miss Nettie laughed merrily, as if she had made a very comical suggestion. The girls all smiled incredulously, and one of them, a grave, thoughtful-iooking girl, re- marked, in a tone of mild reproof: ‘‘ Betting again, Nettie! What would Miss Teachem say, if she should happen to hear you? Besides, what’s the use of talking such non‘ense, when you know that Gracie’s guardian is a middle- aged man, with a family.’’ ‘© Indeed ! and how do I know it, pray ?’’ re- torted Miss Nettie, significantly, and delibe- rately adjusting, as she spoke, a refractory ‘‘rat,’? whose ungraceful proportions were effectually concealed by the glossy black hair coiled so deeply around it. ‘‘What does Graee herself know about his age and family? Did he ever write her that he was an old man with a family?’ and the saucy little head was tossed triumphantly, and with an air that said, ‘‘There’s a log for you to get over, Miss |”’ The other looked half vexed, but she an- swered very quietly: ‘‘ He has not mentioned. his age at ail; but it would be perfectly ridiculous in a young man to address her in the paternal style that he often uses; and what would you think of a man without family, of- fering the protection of his house and home to a young girl. No, his letters show him to be a sensible, well-informed man; toc sensible to make such a fool of himself as that.’ The last words were spoken with some warmth,

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452 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. for Miss Landor was Grace Brennan’s room- mate and bosom friend, and the kindly words and deeds of the unknown guardian had com- pletely won her favor. Nettie, with her usual mischievous perti- nacity, was about to reply, when the voice of a servant at the door arrested the attention of all:— ‘*Miss Brennan’s attendance is requested in the parlor !’’ ‘*There! see ifI wasn’t right!’’ cried Nettie, triumphantly, as Grace, who was sitting in a distant part of the large school-room, and out of the reach of their voices, rose to obey the summons. ‘What a dear, fatherly old soul he is, to be sure!’’ and the merry girl laughed till the tears sparkled in her bright eyes, as she saw the look of vexation upon her companion’s face. Meanwhile, in the handsome parlor of the Teachem establishment, Ned Bryant, all un- conscious of remarks that his personal appear- ance had called forth, sat téte-d-téte with the stately mistress of the mansion, to whom he had disclosed his intention of taking his young charge home with him, as her year here was now completed. The staid lady looked su.- prised, and ifthe truth must be told, somewhat shocked, while she asked, rather curtly :— ** You are not a married man, I presume ?’’ Ned nodded a decided negative. “Then allow me to inquire,” and Miss Teachem assumed an air of stern displeasure, ‘*where you intend to place my pupil? An unmarried man’s home can scarcely be a pro- per place for a young girl,’’ and the keen eyes of the cautious vestal rested suspiciously upon the young man’s face. **Madam !’’ and as he saw the look of sus- picion, a pang of outraged pride sent the hon- est New England blood to cheek and brow, “I have promised to cherish and protect the sister of my dead friend, and a soldier scorns to break his word. My widowed mother is pre- pared to receive, as a daughter, one whose friendlessness and innocence would be, of themselves, a sure passport to her favor; while the home to which she will welcome her, although not luxurious, is comfortable and respectable.’? Miss Teachem cowered before the glance of indignant scorn that accompanied the last word, while, fortunately, the entrance of her pupil saved her the task of replying. ‘Mr. Bryant, allow me to present to you your ward, Miss Brennan.’’ Ned Bryant had faced death in its most terrible forms, with a stout heart and deter- mined brow, but-now his heart gave a quick leap into his throat, and his whole frame trembled with astonishment. Advancing to meet him, with a timid grace peculiarly her own, was not the rosy child, whom he had so often pictured to himself, but a fair young girl, whose mourning dress and smile of welcome proved her identity as the sister of his friend, and a claimant upon his own protection. He saw the look of pleasure upon her girlish face exchanged for one of mingled surprise and embarrassment, and his own grew fiery red, while the words that he tried to speak died away in a faint mumble; his throat felt as if coated with dust, and his tongue, by some un- accountable transformation, seemed suddenly to have become altogether too large for his mouth. There stood the now painfully embarrassed girl, one hand half extended, in token of wel- come to the guardian, whose ETE | tongue and flushed face were even less prepos sessing than his unlucky youthfulness. The well-bred stare of astonishment with which the lady principal regarded him first broke the spell, and, clasping in his own broad palm the tiny hand that trembled in his grasp like a caged butterfly, he managed to express, with tolerable composure, his pleasure at meeting her, and his earnest desire to serve her in any way that lay within his power; but all of the time he felt that he was behaving more like an awkward school-boy than the staid guar- dian of a beautiful young lady. But her first surprise over, Grace managed, with true womanly tact, to partially restore his self-possession by her well-timed ques- tions and comments, and, had it not been for the remembrance of certain fatherly epis- tles addressed to ‘‘My dear child,’’ and signed “Your friend and brother,’’ that ho felt sure were snugly reposing in Miss Grace’s portfolio, for future reference, he would soon have been himself again. *‘T should never have recognized you by your picture,” he remarked, in the course of their conversation. ‘‘It must have been taken some years ago.’’ ‘You mean the one that poor Charlie had ?’’ she asked, with a sad smiie. ‘* Yes, it was taken years ago, when I was a little girl. I

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Se Oo NED BRYANT’S WARD. 453 had one taken for him when he went away, but he wouldn’t have it. He said it looked too sober, and he would rather have the old one,’’ and the red lip quivered, and the blue eyes filled with tears at this little reminiscence of the loved and lost one. True sympathy is always self-forgetful, and Ned forgot his embarrassment, while he strove to comfort the sorrowing sister. He spoke of the noble life and peaceful death of the young soldier ; of his last loving message to the sis- ter whom he had cherished so tenderly; and then, with equal kindness, although with more hesitation, perhaps, be told her of the humble but happy home nestled beneath the shadow of pine-crowned Katahdin, that awaited her, and the loving, warm-hearted woman who was ready to welcome, with open arms, the orphaned girl. And Grace listened, her cheeks glowing * warmly through her tears ; and when he spoke of the baby sister who had slept beneath the buttercups and violets of the old graveyard for many a weary year, leaving a void in her mother’s heart that not even an only son’s love had sufficed to fill, a look of earnest sympathy Mumined the fair face, and she asked, eagerly :— ‘¢ How old would she have been now ?’’ ** Almost seventeen.”’ ‘Just my age! Oh, Mr. Bryant,’’ she cried, with girlish enthusiasm, ‘‘do you sup- pose that she could ever learn to love me, if I tried very, very hard to fill her daughter’s place? I would do anything to make her forget her sorrow,’’ she added, pityingly, **for it seems as if what I have myself suf- fered has taught me to pity the sorrows of all the world.’’ Ned looked down into the sweet, eager face, 80 dloquent in its earnest sympathy, and—we need not tell his thoughts, but he said, very gently :— “You do not know my mother, or you would not ask that question. She is a friend to all the world, and her pity for you has already won you a place in her heart. Inthe last letter that I received from her,’’ and he drew a letter from his pocket as he spoke, ‘*she extends a cordial welcome to you, with earnest wishes that you may be contented and happy in your new home,”’ and, unfold- tng the letter, he read aloud :-- ‘IT am delighted with the idea of your bringing with you your lit—young charge. It will seem like old times to hear the sound of—of youthful feet in the old homestead once more, and it almost seems as if I could grow young again, with a childish head upon my breast.’’ ‘* A childish head’’—the words had slipped from his tongue unawares, and Grace’s look of bewilderment completed his discomfiture. He could say nothing to mend the matter, and, with and inward conviction that Miss Brennan must look upon himself and mother as two very unsophisticated persons, to say the least, he hastily arranged for their departure on the morrow, and, with a hurried adieu, left for his hotel in no very enviable frame of mind. ‘* Are you sure, Miss Brennan,’’ and Miss Teachem assumed an air of unwonted solici- tude, ‘‘that this young man is 4 proper per- son for you to trust yourself with? He appeared strangely, I thought, which, with his very red face, made me suspicious that he had an acquaintance with the brandy bottle. Intemperance is a terrible vice, my dear,’* and the worthy lady shook her head mournfully. ‘*Really, ma’am,’’ was the demure reply, ‘tT have no choice in the matter myse’!; for, as this gentleman is my only protector, I am obliged to accept his kindly offer, for the pre sent, at least. Ishall not be dependent upo them for any support, as the little fortune left me by my parents will be amply sufficient for that, and if I find him to be other than a gentleman, I can then refuse his services. But,’’ she added spiritedly, ‘I do not fear that the friend and companion of my dear brother will prove unworthy of my trust and confidence.’’ Silenced, but evidently unconvinced, Miss Teachem walked, with her usual stately step, from the room, and Grace was left to muse, in the shadow of the heavy window curtains, from which she had a fall view of a tall figure in a blue overcoat, walking slowly up the long street, utterly unsuspicious of the bright eyes that followed him with a look of such keen interest. The next day there were leave-takings, both tender and formal; tears of regret, and hearty expressions of goodwill mingled with vows of undying friendship, and another of Miss Teachem’s young ladies had gone from the shelter of her immaculate roof out into the great world, which that honored lady had so

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454 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. often described to them as full of ravening wolves, eager to devour the young and un- wary.’”’ Three days’ companionship in steamboat, cars, and stage-coach had served to convince Ned that his fair charge, although not the loving child that he had so fondly imagined her, was far from being one of those empty- headed, waxen-hearted demoiselles who have made the very name of a boarding-school abhorrent to many sensible, right-minded people. His kindly attentions had been re- ceived with a modest confidence, that, while it forbade undue familiarity, had no silly affectation of coyness about it. It was evi- dent that she accepted his protection in ex- actly the spirit that it was offered—that of a guardian and friend. It was near the close of the third day, and as the lumbery old stage-coach rested, for a moment, upon the brow of a hill overlooking a wide expanse of meadow and woodland, Ned touched his companion’s arm, and point- ing to an old farm-house but dimly discerri- ble in the distance, said, in a voice that he vainly strove to render calm and steady :— “There it is, just beyond the river, and half hidden by that clump of trees; you see it? Home—the home where I was born, and where I hope to die.’’ Shading her eyes with her hand, the young girl gazed long and earnestly upon her future home. The setting sun lighted up the land- scape around, making even the common and coarse seem, for the time, really beautiful. The stately elms, that had for years spread their protecting arms above the old home- stead, seemed tipped with gold, while gleams of sunshine shot athwart their rough trunks like veins of precious ore. The same magic touch had illuminated each window, from garret to cellar, as if in honor of the new ar- rival; and the little river, in its rocky bed, sang a merry song of welcome. All was bright and cheery, and, as Grace turned from her survey to sdy so to her companion, she was surprised to see a look of anxiety, almost pain, upon his face. ** How do you like it?’’ he asked, abruptly, before she could speak. **It is beautifal!’’ was her quick response. **Just the home that I have always louged for. I never liked the city, for, from child- hood, I have loved Nature as a mother, and more than once,’’ she added, laughing, ‘I have found myself fairly envying Whittier’s Barefoot Boy, of whom it is said :— “* Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks,’ and wishing that such close companionship might be mine.’’ Her answer had dispelled the cloud, and as the old coach rattled on, past smiling fields and wealth of woodland, he recalled, with eager delight, each familiar object, pointing them out to his companion as they passed :— “‘There’s the old schoolhouse!” and he pointed to an unpretending, weather-beaten structure, whose unpainted clapboards bore the marks of the jack-knives of several gene- rations, in the form of unmeaning notches and unreadable names; ‘‘and there’s the flat rock in front, that we used to pretend was a fort, and which it was our favorite play to storm. And there,’’ he continued, after a pause, ‘‘is the hill where we used to have such grand times coasting, on bright, moon- light nights, when the snow was hard and smooth as ice, and the air was sharp and keen as a knife. The South is welcome to her tropical beauties,’’ he added, enthusias- tically; “but give to me the hardy, rugged North, where even winter is beautiful in his snowy mantle and crown of icicles—so differ- ent from the everlasting rain and mud that constitute the principal features of a southern winter.”’ ‘¢ What a pretty place!’’ exclaimed Grace, as they came in sight of a handsome stone- colored cottage, half hidden by rose and lilac bushes. ‘‘ Who lives here ?’’ ‘* Doctor Blake, the—ah, Mattie !’’ and Ned gallantly doffed his cap to a bright-eyed, rosy- cheeked little maiden, who was leaning over the gate in a perfect flutter of excitement, the smiles and tears chasing each other over her pretty face, as she caught sight of the young man’s figure in the passing vehicle. ‘‘ All right, Mattie! Home again!’’ he called out, as the coach rolled slowly by, which appa- rently unnecessary information was received with a blush and smile, accompanied by a significant nod. ‘* Who was that young lady ?’’ asked Grace, in a slightly constrained tone, and glancing back, as she spoke, at the trim little figure that still leaned against the gate, watching the receding vehicle. “That? Oh, that is Mattie Blake, thadoc- => --& -_ ts

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ww owas. = al e, 1g re ag NED BRYANT’S WARD. 455 tor’s only child, and the belle, par excellence, of our little village.’’ He laughed as he spoke, and Grace fancied ~ that she detected some slight embarrassment in his manner, and she asked no more ques- tions. The sun had set ere they reached home; but in the soft summer twilight the quaint old house and its surroundings seemed per- fectly fitted for the abode of peace and con- tentment. A feminine form was waiting at the gate, and, as the coach stopped, a voice tremulous with excitement and joy cried out: ‘It’s him—my boy !’’ and as the young soldier’s feet touched the ground, he felt his mother’s arms around him, while mingled tears and kisses fell thick and fast upon his bearded face. ‘ ‘‘Thank God that you were spared to me!’’ she sobbed, excitedly, and, laying her head | upon his broad breast, and with his strong arms about her, she soon wept herself into calmness. ** And now,’’ she exclaimed, with a tear- fal cheeriness that lent a peculiar tenderness to her voice, ‘‘where is the child? I had quite forgotten her in the excitement of see- ing you again,’’ and she advanced to the coach, from which Ned was now assisting his companion to alight. ‘This is Miss Brennan, mother,’’ and the good lady extended her plump hand in token of welcome. ‘*T am happy to see you, Miss; but,’ she persisted, “‘ where is the child, little Grace? You hav’n’t left her behind, now, Ned ?’’ and the tearful face put on a look of reproach, as she looked earnestly into her son’s face. Deeply embarrassed, Ned tried to explain, but he was interrupted by Grace, whose quick eye had noted the change upon the kind, motherly face, when, instead of the antici- pated pet, she had been confronted by a full- grown young lady, and, moved by a sudden impulse that she could not withstand, she stepped quickly forward :— ‘“*T am Grace—Grace Brennan,’’ she said, haif deprecatingly, ‘‘and if you can give to the motherless girl the love and sympathy that she craves, you shall never have cause to.repent it.’’ There was a gentle pathos in the tones that went straight to the warm, loving heart of good Mrs. Bryant, and folding her arms about the trembling girl, she drew her to her bosom, and, imprinting a hearty kiss upon her cheek, exclaimed, in her honest, out- spoken fashion :— Bless you, child,’’ if an old woman’s love will be worth anything to a pretty little crea- ture like you, you are welcome toit. I was only surprised, you see,’’ she added, apolo- getically, ‘‘for I didn’t expect to find youa grown-up girl; although I dare say I shall love you all the better for being a companion instead of a pet.”’ And that night, as Grace Brennan knelt to pray, in the pleasant chamber which loving hands had prepared for her reception, her heart sent up a fervent thank offering to God, for his gift to her of a home and friends—bless- ings for which her hungry heart had yearned 80 long. ‘ (Conclusion next month.) TO ARRIE. BY ALBERT. My darling girl, Bright spirit of young joy, te thee this day I fain would send by every passing breeze, By every floating cloud and gentle bird My deep heart’s deepest blessings. Many friends, Who love thee well, are gathering round thee oft With their warm, tender greetings; ob, let mine Be breathed into thy soul in earnest tones, As by a spirit-voice from out the air, At this dear hour of eve. The passing years Have touched thee, Arrie, but to crown thy life— Have touched thee but to ope the beauteous flower Of thy young womanhood ; and I would breathe An earnest benediction on thy life— A constant wish for thee—a fervent prayer That thou mayst ever be as now thou art; And as I've kuown thee, gentlest, well and long— Rich in all gifts of woman loveliness, Wearing the grandeur of a guileless soul, With goodness, wisdom, virtue, feeling fraught, A cultured mind—whose every thought is pure As are the thoughts that fill an angel’s prayer. A gentle heart, from out whose gladness flows A harmony which long in memory lives, And, oft recalled, comes back upon the soul Like sweetest music heard at summer's eve. Oh, darling, may such gifts he ever thine, Such purity be still thy guard and shield; For thee may Time still bear upon its wings Untroubled brightness, and thy coming years Be passed amidst the joyousness of scenes As bright as e’er was pictured to thy soul In all thy dreams of earth—of Hope—of Heaven. A man who is not able to make a bow to his own conscience every morning, is hardly in a condition to respectfully salute the world at any other time of the day.

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‘ NOVELTIES FOR MAY. HATS, COIFFURE, ETC. Fig. 1.—Chapeau Bavarois. This conve- nient country hat is of coarse white straw, trimmed with a broad black velvet studded with field daisies. Fig. 1. Fig. 4.—Chapeau mousquetaire. It is of white chip, almost covered by bands of black lace enriched with jet beads. Lace lappets fall over the back, and a large rose with buds is placed at the side. Fig. 5.—The latest style of evening dress and coiffure. Figs. 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, are ornaments made of 456 Fig. 2.—Hat of gray straw, trimmed with a wreath of scarlet velvet leaves. Fig. 3.—Hat of brown straw, trimmed with brown velvet and bronze foliage. Fig. 2. artificial flowers. They can be made up to order of any flowers desired. The ear-rings Pig. 5. Wine. . and pins may be obtained mounted, or the bunches can be had arranged to fasten on old mountings. :

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NOVELTIES FOR. MAY. *NICISVAUA Fig. 6. *LaTAOVad

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Fig. 9. Fig. 10. EAR-RING. INFANT’S BASKET, CLOSED. LETTER FOR THE CENTRE OF A LARGE SQUARE PILLOW. (See engraving, page 405.) FOODDOC ODD ODO SY Qo 0 xe % om

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 459 BEAD FRAME FOR PHOTOGRAPHS, wire and strong thread. Cur out an oval of white card-board, string - . ° .r ~“ me 18 or 20 chalk beads upon ftne flower-wire, and twist it beneath the beads so as to form a long loop. Fasten one or two loops on to jer anne 0 Mode of putting on Loops of Beads. the card-board with strong white thread, be- ginning at the upper middle and at each side; Materials.—Card-board, glass. and chalk beads, fine under these place three or four loops of glass beads, always in rows, with the same number of chalk loops alternately. The loops must be sewn on, and the wire stalks will be always covered by the loops placed over them. The under rosette is so formed by this means that the last meet- ing loops of the chalk beads towards the upper and under parts are surrounded with glass beads, and the wire stalks are covered with bead bars lying crosswise. CROCHET CIRCLE. , Tus circle will form a pretty cover for a toilet-pincushion. It may also be used as a centre for a couvrette, with smaller circles round it. Begin in the centre. Make a chain of ten stitches, and join it into a circle. lst round. 20 double within the circle. 2d. 1 double, 17 chain, 1 slip- stitch in the one double to form a loop; work round the loop in double crochet. Increase once on each side, and once at the top. Work once more in double crochet round the loop, increas- ing as before, and working one slip-stitch at the bottom of the loop. As will be seen in illus- tration, six purl are worked in this second round over the loop, three on either side. Each purl is composed of 4 chain. At the end of this round, fasten off and cut the cot- ton. There should be four leaves similar to the first, each divided by 4 double. 3d. Fasten the cotton at the point of one of the four leaves, and work 1 double, *5 chain, 1 purl, 5 chain. Now for the small pattern, joining two leaves together; make 3 chain, 1 purl placed downwards, 1 chain, 1 purl placed upwards, 2 chain, 1 double between the two first purl of one leaf, 2 chain, 1 purl, 2 chain, 1 double between the two first purl of rext leaf, 2. chain, 1 purl placed upwards, 1 chain, 1 purl downwards, 3 chain, 1 slip-stitch in the first of the three chain at the beginning of the pattern to complete the pattern, then

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

Atty, " -. Ejpittrg nF +y, BY: -\%.°F n", 4 t=" = ¥ Ss IW SY PDF, acct Ps ¢ v Ceca AM cD / = 5 chain, 1 purl, 5 chain, 1 double in the point of the next leaf, and repeat always from *. 4th. Between each leaf and each pattern which divides them you have 10 chain, with a purl in the centre; work 1 double in each of these chains, and 1 in the lower part of the purl; also work 1 double in the point of each leaf, and of each triangular pattern, so as to form an entire circle of double stitches. 5th. All double crochet, increasing here and there. 6th. * 5 double, 1 chain, 1 purl, 1 chain, 1 purl, 3 chain, 1 purl, 1 chain, 1 purl, 1 chain, fasten the loop of chain and purl by 1 slip-stitch, and repeat from *. There must be 16 loops in the round, and 5 double be- tween each loop. At the end of the round fasten off and cut the cotton. 7th. Fasten the cotton to the point of one s Xr ty t ye . « > v . ~ ae 4

.> a «an% tH Sarr fl 2 5 if ew Ss DK S ws s wee sak x > Tis passat TULARE TRTNUTARANEE ARATLAART ERR A y Ee, Ej A try Uy { ee ui thy ‘ Ving 7 % ie 7. Q nM ON: SS “« ies , . v > w be me On wt, ead [7 3 Fah D> CA . s << “cee PP} ens: 1G z Wy

of the loops, and work 1 slip-stitch, * 7 chain, 1 slip-stitch in the point of the following loop. Repeat from *. 8th. The same as the 5th. 9th. Double crochet with 1 purl over every 10th stitch. Before beginning the 10th row, prepare the small circles of the outer border, which are made separately, as follows: Begin in the centre. Make 4 chain for a first long double, 7 chain, 1 long double in the frst of the 4 chain forming the first long double; work 2 more long double, always divided by 7 chain ; then again 7 chain, and fasten the last to the top of the first long double. Now work in close crochet all round the star, adding one purl over every fourth stitch, When you have completed sixteen similar small circles, continue to work round the large one.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 10th. Begin upon the 3d stitch after 1 purl, and work 1 slip-stitch, 7 chain, 1 silip-stitch in one stitch of a circle, between 2 purl; turn, and over the7 chain work one slip-stitch, 1 double, 1 long double, 1 short tre- ble, 1 treble, 1 long treble, miss 3 stitches under the leaf thus formed, and work 1 double in the fourth; now begin a loop, formed of 1 chain, 1 purl, 1 chain, 1 purl, 3 chain, 1 purl, . chain, 1 purl, 1 chain; un- der this loop miss two stitches, 1 purl, and two more stitches of pre- ceding round, and then begin an- other leaf similar to the first. Work alternately one of the pointed leaves, and one loop with purls. There should be sixteen leaves in the round, and one of the smaller gir- cles is fastened on to the point of each leaf. To render the work firmer, insert the needle at the back of one circle, in the first space, from the point where the circle was joined on to a leaf. Make a chain of six or seven stitches, and fasten it by a slip-stitch in the point of the nearest loop. Make a second chain of the same length, and join it on in the nearest space of the next circle. Repeat the same process for each circle. They are also joined together by a stitch worked in one purl on either side. See illustration. TRIMMING FOR AN UNDER PETTICOAT. Materials.—A strip of white cambric; black worsted braid; linen buttons, Our reAders are aware how quickly the edge of a white petticoat touch- ing the pavement, or the gravel walks of a garden, becomes soiled. We bring before their notice a bor- der worked in braid upon a strip of cambric, prepared with buttonholes corresponding with linen buttons, placed upon ak NS iin the petticoat under a tuck, which serves to a. cover them. The braided border comes down about half an inch beyond the edge of the petticoat. It is hemmed on either side. It BP OE a fe easy to take off the border and have it eleaned apart from the petticoat. TV TTOTNTNTNTT TVET TT ET TTTTT TTT OTT | | NUT WW HUH fei | HE j. i | ie | Ne ik i | il bd Xd b> ’

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462 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, _. SWISS COTTAGE, FOR WAFERS, PINS, PENS, ETC. Materials.—Fine perforated card-board, blue filoselle, steel beads, card-board. in order to make this cottage, a skilfal and steady hand is required. The whole rests upon a ground 2 inches broad and 2} inches Back of Swiss Cottage. long, worked round in separate stitches of filoselle. The two longest walls are 1} inch in length and 1} inch in height. The side walls, with the top of the gable, are 1} inch broad, and 2} inches high to the top of the gable, which is slanted equally on both sides, so that the straight cross sides of each wall are 1} inch high. The two parts of theroof | 1} inch in breadth. Upon each separate wall part the windows and door are marked with blue silk stitches, as shown in the de- sign. The one gable wall must, according to the design, be cut through, and a separate window and door must be put in at the under part, stitched over with silk. The rafters of the roof must also be stitched with silk, and the little stones are formed of three steel beads. The steps, gallery, balcony, and chimney may, ac- cording to fancy, be made upon the separate parts, or added after- wards. The gallery is everywhere 10 holes broad, and is cut out in the upper line of holes according to the design. The trellis-work thus formed must be bent round, so that the under part of the card- board stripe forms the ground of the gallery. For the side trellis- work of the little balcony, as well as for the placing together the = steps and gallery part, it is neces- sary that the strip intended for the breadth of the ground should be cut longer, by which, after- wards, the ground part can be re- moved, and the trellis carried round the side. The little steps require a separate strip of card- board, which must be cut to mea- sure about 4 holes in breadth, of which, with the exception of cne line of holes, which supports the whele hanging together, alter- nately one line of holes is left, and two taken away. This strip is then bent in regular steps; our model has ten of them. The gal- lery steps are sewn to the cottage with fine cotton; the ‘stitches should be bidden as much as pos- sible. The walls of the cottage, after they have been covered, or rather lined, with white paper, are slightly sewn together with blue silk. The under cut-off part of the gable end must not be fastened with it; but a little white open box is prepared, made of white card-board, the height of the cut-off wall, large enough to fit comfortably into the house without being too loose. The little box is sewn together with white thread at the sides, and under- measure fall 2} inches in length, and nearly | neath a blue ribbon loop, to draw it out, and

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VT ff =a Se wa non HT w& = Ff bead = - =~ ‘ oe oe = ae = 6 no wet WORK DEPARTMENT. 463 then, on the last side, with the under part, the gable end is put on. The under edge of the cottage is fastened with blue silk stitches upon the ground stitched over with blue silk, which must stand out in the same breadth all round. The two stitched half-roof parts must likewise be joined on the two long sides with blue. The little chimney is composed of a ceard-board stripe, of 4 or 6 holes high, and 4 holes broad, sewn together, and is cutin a gallery form; and two of the under sides are cut out in a little triangular form, and sewn with white firmly to the rvof. The roof is then likewise joined to the house with white stitches in such a manner that it hangs over the wails equally on both sides. DIAPER COVER. FOR A CHILD JUST PUTTING ON SHORT CLOTHES. Tue portion fitting round the legs, may be finished with a ruffle or worked edge. Fig. 2 is the form of the diaper cover when tied up. Fig. 1. FANCY END OF A COLLAR. To be worked with black silk. VOL. LXxIv.—30

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Deceipts, &e, THE HAIR. From a little book, entitled ‘Human Hair: its Man- agement in Health and Disease,” we make the following useful and interesting extracts :— “The greatest ornament to the ‘human form divine’ is, unquestionably, a fine, luxuriant, healthy growth of hair ; it has been so esteemed in all ages, and among all civilized nations. It is to beauty of woman the chief auxiliary, and to manhood the warrant of strength and dignity. “It is not our purpose now to enter into the nature and structure of the hair, bat simply to offer a few re- marks, together with such rules for its preservation and embellishment as may be readily adopted by all, in the full confidence that nothing is asserted or advised which is not guaranteed by the most celebrated scientific men. ‘*The purposes of the hair, in the animal economy, are important; as a bad conductor of heat it serves to equal- ize the temperature of the brain, and is a protection against external irritants ; a large quantity of carbon and hydrogen is by its means also separated froma the system, and although several other organs are concerned in the more abundant discharge of the same elements, the hair is, under any circumstances, of importance ir exactly counterpoising the manifold operations of animal organi- zation. Its intimate connection with th. brain and nerves is proved by many indisputable facts, and numerous au- thenticated instances are on record in which disorders of a dangerous character have been removed by simply cutting the hair. “Grief and anxiety soon display their pernicious in- fluence on the hair, and a sudden shock to the nervous system has been known in many cases to cause a total loss of color, at times blanching the hair to perfect whiteness in a few hours—as quoted by Daniel Turner, Erasmus Wilson, and others who have acquired eminence by their study in these matters, “To Preserve Tae Hatr.—The most essential thing for the preservation of the hair is general health of the body, and this can only be obtained by keeping the skin in perfect order; to effect this, the bath ought to be reck- oned among the foremost of the necessities of life, affect- ing as it does the system more powerfully and directly than any other known means. Seeing, then, that perfect health is dependent on a well-conditioned skin, it can be easily understood how much the hair must share its in- fluence. “ The prevalent custom of using strong stimulants where the hair has fallen off, or become weak and thin, is one of the most fatal mistakes that can be made. In its most healthy state, the hair is best likened to a delicate plant ; and the injury we inflict on it by such treatment is obvi- ous to the most casual observer. “It is, however, but rarely that the root or bulb beneath the skin is entirely destroyed, even by the most acute fevers, or local disease; although for years it may remain to all appearances dead, aad the part become bald and even polished. ‘‘DANDRUFF OR Scurr.—The epidermal scales of the skin of the head, known by the name of scurf, aceumu- late in some persons much more rapidly than in others, and present a very unsightly appearance; it is often attributed to the fact of the hair being abundant, but this is by no means the reason, and in moxt casea may be traced to a want of proper attention. Scurf is a vatural production, and, although it may be kept from accumu- lating, cannot be prevented. It is produced on every part of the body, although from the more active growth of hair on the head, the facilities for collecting, and the con- trast of color, it strikes the eye most disagreeably in that situation. ‘*When the head perspires freely, these scales become soon saturated with the perspired matter, which, remain- ing near the roots of the hair, weakens its energy, and at times will cause it to come off abundantly in the brush and comb. “Tue Use or tae Brosa.—The head must be kept always perfectly clean, to effect which a brush shouid be used, two or three times a day at least, which is not too hard or close, but sufficiently penetratiug to reach the skin through the hair. . “ With regard to brushing the hair, a diversity of opin- ion exists, one authority recommending soft brushes and light brushing, another hard brushes and vigorous brush- ing ; experience, however, enables me to decide that those of the description just recommended are best for the hair under most circumstances, and should be applied until the scalp becomes quite warm, when a small quantity of oil should be applied and well brushed into the roots of the hair. “Never omit brushing the hair before retiring to rest ; this is necessary to remove the dust and scarf which may Lave accumulated during theday. Sickness alooe should prevent this important duty being attended to.” MISCELLANEOUS COOKING. Vea Savsacus.—Chop equal quantities of lean veal and fat bacon, a handful of sage, a little salt, pepper, and a few anchovies, Beat all in a mortar; and, when used, roll and fry it, and serve with fried sippets, or on stewed vegetables. : Farep Parrtes.—Cold roast veal, a few slices of cold ham, one egg boiled hard, pounded mace, pepper and salt to taste, gravy, cream, one teaspoonful of minced lemon- peel, good puff-paste. Mince a little cold veal and ham, allowing one-third ham to two-thirds veal; add an egg boiled hard and chopped, aud a seasoning of poanded mace, salt, pepper, and lemon-peel ; moisten with a little gravy and cream. Make a good puff-paste; roll rather thin, and cut it into round or square pieces ; put the mince between two of them, pinch the edges to keep in the gravy, and fry a light brown. They may be also baked in patty-pans; in that case, they should be brnshed over with the yelk of an egg before they are put in the oven. To make a variety, oysters may be substituted for the ham. Pork axp AppLe Fritrers.—Prepare a light batter, freshen or use cold boiled or baked pork; cut it fine enough for hash, and fry it a little to extract some of the fat for frying the fritters. Peel sour apples, and cut or chop them not quite as fine as the pork ; mix first the pork and then the apples in the batter, and fry them brown. Potatoes, parsuips, salsify, or any vegetable desired, can be used in the eame manner. Vrat Caxs.—Boil six or eight eggs hard ; cut the yelks in two, and lay some of the pieces in the bottom of the pot; shake in a little chopped parsley ; some slices of veal and ham, and then eggs again; shaking in after each some chopped parsley, with pepper and salt, till the pot is full. Then put in water enough to cover it, and lay on it about an cunce of butter: tie it over with a double paper, and bake it about an hour. Then press it down together

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— eS aS hw RECEIPTS, 465 with a spoon, and let it stand till cold. It may be put into a small mould, and then it will turn out beautifully for a supper or side dish. Vrat Rowits, or erraer Comp Meat orn Fresn.—Cut thin slices, and spread on them a fine seasoning of a very few crumbs, a little chopped bacon or scraped ham, and a little suet and parsley, ‘pepper, salt, aud a small piece of pounded mace. This stuffing may either fill up the roll like a sausage, or rolled with the meat. In either case tie it up very light and stew it very slowly in gravy. Serve it when tender, after skimmiug it nicely. Mixcep Motron.—This is a very useful preparation of “cold mutton,’ and will be found an excellent mode. Cut slices off a cold roasted leg of mutton and mince it very fine; brown some flour in butter, and moisten it with some gravy; add salt and pepper to taste, and let it sim- mer about ten or fifteen minutes to take off the raw taste of the four; add another lot of butter and some parsley chopped fine, then add the minced meat, and iet it sim- mer slowly, but not to boil, or the meat will be hard. Pork Steak Broimtep.—The tenderloin is the best for steak, but any lean white meat is good. Broil slowly, after splitting it so as to allow it to cook through with- out drying or burning. When ready to turn over, dip the cooked side in a nice gravy of butter, pepper, and salt, which should be prepared ona platter and kept hot without oiling. It must be well done; there should be no sign of blood in the meat when cut. It requires slow broiling, it will take at least twenty minutes to broila pork-steak. CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC. Lapy Cake.—Mix a pound of flour, the same of sifted sugar, aud of washed-clean currants. Wash a pound of butter in rose-water, beat it well, thea mix with it eight eggs, yelks and whites beaten separately, and put in the dry ingredients by degrees; beat the whole an hour; but- ter little tins, tea-cups, or saucers, and bake the batter in, filling only half. Sift a little Ane sugar over, just as you put it into the oven. Rica Bows.—Mix one pound and a half of flour with half a pound of sugar; melt a pound and two ounces of butter in a little warm water; add six spoonfuls of rose- water, and knead the above into a light dough, with half a pint of yeast ; then mix five ounces of caraway comfits in, and put sume on them. TRANSPARENT Poppine. — Beat eight eggs very well; put them into a stewpan, with half & pound of sugar, pounded fine, the same quantity of butter, and some nut- meg, grated. Set it on the fire, and keep stirring it till it thickens. Then set it in a basin to cool; puta rich puff- paste round the edge of the dish; pour in your pudding, and bake it in a moderate oven. It will eat light and clear. You may add candied orange, or citron, if pre- ferred. Frexca Roits.—Rub an ounce of butter into a pound of flour; mix one egg beaten, a little yeast that is not bitter, and as much milk as will make a dough of a mid- dling stiffaess. Beat it well, but do not knead; let it rise and bake on tins. JumBies.—Take a pound and a half of flour, one pound of sugar, three-quarters of a pound of butter, four yelks and two whites of egys, with a wineglass of rose-water, roll them thick with fine powdered sugar, and bake on tins. Warr tes.—To one quart of m.lk add five eggs, a pound and a quarter of flour, half a pound of butter; beat them well together; when baked, sift sugar and cinnamon on them. If you make the waffles before it is time to bake them, add one spoonful of yeast. Brppie Puppixe.—One pint of milk, four large table- spoonfuls of flour, four eggs. Butter the bake-dish. Put it in the oven when you are about to dish the dinner, al- lowing twenty-five minutes for baking; bring it directly from the oven to the table, or it falls. Sauce for the above.—One cup of brown sugar, two tablespoonfuls of cream, one ounce of butter. Stir the butter and sugar thoroughly, then add a little of the cream at a time, to keep from separating; add wine to the taste in the same manner (not quite a wineglass). Let the mixture melt; it will be 2 white froth when done. Enough for five persons. GranpMamMa’s Puppina.—Cut some moderately thin slices of bread ; butter a mould and line it with the bread. Next, cover the bread with jam or marmalade. Fill up the mould with slices of bread, candied-peel, or marmal- ade, and raisins, or jam, whichever may be preferred. Beat two or three eggs, according to the size of the mould. Mix with a little sugar and sufficient milk to fill the mould. Cover with a cloth, and boil for an hour anda half. Serve with wine or sweet sauce. Ginger Breap.—Two pounds of flour, one pound of moist sugar, one and a half pound of treacle, ten ounces of ginger, half a pound of butter, a little lemon peel, and a little brandy; make it over night. Drop it on tins. Omnisvs Puppine.—Half a pound of flour, half a pound of beef suet, half a pound of currants, half a pound of raisins stoned, half a pound of sugar, half a pound of scraped raw potatoes, and quarter of a pound of scraped carrots mixed together, and spice to taste. Boil four hours. HOW TO COOK AND SERVE EGGS. WHEN we inform our readers that in the wide and ever- extending circle of French cookery, no less than six hundred and eighty-five ways of preparing eggs are recognized, it will be obvious to them that our chief difficulty has been, in preparing this collection, what to choose, and what to avoid. Our principle has been to present to our readers the choicest, the most useful, and palatable varieties, Eaos Prarn Borien.—This being beyond question the most popular way of serving eggs, we must commence by giving it in the approved French method. Get ready « saucepan of boiliug water, place in it some fresh eggs, immediately remove the saucepan from the fire, put ou the lid, and let the eggs remain exactly four minutes. Take them up, and serve them, well warmed, in a dish. The eggs, if so preferred, may be put into cold water over a quick fire, and when the water comes to a bvil, they are done. Eaos sur Le PLray.—Heat some butter upon a tin or pewter dish ; carefully break into it as many eggs as you think sufficient; arranging them neatly ; season with salt and pepper ; add a few teaspoonfuls of good thick cream, and place the dish for six minutes over a clear fire, and serve directly. Eaa-BALis.—Take the yelks of six hard-boiled eggs; pound them in a mortar, together with a little salt, one dessertspoonful of flour, and a small quantity of pepper. When a smooth, bot stiff paste ix formed, add as much raw yelk of egy as will serve tu mix it of the consistency

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£66 required. Make it into balls, poach them, aud serve them upon battered toast, or any sauce approved of. Lait DE PouLs.—Well beat the yelks of two fresh eggs, add two teaspoonfuls of powdered loaf-sugar, and the same quantity of orange-flower water. Giir quickly, and add a breakfast-cupfal of boiling water, Drink it as hot as possible. Eaos AL’ ARDENN AIsE.—Break the shells of a dozen eggs. Separate the yelks from the whites, and keep each yelk by itself. Beat the whites toa froth; add to them a little salt, pepper, and thick cream. Pour this into a well- buttered, deep dish, and arrange the yelks upon the top. Put the dish into a gentle oven, and, when set, serve them hot. Eoos A L’AvRoRE.—Boil some eggs until they are hard. Remove the shells; cut each egg into half, and scoup out the yelks; put these into a mortar, with some pepper, salt, savory herbs, aud cream. Beat all to a paste; place some of it in each halved white of egg, and lay the re- mainder in a buttered dish; arrange the stuffed eggs on the top with the forcemeat uppermost. Place the dish in a moderately heated oven, and serve when the eggs are nicely browned. Brortep Eces.—Cut a large round of bread, toast it on both sides, and butter it. Carefully break six eggs, and arrange them upon the toast; sprinkie some seasoning over the eggs, and hold a red-hot shovel above them until they are well set; squeeze the juice of an orange over them, and strew a little grated nutmeg ; serve as quickly as possible. If preferred, the toasted bread may be dipped into some warmed cream, and some poached eygs placed upon the toast; then glaze the eggs with a hot iron. WEIGHTS AND MEASURES. Bushels. Pounds, |) Bushels. Pounds. Wheat, 60 | Biue Grass Seed, 44 Shelled Corn, 56 | Buckwheat, 52 Corn in the ear, 70 | Dried Peaches, 38 Peas, 60 | Dried Apples, 24 Rye, 56 | Onions, 57 Oats $2 | Salt, 50 Barley, 47 | Stone Coal, 80 Irish Potatoes, 60 | Malt, $8 Sweet Potatoes, 65 | Bran, 20 White Beans, 60 | Tuarnips, 55 Castor Beans, 46 | Plastering Hair, 8 Clover Seed 60 | Unslacked Lime, 80 Timothy Seed, 45 | Corn Meal, 43 Flaxseed, 56 | Fine Salt, 55 Hemp Seed, 44 | Ground Peas, oo A box 24 by 16 inches, 22 deep, contains 1 barrel. A box 19 by 164g inches, 8 deep, contains 1 bushel. A box 8 by 8'4 inches, 8 deep, contains 1 peck. A box 4 by 4 inches, 444 deep, contains half a peck. A box 4 by 4 inches, 24 deep, contains 1 quart. MISCELLANEOUS. To Preserve Herss.—All kinds of herbs should be gathered on a dry day, just before or while in blossom. Tie them in bandles, and suspend them in a dry, airy piace; wrap the medicinal ones in paper and keep them from the air. Pick off the leaves of those which are to be used in cooking, pound and sift them fine, and keep the powder in bottles, corked up tight. To fatten fowls in a short time, mix together ground rice well scalded with milk, aad add some coarse sugar. Feed them with this in the daytime, but not too much at once ; let it be pretty thick, | GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, VanNitie Torrey.—With the butter (of which you can put as iauch or as little as you like) at the bottom of the saucepan, then put in one pound of sugar and two table- spoonfals of vinegar. Leave it to soak over night. If it looks too dry in the morning, add a little more vinegar. Then put it on the fire and boil, not stirring it. When you think it likely to be done stick a knife into the mid- dle of it, azd drop it into a cup of cold water, and if it bites crisp, it is done. Just before it is done dropin a tea- spoonful of essence of vanille. Then pour the toffey ’ thinly all over a buttered tin, and it will soon be cold. To prevent ‘he incursions of mice, strew wild mint where you wish to keep the mice out, and they will never trouble you. Rust os Divner Kyrves.~-Cover the steel with sweet oil, well rubbing it on. Let it remain forty-eight hours, and then, using unslacked lirr> fiaely powdered, rub the knife until all the rust has Cisappeared, To Keep Britannia Ware Raten7.-—Wash it every time it is used, in hot suds of fine soap; rinse with boiling water inside; wher ot, pour over it boiling water and dry while hot with a scft towel. Once each week rub the inetal with wash-leather and very little whiting. Take care of silver in the same manper. To stop a leak. beat yellow seep and whiting, with a little waier, into a thick pasis. Rub thie over the part where the leakage is, and it will be instantly stopped. Dr. Ligsie’s Berr-Tea.—When one pound of lean beef, free f->m fat, and separated from the bones, in the finely- chopped sate in whic» it is used for mince-meat, or beef- sausages, is uniformly mixed with its own weight of cold water, slowly heated till boiling, and the liquid, after boiling briskly for a minate or two, is strained through a cloth from the coagulated albumen and the fibrin, now become hard and horny, we obtain an equal weight of the most aromatic soup, of such strength as cannot be ob- tained even by boiling for hours from a piece of flesh. When mixed with salt and ihe other additions by which soup is usually seasoued, and tinged somewhat darker by means of roasted onions, or burnt bread, it forms the very best soup which can, in any way, be prepared from one pound of flesh. Corron a8 A PRESERVATIVE oF Frorr.—It is not gene- rally known that common raw cotton is one of the best and most simple means of preserving fruit for a long while. The method employed for grape: ‘s as follows: The bunches are gently laid between a layer of cotton iu a glass or earthenware jar. The jar is then corked down and the corks dipped in melted resin. Of course it is much easier to preserve apples and pears, which need only be laid between two layers of cotton on the pantry- shelf or store-room. To make white hands, take a wineglassful of eau-de- Colegne and another of lemon-juice, then serape two cakes of brown Windsor soap to a powder, and mix well in a mould; when hard, it will be an excellent soap for whitening the hands. Potato Poritice.— Where there is the necessity to use & poultice, no person who has once experienced the com- fort of a potato poultice will again use bread. It is light, keeps hot a long time, can be reheated, and, more than all, does not moisten the garments or bed-clothes with which it comes in contact. Pare and boil the potatoes, strain, and then mash them with a fork «ver the fire. Put them into a bag, and apply the poultice as hot as the patient can bear it.

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Evitats’ Gable. ““WOMEN AND CHILDREN IN AMERICA.”’* Svcu is the title of an article in a celebrated British journal ; our opinion of the statements has been urgently requested. We will give a few specimens of the article in question, that our roaders, who do not see Blackwood, may understand its tone and spirit. CHARACTERT#"""" Cm [Sai niaN WOMEN. “No European who travels much or resides long in America ever fails to notice that shyness is not the special characteristic of the majority of the fair sex, especially in the Northern and Western States.” . * - * * * * * “ A woman who shrinks from no man’s gaze, who can return stare for stare, word for word, or, in case of ur- gency, the blow physical for the blow moral; who, if deceived in her affections, can administer the personal chastisement of the cowhide on the back of her betrayer, or inflict summary vengeance with her revolver,” ete. In short, the standard of womanhood which this British writer describes as prevailing, has filled the Northern States with ‘‘Free Lovers,’’ ‘ Bloomers,’’ ‘‘ Woman’s Rights’”’ lecturers, Irish cooks, and ajl kinds of noisy, brawling, mascaline women, who travel by land or by water wherever they list, monopolizing the best places in hotels, steamboats, and especially in cars. LADIES IN CARS. “Tf no one offers to rise, the lady goes boldly up to the unhappy wight in possession, and informs him without periphrase that she wants his seat. If he obey the com- mand, she coolly takes his place, without, in nine cases out of ten, thinking it necessary even by a look to let him know that she is grateful for the couartesy.”’ * + 7 + 7 e * . “A newly-arrived German or Irish girl will go up to a gentleman old enough to be her grandfather, and per- haps rich enough to employ a score of such as she in his household, and order him to vacate a seat for her ac- commodation.” WOMEN IN PUBLIC BUSINESS AND POLITICS, “Nothing is more common, for instance, than for wo- men to gain their livelihood by canvassing for books and newspapers—going from office to office, from store to store, add from house to house, soliciting orders. They ply their trade with an audacity and pertinacity which, if they were men, would, in many cases, lead to their forcible expulsion. A POPULAR AMERICAN LECTCRESS. “It was a woman, pert, insolent, ignorant, voluble, and shameless, who ‘stumped’ the North from town to town, and city to city, delivering inflammatory lectures, in which she held up Mr. Lincoln to public odium asa buffuon and an imbecile,’’ ete. All Northern women are described as both independent and exacting. The young lady, living with her father and mother, lives as freely as her bréther, visits where she pleases, and “‘ never asks permission of her elders ;” and she has “‘the privilege of the latch-key if she stays out late at the theatre,” etc. Such are a few of the many fancy pictures describing the manners and morals prevailing among American women, which this British writer has drawn and cvlored sor his European readers. Certain kinds of false statements require no argument to disprove them; open your eyes and you will see that yellow is not blue. There are spots on the sun; but * Blackwood’s Edinburgh Magazine, January, 1857. while its light is above all other natural lights, we should but waste time in disproving assertions that these spots already darkened three-fourths of our horizon; we should only say, “Put by your telescope, that only re- veals darkness and blemishes; then the brightness of light and beauty of colors will fill your soul with thank- fulness and your heart with joy.” So from the distorted and darkened pictures of ‘‘ Women in America,’’ which this British writer's telescope has discovered, we appeal to the peoples of all Europe—ex- cluding Great Britain of course—to judge between the two branches of the Anglo-Saxon race touching these questions of feminine morals and manners. British and American travellers throng the Continent of Europe; a large proportion of these are women. American and English ladies are found together in steamboat, railway, hotel, gallery, palace, theatre, and church. From which country come the loveliest illustrations of feminine cha- racter in the qualities that constitute true Ladyhood ? Mr. Anthony Trollope, who had really known “ North- ern and Western American ladies,” pays an ample tribute to their many excellencies and ladylike qualities. Atthe same time ha, with his peculiar wit, gives a humorous and just description of the vulgar women to be met with in publie conveyances, North, South, East, West, for the tide of popular travel surges over the whole of cur wide land. He acknowledges that such people in Europe have not the means of enjoying a ride (save in those third claxs English cars, which Americans would not think fit foi cattle) nor of locomotion save on their own legs, But Mr. Trollope, as a true gentleman, was pleased to find brother man and sister woman elevated in America to innocent and improving gratifications, such as a ride or journey in the curs may impart, since the grandees of the Blackwood order may, in England, take the air in “ their hackney coach.”’ Pope tells us “to make use of every foe’’ to advance our self-knowledge. Let us, then, try to pick out the few grains of golden truth from the dross and rubbish of falsehood which Blackwood heaps on American woman- hood. Courtesy every young girlshould cultivate, There is mnch virtue in the ‘soft answer’’ that turneth away wrath, in the gentle manner that wins even the thought- less to esteem good breeding. There is also more necd, under our institutions than under any other form of government, that the feminine character should be so as- similated with “ whatsoever things are pure, lovely, and of good report,’ and so well sustained by modest dignity as to command respect and honor from men. And every young lady should be careful to subordinate her own will and her own wishes to those who have the right to direct her and are responsible in duty, that she is kept in the right way. There are faults of character and follies of conduet, growing naturally out of the freedom of thought that now pervades all Christendom. The very traits which, as American, seem to the British critic so terrible in womanhood, are now rife in English society. Mrs. Oliphant, in her inimitable manner of developing charac- ter, illustrates the contrast between “ Madouna Mary"’ and her ‘‘sister Winny,’’ thns giving specimens of the true English lady and the “ fast young lady,"’ who could 167

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468 a GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. net have been more “‘strong-minded” had she been born in Massachusetts. As to the “latch key,’ no “young lady’’ in America goes to the theatre unattended by a gentieman or elder lady. We know, indeed, that the large and respectable class of young women who sew and otherwise work for their living are here, as all over the world, less guarded and cared for than the daughters of the rich. It cannot be impated te these young women as a fault if they are obliged to let themselves into their lodgings at night with a “lateh-key’’ like young men. As a class, the indus- trial women and girls of America must be the best edu- eated and best mannered the world can show, because they have the best opportunities for improvement and the greatest incentives to sustain a good character. As to that large class of “ladies” represented to be experts in public business and polities, Blackwood has evidently been misinformed ; the blunder is simply ludi- crous, There is no such class of women among us. The Lapy’s Book has always sustained the importance of womanly daties, and shown that these were the high- est and the holiest which the Creator has intrusted to human beings. Woman's mission is to mould minds, while man’s work deals with material things; both equally need the cultivation of their intellectual powers to it them for their work. We have insisted upon the natural barriers that separate man’s work from that of woman’s, and shown that Godin His wisdom and Nature in her gifts, have alike made manifest that home should be the centre of womanly energies. [t is true there are exceptional natures and exceptional circumstances, where woman may, with credit and pro- priety, conscieatiousiy pass the everyday boundaries of her work. But she must be very sure of her abilities for the task and for its necessity, since in these cases failure is disgrace, and moral if not real death. The ‘‘ Maid of Orleans” delivered her country, robed in man’s attire; she did man’s work with a woman's heart and a woman’s fervent aspirations after supernatural good. But France has known no second “ Maid of Or- leans.’”’ We may add that the Englishmen of her day were quite as unwilling to admit her great deeds and the justice of her renown, as the writer in Blackwood isto give any sort of commendation to the American lecturess, whom he berates with such fiery philippics as remind us of the tragedy enacted in the old market at Rouen, on the last day of May, 1431. The fame of Joan of Are was made purer and brighter by the flames through which her soul was rendered up to God in whom she trusted; still we dv not connsel women to undertake, in our land, the offices properly belonging to men. The glory of our countrywomen is, that American men appreciate and honor the feminine nature, and, as this British cevsor allows and bewails, treat womanhood with the courtesy and homage which has its parallel only in the age of chivalry. In thus honoring women, the man- hood of America has assumed a nobler phase than was ever before reached in any nation. Yes, while men, rich, distinguished, learned, and re- verend rise up and offer their seats—it may be to poor, plain, uneducated persons, because these are women—our public conveyances are not only schools of public in- straction in the ethics of etiquette, but they also testify to the high state of civilization our free institutions have reached. Women thus honored as “the glory of the man,"’ should be very careful to deserve the honor. 7 LADYHOOD. A wew order of Chivalry has heen suggested for the youth of England. The celebrated art criticand moralist, . John Ruskin, says that ‘‘in certain ranks both boy and girl should receive, at a given age, their knighthood, and ladyhood by true title, attainable only by certain proba- tion and trial both of character and accomplishment ; and to be forfeited on conviction by their peers of any dishon- orable act.’’ He has also described certain qualities of mind to be cultivated and pictured in his own inimitable manner, the glory which this womanly goodness may at- tain by culture and self-discipline. We will give herea few sketches of his Ladyhood. POWER. ** Deep rooted in the innermost life of the heart of man, and of the heart of woman, God set it there, and. God keeps it there. Vainly, as falsely, yon blame or rebuke the desire of power!—For Heaven's sake, and for Man’s sake, desire it all you can. But what power? That is all the question. Power to destroy? the lion's limb, and the dragon’s breath? Notso. Power to heal, to redeem, to guide and to guard. Power of the sceptre and shield ; the power of the royal hand that heals in touebing—that binds the fiend and looses the captive; the throne that is founded on the rock of Justice, and descended from only by steps of mercy. Will you not eovet such pewer as this, and seek such throne as this, and be no more ouse- wives, but queens ?”’ HOW THE TITLE OF “‘ LADY"’ ORIGINATED. “Tt is now long since the women of England arro- gated, universally, a title which once belonged to nobility only ; and, having once been in the habit of accepting the simple title of gentlewoman, as correspondent to that of gentleman, insisted on the privilege of assuming the title of ‘Lady’ which properly corresponds only to the title of ‘ Lord.’ **I do not blame them for this; but only for their nar- row motive In this. I would have them desire and claim the title of Lady, provided they claim, not merety the title, but the office and duty signified by it. Lady means ‘ bread-giver’ or ‘ loaf-giver,’ and Lord means ‘ maintainer of laws,’ and both titles have reference, not to the law which is maintained in the house, nor to the bread which is given to the hous*hold; but to law maintained for the multitude. and to bread broken among the multi- tude. So that a Lord has legal'claim only to his title in so far as he is the maintainer of the justice of the Lord of Lords; and a Lady has legal claim to her title, only so far as she communicates that help to the poor representa- tives of her Master, which women once, ministering to Him of their substance, were permitted to extend to that Master Himself; and when she is known, as He Himself once was, in breaking of bread. THE POWER OF LADYHOOD. “‘ And this beneficent aod legal dominion, this power of the Dominus, or House Lord, and of the Domina, or House- Lady, is great and venerable, not in the number of those through whom it has liveally descended, but in the num- ber of those whom it grasps within its sway; itis always regarded with reverent worship wherever its dynasty is founded on its duty, and its ambition co-relative with its beneficence. Your fancy is pleased with the thought of being noble ladies, with a train of vassals. Beitso; you cannot be too noble, and your train cannot be too great ; but see to it that your train is of vassals whom you serve and feed, pot merely of slaves who serve and feed you ; and that the multitude which obcys you is of those whom you have comforted, not oppressed—whom you have re- deemed, not led into captivity. “And this, which is true of the lower or household dominion, is equally true of the queenly dominion ; that highest dignity is open to you, if you wiil also except that highest duty. Rex et Regina—Roi et Reine—‘ Right- doers ;’ they differ bat from the Lady and Lord, in that their power is supreme over the mind as over the person —that they not only feed and clothe, but direct and teach. And whether consciously or not, you must be, in many a heart, enthroned: there is no putting by that crown: queens you must always be; queens to your lovers; queens to your husbands and sons; queens of higher mystery to the world beyond, which bows itself, and will

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EDITORS’ TABLE. 469 for ever bow, before the myrtle crown, and the stainless sceptre, of womanhood. But, alas! you are too often idle and careless queens, grasping at majesty in the least things, while you abdicate it in the greatest ; and leaving misrule aod violence to work their will among men, in defiance of the power, which, holding straight in gift from the Prince of all Peace, the wicked among you betray, and the good forget.”’ FAIRY BOOKS FOR CHILDREN, We subjoin an extract from an article in the January number of the London Quarterly Review, mentioned in our literary notices :— “Fiction ought to be, and in some sense is a picture of life; and so far has power, and ought to teach true things. But at this point in steps Mr. Bounderby again, with his odd ally Miss Religious Morality, boldly asserting that fables and fairy stories, ‘Jack the Giant-killer’ and * Cinderella,’ are not pictures of life as it really is, Birds do not talk, nor oxen, nor frogs; nor do crows eat stolen cheese in oak-trees, while the fox watches below; tin soldiers never meet witches on the high-road; nor are there any such things as fairies, dwarfs, goblins, or giants, “True, we reply, quite trae. Grown-up people are far too clever, tes wise in this enlightened generation to be- lieve any euch trumpery. They prove their superior intelligence and higher wisdom by believing in spirit- rapping, table-turning, and electro-biology ; in Professor Humbugs who can’t write, and in literary spirits who cannot spell. There are no such things as giants, fairies, talking crows or tin soldiers; and no child with an ounce of brains ever in sober reality believes that the fox talked to the crane about the scarcity of provisions, and invited her to supper on gravy soup in shallow dishes, or that tne crane returned the compliment by asking master Rey- nard to eat minced meat out of a long jar with a narrow neck, But he reads the story, and in his own way quietly draws the lesson; he sees that knavery met wiih its match, and that canoing was snared in a pit of his own digying. “So with the charming old story of ‘Diamonds and Pearls.’ ‘Good Temper’ goes to the well, and with a bright smiling face and kindly words gives drink to an old woman (the fairy), and thenceforth from her lips fall dameords and pearis whenever she opeas her mouth. ‘Ill Temper’ goes to the well, meets the same old woman, and gradgingly with surly words gives a drink when asked for it, hoping to gain her sister’s reward. But in- stantly there falls from her lips a shower of toads and snakes. Henry and Mary, as they read, quietly draw the lesson of the value and blessing of kindly, gentle words, and the curse of selfishness; without a sentence of moral or preaching, or even the mention of a pet text.* * **A good fairy story takes up the cause of right against wrong, of good against evil. Step by step the difficulties increase, a web of danger and perplexity is woven around the hero; but he bravely and boldly perseveres, hunts and defies the giants, out-manceuvres the dwarfs— and at last triumphs, just when his enemies fancy it is all up with him. or at the very agony of the crisis in steps the fairy and with one touch of her wand sets all right in atrice. The boy who sits and reads this by the winter- fire rejoices when he comes to this righteous termination of affairs. Neither boy nor man is the worse for believ- ing the profound truth that good after all is stronger that evil, in spite of all the world may say, though one learn it from @ romance, and the other from the exploits of a hero who never lived.’’ NOTES AND NOTICES. Tae Cartpren’s Hospira. or PHiLaADELPHIA.—We have the Eleventh Report, giving the summary of this excellent Institution from iis establishment till the close of 1866. “During the eleven years which have elapsed, 944 pa- tients have been treated in its wards, and 23,566 visits have been made by out-patients to the Dispensary. All this has been done at a cost of but $27,270 29. *Noristhisall. When we remember the ignorance and inexperience amongst those who constitute the poorer classes, who can estimate the good which has resulted from the special instruction they have received as to the proper rearing of their children, and from the sanitary and hygienic knowledge they have necessarily acquired during their visits to the Dispensary? These are some of the results brought about by this Hospital, and may be = as an earnest of what may be expected for its utare. This Hospital is now settled in its new location, 22d Street below Walnut; the building, prepared purposely for this blessed charity, is suitable, and will accommodate its only patients, the sick children of the poor, in all the comforts their condition admits, The “‘ Lady Visitors’’ have been faithful and untiring in their benevolent care for these afflicted little ones; helping the plan of philan- thropy which had been untried in our country until the establishment of this hospital in 1855. It will now, we trust, become the model for such institutions in all our large cities. New Proverss: Love AND FRIENDSHIP. Love lives by the favors it confars on the one beloved. Friendship grows by the favors it receives from its friend. Love * covers a multitude of faults.’’ Friendship exacts good or useful qualities. Love sees the perfections of the beloved. Friendship is clear-sighted to the shortcomings of friendship. Love is the sun in its brightness and beauty. Friendship is the sun with many clouds and some dark spots. A Macyar Poem.—(Sir Johu Bowring has translated a volume of poems written by Alexander Petofi, a Hunga- rian; who was one of the patriots that fell in 1849, fight- ing for his country, aged twenty-six. Petofi’s writings have been translated into every language of Europe ex- cept English, which is now done. In European literature Petofi holds a high place; the English reviewer thinks the praises are not exaggerated. In our country, where the Hungarian people have found true sympathizers, these poems will be warmly welcomed.) “ SoRROw AND Joy. “And what is sorrow? And what is joy? A little pearl in that deep ocean's bed ; I sought it—fonad it—held it o’er my head; And to my soul’s annoy It fell into the ocean's depth again, And now I look aad long for it in vain.”’ Tan Foster Home Assocration.—The Twenty-first Re- port of this trae Home for friendless children is before us. Philadelphia has many of these noble charities ; but none is more distinguished for usefulness in training its adopted household to industrial habits and to the cheerful enjoy- ment of the great blessings such a good Home affords. The visitor sees hap y faces and feels that the children are happy and joyous; the managers—who are ladies— say in this Report that they have only “Thankfulness and gratitude in looking back for what God has wrought, and hope in the future, founded upon His never-failing word.’’ They have about sixty children urder their care, and although struggling with some pecuniary embarrass- ments in the debt for their ‘‘new Home,”’ they have no doubt that all will be well in the result. This ministry of women in the care of helpless and des- titute children, should be honored as among the best and surest agencies of doing good and promoting Christian civilization in our land. Train up all the children in the way they should go, and the world would soon walk ’Tis a boundless sea. uprightly. “Ovr Women’s Unston Misston’”’ sustains five mission- ary ladies and thirty-five native Bible women, also trains thirteen little girls. The ladies are teaching the high caste native women in one hundred and three zenanas in Calentta; where ten schools for poor girls have been opened and more are called for. This work has been done in the last six years by a few American ladies. We want help. “The Philadelphia Branch” will hold a public meeting in April, when clergyman of our “ Union

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470 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. denominations’’ will plead our cause. We invite contri- butions; if sent to the Editress of the Lapry’s Boox, ac- knowledgments will appear in our pages. HINTS ABOUT HEALTH. We take the following from a sensible article by Dr. A. L. Wood :— How to Breatne.— Civilized man is the only being that breathes through the mouth, which at once shows that it is an unnatural and acquired habit. The wild Indian would as soon think of eating with the nose as of breathing thus. The habit is usually acquired in childhood, and is generally the result of breathing impureair. Itisthen that the fund mother should guard her offspring with watchful care ayainst this insidious and deadly enemy of her child. Let her follow the example of the wild Indian mother, and give her child the pure air of heaven to breathe, and if perchance it opens its little mouth during sieep, let her gently press its lips together, until the habit of keeping them closed becomes fixed for life. Mothers! there is no one thing in the education of your children so important as this, and if you would rear them to manhood and womanhood with strong, vigorous, and healthy bodies, GUARD WELL THEIR MOUTHS.”’ Pore Arr.—‘ Always secure pure air to breathe by night and by day. If your occupation requires you to be indoors, see that the room you occupy is freely ventilated. Always have your windows open at aight, so as to secure good olr then. Avoid the inhalation of poisonous gases of every kind and nature. Take as much exercise in the open air as possible.’’—Herald of Heaith. Heattu or THE Harr.—For information oa this import- ant matter of personal appearauce, we refer our readers to Mrs. M. L. Baker, 909 Chestaut Street, Philadelphia. To Ovr ConREsPONDENTS.—These articles are accepted : “ Little Annie’—‘“ War Fare’’—“ Retribution’’—“ The Voice of the Wind’’—*‘ Love” —* Poetic Greatness’’—*“* My First Summer at Saratoga’’—and “Sorghum Boiling’”’ (Lady's Book sent). The following articles we decline for want of room, and other good reasons: ‘“‘ A Dream'’—‘ Love is Life’’—‘‘ The Woman's Question’’—“ Addie’’—“ Peach Blossoms’’— “A Sign'’—“ Song’’—‘*To Max’’—“* Human Flowers’ — “Lines ***""—** A Mother's First Lesson’’—*‘ An Appeal” —‘The Vision”—*“ Time Waiteth Not’’—“To My Afii- anced"’—“To « Lady on her Birthday’’—“‘ Scraps”— “Be Happy'’—“ The Captive’’—“ Violets”—* Passing Away’’—‘* The Thistle’s Offering’’ (one poem accepted) — **Lines to a Friend’’—‘The Spring’’—‘‘ The Lay of the Snow-bird’’ (has been published)—‘ Brownie’s Birthday” (no letter accompanied the MS.)—‘‘ Beside a Dead Infant” —‘* Kate Arnold's Flirtation’’—‘“‘ Trials of a Rebel House- keeper’’—“ As I Have Loved You"’—“ A Visit in the City, and what came of it’’—‘Grandmamma’s Story’’—and * Pusssy’s Paradise.”’ **Cats.’’ Article received; no letter. Why do not aa- thors write us when they ser 1 their MS, ? “Birdie.’’ Sent your story to Mr. Arthur, publisher of Children's Hour. For all articles declined, stamps must be sent if the au- thors wish them returned. Riterary dotices. From Lrpprxcorr & Co., Philadelphia :— NEW AMERICA. By William Hepworth Dixon, edi- tor of the Atheneum, and author of ‘The Holy Land,” ete. With illustrations from original photographs. Nearly one-half of this graphic end interesting volume is devoted to a minute account of its author's observations and im- pressions with regard to that very prominent peculiarity or assumed peculiarity of “ New America,” known as Mormonism. Mr. Dixon, who has written with fearless- ress, and an admirable spirit of candor. seems to us to have exhausted his subject under this head, and has cer- tainly givea a clearer and more distinet view of Mormon life, character, manners, and institutions, than any of his predecessors in the same field. The remainder of his book, is devoted, in the main, to certain other peculiari- ties, such as Shakerism, Bible Communism, and similar out-croppings, which, though they may not elsewhere have the same free growth, can scarcely be accounted as ‘*New American’’ characteristics. But though we may object to Mr. Dixon’s idea that Mormonism and Free Loveiem are essentially peculiarities of “ New America,”’ inasmuch as a majority of the proselytes to the first are drawn from England and other trans-Atlantic nations, we cannet deny that his book is one of rare attractiveness, bota in style and in subject matter, and is imbued with a catholic and philosophic spirit of impartiality. From Perersox & Brorners, Philadelphia :— WOODBURN GRANGE. A Story of English Country Life. By William Howitt. The claims of this story upon the attention of the reader are based not so much upon its attractions as a mere novel, but upon its eareful delineations of character, rendered still more striking by happy and forcible contrast. His pictures of rural life are pleasing ; his descriptions of Quaker personalities and customs excellent. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. ByCharles Dickens. Dick- ens’s latest novel, complete in one neat, handsomely bound, and profusely illustrated volume. NATIONAL EDITION OF DICKENS’ WORKS. Peter- son & Brother have, at last, brought out an @dition of the works of Charles Dickens, adapted, by its low price aud completeness, to gain a vast extent of popularity. The whole, occupying nearly 6,000 pages, 1uakes seven large octavo volumes, strongly and even handsomely bound in cloth, and retailed at $20 for the whole set. But, low as this price is, certain inducements to persons getting up clubs for the purchase, marvellously reduce it. For in- stance, when a club of three is got up, four sets are sent off, free of cost of transportation, at $60—the fourth being given in, without any charge, to the getter-up of the club, and the cost is thus reduced to $15 per set, being only a fraction over $2 per volume; and still larger deductions are made according as the club becomes more numerous, So much for the price—not less important is the com- pleteness. This National Edition contains each and every one of Dickens’ longer stories, with all his Christmas and New Years tales, Pictures from Italy, American Notes, and The Uncommercial Traveller—all, in short, thatthe most widely-read author of the day has ever pub- lished, except the Life of Grimaldi, which he did little more than edit. In one respect, Peterson’s National Edi- tion is the most complete now in print. In 1840, after the completion of ‘‘ Nicholas Nickleby,’’ Mr. Dickens com- menced a weekly serial, entitled ‘‘Master Humphrey's Clock,”’ illustrated by H. K. Browne and George Catter- mole, in which he published two long stories (‘‘ The Old Curiosity Shop’’ and “ Barnaby Rudge.'') On the com- pletion of the latter story, he killed off Master Hamphrey, and visited the United States. When he republished the two above-named stories, Diekens omitted the whole framework on which they were set—that is, all the say- ings and doings of Master Humphrey and his friends. the Deaf Gentleman, Jack Fedbarn, and Mr. Miles. Ia this framework, also, Dickens reintroduced the Weller family:

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LITERARY NOTICES. 471 the old man, who believed that width and wisdom always went together ; Sam, as quaint and shrewd as ever; and little Tony, the grandson, a precvucious young rascal, in his fifth year, the delight of old Weller’s heart. All the conversation of Master Hamphrey and his friends ; all the racy by-play of the Wellers, the spinster housekeeper and the barber; all the odds and ends of legend and story, over and above these two long tales, are given in this, and in no other edition. The tales, elsewhere omit- ted, are Gog and Magog, the Confession of a Murderer, Mr. Pickwick’s Tale, Sam Weller’s stories, and the Younger Brother’s revelation. Besides these tales and the table-talk isa great deal of charming writing, in Dickens’ best manner, in which Master Humphrey describes his companions and states his own feelings. Last of all, is the winding-up of the clock, with'the death of Master Humphrey. No other edition has all these usually-omit- ted but admirable episodes—so completeness and cheap- ness are united in this. PETERSON'S NATIONAL EDITION OF THE WAVER- LEY NOVELS, complete in five volumes of some 4,000 pages, imperial 8vo., with steel portrait of Sir Walter Scott, after G. 8. Newton's excellent painting, of which Mr. Lockhart, Scott’s son-in-law and biographer, has written, “It is the best domestic picture ever drawn.’’ Every line of prose fiction written by the Ariosto of ¢he North—he who so long was “The Great Unknown,” thongh thirty people were in the secret, and twelve of these were wo- men!—is included in the series. As far back as 1805, Scott wrote the first part of {* Waverley,’’ which he sub- mitted to the judgment of a critical friend, who did not pronounce favorably upon it, whereupon it was thrown aside, forgotten, lost, filually recovered, by accident, nine years later, finished in a harry, published in 1814, and so wonderfully successful that, from that time, Scott aban- doned poetry, and confined himself to prose. Between 1814 and 1831 (when the Fourth Series of ‘*Tales of My Landlord” was published) Scott produced seventy-four volumes of novels and historical romances. The price of these (in specie, of course) was half a guinca a volume, at which rate alone they could be procured until the year 1829, when a collective edition, with new Introductions and Notes, was issued, at the original price reduced to two-thirds. Any original purchaser of Scott's novels, therefore, would have to pay $186 48 fur the set of 74 volumes, and even the reduced price, after 1829, was $89. Now, Peterson’s National Bdition, printed by Collins, with clear type on good paper, handsomely lettered, and substantially bound in dark morocco cloth, can be pur- chased at $15 a set; or four for $45 (which puts it at $11 25 a set), or supplied to a club of 23 for $200, by which the price is reduced to $8 70 per set, forwarded and delivered anywhere, carriage free, by sending “the need- ful’’ to T. B. Peterson & Brothers, 306 Chestnut Street. Into how many bousehoids, with even moderate means, will the “ Waverley Novels” be found henceforth? From D. AsumeaD, Philadelphia :— THE REV. MR. SOURBALL’S EUROPEAN TOUR. The Reereations of a City Parson. By Horace Cope. A series of cleverly executed etchings, telling, in them- selves, a witty and satirical story. From Harper & Brotners, New York, through Lrepix- corr & Co., and Pererson & Brotuers, Philadelphia :— THE CLAVERINGS. A Novel. By Anthony Trollope, suthor of “Can Yoa Forgive Her?" ete With fllustra- tions. This is one of Mr. Trollope’s happiest efforts. The story is briefly this: Miss Brabazon, jilting her young but comparatively penniless lover, marries, for his money and title, a worn-out and utterly detestable lord, who, after a few months, dies, leaving her in undisputed pos- session of her splendor and horors. But she finds thatin buying her grandeur she has lost her happiness, and regret and remorse follow. The aim of the story is to point out clearly not only the utter folly, but the great sinfulness, of marrying for riches alone; while it illus. trates, in perhaps more of a poetic than a strictly practical manner, how true love, having faith in itself, and a pa- tience to wait, will at last meet its reward. PLAYED OUT. A Novel. By Miss Thomas, author of ‘On Guard,” ete. This, Miss Thomas’s {atest effort, fully sustains the reputation she has already won, as the authoress of “ Denis Donne” and “ On Guard.” THE VILLAGE ON THE CLIFF. A Novel. By Miss Thackeray, author of ‘‘The Story of Elizabeth.”’ With illustrations. A puro, simple, and touching story, which, without being in the least sensatioral, excites the interest and sympathy ofthe reader. Miss George and Mademoi- selle Reine are two fresh and charraing cliaracters. From D. Appretrox & Co., New York, through D. Asx- MEAD, Philadelphia :— BERLIN AND SANS-SOUCI; or, Frederick the Grect and his Friends. An Historical Romance. By L. Mthl- bach, author of “ Frederick the Great and his Court,”’ ete. Translated from the German, by Mrs. Chapman Coleman and her Daughters. This book is a continuation of that history of Frederick II. commenced in the previous volume by the same author and the same translators, ‘‘ Frederick the Great and his Court.’’ In this we have not so much the picture of the monarch as of the lover, the poet, the philosopher, and the friend. The early life of Baron Von Trenck is touched upon, but, somewhat tothe disappoint- ment of the reader, he soon disappears altogether from the story. Voltaire is introduced, and his eloquence and powers of mind, as well as certain marked and displeas- ing traits of character, are clearly portrayed. The book closes abruptly, leading us to hope that another on the same historical subject, from the pen of the same gifted authoress, is awaiting its rendition into English. THE GOOD REPORT: Morning and Evening Lessons Jor Lent. By Alice B. Haven. Truly, though dead, Mrs, Haven yet speaketh. This was her last work, a labor of love, and the result of fonr years of careful preparation, It is beautiful in its sentiments, simple and practical in its teachings. “The Good Report,’ prepared expressly for Lenten use, though not unsuited for any period of the year, consists of two daily lessons for a period of forty days, corresponding to the number of years spent in search of the Promised Land. The lessons are drawn directly from the Old Testament, and are illustrative of the Israel- itish wanderings in the wilderness. This book is a bean- tiful and perfect memento of the life and labors of a pure, a noble, and a Christian woman. From Lerpotpt & Hout, New York :-— THE HUGUENOT GALLEY-SLAVE. Translated from the French of Jean Marteilhe. This claims to be the an- tobiography of a French Protestant, condemned to the galleys for the sake of his religion, The French editor, writing in 1864, informs us that the copy of the original edition, published in 1757, and from which the present volume has been reprinted, was discovered hidden at the bottom of an old family library, belonging to one of his friends. It is an interesting narrative, full of exciting

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472 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, incidents and adventures, written after the style of De Foe, so popular at that period. From G. W. Cantetox & Co., New York, throngh Ps Terson & Bros., Philadelphia :— THB LAST WARNING CRY: with Reasons for the Hope that is in Me. By the Rev. John Cumming, D. D., F R.S8.E., author of “‘The Great Tribulation,” ete. Dr. Cumming, still strong in the faith of the trut: of his own prophecies, or rather, interpretations of prophecies, now, as the title of his book indicates, gives his last call of warning to the world to be in readiness ‘before the bridegroom cometh.” THE PAPACY ; its Historic Origin and Primitive Re- lations with the Eastern Churches. By the Abbé Guette, D. D., author of ‘‘A History of the Gallican Church,” ete. Translated from the French, and prefaved by an original Biographical Notice of the Author. With an Introduction by A. Cleveland Coxe, Bishop of Western New York. The author of this work, though at one time connected with the Roman Catholic Church, of which he was a learned divine, of some celebrity as the author of a ‘‘ History of the Church of France,”’ is, at present, a member of the Greek Communion, whose claims to ‘‘ true’’ Catholicity, it seems to be his object to urge in the book before us. He is a vigorous and spirited writer, full of zeal in his under- taking, and displays much erudition, and no little polemic skill. From Lortyo, Boston, through G. W. Pircner, Phila- delphia :— FOR EVER AND EVER. A Drama of Life. By Fio- rence Marryat, author of “‘ Love's Conflict,” ete. We like this novel better than Mrs. Church’s previous productions. It is full of spirit and vigor, and sustains its interest throughout. Its hero is a young artist, or, rather, art student; one of its heroines an actress, There may bea proneness for dwelling on scenes and conversation in artistic and stage life, which will only be interesting to and understood by the initiated ; still we think its pages are not seriously marred by it. From Rosert Carter & Baorugsrs, New York :— THE WORD. THE HOUSE OF ISRAEL. By the aushoress of “‘ The Wide Wide World.”’ Thisisthe second of a series of works by the authoress of ‘‘ The Wide Wide World,” intended to make the Bible interesting to children. The form is that of conversation ; an uncle.narrating and explaining, while his nephew and nieces interrupt him with questions. In this volume is comprised the story from the twenty-first chapter to the end of Genesis, with the histories of Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph. The book seems carefully and clearly written and well adapted to the minds of children. BOGATZSKY’S GOLDEN TREASURY. A collection of texts for every day in the year, with a brief exhortation or meditation affixed to each. Both these volumes are from the Cambridge press, well printed and bound. REVIEWS, PAMPHLETS, ETC. From Lzeoxarp Scorr & Compayy, New York :— THE LONDON QUARTERLY REVIEW: January, 1867. This number contaiasa paper on “ Books of Fiction for Children,’’ discriminating for its praise and justly severe upon the wretched travesties of Bible stories and accounts of diseased religious precocity with which many book- stores are now filled. The articles on “Crime in the State of New York” and “ Yankee Humor’ will have special interest for American readers. THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW: January, 1867. This number contains among other articles papers upon “The Ladies’ Petition’ and ‘‘ Edmund Spenser,’’ and one upon “ Winckelmann,”’ eviden*ly by last year’s critic of Cole- ridge, From Docror Gray, Urica, New York:— AMERICAN JOURNAL OF INSANITY: January, 1867. This useful work, published in Utica, New York, has reached its twenty-third volume, third number. In this number the article on “‘ Moral Insanity’’ will have deep interest with those who study mental philosophy. Git: Swain, MAY, 1867. TxE embe!Jishments for this month commence with one of our finest steel engravings, entitled “Play Hours.” The children dancing on the green make a very pretty picture of happiness. Next is our colored fashion-plate, which contains five seasonable dresses in the latest styles. Patterns in Patchwork, printed in blue. Sleeping in Church, a beautiful wood-cut, will please our juvenile readers as well as their elders. Our wood-cut fashions are all of the latest spring styles. We give five new dresses. And as some of our lady friends will be on the look-out for new riding costumes, we have selected two styles for their irspection. We also give several new styles of ladies’ hats, and a full set of the new ornaments made of artificial flowers. The work-department contains a number of useful and fancy articles. The fancy toothpick and match safe on pages 406, 407, are the greatest novelties in the fancy line that have ever been brovght ont. J. R. Terry, of 409 Broadway, New York, has furnished us With thirteen new styles of hats and caps. To AuTHOoRS.—We find it necessary to adopt the follow- ing rules: When a MS. is sent the same number of stamps required to pay its postage to us must be inclosed in the letter accompanying it for its return, MSS. sent without a letter of advice are never read. If stamps are not sent, we will not hold ourselves responsible for the return of the MS. We find the above rule necessary, as it takes much of our valuable time to hunt up for return re- jected MS. Messrs. Mittoy Brapiry & Co., of Springfield, Mass., have sent us the “‘ Zozntrope’’— The Wheel of Life, and, as they say, “the greatest novelty of the age.” And really it is, but as for a description of it, we confess our- selves unable to give it. Ir you have not seen ‘‘ Tue Curtpren’s Hour,” edited by T. 8. Arthur, Philadelphia, Pa., by ail means send him 10 cents for a sample copy. It is the most beautiful and attractive child’s magazine that has yet appeared. Terms $1 25 a year. We recommend our friends in visiting New York to call at the establishment of J. R. Terry, 409 Broadway, and examine his elegant assortment of spring and summer hats and caps.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 473 OUR MUSICAL COLUMN, Holloway's Musical Monthly for May.—Another beau- 4iful illustrated title-page is given this month. Every month this year we shall give one of these costly litho- graphic or steel-plate embellishments, and it should be distinctly remembered that Holloway’s Musical Monthly is the only musical periodical now or ever published containing this elegant feature. The May Day Waltz, by Berger, in he May number, is contributed especially to the Monthly ; as is also the May Nocturne, by one of our favorite contributors. There is also a beautiful song, Not Lost Forever, by Jas. M. Stewart. author of O Say thet You Ne’er will Forget Me, Down by the Whispering Sea, and other now popular songs which originally ap- peared in our pages. The best composers in the world write for the Monthly, and the music is all printed on real music paper, of the full masic size, with engraved or lithographic title-pages to accompany every piece of music in every number. The Month!) should be taken in every household where there is a piano. Terms: one copy one year, $4; two copies, and all over, $3 50 each. A free copy for one year to every one sending in a club of six, makin® seven copies for $21. Single numbers 40 cents; two numbers 80 cents; any four numbers since January, $1 50. Address J. Starr Holloway, Publisher Musical Monthly, Box Post Office, Philadelphia. New Sheet Music.—Just published: When We are Mar- ried, fine comie duet by Glover, 35 cents. Why was I Looking Out? as sung by Parepa, with beautiful title- page; ours isthe only illustrated edition, 35. For Ever aud For Ever, beautiful song or duet, by author of Rock Beside the Sea, illustrated, 40. He’ll Come Again To- morrow, by Stewart, 30. Sunny Days, 30. Polkas, Waltzes, ete. Annetta Waltz, from Crispino e la Comare, 20. Aureola Polka, very pretty, by Cloy, 30. Volunteer’s Quickstep, Karl, 30. Ristori Redowa, with beautiful portrait, 40. The same, with plain title, 30. Snowflakes, by Brinley Richards, beautifully illustrated 50. Bells of Aberdovey, by same, 40. The Puritan's Daughter, transcription, by same, 35. An Alpine Fare well, exquisite nocturne by Riche, 30. Day Dreams, Ma- zourka Elegante, by Karl Reden, beautifully illustrated, 50. In the Woodlands (In die ferne) by Brinkmann, 30. Lischen et Fritzchen, fine new waltzes by Strauss, 50. C. M. Tremaine, New York, publishes Black Crook Polka, very pretty, by Cull, 30. Black Key Polka Ma- zourka, entirely on the black keys, 30. Clara and Lillie Waltz, 30. Juvenile Party Galop, 35. Also these songs: A Happy New Year to Thee, beauti- ful song-and chorus by Graley, 30. Three Fishers Went Sailing, 35. Jenny Who Lives in the Dell, very pretty ballad with a chorus, by J. R. Thomas, 35. As I’d No- thing Else to Do, 30. Where Have the Beautiful Gone? duet, 35. Meet Me in the Lane, very popular song and chorus, 35. Waiting for the Loved One, pretty song by Henry Tacker, author of Beautiful Star, 30. A Fair Form at the Gateway, same, 30. Let us Be True to Each Other, by W. C. Baker, 35. Come to My Spirit, Sweet Angel of Love, same, 35. The Bonnie Brown Cottage, a very beau- tifal song and chorus by same, with pictorial title, 40, Waiting at the Door, same, pictorial title, 40. My Home on the Hillside, song and chorus by same, 40. We have just published a beautiful collection of six favorite songs and * llads, containing Shylie Bawn, by Wrighton; The King of Thule, from Faust; Mary Ma- vourneen, by Balfe; etc. etc., the whole published com- plete in neat colored. cover for 75 cents. Address orders as above, to J. Stanr Hotiowat. “WOMAN'S WORK IN THE CIVIL WAR.” By L. P. Brocuert, M. D., and Mrs. Mary C. Vavenay. With an introduction by Heyry W. Betiows, D. D., President of the Sanitary Commission. Illustrated with sixteen steel engravings. Philadelphia: ZieaizR, Mc- Curpr & Co., 501 Chestnut Street. There was a necessity for this book. The history of our late National struggle would be very incomplete without a record of what the women of the nation did to cheer and encourage our soldiers to contend manfully for the pre- servation of the institutions of their fathers; how they labored for their comfort and health ; how faithfully they ministered to them ip sickness, dressed their wounds, nursed and nourished them in the struggle with death, comforted and sustained them in the dying hour, and eared for the loved ones they had left behind, in their affliction and distress. There have been two or three attempts made to give the public some of these particulars, but none which ap- proached the present volume in completeness or accuracy. Here are nearly two hundred sketches of women who have wor themselves an honored name in these glorious ministrations of mercy, including such well-known names as Miss D. L. Dix, Clara Barton, Helen L. Gilson, Mrs. Joho Harris, Mrs, Eliza C. Porter, Mrs. Mary A. Bicker- dyke, Mrs. Barker, Mrs. Mary Morris Husband, Mrs. R, ‘ mets Margaret E. Breckenridge, Maria M. C. Hall, the Misses Woolsey, Mrs. Mary W. Lee, Mrs. Isabella Fogg, Mrs. Arabeila G. Barlow, Mrs. Hoge, and Mrs. Livermore of Chicago, Miss Amy Bradley, Miss Clara Davis, Misses H. A. Dada and 8. E. Hall, Mrs. Maria C. Grier, Mrs. Fanny D. Gage, and scores of others not less deserving. A concluding chapter gives a brief mention of nearly four hundred more, who labored faithfully in hospital, or camp, or transport ship, or in the receiving and distri- buting rooms of the principal brarches of the Sanitary and other Commissions. The author tells us in the preface that he has been en- gaged for three and a half years in the collection of ma- terial and the preparation of the work, and the work gives internal evidence of the faithfulness and care which have been bestowed upon it. The illustrations are by Sartain and Ritchie, all but two being portraits, and they are worthy of the high reputation of these skilful en- gravers. The printing, paper, and binding are of the best quality, and do honor to Philadelphia manufacture. The book ought to have a sale of a hundred thousand copies at least. We could wish that number of copies could be circulated in Europe, to show our friends over the water what manner of women we have here. Sik Varnisu.—If silk-worms are prevented from form- ing silk, when the time for doing so has arrived, the matter stored up in their bodies for the purpose thickens, and they ultimately perish. The Chinese, however, util- ize this material ; forming of it a beautifully transparent varnish, which preserves paper from moisture, and the devastation of insects. To effect this they throw into warm water those portions of the insects in which the silk is secreted, in order to extract it; after which, the water containing it is evaporated. They make another use, also, of this material. Before it has dried up in the organs which secrete it, they form of it a thread far stronger than that of the silk-worm, and quite impermeable to, and in- soluble in water. It is used chiefly for that portion of a fishing line on which the hocks are mounted. Tae Great American Tea Co.—To Quertes.—Before admitting their advertisement, we learned that a iarge number of our clerks and others had for several months been buying their Tea and Coffee from this company, without its being known who they were, and that they had been highly pleased with their purchase, both as to uality and price, and were all recommending their fiends to the same course. As we have published the advertisement for many months, and received no com- plaints, we conclude “there is no humbug aboat the establishment.""—American Agriculturist, N. Y. Dickens’ axp Scott’s Novers.—We call attention to the notices of these works in this number. Nothing as cheap in the way of literature has ever before been offered to the 4meriean public.

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474 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. GOOD COFFEE, AND THE TRUE METHOD OF PREPARING IT. Norntxe is more common than complaints of “ poor coffee,’’ and there is certaiuly nothing in the household economy, either so littie understood or so grossly neg- lected, as the preparation of this article of luxury, now become an actual necessary of life. This has long been felt, and hence the numerous efforts to correct the evil by means of new-fangled cuffee-pots, as if the evil was in the pot, and not in the preparation of the coffee. The pot, which is of minor consequence, seemed to engross all their attention, while the roaster, the really important agent in making good coffee, was entirely ignored or ° overlooked. Charred or burned coffee, like any other charred or burned vegetable substance, will never make good coffee, no matter how it is prepared, or what kind of pot is used. Except as a matter of convenience, the style or kind of pot is a matter of little consequence. Ono thing, however, should always be observed; the vessel should be so constructed, that it can be kept perfectly clean, and free from all the lees or grounds of the coffee previously used. This rapidly becomes stale, and imparts a most disagreeable flavor to the fresh coffee, a fact which should, of itself, convince the most skeptical that coffee should be roasted only in quantities necessary for present use. The great secret of making good coffee is almost entirely in the roasting, aad when we speak of roasting, we do not mean the process of baking it by a slow heat in an oven, or when it is partly burned or charred by improper roasting; from one or the other of which causes, poor coffee must always follow as a necessary consequence To make good coffee it should be freshly roasted, freshly ground, and quickly made. The useful and agreeable properties of coffee are easily extracted, and imparted to the first waters of the infusion, and, therefore, coffee re- quires but little or no boiling. Those, therefore, who desire to have coffee in its perfection, should have it roasted, ground, and put into the pot, before it is entirely cooled, if possible. Or, when it cannot be roasted imme- diately before breakfast, to do so at least the night pre- vious. But why cannot five minutes be devoted to the preparation of this article, when twice as much time is often consumed on articles much less important? Let any one compare stale with freshly-roasted coffee, and his olfactories will soon detect the difference. This is no secret in French restaurants, celebrated for good coffee, To roast coffee rapidly with a strong heat, as it should be, is no easy task, as it is liable to be charred or par- tially burned. This has been the great difficulty, even with the best rotary roasters, and the priucipal objection to frequent roasting. Th‘: difficulty, however, has been removed by a recent inveu.on, an ingenious, but a cheap and simple mechani- cal contrivance, called ‘** Masser’s Five Minute Coffee Roaster,"’ mauufactured by Messrs. Hadden, Jenkins, & Maginnis, of this city, at their establishment ir North Second Street. The chamber, or receptacle for the coffee, is a shallow cylinder, the upper half made of sheet iron, the lower half and bottom of fine wire cloth, which is surrounded by a conical flange to concentrate and deflect the heat of the stove-plate, In its outward shape, it re- sembles a saucepan, and is quite as convenient. By active stirring, coffee can be uniformly reasted at any stage of heat without danger of burving or charrinug it, even when the stove-plate is red hot, if the stirrer is ac- tively kept in motion. In a 6 ‘uch roaster a cup of green coffee (enough for a family of a dozen persons) can be roasted by a strong heat, in Ave minutes. Half that quan- tity has actually been well roasted in three minutes. In the same roaster double the quantity can be equally well roasted in about ten minutes; but as the object isto roast it as it is wanted, nothing ix gained by roasting more than is needed for the occasion. The process is plain and simple, and the construction of the roaster is such, that the least experienced person can readily determine the proper moment, when it should be removed from the fire. The fine wire cloth transmits, but retains no heat, there- fore the coffee cannot be burued by coming in contact with any heated metallic substance, and when removed can be aired by simply stirring until cool enough for grindiug. Coffee should be roasted with a uniform heat, suffi- ciently strong to swell the bean. If roasted slowly. with an insufficient amwunt of heat, it will be merely baked or dried out, and scarcely increase any in bulk. If roasted rapidly, it will develop its aroma, appear oily, and in- crease in bulk fifty per cent. or one-half. if not roasted sufficiently. it will be tough, and possess a raw and dis- agreeable flavor of greenaess. If rvasted too much, it loses not only its strength and flavor, but also in weight. The point at which the aroma is best and most freely developed, is wken the color is dark cinnamon or a chocolate brown; and to determine that point, without difficulty, as well as to avoid burning the coffee, which at this stage is almost as combustible as tinder, has always been a difficulty in all ordinary roasters. The aroma of coffee, when roasted, passes off more ra- pidly than the fragrance of the most delicate flower. It should, therefore, be roasted only in quantities sufficient for each meal, immediately before it is wanted. It is not only much more agreeable, when thus freshly prepared, but more economical and wholesome. Roasted coffee is a powerful disinfecting agent, and is sometimes used, when ground, for the purpose of deodor- izing or purifying foul places. When freshly roasted and ground, it rapidly absorbs moisture, and increases ia weight, This simple fact alone should be suflicient to prevent the use of stale roasted coffee. Unfortunately those that can least afford it, are the createst sufferers, They purchase their coffee, generally, ready roasted, and often ready ground, and of course are losers, not only in uality, but in strength and substance, to say nothing of the fact that it is less wholesome, and certainly less palatable. Stxqutar CacsE For A Duect.—A Paris correspondent writes: The hors.s of a carriage took fright a few days ago, buta young man who was passing rushed to them, and, not without some danger to himself, stop them In the carriage was a lady, and she, calling the young man to her thanked him, at the samo time stating that she was the Duchess de ——. She then extended her hand, which the young maa took, but she withdrew it directly, leaving a piece of paperin his hand. At the same mo- ment she closed the coreiege door and drove off. The paper was a bank note! @ young man, who was a gentleman, was covered with confasion at the idea of his devotedness being recompensed with money. But he im- mediately went into a café, and finding the address of the Duchess in a fashionable directory, wrapped up her note in one of a larger amount, and with his card sent both to her. The grande dame was greatly astonished at the stranger presuming to return her note, and to accompany it with one of hisown. Sho consulted her husband, and it seems that he thought fit to consider the act as an im- pertinence. In consequence it is not unlikely that there will be a duel. Tne people of the East measure time by their shadow. Hence, if you ask a man what o'clock it is, he imme- diately goes into the sun, stands erect, then, looking where his shadow terminates, he measures his length with his feet aud tells you nearly the time. Thus the workmen earnestly desire the shadew which indicates the time for leaving their work. A person wishing to leave his toil says, ‘‘ How long my shadow is incoming !"’ “Why did you not come suoner?” “ Because I waited for my shadow.”’ In the 7th chapter of Job it is written, * As @ servant earnestly desireth his shadow."’ A LARGE manufacturing company in Chicago employsa young lady ouly thirteen years of age as paymaster. She as paid out since last May a quarter of a million of dol- lars, keeping the time sheets, pay-roll, and a private aceount-book with aad for each of the three or four han- dred men employed. She receives the money weekly from the bank to the amount of 4000 or 5000 dollars, car- ries the transaction of paying all the men through, and setiles and makes her balances with the cashier. She knows every man in the establishment, the force being divided into eleven departments, each having its respon- sible foreman. She commands a salary of 625 dollars per anoum, takes two music lessons each week, and attends an evening course at a commercial college, where she has ascholarship. Nor does this produce any over-strain of her intellect. She is in the most robust and vigorous health, never has a day's sickness, and stands ten hours each day at her desk. Tr is well known that many French children are put out to nurse in the conntry, and their mothers seldom see them. A well known countess was one of these affec- tionate mothers. After a lapse of four years she took the child home, and passing a house somewhere in the sub- urbs, the boy urged his mother to let him enter a certain house. “Oh, do let me goin here, mamma, it is a good house. I once got ten sous here.”’ It seems that the nurse had been in the habit of taking the child on beg- ging excursions.

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GODEY'’S ARM-CHAIR. 475 THE PARISIAN FASHIONS, Tar first ball given at the Tuileries this season was an exceedingly brilliaut affair. The dresses were fresh and novel in style, and the ornaments were in many instances truly magnificent. But notwithstanding the fact that years tell on the fairest, and that crowned heads have more than ordinary cares and responsibilities, the palm of beauty ts still accorded to the Empress Eugénie. On the evening in question her Majesty wore a white tulle dress, very long at the bottom of the skirt, and very nar- row at the top (quite in the Empire form), and without crinoline, This dress was studded all over with white roses, and over it there was a white tulle veil or tunic. The Empress wore an Empire waistband, composed en- tirely of diamonds; the fringe round the edge of the berth2 was likewise diamonds, The headdress was a coronet of diamonds and emeralds; the necklet consisted of dia- monds and emeralds; and the ear-rings, formed with similar precious stones, were so long that they reached to the shoulders. Mme. de Metternich arrived so late that there was scarcely time to admire her toilet, which, be it what it may, is always, by the way, a subject for comment, It consisted on this special evening of a white tulle dress with one deep flouace round the edge of the skirt, aad from the waist sprays of flowers of different kinds and of many colors descended in garlands—a new style, called jardiniére ; diamond necklet, brooch, and ear-rings; and a few large single brilliants glittered among tho flowers in the Princess’s hair. The Duchess Tascher de la Pagerie also wore white tulle, with cross-cut bands of white satin studded or cloutés with pearls ascending the skirt; a Greek bodice with plaits, and @ narrow band of satin round the top; diamonds com in the hair. Several ladies were presented to the Emperor on the same evening, and among them Mme. Dix, the wife of the General who has recently been appointed Ambassa- dor to the Court of France from the United States. Mme. Dix wore a straw-colored satin dress, trimmed with cross- cut bands of satin, stadded with pearls, and covered with a magnificent black lace tunic. The bodice was not low at the back, but in front it was open and square, and tastefully trimmed with black lace and bands of satin clout 's with pearls. By cloutés,1 mean that the pearl beads are so formed and sewn on that they have all the effect uf nailing down the trimming to the dress. This very elegant toilet, as well as several others worn at the same ball, were made by Mme. Vignon, the popular court dress-maker. The ambassador's daughter wore a white tulle dress, with a white satin scarf or sash, edged with crystal fringe, tied at the side of the skirt. On Friday last the “‘ Muette de Portici’’ was once more given at the Opera, and attracted (as it never fails to do) a very fashionable audience. There were present the charming Countess Walewska, the youthful Marchioness of Chasseloup Laubat, Mme. Troplong (wife of the Presi- dent of the Senate), Mme. Béhiec (wife of the Minister of Public Works). Baroness de Liol, the Marchioness De la Valette, etc. Mme. Walewska wore an emerald green sutin dress without any trimming, a black lace mantille, and a wide white silk sash tied at the back. There were neither flowers nor feathers in her beautiful light-brown hair, which was raised from the temples in double ban- deaux, while at the back of the head there were long curls. A youthfal married lady who accompanied Mme. Walewska wore a white silk dress, striped round the lower part of the skirt with sapphire-blue velvet; the tunic, likewise made of white silk, was luoped up with rosettes of blue velvet; blue shoulder knots were added to the top’of the short sleeves. Mme. de Chasseloup Laubat wore a white silk dress, and her hair was arranged en chatelaine; there was a thick coronet of plaits across the forehead and a wide plait behind each ear, which plaits fell below the waist. Around these tresses of hair were entwined small vine leaves, in fine gold filigree work. A magnificent satin opera cloak, embroidered with si!ks of various hues, and worked tn that marvellous manner which only Easterns exn achieve, covered Mme. Laubat’s shoulders, Mme. Troplong wore a pear! gray toilet with a bandeau of diamonds, and a rose in her hair. The Baroness de Livl, daughter of the beautiful Mme. Jiest, and who is equally as beautiful as her mother, wore a white silk dress covered with white tulle; the tunic was ornamented at regular intervals with bouquets of lilies, made of blonde; the colored foliage was like- wise blonde, and both were appliqué on the tulle; the narrow berth? was composed of small tulle puffings, sepa rated with narrow bands of pale green satin ; a parure of emeralds and diamonds completed the toilet, A very beaatiful girl—a foreigner—attracted much ad- miration ; she was dressed very simply in white tarlatane, and her hair was arranged @ la ue, with luxuriant brown curls at the back, and rolled from the forehead in double bandeauz ; at the side of the head there was a sort of small coronet, somewhat !ike a tocque, made of red chenille and coral. The toilet, though very simple, had a most picturesque effect ; the girl looked like Haidee. Ws copy the following from the Parisian correspondent of the Home Weekly of this city. We know the corres- pondent, and a most estimable gentleman he is: — “Do get some one to serve us up an aristocracy, with plenty of titles and garish costumes. There is no other way of keeping pretty girls in America, How delight- ful Philadelphia would be, if the Princes and Princesses Murat, the Countess de Dampierre, the Baroness des Pierres, the Princess Augestenberg, the Marchioness de Chasseloup Labat, and all our poor girls, exiled from their native land, becauss they wear a coronet, were allowed to return home, and enjoy the privileges awarded to them here. The saving to the country would be enor- mous, and there seems to be no end to the constant expor- tation of our girls and their dowry. “This very week an American girl is to be transformed into a Countess, and I dare say she will be a Duchess in the course of time. Miss Curtis marries the Count de Tal- leyrand, son of the Duke de Dino, nephew of the Duke de Valencay, the first cousin of the Duke de Montmorency. Won't there be Dukes at the wedding? In the course of a few years, every titled Frenchman will have an English or an American wife, and, as for the French diplomatic corps, they are already provided with them. The French Ambassadors to Rome and Lisbon have American wives, the Ambassadors to Berlin, Vienna, and Denmark have English wives. **T confess I see with concern so many American fami- lies making Paris their home, and denationalizing them- selves and their children, Paris literally swarms with American families, who are keeping house here, who have spent $8,000 or 10,000 for furniture, and are making Paris theirhome. The majority of them live at the rate of $1000 in gold a month. They send their children to French schools, and are making them thoroughly French. When they return to America, they will feel exiled, and the girls will, in the majority of instances, never go back. They will accept any heneind who offers, who brings for his estate hired lodgings in Paris. The loosening of family ties, the lowering of feminine delicacy, the de- struction of national sentiments by this life, are deplorable. “Tam startled when I look around me, and see how many Frenchmen are supported in euse and luxury by aimerican fathers, who have toiled hard to enrich their children, and whose daughters have been caught by idle Sellows, with a good address and empty pockets, You see them everywhere, you hear every day of their dinners and parties. Is America destined to be the mere shop of Europe, the shop where men toil, that they may come to Europe to enjoy the last years of life, and marry their daughters—not to ‘vulgar Americans,’ but—to gentle- men? Is this absenteeism to increase, until it becomes the great ulcer of the country, which shall absorb the national industry and wealth ? ‘The number of Americans in Paris is incredible. Among them are not only well known people, whose names are familiar to everybody who has been in American society, but new families, the recently enriched, known to nobody, who don’t care for society, who are not even known to bankers, who receive their money in bills of exchange, which they collect and pocket, who neverthe- less live well, see everything, give their children the best mastere, spend a great deal of money, and enjoy Paris as heartily as anybody, more heartily perhaps than the higher born Americans—for they find everything so differ- ent from the old shop.’’ We ask particular attention to the italicized portion; and we may add that our belief is that nine out of ten of the daughters who marry foreign titles aro supported by their American parents. The sensible people of this country leok with contempt upon those who sacrifice their daughters for a title, and smile when they hear them re- ferred to by their parents as the Countess, Duchess, or Marchioness. They do not excite envy from the judicious, We send Lapy’s Book and Mr. Arthur’s “‘ CHitpRren’s Hovr,”’ one year for $3 50. We will send the “‘CarIL- pDREN’s Hour” to any Lapr’s Book subscriber for $1.

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476 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, VILLAGE OR SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. Designed expressly for Godey's Lady's Book, by Isaac H. Hoss, Architect, Philadelphia. ce —_ = ee + rt Te rn - =. S : Tue above suburban or villae mansion is truly Ameri- | graphs, aquariams, and other ornaments can be displayed ean in spirit, and in accommodations it well accords with to avery great advantage. The parlor, it will be seen, is the habits and custome of our wide-spread country. Itis | of magnificent proportions as well as of pleasing form, arranged with economy both in view of building it, and capable of ceiling decorations of the most tasty kind. in the grandeur of its interior. Ata glance, the wide and The piano can be placed in the bay communicating with long hall, or vestibule with its elliptical staircase, must rear hall, a very convenient arrangement, as it is not ne- cessary to pass into the parlor when practising or receiving tuition. The dining-room will be found ample, and also beauti- ful, with an alcove at its end. ef The kitchen apartmentsare conveniently placed, leaving 9 free the whole of the floor for the comforts of the family. my The establishment can be worked in first-class style with [ comparatively few servants. A considerable amount of 7 é thought has been expended in the maturing of these plans, They were designed for a gentleman’ living in Columbus, Ohio. This is one of the most successful and beautiful designs that I have ever made. It will cost above $20,000, if carried out in fall. It will be found of great advantage always to secure the services of an architect in building from these designs. The best builders in New York and Philadelphia never build without the services of an architect. First Story.—1 front poreh ; 2 hall, 9 feet ; 3 office, 13 by 13 feet; 4 parlor, 18 feet 6 inches by 34 feet ; 5 sitting- room, 14 feet 6 inches by 19 feet ; 6 dining-room, 15 by 25 feet ; 7 kitchen, 14 feet 6 inches by 19 feet; 8 seullery, 12 by 15 feet; 9 rear porch : 10 side porch. Sreond Story.—11 hall; 12 bondoir, 13 by 13 feet ; 13 — bath-room, 7 by 11 feet; 14 nursery, 15 by 15 feet; 15 FIRST STORY chamber, 22 by 19 feet; 16 chamber, 18 by 18 Yeet 9 inches ; ‘ SECOND STORY. 17 chamber, 22 by 15 feet; 18, 19 verandah. Isaac H. Hosps, Are’ it ef, fen mg om gg asa grand feature in entering from the 436 Walnut Street, Philadephia, The office in the lower wing is sufficiently large fora w te? physician, or it may be used asa boudoir, where photo- | ihiouen. Sesepatn MeENgeNNE: A

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 477 A Kure in His Op Aez.—When a young lion reaches the age of two years he is able to strangle or pull down a horse or an ox; and so he continues to grow and in- crease in strength till he reaches his eighth yoar, when his talous, teeth and mane are perfect, and he grows no more. For twenty years after he arrives at maturity his fangs and talons show no signs of decay; but after that he gradually becomes feeble, his teeth fail him, and he grows *-ceubbish.’’ He is no longer a match for the tremendoue buffalo; he is overmatched even by the peaceful ox; so he prowls around the cattle krawls, and snatches a lamb or a kid just as he did when he set out with his parents nearly thirty years before. A woman or child at night shares the same fate. His strength and sight now decline more and more, till the mighty lion grows lean and mangy, and crawls about from place to place, eating any offal he can pick up, and despising not even so small an animal as the fleld mouse; so he starves and dies, or is fallen on and slaughtered by a few cowardly hyenas, or discovered unable to move beneath a tree, and knocked on the head by some wanderiug hunter. Prron, the French author, having been taken up by the watchman of the night in the streets of Paris, was taken on the following morning before the lieutenant of mens who haughtily interrogated him concerning his usiness or profession. ‘! am a poet, sir,’’ said Piron. “Oh, oh! a poet, are you?" said the magistrate. ‘I have a brother who is a poet.’’ ‘‘Then we are even,” said Piron; “for I have a brother who is a fool.” Maxtms.—A good wife should be like three things, which three things she should not be like. She should be like a town-clock, keep time and regularity ; she should not be like a town-clock, speak so loud that all the town may hear. She should be like an echo, speak when she is spoken to; she should not be like an echo, always to have the last word. She should be like a snail, keep within her owa house, she should not be like a saail, carry all she has upon her back. Here is a fine prize for some historian of the twentieth century. A Russian general of artillery has just died after having deposited in the bank of Be. Petersburg a sum of £8000, to remain at interest until the year 1925, the anniversary of the death of the Emperor Alexander I., and then to be given to the author of the best history of that sovereign. The sum will then amount to £384,000. A Youne man was intrusted with the money to bring his father home a good family sewing machine. He car- ried off a neighbor’s daughter, married her, and brought her home, declaring she was the best sewing machine he could procure, AGYPsy woman promised to show two young ladies their husbands’ faces in a pail of water. They looked and ex- claimed, “ Why, we only see our faces.’’ ‘‘ Well,’’ said the gypsy, ‘‘ those faces will be your husbands’ when you are married. PHILADELPHIA AGENOY. Nu 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. Mrs. C. A. A.—Sent cloak by Merchants’ Union express February 18th. Dr. T. C. D.—Sent articles by Adams's express 18th. Mrs, R. B.—Sent patterns 18tb. Mrs. E. H. A.—Sent articles 18th. Mrs. A. M. G.—Sent patterns 18th. Mrs, T. I, L.—Sent patterns 18th. Miss 8. B. V.—Sent patterns 14th. Miss A.—Sent patterns 18th. F. E. 8.—Sent patterns 18th. Mrs. I, F. F.—Sent hair jewelry by Adams's exprese 18th. . Mrs. I. L. B.—Sent patterns 18th. Mrs, E. W.—Sent hair jewelry 23d. Mrs. E. P. B.—Sent pattern 23d, Mrs, M. C.—Sent pattern 234. Mrs. J. E. T.—Sent pattern 23d. Mrs. R, M.—Sent pattern 23d. Mrs. R. M. R.—Sent pattern 23d. Mrs. A. H. F.—Sent article by Adams’s express 28th. Mrs. T. J. T.—Sent patterns for infant's wasdrobe 25th, Mrs. M. H. T.—Sent hair braid by Adams's express March 6th. Miss M. E. W.—Sent garnet jewelry by Adams’s express 6th. Miss M. B. C.—Sent envelopes and paper 6th. Mrs. M. I.—Sent pattern 6th. Mrs. H. L. McG.—Sent pearl buttons. F. F.—Sent orné ball 6th. kK. J, P.—Sent hair 6th. Miss M, E. 8.—Sent curls 8th. Mrs. R. R. D.—Sent articles by Adams’s express 8th. Miss A. D. T.—Sent articles by Adams's express 14th. Miss M. A. A.—Sent drawing materials 14th, Mrs. J. 8. 8. H.—Sert Grecian curls 14th. Mrs. A. E. W.—Sent articles 14th. Miss K. J.—Sent hair crimpers 14th. Miss M. L. M.—Sent gold braid 14th. Miss F, J. M.—Sent zephyr and needles 14th. H. I. H.—Sent hair jewelry 15th. H. M. 8,—Sent hair crimpers 15th, Miss E. L. N.—Sent lead comb 15th. Miss C. J. G.—Sent articles by Adams's express 16th. Conscience Money.—Ten dollars duly received. H. E, 8.—-Very much obliged to you for the bird song. Dell Stanley.—Sent a letter to your address, Brooklyn, New York. M. T.—Do you know what worsted work is? As re“ gards “ withdrawing,’’ please yourselfaboutthat. Should like you to point out on what page of January number that promise may be found. E. G. C.—A net is the most desirable, and almost indis- pensoble. Mason’s Wife.—We published a pattern in February, 1859. Twenty-five cents will procure it. Emily R.—Rubber gloves cost $2 50 and $3 50 per: pair; the latter have gauntlets. Miss D. R.—We decline to publish receipts for any dis- eases. Consult your physician. M. E.—You may obtain such a situation through an advertisement, but the chances are all against you. For every vacancy there are at least one hundred applicants, G. L,—Exercise in open air, regularity in retiring to rest at an early hour, and plain, wholesome diet is a very good way to obtain a good complexion. Country Subscriber.—Several have been published in former years. A Reader.—We know the advertiser to be a gentleman ; but we are not answerable for advertisements that may appear in the Book. E. H.—We have never heard of a perfume from that plant. Norfolk, Va.—You certainly have not been a subscriber for any length of time, or you would have seen that we from time to time publish the articles you ask for, You request us to answer inthe March number, This is the earliest number in which the answer could appear. Miss G. R. N.—You can procure them of Ball, Black, & Co., or Tiffany & Co., New York ’ A. M. B.--Dick & Fitzgerald, of New York, have pub- lished a book upon etiquette.

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473 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Miss R, H. P.—We must decline‘reading your MS. and giving our opinion whether it will be “ good enough to publish in a book.’’ We have MSS. enough of our own to read. Fashions, NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS. Tlavine had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, the Editress of the Fashion Lepartment will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research required. Spring aad 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, dis- tinct directions must be given. Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed eaxpen- 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 accouat- able for losses that may ocour in remitting. The Publisher of the Lady’s Book has no interest in this department, and knows 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 nor know. Instructions to be as minute as possible, accompanied by a note of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goods from Evans & Co., or Curwen Stoddart & Brother; dry goods of any kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., New York; lingerie and lace from G. W. Vogel's, 1016 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia; bonnets from the most celebrated establishments; jewelry from Wriggens & Warden, or Caldwell's, Philadelphia. Wheu goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here govern the purchase; therefore, no articies will be taken back. When the goods are sent, the transaction must be cousidered final. DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE FO MAY. . Fig. 1.—Promenade suit, consisting of a scarlet skirt, with very deep plaited ruffle. Gray mohair dress, grace- fully looped by means of black velvet bands, studded with large steel beads and finished with steel buckles. Short loose sack of black gros grains, trimmed with black velvet arranged ina pattern. White chip hat, trimmed with black velvet, green glassy leaves, and a long white veil. Fig. 2.—Home dress of green silk, trimmed with folds of satin and bands of black velvet arranged to simulate an over-skirt. The hair is dressed quite hizh at the back and rather low on the forehead. The coguette cap is of point lace, drawn in to form a kind of rosette, in the cen- tre of which isa tuft formed of pink silk cut out on the edge. Pink ribbons fastened at the sides of the headdress are tied over the chignon, and fall in very long ends down the back. Fig. 3.—Morning-dress for a watering-place. Skirt of light mohair, trimmed on the edge with a p!aited ruffle, headed by a black velvet ribbon worked with straw. The over-skirt is fastened down the front with large straw battons, and trimmed with black velvct and straw. The corsage is plain, and can be worn either with or without the fancy basque. Fancy straw hat, trimmed with a wreath of fish geraniam with foliage. Fig. 4.—Rich dinner-dress of peach-blossom silk, made a U' Impératrice, and trimmed down the frout and back with fancy gimp and jet trimming, finished at the lower ends with tassels. The hair is brashed off the face and arranged over a chignon at the back, Fig. 5.—Dress of black silk, cut out fareifally on the edge, and trimmed with blue silk caught down by velvet straps to form scallops, This dress is worn over a plain blue silk gored skirt. The jacket is of blue silk, trimmed round with heavy cord. The sleeves are very long, made a la Juive, and lined with white silk. The coiffare is in the Marie Stuart style, and made of blue velvet, white lace, and bright flowers. SPRING DRESSES WITH GCRED SKIRTS. (See engravings, page 403.) Fig. 1.—Dress of buff mohair, trimmed down the front with large sand-stone battons. Narrow brown yelvet is arranged on each side down the seams. This style of dress would be very suitable for pigué or cambric. Fig. 2.—Dress of violet mohair, ornamented with la- pels of violet velvet placed upon the seam of each of the gored widths, and finished off with small gimp tassels. A double border of inverted scallops of violet velvet is placed round the bottom of the skirt, and the lapels are fastened over this border with small violet gimp buttons. The bodice and sleeves are trimmed to correspond, with strips of violet velvet, gimp buttons, and tassels. Fig. 3.—Dress of gray alpaca, trimmed with a cross strip of gray silk, which comes down on either side, simulating a tunic over the skirt. The two diamonds are formed of the same strip. The trimming then describes a large square tab and a deep point upon the side of the dress, and is finished off a few inches further by a silk rosette with a tassel in the centre of 1t. A pretty pattern is worked in gray soutache over. the cross strip of silk, and inside the diamonds. The latter are edged with fringe round the bottom. The same fringe is placed on one side of the deep point formed by the trimming. Silk tassels are fastened in the centre of each diamond. The high bodice and long tight sleeves are ornamented in the same style with cross strips of silk, soutache embroidery, and silk tassels. Fig. 4.—Dress of white and black striped gros grain silk, trimmed with lapels of summer poplin placed at regular distances, and coming down from the waist to within a few inches of the bottom of the skirt. These lapels are pointed at the top, gradually tapered, and fin- ished off with black silk tassels at the bottom. Much smaller black velvet lapels are placed round the neck, and fall over the bodice; they are short over the shoul. ders, and become gradually longer over the certre of the front and back, and are finished off with very small black silk tassels. The same trimming is repeated round the bottom of the long tight sleeves. Fig. 5.—Dress of black alpaca, trimmed upon the bedice and sleeves, round the bottom and down each side of the skirt, with five rows of black soutache, studded with small chalk-white beads. The trimming iscompleted by black silk tassels, HATS AND CAPS, (See engravings, page 408.) Fig. 4.—The Star. Infant's bat of glacé braid, trimmed with a velvet star; the points fastened with amber orna- ments, amber and crystal fringe, and lace rosettes. Fig. 6.—Le Bijou. Leghorn hat for a small miss; round crown, brim slightly rolled ; trimmed with flutings of velvet and ribbon, with streamers and heads of wheat at the side.

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FASHIONS. Fig. 17.—The Cindreilon. Hat of fine split straw, trimmed with black velvet, crystal pendants, and spears of wheat. This hat is intended to supply the merits of the Turban, as the crown is low, and the brim rolled all round, fitting nicely over the hair, with braids of velvet falling gracefully over the hair. Fig. 9.—The Queen. Hat of white Pamilla braid, trimmed with narrow ribbon and French flowers. Fig. 47.—The Parapa. Hat ef fine Dunstable braid; brim slightly rolled, and trimmed with mauve velvet and an elegant marabou feather tipped with straw; the brim is ornamented with crystal fringe, and the bows with pendants. Fig. 12.—The Henrietia. This hat is made of fine tulip braid ; low round crown, trimmed with a roll of velvet entwined with a wreath of jet and straw leaves and crystals, with ribbon streamers. Fig. 12.—The Henrietta, droop brim, with an opening in the back, and trimmed with braids of ribbon and velvet falling gracefully over the hair. This hatis very beautiful and convenient for ladies who wear the hair dressed high on the head, as it can be worn without disturbing the hair, and is very jaunty. It is trimmed with velvet ribbon and flowers. Fig. 14.—The Sundown. Hat of China pearl braid, trimmed with ribbon flutings in form of shells round the crown, and ornamented with crystal beads, with ribbon streamers. . Fig. 22.—Henrieta. Boy's hat, made of straw, cloth, and felt. Fig. 24.— Vesta. Boy's hat, in straw, cloth, and felt. Fig. 23.—Fleetwing. Boy's hat, in straw, cloth, and felt Fig. 20.--Arthur. Boy’s straw hat, in all braids. CHITCHAT UPON SPRING FASHIONS. As the lovely snow-drop with its bell-shaped flowers, the crocus in its dress of golden yellow, and the peri- winukle with its tender blue blossoms are the heralds of spring, so the delicate organdies, covered with trailing bunches and glossy leaves, the percales with their brilliant little flowerets, and the piqués starred with many brilliant colors are the not to be mistaken signs of spring in the fashionable world. The stores now really look spring-like, and never were the goods more attractive. Eccentric designs have not yet appeared, but we have heard of piqués figured with the well-known head of Dignity, after Sir Edward Land- seer’s painting; another covered with peacocks, with out- spread tails, colored according to nature, and printed on another is a Zouave in his bighly-colored and effective eostume. For morning robes, we see pure white cambrics plaided, checked, and striped in novel and beautiful designs. Percaies of the new tints known as Bismarck, also gray, blue, violet, cherry, pink, green, and brown. Some are striped, and on these stripes are thrown fac-similes of bows of black lace, buckles, jet ornaments, and festoons of beads. The new piqu’s are figured or corded, or else of corded grounds with satin checks or stripes. Polka ‘dots carried the day last year; now stripes are to reign. This should be a subject of congratulation to short persons, as stripes generally add to the height—for whick reason they should be avoided by tall persons. The new silks are of white or silvery grounds, striped with the most delicate spring shades, presenting a pleas- ing contrast to the deep-toned, self-colored silks in their proximity. VOL. LXxIv.—31 479 For promenade and travelliag suits we are favored with various styles of mohairs. Summer poplin, another de- sirable material is found in all the new tints, the Bis- marcks predominating. The beautifal custom of wearing natural flowers as dress and hair trimmings is becoming quite the rage in Paris. Hitherto the diffiéwity has been that before the evening was over, the flowers would be fuded and the wearer look forlorn. All this we understand has been overcome by French ingenuity. We give the idea, in hopes that something of the same kind may be instituted here. India-rabber tubes not above a quarter of an inch thick, quite hollow, and painted green, are filled with a delicate moss previously soaked in fresh water. The stems of the flowers are inserted through very small holes arranged at stated distances in the tubes, :.nd thus the most delicate flowers are kept fresh for many hours. These tubes are perfectly flexible, and may be arranged in any style over the dress, and have the effect of branches covered with fragrant blossoms. We fear, however, that this style of garniture is only suited to muslin, tulle, or tarlaton, as the moisture from the tubes must necessarily injure silk. We have not yet seen anything of the kind in this coun- try, but doubtless before long these miniature hose will be introdueed here. Yor a single flower or a small tufta short tube is readily concealed in the crimp or puffings of the modern coiffures. The method adopted by gentlemen for preserving floral mementoes or decorations, is to havea flat vial, filled with water, hooked on the buttonhole of the coat in the ieft side. The bottle, of course, is hidden between the coat and the roll or lapel which turns over. A choice blos- som, presented probably by some fair lady, is passed through the buttonhole, finds its way into the water, and by this means retains its fragrance and beauty the whole evening. The floral ornaments given on pages 457 and 458 could be made up charmingly of nataral flowers, and would be exceedingly ornamental. A pretty style of summer dress is a slip or underskirt of lavender silk trimmed on the edge with a plaiting of lavender grenadine. The dress is of lavender grenadine, bordered with a fold of eilk of the same ruade spotted with crystal beads. The skirt is closely gored, the back seam only joined together for a emall space, and the rest which remains divided is tied loosely together in the Louis XV. style. The corsage is cut square both back and front, and the space filled in with puffings of tulle. Our illustration on page 403-will serve to assist our readers in making up spring dresses. Silks, piqués, cam- brics, alpacas, and mobairs may all be made from these models ; the trimmings only must be altered to suit the fabrics. For instance, Fig. 2, if made of mohair, should be trimmed of velvet or silk; if of pigué, it could be charm- ingly trimmed with colored cambrie. Fig. 5, if of pigqué or cambric, would be trimmed with narrow black and white mixed braid. Fig. 3, with black mohair braid or black and white wash trimming, and a braiding design, could be worked with either black or mixed braid. The fringe had beter be omitted, but if desired, it could be of cotton either plain or ball fringe. Fig. 4 of our fashion plate is admirably suited to piqgué; Figs. 1, 2, and 3 would answer for silk, grenadine, or mohair. We have lately had a request to give illustrations of dresses suited to little boys just going into short clothes, In our next number we will give a very pretty style of dress perfoctly louse from the shoulders. We receive but

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450 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. few fashions for sueh young children, for the reason that the first short dresses are generally long ones cut off or tucked. A great variety of patterns are constantly mak- ing up, and these could be sent if desired. On page 463 will be found the design of a diaper cover, which is one of the nicest things imaginable for little children. It is made of cambrie trimmed round the legs with a little ruffle or fancy trimming. It can be worn first as a cover, and then it can take the place of drawers, It should but- ton on to a little straight body or petticoat waist, which will keep it up nicely, and prevent its slipping and re- tarding the walking of the child. H'gh-necked and long-sleeved dresses are, as Wo re- marked in a former chat, now being adopted for infants, and, by the time a child walks, many of the dresses on page 313, April number, would be suitable for him to wear. Figs. 7, 8, and 12 would answer very nicely, and could be made of cambric, white piqgué, or a plain bright-colored Cashmgre braided with white or black, or else of the same color as the material. Ladies still continue to arrange the hair very high on the head, higher in this country, it is said, than abroad ; in some cases it is positively absurd. We are obliged, in & measure, to conform to innovations, but only ‘‘ enough to show that you are aware of the fashion, but not enough to make of yourself a dress-maker's advertisement or a milliner’s block.”’ We will in the next number give five new coiffures, and on page 456 may be seen a really pretty and becom- ing style of coiffare, though very high on the head. Long curls and plaits are still worn, and chignone are arranged in every imaginable style. An incredible quan- tity of false hair still continues to be worn—more, proba- bly, than most persons have the least idea of. It is now asserted that very little of the hair in use is obtained from dead persons, as after death the hair becomes brittle, and cannot be arranged in form. The weight of an ordinary chignon does not exceed three ounces and a half, and the annual quantity imported into Marseilles would be sufficient for upwards of 180,000 headdresseg. Marseilles is the great entrepot for human hair, and more than 40,000 pounds of this commodity is imported there annually. In the above-mentioned city there are about 400 hair-dressers engagud in the chignon trade, of these, four large houses manufacture more than 55,000 chignons for home consumption alone, 33,000 of which are sent into the interior, whilst the remaining 22,000 are disposed of in Marseilles and thesuburbs. The number of chignons exported from France to England last year was 11,954. The French provinces which yield the largest harvests are Brittany and Auvergne, though a quantity of hair is obtained from Spain, Sicily, Naples, and the States of the Church. Beads still continue the rage, and have, in a measure, taken the place of lace, and are almost as costly ; for we hear of fringes of white beads selling abroad for $9 a yard. This seems like throwing away money, for as soon as the fashion is over the beads will be worthless, while lace is always handsome and fashionable, and, like wine, improves with age. Basques and peplums for evening dresses are now fre- quently made of beads, the ends being finished with long head tassels. Necklaces are also extended down in deep points, forming, as it were, a bertha to the dress. Dog collar necklaces formed of velvet are also much worn. They are trimmed with pendants of jet, crystal, or pearl; the pendants being decidedly longer at the back than in front. There is much variety in the new headdresses; one known as the Archduchess is formed of two rows of rib- bon starred with beads, one row at the top of the forehead and the other over the chignon, and from the latier falls a tulle veil laminated with either gold or silver. The Coquette is another charming style, and very youth- fal. It consists of a wreath of roses with the Jeaves turned so as to fill up the void in the centre; large crystal drops fall from it over the coronet of hair which crowns the forehead. Accompanying this coiffure is a necklace to match formed of roses and crystal leaves, and from the fastening at the back depends a long spray of flowers which hangs over the right shoulder as low down as the waist. As this isa very simple coiffare to make up, we will give an illustration of it next month. Another style called the First Empire, is a velvet tiara crossed with sprays of jet or crystal branched like coral, which encircles the head, wiile from the front, which is very much raised, depends a‘series of ornaments termi- nating in large balls which fall over the forehead. Among the rew bonnets is Le Petit Chaperon. It is composed of a large flat crown about an inch in depth, a wreath of fowers being placed on the front and carried down the sides towards the strings. An extremely nar- row curtain, slightly full, finishes this jaunty little head covering, which has little or no brim, ‘ The Testa is another new style, it is on the fanghon order. The peculiarity in it is that the material covering it is carried down and forms the strings. The front and back of the bonnet with the long tabs for strings are cut ‘out in turrets and edged with narrow lace. The Mélanie has a square front and three deep points at the back which fall over the chignon. Our model is of amber-colored crépe trimmed with amber velvet, and drops. Every point is furnished with a long amber pen- dant, The strings are of erépe edged with lace and narrow lines of velvet. They pass over the crown, are fastened on each side with a rosette, and are caught under the chin with another rosette. The strings are cut in three points on the ends, and finished with amber drops. A convenient style of undersleeve, just introduced, is of the coat shape, with deep loose cuff. The novelty eonsists in the cuff being buttoned on, which enables one pair of sleeves to answer for several pairs of cuffs. This saves washing, and is a convenience for travellers, We must also speak of the new paper collars, which are a most faithful representation of embroidered muslin, and are really very pretty. The new linen collars are made with points in front, crossed with little straps of black or colvred velvet, fin- ished on the ends with tassels or buttons. We give in this number a novelty in the chemise line, see page 404. This piece, to pull over the corsets as a cover, is frequently made much longer and square on the lower edge. It is very pretty formed of puffs separated by rows of muslin or Valenciennes inserting. A new dress just received from Paris is as follows: A dress of silver-gray silk with plain corsage cut @ l'Im- peratrice to the distance of five or six inches on the hips, and extending lower in front. On this body, with its corset-like hips and front, is set a short skirt laid on in plaits, which is worn over a long gored skirt of gray silk. Where the short skirt is joined to the body, there is a shaped band of velvet or silk of a darker shade, termi- nating in long sash ends in front. As this dress, which is really a novelty, will be understood better by an illus- tration, we will have it ready next month. FasHion. ee Oh Gb bine dele Laollesiociecl. sheet

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ADVERTISEMENTS, 481 Fashion Editress’ ADVERTISEMENT. The Fasnuton Eprrress of Gopry’s Lapy’s Boox is prepared to furnish the following arti- cles at tae prices annexed :— WARDROBE. from $4 00 to $40 3 00 INFANTS’ Shirts 100 “ 6 5 3 Cambric Night-gowns, 2 Plain Cambric Skirts, 2 2 3 ‘0 5 ww 23s Flannel Skirts, Socks, Flannel Sacks, Cloaks, Hoods, Shawls, or Blankets, Complete Paper Patterns, - = oo Embroidered or Scalloped Skirts, 20 20 00 40 SSSSSSSSRSSSES com co Ssss S&S PAPER PATTERNS. Ladies’ Cloaks, Ladies’ Sleeve, Ladies’ Full Dress and Skirt, Suit for Littie Boy, Dress Body and Sleeve, Children’s Cloak, Children’s Dresses, Ladies’ Under Garments, by the piece, a 2 SSSSssewR LADIES’ ORNAMENTAL HAIR. Grecian Curls, arranged on comb, $7 00 to 25 00 Fancy Hair Bows, 600 “ 1000 Hair Waterfalls, 600 “ 1000 Hair Side Braids, 800 “ 2 00 Hair Back Braids, 800 “ 3000 Puffs for Rolling the Hair, 200" 500 KNIT GOODS. Split Zephyr Sacque for Infants, Zephyr Sacques for Infants, Ladies’ Breakfast Coseys, Ladies’ Sontags, Bo PBSunns sszssssess Ladies’ Crochet Shawls, $9 00 to Gentlemen’s Afghans, 30 00 Infants’ Afghans, 15 00 * Ladies’ and Children’s Roman Scarfs, Gentlemeu’s Smoking Caps, 5 00 “ Gentlemen’s Slippers, 3 00 “ HAIR JEWELRY. Bracelets, $5 00 to % 00 Ear-rings, 500 “ (9 00 Breastpins, 400 “ 20 00 Rings, 200 “ 10 00 Fob Chains, 800 “ 30 00 Charms, by the piece, 250“ § 00 Studs, 900 “* 15 00 Sleeve Buttens, 900 “ 15 00 She can also supply Ladies’ and Children’s complete: Wardrobes, Dresses, Cloaks, Trim- mings, Millinery, Jewelry, Silverware, Orne Balls, Zephyrs, Wedding and Visiting Cards, Paper and Envelopes, Card-eases, ete. etc. Address FASHION EDITRESS, Care of Godey’s Lady’s Book, Philadelphia. ITALIAN COURIER’S OFFICE, 38 Golden Square, London, England, FAMILIES or SINGLE persons about to visit Europe are informed that they will always find, at the above office, experienced and intelligent couriers, possessing the highest testimonials. By addressing a letter to the Secretary, J. Fonparori, by the steamer in advance of the party leaving America, a courier will be dispatshed to meet their arrival at Liverpool. For any further in- formation address as above. “THE CHILDREN’S HOUR,” Edited by T. S. ARTHUR, Philadelphia, Pa. $1 25a year. Sample copies, 10 cents. “* Its exquisite beauty surpasses our anticipations."’ Lapy's Book. Bradley's Patented Croquet, WITH THE CELEBRATED PLATED REMOVABLE LOCKET BRIDGES. Inquire for BRADLEY’S PATENT, or send stamp for Illustrated Catalogue to MILTON BRADLEY & CO., Springfield, Mass. tie: — engaged in DressMAKING will find it to their advantage to forward their card to Box 862 Ann Arbor, Michigan. OWLES, DREVET & CO., No, 24 RUE DE LA PAIX Paris, make advances on American securities, and cash coupons on demand. Bills on the United States or England bought and sold. Letters for Americans in Europe addressed to our care will be promptly delivered or forwarded. Circular travelling credits issued and cashed. Robes, Lingerie. A Mme. Merlot Larcheveque, 21 Boulevard des Capucines, PARIS. Confections, Dentelles. EN FACE LE GRAND HOTEL. English Spoken. A NEW ARTICLE. NEEDLES STUCK LIKE PINS. MANUFACTURED BY J. ENGLISH & 00., Feckenham. The advantages of this new plan are as fol- lows :— 1. The elegance and neatness of style. 2. The great saving of time in taking the needle from and returning to it. 3. The impossibility of losing the needles or spoilin them by frequent handling; each one being so secur as to render it impossible to fall out until taken for use. Price of 100 needles, 40 cents, and a 3 cent stamp to pay return postage. Address L. A. GODEY, XN. EB. Corner Sixth and Chestnut Streets, PHILADELPHIA,

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One copy, one year - . - - - - $3 00 Two copies, one year - - - - - 550 Three copies, one year = - - . - - 750 - - 10 00 Four copies, one year Five copies, one year, and an extra copy to the person getting up the club, making six copies 14 00 Terms of Godey’s Lady’s Book for 1867. (From which there can be no Deviation.) Eight copies, one year, and an extra copy to the person getting up the enh, meking nine copies - - - - 21 00 Eleven copies, one year, and an extra copy to the person getting up me am, making twelve copies - - - - 27 60 ge CANADA subscribers must send 24 cents additional for every subscription ordered, to pay the American postage. &z~ All additions to clubs at club rates. 4a Club subscribers will be sent to any post-office where the subscriber may reside. Aay Godey’s Lady’s Book and Arthur's Home Magazine wili de sent, each one year, on receipt of $4 50. Aw We bave noclub with any other magazine or newspaper. y 4 The money must all be sent at une time for any of the Clubs. The above Terms cannot be deviated from, no matter how many copies are ordered. 4a” We can always supply back numbers for the year, as the work is electrotyped. 4—@~ Subscriptions may commence with any month in the year. &@ We will send a specimen on receipt of 25 cents. HOW TO REMIT.—In remitting by Mail, a Post-orrice Orper or a Drart, payable to the order of L. A. Godey, is preferable to bank notes, as, should the Order or Draft be lost or stolen, it can be renewed without loss to the sender. If a Draft or a Post-office Order cannot be procured, send United States or National Bank notes; but let it be a matter known only to yourself; the fewer you let into the secret, the more certainty there is of your money coming to hand. Be careful and pay the postage on your letter. Address L. A. GODEY, N. E. Cor. Sixth and Chestnut Sts., Philadelphia, Pa. MAY, 1867. Bmbellisihments, Eitc. PLAY HOURS A fine steel engraving. GODEY’S DOUBLE EXTENSION COLORED FASH- ION-PLATE. Containing five figures PATTERNS IN PATCHWORK. Printed in blue. SLEEPING IN CHURCH. A handsome wood-cut. ALPHABET FOR CROCHET, TAPESTRY, ETC. SPRING RIDING COSTUMES. SPRING DRESSES WITH GORED SKIRTS. Five en- gravings. THE HILDA APRON. PATTERN FOR A LADY'S CHEMISE. INFANT'S BASKET. Two engravings. FIGURES FOR CROCHET, TAPESTRY, ETC. TOOTHPICK OR MATCH SAFE. Twoengravings. Contributors Sleeping in Church (Illustrated), 399 Masio—Mamma’s Lullaby, by Papa 400 Alphabet for Crochet, Tapestry, on ‘(Ilustrated), 402 Spring Riding Costumes (/i/ustrated), 402 Spring Dresses with Goved Skirts (Illustrated), 403 The Hilda Apron (flustrated), 204 Pattern for a Lady's Chemise (JUustrated), 404 Infant’s Basket (Illustrated), 404, 458 Figures for Crochet, Tapestry, etc. (7llustrated), 406 Tooth pick or Match Safe (llsstrated), 406, 407 Hats and Caps (1Uustrated), 408 “* For Better, for Worse,” by Marion Harland, 409 Idolatry, by Mre. Hopkinson, 420 Haunted, by Bliza F. Moriarty, 422 Eyes, not their Owners, oad 8. A. R., 423 Spring Rain, ed BE. C.K 429 Soug, by 8. J 4 Esquire Grey’ ‘s Dog; or, How Gossip is Made, my Belle Rutledge, 7 To Miss Mattie Wheelice, by Virginius Hutchen, S38 Drawing Lessons (IUnatra ed), 439 A Leaf frora my Friend’s Diary, by Mre. L. 8. Good- win, 440 Knowledge, 445 Twilight, by Constance Bruce, 445 The Vielet, translated (ay the German of Gathe, alee eS + ius the Way Apart. by Mary J. Crosman, 446 Early Spring, by W., dey 445 The Value of Pradenee, 445 482 HATS AND CAPS. Thirteen engravings. DRAWING LESSONS. Five engravings. NOVELTIES FOR MAY Hats, Coiffure, and Ornaments of Artificial Flowers. Ten engravings. LETTER FOR MARKING. BEAD FRAME FOR PHOTOGRAPHS. T wo engravings. CROCHET CIRCLE. TRIMMING FOR AN UNDER PETTICOAT. SWISS COTTAGE FOR WAFERS, PINS, PENS, ETC. DIAPER COVER. Two engravings. FANCY END OF A COLLAR. VILLAGE OR SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. Two engray- ings. EMBROIDERY PATTERNS. Two engravings. and Contents. ‘ Ned Bryant's Ward, by Mrs. H. @. Rowe, 449 To Arrie, by Albert, 445 Novelties for May (Illustrated), 458 Letter for the Centre of a Large Square Pillow (Z/l’d), 458 Bead Frame for Photographs (Jiustrated), 459 Crochet Circle (J/lustrated), 459 Trimming for an Under Petticoat (Illustrated), 461 Embroidery (JUustrated), 461 Swiss Cottage for Wafers, Pins, Pens, etc. (Il/'d), 462 Diaper Cover (Illustrated), 463 Fancy End of a Collar (Illustrated), 463 Receipts, tod Editors’ Table, containing— Women and Children in America, 467 Ladyhood, 468 Fairy Books for Children, 469 Notes and Notices, 469 The Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia, 469 New Proverbs: Love and Friendship, 469 A Maygar Poem, 469 The Foster Home Association, 469 Our Women’s Union Mission, 469 Hints about Health, 470 How to Breathe, 70 Pare Air, 470 Health of the Hair, 470 Literary Notiees, 470 Godey’s Arm-Chair, 472 Village or Suburban Residence (Tlwstrated), 476 Fashions, 478 Seen «= tt wee feng eae

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HE proprietors of THE GREAT AMERICAN TEA COMPANY became fully convinced, several years ago, that the con- sumers of Tea and Coffee were paying too many and too large profits on these articles of everyday consuption, and therefore organized THE GREAT AMERICAN TEA COM- PANY, to do away, as far as possible, with these enormous drains upon the Consumers, and to supply them with these necessaries at the smallest possible price. To give our readers an idea of the profits which have been made in the Tea trade, we will start with the American houses, leaving out of the account entirely the profits of the Chinese factors. 1st. The American house in China or Japan makes large profits on their sales or shipments—and some of the richest retired merchants in this country have made their immense fortunes through their houses in China. 2d. The Banker makes large profits upon the foreign exchange used in the purchase of Teas. 3d. The Importer makes a profit of 30 to 50 per cent. in many cases, 4th. On its arrival here it is sold by the cargo, and the Parchaser sells it tothe Speculator in invoices of 1,000 to 2,000 packages, at an average profit of about 10 per cent. 5th. The Speculator sells it to the Wholesale Tea Dealer in lines at a profit of 10 to 15 per cent. 6th. The Wholesale Tea Dealer sells it to the Wholesale Grocer in lots to suit his trade, at a profit of about 10 per cent. 7th The Wholesale Grocer <ells it to the Retail Dealer at a profit o 15 to 25 per cent. Sth. The Retailer sells it to the consumer for alLL THE PROFIT HE CAN GET. When you have added to these erent profits as many brokerages, cartages, storages, cooperages, and waste, and add the original cost of the Tea, it will be perceived what the consumer has to pay. And now we propose to show why we can sell so very much lower than other dealers. We propose to do away with all these various profits and brokerages, cartages, storages, cooperages, and waste, with the exception of a small commission paid for purchasing to our correspondents in China and Japan, one cartage, and a small profit to ourselves—which, on our large sales, will amply pay us. Through our system of supplying Clubs throughout the country, consumers in all parts of the United States can receive their Teas at the same prices (with the small addi- tional expense of transportation) as though they bought them at our warehouses in this city. Some parties inquire of us how they shall. proceed to get up aclub. The answer is simply this: Let each person wishing to join in a club, say how much tea or coffee he wauts, and seleet the kind and price from our Price List. as published in the paper or in our circulars. Write the names, kinds, and amounts plainly on a list, and when the club is complete send it to us by mail, and we will put each party's goods in separate packages, and mark the name upon them, with the cost, so there need be ne confusion in their distribution—each party getting exactly what he orders, and no more. The cost of transportation the mem- bers of the club can divide equitably among themselves. The fands to pay for the goods ordered can be sent by drifts on New York, by Post-office Money Orders, or by Express, as may suit the convenience of the club. Or, if the amount ordered exceeds thirty dollars, we will, if de- sired, ~end the goods by Express, to “ collect on delivery.” Hereafter we will send a complimentary package to the ‘party getting up the club. Our profits are small, but we will be as liberal as we can afford. Wesend no compli- mentary package for Clubs of less than $30. The Company have selected the following kinds from their Stock which they recommend to meet the wants of Clabs. They are sold at Cargo Prices, the sume as the ree: ed sell them in New York, as the list of prices will show. All goods sold are warranted to give satisfaction. The Immense Profits of the Tea Trade. ~2o-e

PRICE LIST OF TEAS. YOUNG HYSON (green), 80c., 90c., $1, $1 10, best $1 25 per Ib. GREEN TEAS, 80c., 90c., $1, $1 16, best $1 25 r lb. peMIXED, 70c., 80c., 90c., best $1 per Ib. JAPAN, $1, $1 10, best $1 25 per Ib. OOLONG (black), 70c., 80c., 90c., best $1 per Ib. IMPERIAL (green), best $1 25 per Ib. ENGLISH BREAKFAST (black), 80c., 90c., $1, $1 10, best $1 25 per Ib. GUNPOWDER (green), $1 25, best $1 50. CLUB ORDERS. Youne America, Warren Co., [l., Jan. 19, 1867. To Tas Great AMERICAN TRA COMPANY.—GENTS: The last came safe, and allare well pleased with their Tea, I there- fore send another, the third club order, almost all new ones, and much larger than the other, ax you will see. The mer- chants are down on it, but the peopie begin to find out what is to their interest. They say as long as they can get good Tea, they are satisfied, independent of the opposition. Send by express, as before, for pay on delivery. Please accept my thanks for the complimentary package. JACOB BALDWIN.

8 Ib Gunpowder------- A. C. Van Riper- -at $1 25-.$3 75 2 do Imperial. --+------ 8. McCartney----- at 1 25-. 2 50 2 do Gunpowder 8S. MeCartney-- --at 1 25-- 2 50 2do Imperial.------++-- Daniel Miller----- at 1 25.. 2 50 gdo Gunpowder: ----- Daniel Miller----- at 1 25.. 2 50 2 do Gunpowder:------ T. R. Edwards----at 1 25-- 2 50 3 do Imperial. ----+--+-- David Woods--.--at 1 25-- 3 75 4 do Imperial.--- --+-- James Moloy----- at 1 25-- 5 00 3 do Gunpowder: ------ Ira Langworthy--at 1 2%-- $ 75 3 do Gunpowder-------John W. Woods--at 1 25-- 3 75 2 do Gunpowder:------ Richard Pearl----at 1 25 - 2 50 5 do Imperial---- ------G. N. Hall--«++-++- at 1 25-- 6 25 3 do Imperial. ----- +++-P. R. Parish------ at 1 25-. 3 75 1 do Gunpowder------- M. Perdick-++++++- at 1 25-- 1 25 1 do Imperial. ---+----- M. Padick-------- at 125-- 12 3 do Imperial--------- Sam. Underhill.--at 1 25-- 3 75 2do Gunpowder-------Sam. Underhill---at 1 25-- 2 50 2 do Gunpowder-:------ E. ‘Hall.---++--+-+-at 1 25-- 2 50 3 do Guapowder-:----- W. Hall----+----- at 1 50-- 450 4 do Gunpowder------- Aaron Hoag ------ at 125-- 62 2 do Gunpowder------- Thomas Riley ----at 1 25-- 2 50 6 do Gunpowder------- Nathan Carr. ----- at 125-7 50 2 do Gunpowder------- John C. Lowrey- at 1 25-- 2 50 5 do Coffee -. ++-++++-- Jobn C. Lowrey -at 30.. 1 50 2 do Imperial.--------- John Atkins----- at 1 25.- 2 50 2do Imperial.--------- Abr. Vosburgh ---at 1 25.- 2 50 1 do Guapowder------- Patrick Caliban--at 1 25-- 1 25 1 do Youag Hyson ----John Rowland -- at 1 25-- 1 25 2do Gunpowder.------ Henry Hall ------ at 125. 2 50 5do Gunpowder------- W. Lamphere----at 1 25.- 6 25 2do Gunpowder. ------ Johnson Nickols--at 1 25-- 2 50 4 do Gunpowder ----- Oren Lamphere.--at 1 25-- 5 00 $3do Young Hyson..---- Jacob Vosburgh--at 1 25-- 3 75 1 do Gunpowder: ----- Wm. Roberts--- -at 1 25-- 1 25 1 do Black Tea, b. E. B. Wm. Roberts----- at 1 2-- 1 20 4 do Gunpowder..----- M. treesinons----at 1 25-- 5 00 2 do Gunpowder ------ P. B. Kenerday --at 1 25-- 2 50 1 do Uncolored Japan--P. B. Kenerday---at 1 25-- 1 25 1 do Gunpowder. ------ John Huson------ at 125-- 1 2 4do Gunpowder------- James Paine------ at 1 25-- 5 00 2do Ganpowder------- James Farrel ----at 1 25-- 25 ldo Oolong Black. ----James Farrel ----- at 1 00-- 1 00 8 do Gunpowder------. Jacob Baldwin----at 1 50-- 4 50 1054 Ibs. $123 324 Send by express to Young America, Warren County, Ill. JACOB BALDWIN. z, 8.—All towns, villages, or mannfactories, where a large number of men are engaged, by cir BBING together, they can reduce the cost of their Teas and Coffees about one-third by sending directly to the GREAT AMERICAN TEA COMPANY, Nos. 81 and 33 Vesey Street. POS?T-OFFICE BOX, No. 5,643 NEW YORK CITY.

Page 96

—— semen ncn Nine FOR

Hundred Thousand Acres of THE FINEST FARM LANDS SALE IN THE GARDEN STATE OF AMERICA.

yards and fruit-trees,

“A land of wheat and of barley, of vine-

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The Ulinois centre of the State to Cairo, with a branch from miles, and in no instance at a the apr stg | census returns: years since the first sales of these lands were m actual settlers, The sales during miles south of ¢ producing such abun products annually exported exceed those of any other State. Corn, Wheat, Oats, Potatoes, and Hay. The United States Department of Agriculture reports these crops in Illinois, for the past season, to have been, in corn, 177,095,852 bushels; wheat, 25,206, 745 bushels; oats, 28,088,197 bushels; potatoes, 5,864,408 bushels ; hay, 2,600,- O70 tons, Stock Raising. It is conceded that the best ‘eof in America is that fat- tened on the prairies of Illinois. The cattle trade is im- mense, La fortunes have been made in this branch of industry, and the field i- still open with the best prospects of tike resulta. ld ers from Ohio, Kentucky, and the densely settled portions of older States, are selling their more valuable farms and emigrating to these lands, of richer soil and cheaper price, where the range for feeding is exten- sive, hay can be had for the gathe ng, and artesian wet<i obtained at little expense. (Sheep thrive well r. aii parts of the State, and in the central an@*scuiuern portions re- quire fodder buts short ume during the year. The hog trade is well known to be very extensive, and horses and — raised for the Southern markets with great profit, Fruit Growing. Apples, plams, grapes, and berries are natives of the soil, and the cultivated varicties grow with uncommon thrift. Peaches, in Southern Illinois, yield abundantly. This busi- ness has assumed so much ee gees ay that the Company will hereafter run a special frait train to accommodate the trade. The early ripening of fruit here enables the grower to obtain the high prices of the first of the season, and the yarkets of Chicago, Cincinnati, St. Louis, and the whole Northwest are supplied from this region. Tobacco, cotton, sweet potatoes, and castor-beans, are be- coming extensiv@@nd profitable productions. ~ —————— tracts at higher figures). Central Railroad Company offer tor sale the remainder of their lands, all lying paincent » — aes, — <n po a wag A th the cago to Centralia. ese 8 are loca ong YUN poo 10d JyOYR NOY) UIaLOYM PUD] 5, whole 706 greater distance than fifteen miles from the track. The rapid development of the 49 connties touched by this raitway, and in which these lauds are located, is shown by In, 1850 their population was 351,887; in 1860, 843,914, and e, and since that time 1,555,000 acres past season have been are equal in over respect to those.already disposed of. Considerable quantities lie on the Chic ‘hicago, in the centre of the corn belt, and the most favored climate, possessing the rich, black loam, aad nt crops that, while only one-fifth of the area of Llinois is yet under cultivation, the agricultural in 1865, 1,127,087. About ten ve been sold to more than 25,000 ter than at any former period, and the lands now offered o branch, from 60 to 140 Coal and Lumber. Coal, of an excellent quality, underlies three-fifths of the State, and is mined at an average — of 140 feet at differ- ent points along the line, and is furnished at the lowest rates of transportation. Lumber is obtained from Chicago, which has a direct water communication with the pine districts of the Nerth, and its market is the — best stocked in the country. From the forests of Southern Illinois, and those that border all the streams in the State, considerable oak. and common lumber is supplied, Inducements to Settlers. The Company’s Jands are adapted to the varied produc- tions of the temperate zone, and from their rich, deep soils yield with less labor and in much greater abundance all the crops common to New England and the Middle States. Machinery for planting, cultivating and harvesting, does the work of many hands. Grain is shipped in bulk from all stations, thus saving the expense and the trouble of bag- ng. kets for products are near and always open, and transit to Chicago is quick, cheap, and direct, The cli- mate is genial and ealtty. and churches and schools (the latter supported by a public ed) ees along the whole line. To the Eastern well-to-do farmer the chance is he offered to better himself, and to the person of limited to secure for himself and family a home of theirown, The State has a fy yen of over two millions, and has soit and resources for the profitable inhabitance of eighteen millions How to Reach These Iand . The farms offered for sale may be reached fiom the East and West by any of the railways crossing the Minois Cen- | tral at Odin, oval, Mattoon, na, Tolono, Decatur. | Gilman, El Paso, Mendota, or Dixon. All station agents are } poorties with plats showing the lands for sale in their vicin- | ity. The main office of the Department is at Chi and | from thence the purchaser will be furnished with a free ticket over the Illinois Central Railroad to his farm. more,

PRICES, AND TERMS OF PAYMENT. The te f these lands vary from $6 to $12 per acre, in lots of 40 acres and upwards, to suit purchasers (with some They are sold on credit orfor cash, and rated according to quality and nearness to stations. A deduction of 10 per cent from the credit price is made to those who purchase for cash. EXAMPLE. Ferty acres at $8 per acre, on short credit ; the principal, one quarter cash down ; balance, one, two, and three years, at 6 per cent interest, in advance, each year. Interest. copes $14 40 $80 9 6 80 00 Cash payment, Payment in one year, The Tr Intereat. he Payment in two years, $4 80 $80 | Payment in three years, 80 00 mé land may be purchased for $288 in cash. Full information on all points, together with maps, showing the exact locatfon of the lands, will be furnished on application, in person or ein BF 2 ee os 88 oe oe TIES... by letter, to fs. MO. 421 TRA Maen A Mn. Chinn wa TT

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