Godey's Lady's Book And Magazine 1868-10: Vol 77 Iss 460

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tee "a deo. OCTOBER. Aiways replete with choice and pleasing articles, and is heartily welcomed by all intelligent readers.— Gazette, Elberton, Geo. oY,

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GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK, For 1868. The Cheapest of Ladies’ Magazines, because it is the Best. Edited by Mrs. 8. J, HALE, and L. A. GODEY. IT is hardly necessary for the proprietor of Gopgy'’s Lapy’s Book to issue a prospectus every year, as but little can be done to improve the Bool, and its long-continued prosperity (thirty-seven years) as the friend of woman, the arbiter of fashion, the encourager and publisher of the best literature of the day, the pattern from which all others copy, being unmistakable evidence that it is appreciated all over the country. LITERATURE, FASIIIONS, ayxp ART are equally treated, and the publisher is proud to say that his is the oldest m ine in this country. It is published and edited by the same person who commenced it, and issued the first number on the first of July, 1530. READING MATTER. In this there will bean improvement. The volume for 1868 will be set up with new-faced type, and of a size that will enable us to give an additional quantity of reading matter, amounting to about twelve pages in each cum ber. BEAUTIFUL STEEL PLATES. Of these the Lapy’s Book contains fourteen each year, superior (we challenge comparison) to any published in this country, either in book or periodical. THE LITERATURE OF THE LADY’S BOOK. No other magazine can exhibit a list of popular contributors equal to the following :— MARION HARLAND, Author of “ Alone,” “ Hidden Path,” “‘ Nemesis,”’ etc., whe contributes to no other monthly publication, will furnish a new novel for 1868, called ‘‘ Poemin RowLAyp,"’ that will run through the year. Her stories are anxiously sought after, and as they are copyrighted, can be found nowhere but in Gopry. Mrs. Sarah J. Hale, Miss 8S. Annie Frost, Mrs. Metta Victoria Victor, Miss Mary W. Janvrin, Mrs. E. F. Blict, Belle Rutledge, Miss Louisa 8. Dorr, Mrs. C. A. Hopkinson, Mrs. C. W. Denison, Miss Julia Dunlap, and a host of others. OUR FASHION PLATES. ginal double fashion-plates will be continued. Please compare them with the other so-called fashions of poraries. We give more figures, better engraved and colored, and truer fashions. After our colored e completed, if anything new should be received from our attentive European correspondent, we give it engraving in the same number. This always brings our fashions down to the latest date. EL COTTAGES.—The only magazine in this country that gives these designs is the Lapy’s Boox. drawn expressly for the Book by I. H. Hopss, Architect. iWING LESSONS.—In this we are also alone, no other magazine giving them. #INAL MUSIC.—This department is under the superintendence of J. Stark Hoiitoway, Esq., and the only magazine in which music prepared expressly for it appears. re also a CHILDREN'S, a HORTICULTURAL, and a HEALTH department. GODEY’S INVALUABLE RECEIPTS UPON EVERY SUBJECT. sre the first to make this department an object of interest to the public. In it will be found information of the Boudoir, Nursery, Kitchen, House, and Laundry. Articles manafactured from receipts taken from the 10K have often received premiums at fancy fairs. TED ENGRAVINGS.—This is a series of engravings that no one has attempted but ourselves, They at satisfaction. LADIES’ FANCY WORK DEPARTMENT. The illustrations in this department consist of designs for EVENING, WALKING, MORNING, 4ND BRIDES’ DRESSES, HEADDRESSES, HAIR-DRESSING, CAPS, BONNETS, CLOAKS, MANTILLAS. RIDING HABITS, ROBES-DE-CHAMBRE, UNDERSLEEVES, SLIPPERS,.WREATHS, COLLARS, CHEMISETTES, EMBROIDERY, KNiTTING, NETTING, TATTING, CROCHET, and FANCY ARTICLES of ali kinds. And everything new, a8 soon as it ne in Europe, is at once transferred to Gopgy. Some of these designs are printed iu colors, in a style unequalled. TERMS FOR 1868. Eight copies, one year, and an extra copy to the person getting up the club, making nine copies - - . - - - - - Eleven copies, one year, and an extra copy to the club, making One copy, one year - - - Two copies, one year - - - Three copies, one year = - - - Four copies, one year - - Five copies, one year, and an extra copy tothe the persen getting up person getting up the club, making six copies 14 00 twelve copies - - Godey’s Lady’s Book and Arthur’s Home Magazine will be sent one year on — of $4 00. Godey’s Lady’s Book and The Children’s Hour will be sent one year on receipt of $3 50. j Godey’s Lady’s Book, Arthur’s Home Magazine, and Children’s Hour will be sent one year on receipt ¢ $5 00. g@- CANADA subscribers must send 24 cents additional for every subscript)n to the Lapy’s Boox, and 12 cents for either of the other magazines, to pay the American potage. 4a The money must all be sent at one time for any of the clubs, and additions may be made to bs at club rates. The Lapy’s Boox will be sent to any post-office where the subscriber may reside, and subsections may commence with any month in the year. We can always supply beck numbers. Specimen nambers w be sent oa 27 50 receipt of 25 cents. HOW TO REMIT.—In remitting by Mail, a Post-orrice OxpER or a Drart, payable to the order ofl. A. Godey, is preferable to bank notes, as, should the Order or Draft be lost vr stolen, it can be renewed without los¥0 the sender If a Draft or a Post-office Order cannot be procured, send United States or National Bank notes. | Address L. A. GODEY, , N. E. Cor. Sixth and Chestnue Sts., Philadelpia, Pa.

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THE REFRESHING DRINK.

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Li i} iq \ ae ) Jp My Vi -AQQYYLL nt Yj , Ui, MM bast Y Utd ta

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FASHIONABLE COSTUMES. (See Description, Fashion Department.)

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= & = wy mn yan Ss N SS waar aiid viv tt: Ub ty ee,

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aan tile eee ities Ta Gs . . —" P ;

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Ce =

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Fig. 2.—Chignon, Back view.

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gnon and Curl. hi —C a =) & e rc) n bh io ~ Fig. 7.—Jacket with Oape, for an Elderly Lady. h Paniers.

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. 10.—Dress for a Little Girl. Fig. 14.—Child’s First Drawers.

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ave v4 Fig. 11.—Boy’s Jacket. Fig. 17.—Underskirt. ‘ig. 12.—Fashionable Walking-Beot. Fig. 18.—Underwaist. Fig. 14,—Child’s First Drawers. ) Pig. 16.—Little Boy’s Jacket. [For Deseription of Engravings on this Sheet see Page 372.}

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SASHES. (See Description, Fashion Department. ) 301 vou. Lxxvi.—20 J

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THE SILVERY MORN. SONG FOR THE GUITAR. Composed and Arranged BY WM. O. FISKE. Published by permission of J. STARR HOLLOWAY, proprietor of Copyright. ee a oe a e q agen men LL L ) CL ia - | | | L Ww L = i = Tt and [a -_ T —-= Sadie i= L L L I hear the morn. With her The glist - ning corn, Wav-ing sil - ver horn, A + rous-ing the val - | leys fair;......... I bright at morn, The flow-er - wal meads a+ dorn,..,..... And or me é——a— -o— ——_w— eo « i a 4 : —— — == = oo a a —} =,-"=*—,—* el —-s— 8) | | e : ee ee ee —_—

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THE SILVERY MORN. PAAAAAAARAAAAAAAAAAAA AA RAE AOA RAR RAR AAA AAR AAA RAR SAA see the light shad - ows long, We walk On her fore - head white, The dew on her’ gleam - ing a - mong, Re - joic-ing at na -_ ture’s |g een Her ro BROT, oc 0ccc00e Her ro fH. ee one x~ = - == a = v sy hand On the moun - tains grand, Her sy, etc. EE rE et es = _ = St SS | ik | Lm sia | a =3— ss —— =" = Fr: i = “te fr —s —. (|6= ot =F / on the sleep - sl BORE) ...0+- crccceeee The is - lands wake On the (a= —- l= = | = ===fi> == Ss es ee = a =a ———\- oo — ( a = SSS 0 SS Se mist - y lake, From their deep and dream - ful ease, The = = fa fe | lands wake, On the mist - ‘ore fee y lake, From their deep and dreamful ease. rote io

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LATEST STYLES. HAT, BONNET, CAP, AND HEADDRESS. (See Description Fashion Department. ) Vz YY Fig. 1. Fig. 3. t ~ SQ \S \ S Ye yl Yj Yy 7, Yt i] Yj Uff y — 2 —_t ~~ Se ite

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GODEY’S Ladys Book and Magazine. VOLUME LXXVII.—NO. 460. PHILADELPHIA, OCTOBER, 1868. +++ PHEMIE ROWLAND. BY MARION HARLAND, CHAPTER XIII. PHEMIE went to the Darcy farm-house early in August, to be served and tended with ex- ceeding care and love by the farmer and his dame, and there, one mid September day, her babe operfed great brown eyes, very like her mother’s, upon the world that had dealt so hardly by that parent. “Poor, fatherless lamb!” was the whisper following upon the blessing breathed over her by the deserted wife, with her first kiss upon the velvet cheek. A sad welcome—but a welcome, neverthe- less, and from the hour in which the child was laid within her arms, Phemie began to recover heart and strength ; to think, not hopefully, but courggeously, of the future and its labors, now that she had something for which to plan and work. ‘You call her ‘Ruth.’ For whom?” asked Albert, as he sat one day with her in the quiet sitting-room devoted to her use by her consi- derate hosts. He had passed several weeks of his August vacation at the farm, and had now come down from the institute to stay from Friday until Monday, with the sister he loved more truly than ever since the darkness of adversity had overtaken her. Phemie sat by the open win- dow looking out toward Graytop Hill, the bald brow of which was surrounded by an aureole cf autumnal foliage, crimson and yellow, while the stubble fields between it and the home- stead were steeped in October sunshine. Her month-old baby lay upon her !ap asleep, and the dreary longing of the gaze that had lingered upon the spot where Robert Hart had broken upon her maiden musings with his love story, melted into a tender smile, as it passed to the little face resting upon her arm. “Tt is Miss Darcy’s name. She claims own- ership in her,”’ she replied, softly. ‘I could give her no more loving god-mother. I named her out of pure gratitude and affection, and was hardly prepared for the emotion Miss Darcy displayed when she heard of it. I have seen the tears in her eyes many times as she fondled baby, and I believe she loves her better already than she does anything else in the world.”’ “T can hardly imagine Miss Darcy in the eharacter of baby-spoiler,’’ laughed Albert. “She really handles the wee lassie—did you say?’ : “Most tenderly. She was not very skilful for a day or two, but she is apt at nursery work as in everything else, and baby appreciates the improvement. She was called up to town by telegraph, day before yesterday, and if her namesake has not missed her, mamma has,” drawing the tips of her fingers lightly down the pink forehead. ‘It isn’t every little girl that has two mothers!’’ She sighed when she had said it—a suppressed breath, that yet caught the blind youth’s ear. He asked no more ques- tions for awhile, but presently exchanged his seat for his sister’s footstool, laying his head beside Ruth’s upon her knee. “T should not murmur,”’ resumed Phemie, more softly still, her hand wandering from her infant’s brow to Albert’s dark curls. There was a wondrous variety of expressions in her mute caresses ; in the silent touch of her fin- gers—the clinging stroke that swept the fore- head or cheek of the beloved one. If she were not a true woman, those who enjoy a monopoly of sweetness, softness, and lovingness in the estimation of their respective circles of admira- tion, might earn a larger meed of love and ap- plause by studying certain of her arts. *T ought not to murmur!” she repeated, exerting herself to a livelier accent, ‘‘ when I have two such children!” 305

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806 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, Albert seized her hand and covered it with kisses. ‘I cannot endure it, Phemie!’’ with a gasp that was almost a sob. ‘ You told me once that the father ordered everything in mercy to those who love him; but your expe- rience of sorrow has come near to making an in- fidel of me. You worked with all your might ; denied yourself everything but the bare neces- saries of existence, that you might maintain those who now, in their prosperity, overlook, or worse—patronize you. Emily and Olive—yes! my own mother, make me blush for human nature and womanhood! Your life has been a continuous sacrifice, and where is your re- ward? I—for whom you have done more than for all the rest—am powerless to help or comfort you! Lama blind clog, dragging at your heels, instead of a man, strong to take your part against the world ; to supply your needs; give you a home, and to revenge your wrongs upon him who has brought this latest misery of poverty and desolation upon you! Don’t talk to me of the wisdom and mercy of the Divine economy! Itis mockery when I think of you— your toils, your patience, and your suffering!” “‘Tf this life were all !’’ said Phemie’s gentlest tones in his ear, as he shook from head to foot with blended rage and compassion, and the sense of the impotence of either to right or con- sole her. ‘‘If in this life only we have hope, then are we of all men most miserable.’ I do not know what meaning theologians attach to that text, but it often abides with me, with teachings that do my heart good. I needed discipline, Bertie, and if it be the Father’s will that I should be ripened in heat that has blasted all my leaves and the buds in which I took most pleasure, let that will be done! He gives me strength for the day of trial and submission to its fires. Perhaps the light will come at evening-time. If not—the night will bring me rest.” She was playing with baby Ruth’s hand, doubling the fingers about one of hers, and anon, stroking them lightly. The baby slept on, and Albert was quiet again for a longer space than before. “You have never heard from him since he left you?’’ he said, finally, with an effort. Phemie kissed the soft fingers twice, quickly and passionately before she answered. Yet her voice was composed. ‘I have not. He took passage for Australia, Mr. Mallory says.” The boy reared his head suddenly. ‘I am in my twentieth year, Phemie! I am paying my Own ‘way now, with my carvings, and teaching, and music. In five years more I shall be able to support you and your child. Then you must live with me. I shall never marry, of course, and, by that time, should your—should Hart not return, the law will re- lease you from all obligation to him—free you from his very name, should you desire it. Ours shall be a happy home, and the past be as if it had never been.”” Phemie leaned over Ruth to kiss the sight- less face, glowing with anticipation of the paradise pictured by his loving imagination. “ There is no harm in dreaming that our home may, One day; be the same, Bertie, dear. If your ability to help me were commensurate with your will, I should begin, from this hour, a life of ladylike indolence. But there comes a glimpse of the Divine love and wisdom, again, brother! I ought not to have leisure for brood- ing and idling. I was putintothe hive to work, not dream. I remember when I used to envy those who had time for castle-building ; for the indulgence of sweet, unprofitable musings. I have tried this life, and I have no desire to re- peat the experiment. As for the latter part of your scheme, do not be hurt, Bertie, when I tell you plainiy that it is impracticable; I owe duty to my husband while I live. No quibble of man’s law can free me from my marriage vow. I will be very frank with you. What- ever home I have is Robert’s as well, should he wish to share it. I have a presentiment that he will come back tome. It may not be for many years, but he will come. I do not know whether Sorrow will drive him, or late, repentant Love move him to seek the wife who loves him, and whom he once loved—for he did love me very dearly ; but return he must, and I have thought lately’’—stopping to hold the tiny fingers to her mouth ina pressure that left their white imprint upon the red of the full lower lip—‘‘ I have hoped until I believe, that when he has once looked into his baby’s eyes, he cannot leave us again. If I could send him word of her coming, he might the sooner be given back to me, There was much good in him, Bertie. You—Miss Darcy—all my friends, are hard upon him. He and I misunderstood one another. This was the cause of great un- happiness. When he left me, he was scarcely sane. My constant prayer is that he may be restored to his right mind, and I be granted the opportunity of atoning for my many mistakes by a life of patient love and duty.”’ Albert sat, his elbow on his knee, his face averted to hide from the speaker the pity and incredulity with which he had listened to her plea for her sinning husband, and prophecy of his return. She could forgive because she loved him, but in her brother’s breast hatred surged up hotly whenever he thought of the in- sult put upon her by Hart’s ignominious flight ; of her destitution and the wearying labor by which she had provided the means of subsist- ence during her term of worse than widow- hood. One of Phemie’s ancient characteristics remained in full force—her strength of will, where will was sustained by the belief that she had right on her side. She would not believe in her husband’s total depravity, nor would she listen to a word defamatory of him. Miss Darcy had learned this on that first terrible evening, when news of the failure and flight e298 #8 & 42 ® @ 2 So & oe 6 ee ee ae

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PHEMIE ROWLAND. 307 having reached her, she had repaired with haste to a house, the threshold of which she had not crossed. for more than a year, and found the abandoned wife alone in her horror and despair. Phemie had not heard Robert’s name in many months until Albert mentioned it on this afternoon, and, although it thrilled her with a pang like that of the earliest mo- ments of bereavement, there was still relief in openly averring her hope that he would be re- claimed ; her faith in the omnipotence of love— the love she was persuaded he still had for her, as well as hers for him. Her child—and his— was to her a tangible pledge of hez reunion. After years of longing, the heaven-sent gift had raised the sluice-ways of mother-love, and she accepted the answer to this prayer as an earnest that her later petition would be answered as graciously. The quiet of the room was interrupted by the sound of wheels and voices under the window. Mr. Darcy had driven over to the depot for his sister and brought her back with him. She did not wait to shake off the dust of travel before coming into Phemie’s parlor to see how her charges fared. Baby awoke as her mother arose to greet her friend, and stretched her eyes in a stare and smile that were decided by the ex- ultant parent to be unequivocal recognition. Miss Darcy took her in her arms, without speaking, and bent her face upon the plump, vague visage. When Phemie received her babe again, a single drop of warm water glistened among the rings of pale brown hair. But Miss Darcy was voluble with questions as to how she had passed the time of her absence ; when Albert had come; how baby had slept, etc., and kept Phemie too busy answering them to allow time for speculations as to the cause of her sudden overflow of emotion. They kept early hours at the farm-house—all but baby, who had developed a genius for lying awake and blinking at the candle, that augured ill—if it augured anything—for her regular habits in later life. The evening was chilly with October frosti- ness, and a bright wood-fire had been kindled upon the hearth in Phemie’s room. She sat before it, wakeful and mute as the child upon her knees, when Miss Darcy knocked at the door. “T hoped I should find you up,” she said. ‘Nine o’clock bedtime agrees with me excel- lently as a recuperative measure during two months of the year; but I can’t sleep to-night. Moreover, I am restless, and I have come in to you to be quieted.” “To me!’’ smiled Phemie, in sad wonder- ment. ‘Yes! to somebody who has loved and suf- fered long and patiently. Child! since I parted from you, day before yesterday, I have been helping to open a grave I covered in five and twenty years ago.” There was vehemence in her manner, passion in her voice and words that amazed and alarmed her auditor. “If I can comfort you, it is surely my right to do so,”’ rejoined the latter, affectionately, ** for you have been my best earthly comforter.”’ ‘Next to baby,” said Miss Darcy, with an instant softening of tone. She knelt to kiss the wide-awake bantling, then bestowed herself in a rocking-chair. She was wont, not three months since, to class these seats among the social nuisances of America. Having arranged her lap in a very nursely manner, she held out her hands. ‘‘ Let me hold her! I can talk better of what is on my mind while I have her.” Phemie thought how the unconscious twin- ing of the baby fingers about hers had strength- ened her during the dialogue of the afternoon, and resigned her treasure. Miss Darcy ap- peared to forget that she had a communication to make when her wish had been granted. She smoothed the flossy hair, curling crisply with the warmth of the room, nestled the round chin in the hollow of her palm, and studied the lights and shadows of the brown eyes. She could not talk baby talk. It was, to her no- tion, a nursery abomination, not to be tolerated in this rational age; but there escaped her lips, more than once, inarticulate sounds of tender- ness that would have arranged themselves into the reprobated jargon had she known enough of the dialect to copy it. ‘“‘Twenty-five years ago,’’ she began, ab- ruptly, when a quarter of an hour had been thus consumed, ‘I was sitting by this fire on a cold evening in October. It was later in the month than this, for we had been nutting that afternoon, and I was measuring those we had gathered. I had a large basket of chestnuts beside me on the floor, and was kneeling by them, filling a quart cup and pouring them out into another basket. ‘ Five, six’ I had counted when somebody came in behind me and took the tin measure from my hand. It was Reuben Stilton, the son of a neighbor. I had been engaged to be married to him for two years. I was twenty-two, he:twenty-four, and he was studying medicine in the city. I had not heard that he was at his father’s, and was surprised to see him. The journey to town was made by stage, not railroad, then. He laughed at my start and scream; and, after he had kissed me, and I had said how rejoiced I was at his coming, he set the basket of chestnuts into a far corner of the room—just over there. ‘I can finish them in three minutes,’ I said. ‘I pro- mised the boys I would measure them by the time they had studied their lessons. The boys were my nephews, and the nuts were chiefly their spoils. I knew they counted upon boast- ing of the quantity they had gathered when they should go to school on Monday morning, and this was Saturday night.

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308 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ‘** Always putting the wishes and conveni- ence of others before mine!’ he said, roughly. ‘I am tired of this thing, Ruth. When I asked you to be my wife, I did not bargain to marry everybody’s slave.’ ‘*T was hurt, yet I could not believe that he was in earnest—this was so unlike his usual manner of speaking. ‘O Reuben!’ I answered, ‘when did I ever put the pleasure of another before yours ?’ “*When!’ He spoke savagely, now. ‘You would teach this confounded district-school, although your brother offered to support you like a lady here at home, and you are forever working for somebody when I come to see you. And when I begged you last winter to marry me then, and end this tiresome probation, you took your brother’s advice instead of listening to me, and sent me off to the city, where I am subjected. to all descriptions of evil and temp- tation, while you are fast growing into a prim country sehool teacher, losing your health and good looks, and wearing out my heart and patience !’ ‘“*He snatched the poker as he finished and struck the fire a blow that broke the back-log and sent the coals flying all over the hearth. I had time, while I swept them up, to arrange my thoughts, and determined to reply kindly. He was evidently greatly excited, and I must not lose my temper. So I made the mistake of trying to reason with him. *“** As to the school,’ I said, ‘I could not reconcile it with my sense of right and honor to be a burden upon my brother, who has a large family to support, when I know he is obliged to work hard to finish paying for the farm, and to provide for his household. I must do something in order to get a living; and I had rather teach than sew, or spin, or weave. I make myself useful to my sister-in- law when school hours are over, but she does not require it. I am fond of her and of the chil- dren, and I am not fond of idleness. I refused to marry you last winter out of love and con- sideration for yourself. I could not have done you a more unfriendly turn than by yielding to your wishes in this respect. I should have doubled your expenses, and been a hindrance instead ofa help to you. If the thought of my love—the knowledge that I think of, and pray for you every hour, does not guard you against temptation to evil, L.am afraid my presence would not. I cannot judge as to the effect that school teaching has upon my looks, but it has not injured my health or spirits. We have only to be patient and hopeful, Reuben—true to Gop, to ourselves, and each other, and hap- piness will come in the end. This probation may be useful to us both. What has happened to trouble you ?’ “*T am tired!’ he said, throwing himself into a chair and frowning at the fire. ‘Tired of work and waiting! Tired of everything!’ “**Not tired of me, I hope!’ I returned, laughing in the hope of changing the tide of his thoughts. “He answered never a word, only pushed his hands deep into his pockets and continued to frown at the fire. Like the unsuspecting fool I was, I put my arm about his neck—we had been children together, you must remem- ber, and I had promised, two years before, to become his wife when he should be ready to marry—I put my arm about his neck, kneeling on the floor to do this, and smiled up into his face—not his eyes.. They never left the fire. *** Not tired of me, are you, Reuben?’ I re- peated. “Tt might be the reflection of the blaze that made his eyes red and sullen, but they had a hard, defiant look that sent a ¢hill to my heart —a fear that I had offended him. I had no thought still that he could ever be unfaithful. Even then he did not reply, and I pulled his face around until I brought his sight to bear upon mine. Then I said, for the third time :— ***Do you hear me, Reuben? I asked if you were growing tired of me ?’ **T have teen ashamed of my girlish fond- ness on that occasion a thousand times since that evening, have felt the blood rush to my face with a force and suddenness that made it ache as well as glow, when I recalled the sim- plicity of my trust in his love and fealty. Ido not feel shame, but gladness and pride to-night in the recollection. If I had been less pure in thought, less single-hearted, I should have taken alarm sooner. It is a comfort to feel that I was once guileless in trust and affection. He did not resist when I would have compelled him to look at me. But his gaze was cold as dark. ***T don’t know, Ruth!’ was all he said. **T released him, and went back to my chair. His eyes returned to the hearth. ‘Reuben!’ I said, when the shock let me articulate, ‘is this jest or earnest? What have I done that you should treat me so unkindly ?’ “*Nothing!’ The words came very slowly. ‘If you had offended me in any way, been one whit less deserving of the love of a better man than I can ever be, I could understand my feelings, could more easily forgive my wander- ing affections.’ **The fire crackled and roared with cruel mer- riment as I watched the blaze and sparks leap up the chimney—waiting until my whirling brain should be still, my heart stop its stifled crying. I dared not speak yet; if I did, he would see how I was suffering, and, for the first time in our intercourse, a thought of pride came between us. He had cast me off, and I believed I should die from the effects of the blow, but nobody should guess what had killed me. Awhile later I could reflect that his pun- ishment would be the greater for his know- ledge of my great woe, and I would not increase eS i i eg fic th m a6 ig rei tre ciy of an wi he he

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at ia rt no ul. his ar ou nd- nce my e it im- do ght > in ken t I He lled | as air. ie this you wly. one man my der- mer- leap rling ifled l, he the pride nd I r the cilled pun- now- Fease PHEMIE ROWLAND. 809 its severity, but I did not think of this at first. ‘* We sat thus at opposite sides of the hearth, and seemed to study the wood fire. I do not know whether he saw it or not, but I did, for the words, ‘Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward,’ kept rolling over and over in my mind, and then the thought, ‘If man? what of woman? accursed from the day of the fall—doubly accursed.’ I understood in that hour, clearly and positively, what had never entered my brain before—that, if we parted— and part we must—the loss would all be mine; that even if he loved meas I must ever love him, he would yet be able to drive out the me- mory and need of me by other hopes, pursuits, and ambition. While I must, for the remain- der of my biighted life, take up Jacob’s lament, and cry in emptiness of heart and exceeding bitterness of spirit, ‘If I be bereaved, I am be- reaved!’ Life could nevermore be the same to me; would bear the same likeness to my late happy, busy existence, as the dead ashes on the hearth to-morrow morning would to the living tree before it was felled and cast into the fire. We think fast and strongly in moments like these. I was soon composed enough to look at himagain. I could meet his eyes better than he could mine. “* When did this begin?’ I asked. ‘You should have told me of the change so soon as you noticed it.’ “*T did not like to acknowledge that there was a change.’ He paused to wet his lips be- fore he went on. They were dry and stiff. ‘I fought against the conviction while I could. For days and weeks together I would feel the same toward you as of old. It cost me no effort to write lovingly, and the thought of our marriage was pleasant. Then, without appa- rent cause, everything would be reversed. If” I wrote, every endearing epithet was forced and heartless, and I shrank from anticipating the day of our union. I can’t say how it came about. I used to condemn myself as base and fickle; but lately, I have questioned whether the fault were not in our premature engage- ment.’ His words flowed more smoothly, now, as he entered upon his self-justification. *** We had never been tried, Ruth. We were ignorant of the world and its ways ; and of the real state of our feelings. This gradual es- trangement is the frequent consequence of pre- cipitate action in these matters. The selection of a partner for life is a very important step, and a man’s ideas and habits, and his feelings with them, undergo great modifications when he enters a different circle from that in which he was reared.’ **He stopped again. I think he was abashed at the sound of his own excuses. Uttered in this room, where we had plighted our troth, they must have sounded unlike the plausible arguments he had arranged among other scenes VoL. Lxxvul.—21 —the scenes and associations that had weaned him from me. *“**You are quite right!’ I returned, as he ceased. I hope I said it calmly. I tried not to say it bitterly. ‘Consistency should be the rule of a man’s life. His wife should not be so unlike his chosen companions as to make him ashamed ofher. I can foresee that you would be heartily ashamed of me. When . I promised to marry you, it was in the hope that you would be happier with than without me. Now, when that hope has gone, I should do you and myself a harm, were I to regard the letter of our compact as anything but a hollow husk. We will throw it away, Reuben. I hope—I say it in solemn sincerity—that Gop will bless and prosper you. We will shake hands and say ‘Good-by,’ as friends, not lovers, do.’ He threw his arms around me, asI stood up and offered him my hand. ~**¢T believe that I love you, afterall, Ruthy! No other woman can ever make me so happy as youcan. Try me again, won’t you?’ “¢Never!’?I said. ‘That is all over now!’ “Then he called me obdurate and vindictive, and warned me, that if he went to perdition without the guarding influences of my love, his blood would be upon my soul. There have been times when that has haunted me, too! I wish, to-night, that he had spared me the threat. ‘‘ Well, he went, and I stayed! That is the common story, Phemie! so common, people are apt to forget how mournful it is. To go, is to forget chagrin, and wounded love, and perished hopes in the whirl of the dizzy, busy world, that defies one to stand still long enough to think, or to regret. To stay, is to be left to monotony and memory. I fought against both with indifferent success, until Reuben’s sister, who had been my bosom friend, came to me with the news that he was engaged to a beau- tiful girl in the city. Her father was wealthy, and she highly accomplished. That gave me the clue to all that he had not explained. There was no need, his sister said, that their marriage should be deferred until he had completed his medical course. It was to take place almost immediately, so soon as the wedding outfit could be procured. If I had believed that I was cured of my liking for him, I was unde- ceived by this news. I had just received the offer of a situation as governess in a family who lived two hundred miles away from my native place. The compensation was fair—or seemed so to my inexperience—and I made this the excuse for accepting the place without demur. Idid not eome home fora year. When I did, I learned that, in consequence of some disagreement between the wealthy citizen and his son-in-law expectant, the engagement had been broken off almost upon the eve of the marriage. The bride’s father was reputed to be ill-natured and arbitrary, and close upon

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310 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, the story of the rupture crept hints that the action of the parent was justified by the dissi- pation of the intended bridegroom. His family maintained that he was plunged into evil habits by the mortification and disappointment at- tendant upon this affair, and when it became notorious that he had fallen from respectability as well as from virtue, they persisted upon casting all the blame upon the author of this one misfortune. ‘For ten years I heard nothing of him—ten years of work for myself and for others. I had gained a little reputation and laid aside a little money, and, I fancied, had learned how to for- get. I wasin a hospital one night, nursing a pale factory-girl who had been caught in the machinery of the mill and badly hurt. J was known to the physician in charge, and he gtanted me permission to watch with her until morning. She was under the influence of opium, and, seated by her bed as she slept, I had time to look about me. At nine o’clock a man was brought in, who had been picked up in the streets apparently dying. His clothes were soaked with rain and the mud of the gut- ter ; his hair and beard were a filthy mass; but there are some things I cannot speak of! I went to him at the call of the physician, the regular ward-nurse chancing to be engaged. The sick man was delirious—with fever, as we then thought. We found afterward that he had been partially insane for some months, and was well known in the lowest haunts of pick- pockets and gamblers. I need not tell you who he was, nor how [I recognized him, little by little, when I had cleansed his face and combed and cut his hair. Had the identification been instant, I might have lost my own senses. As it was, I had everything arranged by the time he was convalescent in body. In mind, he was less sound than before his illness. His parents and his sisters were dead. The property be- queathed him by the former was squandered. He was an insane pauper. I put him into a lunatic asylum, and kept him there until his death. My relatives knew nothing of it. The friendly doctor kept my secret. The asylum authorities recognized me as the agent of the patient’s friends. Twice a year I went to see him, but he never remembered me, except dimly as the hospital nurse. Sometimes, when I called I could not see him. His paroxysms were often violent, and no visitor was admitted to his cell while they prevailed. When I re- ceived this answer, I went back to my work and waited until notified that the madness had subsided. He was well treated. I assured myself of this by vigilant espionage and by gifts to his keepers. His clothing was good and whole ; his food excellent, and whatever pleasures were compatible with the rules of the institution were freely granted him. “These are homely details, but they have had much to do with my inner life for fifteen years. Two days ago I had a telegraphic dis- patch from the head physician of the asylum to the effect that ‘Reuben Stilton was sup- posed to be dying.’ He lived two hours after I reached him. He suffered little, physically, and his reason was beclouded to the last.” She made a busy pretence of tucking the blanket about baby, who had fallen asleep. “Let me lay her down!’’ said Phemie, pity- ingly. “Not yet! I am almost through. I had long lived upon the fond fancy that he would know me when the end came. I had heard and read how the breath of the Death-angel often dispelled the gloom that rested upon the intellect of others similarly afflicted. It wasa wild, blind desire. Gop knows best. If a gleam of intelligence had revisited the dis- tracted brain, he could not have recognized in me the blooming girl he had known in his and my better days. I appreciated the force of this when I took a final look at the white face, with its sharpened features and silver hair, before the coffin-lid was closed. I remembered, too, your favorite watchword, and, ‘thanking Gob, took courage.’ ”’ Phemie was weeping silently, but she smiled at this. ‘May I remind you of another old favorite of us both, dear?” she asked, drawing nearer her friend. “ Death is but a covered way Which opens into light ; Wherein no blinded child can stray Beyond the Father’s sight.” Miss Darcy rocked baby Ruth to and fro, her countenance, meanwhile, regaining its usual expression of tranquil decision. ‘I am spoil- ing her, I suppose!’’ she said presently, ab- ruptly. ‘She ought to be in her cradle. I wouldn’t rock her, though, unless she should stir. The motion is injurious to the brain—so say modern doctors. But doctors— ancient and modern—are humbugs, I think!’’ (To be continued.) SEPARATION. How dost thou bear the separation, love, That seems se hard to me? Oh, could I make some reparation, love, My heart would lighter be. Wilt solace thee to know, That, as the long hours go, And toil and care make up each weary day, One all-absorbing thought Brightens my lonely lot— I call thee mine! and bless thee when away? The spring creeps on—how slowly time is dragging! And I, with throbbing brow, Over my endless task «m ever lagging. Oh, loved one, where art thou? Doubt whispers in my ear Many and many a fear, And tells me thou art gay while I despair. Yet, be the bright hours thine, If only thou art mine, I all the dark ones am content to bear. i. Ls ee) ee ee eee oe © Doe

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—_— eS we = "Ee ed oe

MISS CARRUTHERS’ ENGAGEMENT. 311

MISS CARRUTHERS’ ENGAGEMENT. BY “THE SECOND.” LITTLE Mrs. Baynton stood at the library window industriously twisting the silk cord of her morning robe into a very Chinese puzzle of a knot, and her ‘“‘ particular’ friend, Miss Georgine Carruthers, sat on a low chair at her side, making another Chinese puzzle (or, at least, something very like it) of scarlet wool with an ivory crochet needle. <A _ slender, stately girl, this same Miss Carruthers (who, playing the part of heroine, of course needs particular description), with large, heavily- fringed brown eyes, and a crown of amber hair, a girl with a little haughty curve on her velvet mouth, and a slightly superbe manner of hold- ing her white neck. In disposition, warm- hearted and affectionate. A great favorite with her own sex, though not a “‘sweet young lady” in the common acceptance of the term. By this I mean, one of the sweet young ladies of the present day, who, so wisely averse to wasting their saccharine properties on the desert air, dispose of them to so much advantage, lending them out at interest, as it were, cooing and lavishing endearments on each other, in public, in a manner which, to persons of Mephistophi- lean temperament, might appear to insinuate an excess of amiability. Certainly not of this class my brown-eyed heroine ; on the contrary, a little too apt, in her reserve, to impress one coldly; nevertheless, the tenderness and warmth were there, and her lady friends, speaking of her, gave it as their unanimous opinion that Georgie was a darling, and—mark this, oh, my reader—had such good taste! Among the sterner sex, conflicting as this may seem with my last statement, the superb Carruthers was universally popular, of course. Why not? Was she not beautiful, stylish, accomplished, and— mark also this, sagacious reader—was there not quite a desirable row of figures fronting her name on the records of that excellent and worthy institutior—the “three per cents ?’’ By Mrs. Baynton, Georgie was looked upon as perfect; by Georgie, Mrs. Baynton was re- garded as without a flaw; which state of af- fairs, considering the weaknesses of humanity, all must admit could not fail to be highly con- ducive to a state of comfort and amiability. In one thing only were they unlike, though both were too well bred to make it a point of differ- ence. Miss Carruthers was English, “ blue- blooded,’”’ ‘“‘came over with the Conqueror,” etc.; Mrs. Baynton, American, had a profound contempt for great-grandmothers ; was, in fine, the most patriotically democratic of all demo- cratic little patriots, though at the time of our story spending the summer on the wooden walled island, at a country-seat of which the death of a distant relative had left them the fortunate possessors. Enough of this, however. For a few moments the before-mentioned

puzzle-making went on undisturbed ; suddenly Mrs. Baynton broke the silence. ‘‘Georgie, do drop that scarlet abomination and talk a little, like a darling!’”’ “One, two, three, four,’’ said Miss Carru- thers, industriously intent on the Chinese curi- osity ; ‘just a minute, dear, and then—but I am in such a tiresome part!’’ Mrs. Baynton looked disconsolate, but waited until the tiresome part seemed to be conquered, and the taper little hands, still however hold- ing the “scarlet abomination,’’ rested on her friend’s lap. ** Well, dear,’’ she said, “‘is it anything very particular ?”’ Mrs. Baynton seated herself in the deep win- dow. ‘‘Not very particular; but I have just been reminded of an old friend, and I thought I would ask you to guess who it is.”’ “T think you had better tell me at once, Ger- trude, I feel lazy.”’ ** But it won’t require any effort ; think of a particular gentleman friend of yours who has been abroad for some time.”’ Georgie looked reflective. ‘Ah! now I[ know; itis that dear old Doctor Highlander, who went to—I forget where—but some dread- fully hot or cold place.” “To India it was, but not Doctor High- lander ; some one who went abroad with him.”’ “Tf it was not Doctor Highlander, I can’t guess, I am sure. Some one who went with him ?—there were so many—the whole of the Fourth, you know. Was it Charlie Thorne? Ensign Seymour? Captain Poyser? Captain Lathbury? I think you had better tell me, Ger,’’ and, apparently foiled at guessing, Miss Carruthers fell back on the Chinese curiosity. “*T ‘think I had,” laughed Ger, “if I may judge from your success in suggesting every one but the right person. I wonder you should have forgotten, Georgie. What do you think of Captain Standish ?’’ Miss Carruthers’ head was bent over her work, and she seemed so much interested in it that, for a moment, she did not say what she thought of Captain Standish, and when she spoke, her words were strangely mingled with the number of her stitches. Such is the effect of crochet on a woman’s mind. ‘Captain Standish, did you say, dear? one, two, three; don’t you think this is pretty? four, five, six.’’ “ ‘** Yes, to both questions,’’ said Mrs. Baynton, tossing her tassels in the air and catching them again. ‘‘Now you wonder why you did not guess, don’t you?” Georgie looked up, her face expressing lady- like surprise. ‘“‘I do not see why I should think of Captain Standish before any other gentleman; besides, you said a ‘particular friend of mine,’ and you know Captain Stand- ish was not—was not’’— “Oh!” said Ger; “oh! *@aptain Standish

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312 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. was not—was not’’’—Then in a little gust of indignation, which was quite refreshing: ‘*Georgie Carruthers, are you an accomplished flirt, or a consummate hypocrite ?”’ ‘*T am sure I don’t profess to be either,’’ was the quiet answer. ‘**Profess! of course you don’t; nobody ex- pects you to, but you lay yourself open to the inference. It is almost a proverb that no one can read a woman’s heart but a woman, and here am I, one woman, and you another, and I know no more of your heart than I do of the Grand Mogul’s ; and you pretend to be an affec- tionate girl, and my particular confidential friend, too ;’’ and Mrs. Baynton looked injured, which you will find, my dear reader, is the way of these sweet women when they wish to get at a secret. One thing the little lady understood: the secret of managing her friend, for the ‘‘ particu- lar’s’’ tone was quite deprecatory when she made her defence. ‘‘How can you be so unkind, Ger? I am sure you ought not to complain of want of con- fidence on my part. I do not see where you have got this absurd fancy about Captain Standish, unless Fred suggested it.”’ ‘‘Fred did not suggest it, and I am sure if you did not admire Lionel Standish, you flirted with him shamefully. Why, Georgie, you know during the Whole of the summer, at Tha- net, he was your most constant cavalier; you were always either waltzing, riding, or senti- mentalizing with him, and the last night he stayed there, I was almost certain’’—Here she ceased, in a little confused irresolution whether to end her sentence or not. Was it the shade of the crimson curtain which colored Miss Carruthers’ cheek so vividly? If 80, its reflection was certainly a very bright one; still, if emotion had been anything to blame for this sudden brilliancy, her tone could hardly have been as composedly dignified as it was. ‘‘ Well, dear, I am very sorry I did not get up a grand admiration for your favorite ; but as that was out of the question, I think it is hardly necessary for us to quarrel about it, so suppose you tell me what reminded you of the handsome captain.” In this there was the faintest possible tinge of the superb Carruthers, and Mrs. Baynton, having sufficient tact to un- derstand this little tournament of words was decisively concluded, with infinite discernment surrendered at discretion. ‘*Fred told me,’’ she said, “ that the Fourth had returned from India, and Captain Standish of course with them. Ido not know whether you read the war returns during the war ; if you did, of course you know how highly they speak of his bravery. Fred tells me all the papers are full of it. What suggested the idea te me, was the fact that he and several of his fellow officers have accepted our invitation to join our party here.” Miss Carruthers was glad to hear it ; it would be quite a pleasant addition to the Trafford assembly. ‘‘When were the gentlemen ex- pected ?’’ **To-night! in fact we hope to see at least some of them at dinner. Ah! there is Rose Chetwynd on the lawn. I must send for her ; if I am not mistaken, this news will interest her,” and, ringing the bell, Mrs. Baynton or- dered the servant who obeyed the summons to ask Miss Chetwynd, if she was not partic larly employed, to step into the library. A few moments afterwards there came a soft tap at the door, and, in answer to Mrs. Bayn- ton’s gentle “‘Come in, dear,’’ a sweet little seventeen-year-old, with a pink and white face, a pink and white dress, and a bouquet of pink and white roses, entered the room, and after kissing Ger, and acknowledging Georgie’s rather cool, but still very polite, ‘“Good-morn- ing, Miss Chetwynd,” with a timid bow and smile, seated herself on a low seat between them. ‘*T have been to the rosary,” she said, in just the bird-like little voice one could not help but expect to hear, “and Bates gave me these roses; are they not beautiful?” appealing tim- idly to Miss Carruthers, who replied with a smile which was rather too dignified to be strictly enthusiastic. The pink little lady seemed rather awe- stricken, for she was quite rose-colored when she made her next essay: “‘Do let me share them with you.” “Thank you, I will not deprive you of your flowers.”’ . “Oh, it will be no deprivation. I have plenty ; do take some, dear Miss Carruthers,”’ and the flowers were divided and handed to her with such a shy, pleading look that ‘‘ dear Miss Carruthers’ was fain to be gracious and receive them with thanks. Rose seemed relieved, and, rising from her seat, began to arrange tie remains of her floral treasure in the vases on the side-table. “Iam going to decorate your room for you, Mrs. Baynton, and then I intend to talk to you until you are tired and send me away.” ** You will have to talk a long time, then,’’ said Gertrude, affectionately; ‘‘but I have some news to tell you; you are going to see an old flame, again.” Rose turned with a start, a very rose in color, but, meeting a pair of brown eyes fixed inquiringly on her, busied herself with her flowers, and Georgie rose, saying :— “T have a slight heatache, Ger; if you will excuse me, I will go and try to sleep it off before I dress for dinner.”’ ** Certainly ; but why did you not mention it before? I ought to have noticed how pale

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~ sr we Qo of co ~ .T ee oryvy & le MISS CARRUTHERS’ ENGAGEMENT. 313 you look. I will send Lorlotte to you with some sal volatile and water.” “Thank you, but I would rather not take any. I shali be better directly,’’ and Miss Carruthers left the room. Any one entering an hour afterward would have found Rose kneeling, with happy face and tearful eyes, before her friend, who was saying, evidently in comment on some story she had just heard, ‘“‘ And so your treubles are ended, at last, and, like ail other heroines, you will ‘live happily together ever afterwards.’ ”’ Rose hid her face with a shy little laugh. ** But to think,”’ she said, ‘‘ that I owe my hap- piness to that great, grand Captain Standish, who used to frighten me so! If it had been Miss Carruthers—but me/’’ and she opened her blue eyes in such pretty wonder at her own unworthiness, that Mrs. Baynton, being an im- pulsive little lady in general, felt called upon to kiss her at least sixty times on the spot. It was seven o’clock; the great drawing- rooms at Trafford were crowded with company, and carriages were still rolling up the drive; for this was one of Mrs. Baynton’s dinner eve- nings, and each vehicle brought its cargo of dignified papas, stately mammas, stylish young hopefuls, with long pedigrees and moustaches, and pretty, elegant girls, enjoying their rusti- cation and recruiting themselves for next sea- son’s flirtations. Several of the Fourth’s officers had arrived, as was expected, per six o’clock train, and though, as yet, only a few were on the field, their appearance had produced such an effect on the ladies assembled as to reduce almost to a state of frenzy one or two of even the most eligible of the above mentioned eligibles, who, being civilians, could not fail to lose ground among the moustached heroes of Delhi and Cawnpoor. More especially had interest been awakened, in the minds of the bright-eyed dam- sels, concerning the lion of the evening (who had not yet given his intreductory roar), the brave Captain Standish, who was spoken of, by brothers, as a jolly good fellow, by papas, as worthy of the name of his ancestors, and by military uncles, as ‘“‘a brave fellow, by Jove, sir, and a good soidier.’’ At an open window, the envied possessor of a magnificently developed specimen of the ge- nus hero, stood Rose Chetwynd, in a crisp silk of her favorite pink, and with bare white arms and shoulders, looking prettier, more childish, and, if possible, more pink and white than ever. ‘ And Captain Standish,” she said, when their light chat ceased for a moment, “ how is it he is not here ?’’ “T do not know,’’ was the answer. ‘TI left him at the hotel, suffering from a bad head- ache, and blue, to boot. I expect him every moment, though.’’ As he finished speaking there was a slight movement at the door, and the object of discus- sion entering, for several minutes nothing was heard but the warm welcomes and earnest congratulations of the old friends who had known him before his Indian campaign. The eligibles, neglected before, were now snubbed in a manner which, towards the end of the evening, led to several extremely inter- esting lovers’ quarrels ; and the captain, happy man, passed from group to group, laughing, chatting, and shaking hands with crowds of elegant, fair-faced girls, who greeted him smil- ingly as an old friend or a desirable acquaint- ance. Pretty Rose Chetwynd watched him from her place by the window, glancing shyly from under her long lashes, almost unconscious of the admiring looks and complimentary speeches of her companion, who, when at last the tall captain approached, made an immediate sur- render to that formidable party, and proceeded to renew an acquaintance with a bright-eyed young lady who seemed glad to see him, and certainly did not ask him to play the uninter- esting part of ‘‘ second violinist.” For a moment—only a momeat—Rose did not speak; then the words came in a low, almost tearful voice. ‘‘O Captain Standish! I—What must I say to you?” He took both her hands in his and held them. ‘Poor Rose,’’ he said, kindly, ‘‘ what a sad little girl you must have been to write such sorrowful letters. I could hardly believe it was the gay little playmate Charlie Thorne used to talk about; but it is all over now, is it not?” Rose lifted her bright face for a moment, and the captain seemed to be satisfied, for he made no more inquiries into the subject. **T miss one person I thought to see here to-night,’”’ he said, during a slight break in the conversation that followed. Rose looked up inquiringly. “Tt is that stately Miss Carruthers, who was such a belle at Thanet.”’ “‘T wonder you should have overlooked her,”’ said Miss Chetwynd; ‘“‘do you not see her standing beneath the chandelier talking to some gentlemen ?”’’ . The captain turned in the direction pointed. At one of the side-tables, the bright light of the chandelier shining on her trailing dress of sea- green silk and glittering on the pretty, womanly absurdities of pearl and gold in her yellow hair, stood Georgie Carruthers. Fora moment there was a strange look, half admiration, half pain, in the dark eyes that regarded her so stead- fastly, then their owner turned, with a pleasant laugh, “‘ Ah! I see the superb Carruthers has lost none of her beauty ; suppcse you come and help me to renew the acquaintance. If I re- member rightly, you are a great favorite of hers.”’ 7 Rose’s bow was perhaps a trifle equivocal,

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314 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. but the captain did not seem to notice it, and, offering her his arm, made his way across the room to the group at the side-table. For a few minutes they stood unnoticed, those who composed the party being too much interested in the photographic collection they were exam- ining to observe their approach. Georgie, holding in her hand a picture she had taken from the table, was listening, with evident interest, to the criticisms of one of the con- noisseurs. “I cannot say I do,’”’ she said, Captain Stan- dish judged in answer to some previous re- mark; ‘‘I think the picture in itself is good, but I do not admire the painter’s choice of subject.”’ ‘*Do you know, Miss Carruthers,”’ said Fred Baynton, who was one of the number, “‘I have often thought I should like to have your opin- ion on this subject ; may we not hear what you have to say about it?”’ “‘T never noticed it before, and now I think it looks hardly natural.’’ ‘That is my opinion,”’ said Mr. Baynton ; ‘* still, the story it tells is a true one, if we are to believe the Trafford chronicles.”’ Georgie looked interested. ‘‘I never heard that before; won’t you tell me, Mr. Baynton?’’ ‘‘Tt is soon told,’”’ was the answer. ‘‘Ger found both picture and history in some old corner or other. I believe the heroine was one of the grim women in the picture gallery. The story runs thus: that, having doubts of the truth of her lover, this same lady followed him in his travels in the guise of a page, for the purpose of watching him, and found him faithful too late ; for, on discovering her sex and identity, the haughty Saxon refused to acknowledge her as his betrothed, saying, that the woman who distrusted him as a lover, would despise him as a husband; and it is when she returns, for the last time, to plead for forgiveness, that the painter has immortalized her.”’ ‘“And did he forgive her?” said Captain Standish, giving the first intimation of‘his pre- sence. Fred looked astonished. ‘I had no idea you were there, Standish,’ he said: ‘“‘come into the enchanted circle. Miss Carruthers, I do not think you have spoken to your old friend to- night.”’ Georgie turned towards him, her eyes shin- ing like stars, cheeks and lips like the crimson heart of a rose, and offered her hand with a polite little speech of congratulation, and, for a time, the picture was forgotten in elegant commonplaces. : It seemed, however, not to be fated to rest here, for the bystanders, dropping one by one into the general crowd, the two were left to themselves, and, being thrown on their own resources, were forced to fall back on the grim woman. The captain took the picture from the table. ‘‘My question has not been answered yet,” he said. ‘Did he forgive her?”’ **T am not quite certain,’’ was the rather cold reply ; ‘‘ but I believe not.”’ ** And do you think he was right ?” **T do not think she was.”’ **TIn what ?’’ ‘In kneeling for forgiveness in the presence of his vassals. I do not profess to be a judge of the proprieties, but such a position seems to me to be too humiliating to be either womanly or delicate.”’ Awhile he was silent, then gave his answer with eyes steadily fixed on her face. ‘“‘ And yet,’”’ he said, ‘‘in her woman’s power, she offered him the keenest possible insult in her simple distrust of him. Do you know, Miss Carruthers, I think a woman who has not per- fect faith, can never hold much love in her heart. Do you not agree with me?” Georgie’s lip curved scornfully. ‘‘Certainly, in many instances, it is my opinion faith, per- fect to blindness, is necessary to preserve even common respect, and perhaps the heroine of this story thought herself wronged.” ** But still it would have been better to have trusted him a little longer, or at least to have given him an honorable trial, would it not ’’— there was a moment’s pause, then he added, lowly—‘‘ Georgie ?”’ lingering on the name as a thirsty man might linger over his first deli- cious draught of water. The splendid eyes flashed up to his, blazing, but steady. ‘‘I think, Captain Standish,” she said, ‘‘this woman must have thought that, in her case, as in many others, there was no doubt.”’ Fred Baynton was sitting in the library, book in hand. Not reading, however, but enjoying the beauty of the morning and the comforts around him, in his own peculiar fashion, which consisted in lounging back on his chair, closing his eyes and thinking of nothing. Presently, without any warning, the door opened and a shining brown head peeped into the room ; it belonged to Mrs. Baynton. “Tf you are not busy, Fred. Oh! I can come in, can’t I?’ and, without waiting for an an- swer, she closed the door and took a seat on the arm of his chair, with a very sober face. ‘Fred, I want to ask your advice about some- thing.”’ Fred was quite equal to giving advice on any subject. “Well, it was about Georgie. ~ Hadn’t he noticed anything lately ?’’ Perhaps this was a trifle ambiguous, but Fred was a man, and, accordingly, trying to look mysteriously knowing, by way of insinuating sagacity, made such a decided failure that, it was glaringly evident, in this instance, at least, his information had its limits. Of course, asking pardon for wandering from

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were wv ovrrFrFeylT:lUh(wSTlUCU PrhlC ShlUL VM] COUP MISS CARRUTHER’S ENGAGEMENT. 315 the subject, men are very well for doing great works with their hands—and with their heads, too, sometimes ; but in such small matters as *‘noticing,”’ as Mrs. Baynton put it, they are sadly at fault. Observe a man and a woman in their different manner of studying character and reading hearts. How quickly and quietly does the little domestic diplomatist work out the true state of affairs ; with what a wonder- ful complication of missteps and false hits does the mistaken masculine blunder to the secret ; often, in his clumsy endeavors to do good, en- tangling all parties concerned in almost hope- less confusion. In these things I am reminded, somewhat, of a sportsman and the sharp-eared, light-footed little grayhound that accompanies him, scenting out the track, following it, and finally bringing the game to his master’s feet ; whereupon Nimrod, with strength and gun, takes possession, going home and saying, tri- umphantly, ‘‘See the game I have bagged !” Well, perhaps he did bag it, but what about Beppo? He gets the bones to pick and no share in the credit of the day’s sport; and it is my private opinion, if he says nothing, it is because he thinks the more. It being evident that Fred had not been mak- ing good use of his perceptive faculties, Mrs. Baynton proceeded to enlighten him. ‘Fred, don’t you remember that summer at Thanet, two years ago ?”’ Yes, he remembered that. ** And don’t you recollect what good friends Georgie and Lionel Standish used to be, and how sure we were they were engaged ?” A sort of light broke into Fred’s rather mys- tified countenance. ‘‘ By Jove! yes,’’ he said. Up to this moment Mrs. Baynton had been véry quiet, but now all her calmness seemed to forsake her. “O Fred!’ with something that sounded quite like a sob; ‘‘I beiieve—I am sure—they were engaged, and that something has hap- pened to part them ; and Georgie is so proud, she would die before she would acknowledge it, and, O Fred! just think if it were you and [’”’— Mr. Banyton looked troubled, for in his heart, also, as in his wife’s, our aristocratic little heroine had a large share. ‘* What near-sighted fellows we men are,”’ he said ; ‘‘here I have been living with these two people for the last three weeks, and, until it was pointed out to me, could see nothing wrong; but perhaps it is not as bad as you think, dear?’’ ‘But they never speak to each other when they can help it, and you know how it was at Thanet.”’ ‘*Perhaps they have ceased to care for each other.” Mrs. Baynton looked indignant. ‘I know them both too well for that ; it is no fickleness which separates them. I believe it is some ' tain me, or I shouid have been quite desolate. dreadful mistake Georgie has construed into an insult, she is so cold and stately.” ** Well, I don’t see how I can help you, Ger, willing as Iam. You see it wouldn’t do for me to pump either of them, I should be sure to make some grand blunder or other ; so sup- pose we let it rest, for awhile, and see how things go on.”’ ‘Yes, and let ‘things,’ as you call them, get worse and worse every day. In a few weeks Captain Standish will leave, and they will be parted perhaps forever, and my poor darling’”’— Here Mrs. Baynton’s remarks were abruptly brought to a close by the entrance of the cap- tain himself, cigar in hand. ‘* Mayn’t I come in, Mrs. Baynton,”’ he said, “and finish my weed? I know you don’t object to smoking, and I am perfectly harmless ; my only misfortune being that I don’t know what to do with myself. Every one is at present violently interested in the croquet lawn, so, you see, there is no one to amuse me; even my own special and peculiar little Miss Chet- wynd having gone over to the enemy,”’ and the captain threw himself lazily into a chair. “Did you say every one was playing cro- quet?” asked Ger. *“T should think so, judging from the amount of muslin on the lawn. By the way, Mrs. Baynton, how do you manage to collect such a number of pretty girls together ?”’ ‘“‘Oh, by a sort of magnetic attraction ; but who do you think reigns belle this season, Captain Standish ?” To whom the captain would have awarded the apple is uncertain, for, as he was about to speak, the door opened, and Miss Carruthers entered, work in hand. Miss Carruthers, cool, dignified, and beautiful, in a delicate robe of sea-green muslin, and with little clusters of flame-colored geraniums at her slender throat and clinging to her amber hair. If it were possible for Miss Carruthers to so far lose her-self-possession, I should certainly say that for a moment she looked both em- barrassed and irresolute. It was only for a moment, however; then she stepped forward with a bow for the captain, and a bright smile for her friend. ‘‘Ger,’’ she said, as she took a seat, ‘I am coming to bore you again. I don’t know whether I am really stupid, but I have got my work into what seems to me inex- tricable confusion.”’ Fred rose from his chair, it is my opinion, in obedience to a matrimonial telegram. ‘ La- dies,’’ he said, ‘‘if you will excuse me, I will go and superintend the unfortunates on the croquet ground,” and with a bow left the room. Ger took the work and carefully inspected it, carrying on a little stream of pleasant chat the while. “I thought I was the only lady croquet proof, Georgie, but it seems I was mis- taken. I had to callin the captain to enter-

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316 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Miss Carruthers, leaning back in her chair, politely oblivious of the captain’s presence, laced the crimson wool through her slender fingers. ‘I have been playing a little, but I got tired, so I thought I would come and sit with you, before dinner. Thank you, dear; how nicely you have arranged it,’’ bending for- ward and taking the work. ‘Now, Captain Standish,’’ said Mrs. Bayn- ton, ‘‘ there is a perfectly Herculean task before you. You are called upon to entertain two ladies who are deeply involved in the mysteries of crochet, so if we break in occasionally with an inopportune one, two, and three, you must excuse us.”’ Whether the task was Herculean or not, the captain did not seem to be afraid of it; and, for the next hour, certainly proved himself quite equal to its performance, laughing, chat- ting, and smoking (this last in accordance to Georgie’s expressed wish), all at once, only stopping now and then to watch the swift, white fingers and beautiful face before him. Watching them, not furtively, but with calm, steady eyes, that more than once almost upset the Carruthers dignity. At last, by some mysterious turn or other, the conversation wandered off to a certain flirtation which was being carried on under the eyes of the Trafford guests. The parties were an engaged young lady and a former lover, and Georgie, with womanly severity, condemned, in quite a spirited manner, the young lady’s faithlessness to ber betrothed. “IT do not know much about these things myself,’’ she said; ‘‘and I don’t doubt that Beatrice may have loved Mr. Montieth—in- deed, may love him still—but I think she ought to remember her position with regard to Mr. Elgerner.”’ The captain had been listening to the ladies’ comments for some time; at this he spoke again. ‘‘But what about poor Charlie? Per- haps, with him, it is the old story of ‘never forgotten,’ Miss Carruthers.”’ She did not even glance at him, but, with her rare searlet lip curved dowuward, gave her answer scornfully : ‘‘ Neverforgotten! You have a strange faith in humanity, Captain Standish. That is a phrase I never hear made use of without a slight feeling of contempt.’’ The captain took the cigar from his lips and knocked the ashes from it, his mouth taking hard, stern lines the while; but, when he spoke, his words were not what one would have expected, looking at the man’s face. ‘*Ah!’’ he said, ‘‘then you do not believe in love’s memory as implicitly as some pecple. Are you as sceptical as your friend Mrs. Baynton?”’ Georgie rose, gathering her work in her hand. ‘*No,” she said, emphatically, as she left the room, ‘‘I do not believe in love’s memory; sometimes I am almost tempted to doubt the existence of love itself.’’ Ger looked up from her embroidery, bright eyes and pretty mouth most decidedly expres- sive of surprise. ‘‘ What are you two always quarrelling about? You are never together half an hour without one or the other making a dignified exit.’’ “T do not know that we quarrel, but there are some subjects on which Miss Carruthers and I always clash.”’ ‘* Yes, and that horrid love is one of them. I shall begin to think you had a serious differ- ence connected with it at some time.” ‘* Perhaps you will not be mistaken.” Gertrude turned quickly to look at him, and in the glance she caught of his pale, stern face read at least the preface of a story. She had thought she partly understood his cold indiffer- ence and Georgie’s cynical pride, but still something puzzled her. ‘‘Can I be right?” she asked herself. ‘‘ Has there been a lovers’ quarrel between them in by-gone times, or is it some little womanly pique Georgie cannot for- get?’’ But a second glance at Standish’s face told her it was not a slight difference, but a bitter pain, such as might darken a man’s life, and then her heart gave a quick throb as she thought how almost utterly impossible it was for her, with all her willingness, to help those two she loved so well. Awhile she sat full of sadness, then she rose and crossed to the window, lay- ing one soft hand on Lionel’s arm, and looking up at him with sweet eyes full of womanly tears *“T do not know,” she said, falteringly, ‘whether I am right in speaking to you on this subject, but if I am wrong, I know, as Fred’s wife, I am sure of your forgiveness. I may be mistaken—I hope I am—but some- thing, I can hardly explain, in yours and I may say in my dear girl’s manner, has led me to think that there has been some trouble—per- haps some misunderstanding between you. O Captain Standish!” clasping her hands ear- nesily, ‘I am a woman, and, though my life has been so happy, I know how much a woman can suffer through the man she loves, and my poor, proud Georgie has been so dear to me!’’ Even at her first words the stern look had faded from her hearer’s face, and, as she ended, he took her hands in his. ‘I believe you are my friend, Mrs. Baynton; if I had ever doubted it, your womanly tenderness would have set all such doubts at rest. What your kindness prompts me to tell you has been, until now, a secret between myself and the woman I love most in the world—Georgine Carruthers. When I left Thanet, two years ago, I went away, hoping to return in a few months calling your friend my wife. Happier, perhaps, in this thought than most men who had been more blest with home ties might have been, with such a strong hope that each in the end might be better and purer for the other’s love, feeling such pride in her beauty and stately sweetness, £0 6 Se ee ee Oe ee a: ae ae i oe * Oe ee ee peo ee le ek em & —h @

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MISS CARRUTHERS’ ENGAGEMENT. 317

and with a determination to do all in my power to make her life even brighter than it had been, I left Thanet the night I had won her promise, You remember that, a few months before, Mr. Chetwynd had broken little Rose’s engage- ment with Charlie Thorne on account of his wild freaks and consequent disgrace in the army. From the commencement of my ac- quaintance with Charlie, when he first joined my regiment, I had pitied him. <A wild, good- natured boy, with more money than discretion, and no single adviser but a stern disciplina- rian such as his guardian, Mr. Chetwynd, had proved to be, he was in every danger from the society into which he was necessarily thrown, and, as you have heard, was constantly in trouble. Some slight forbearance in my posi- tion as his superior officer gained me the young fellow’s fervent esteem, and he accordingly made me his confidant in everything, from his rows with ‘the governor’ to his love affair and broken engagement with Rose. During our visit to Thanet it appeared his attentions to Miss Carruthers had aroused the jealousy of his little ‘fiancée,’ and, on the night of our de- parture, he came to my room begging me to be the bearer of a letter explaining matters to her. As I was just then engaged on a farewell note to Miss Rosie’s rival, you may be sure I was not quite ready for the commission; but, in my new happiness and my pity for the unfor- tunate pair, I consented to be at least the means of its delivery, depending on which promise Charlie departed, leaving the note with a blank envelope for my direction. After I had finished my writing, I laid the two letters on my desk and threw myself on the couch by way of rest- ing before my journey, rousing only in time to direct and give them into the hands of my valet, who, I had arranged, should follow me with my luggage. Once with my regiment, and the preparations necessary for the throwing up of my commission made, I waited the arrival of news from my lady-love with considerable impatience. For some days, however, I heard nothing. I wrote for an explanation, thinking that the letters had probably been misdirected, and was not a little mystified to receive in answer to my lover-like epistle an envelope oontaining the engagement ring. There was no reason given for its return; simply a blank sheet indorsed with her name. Of course I was both surprised and chagrined. I could not think her guilty of coquetry. I loved her far too well for that; but that a misunder- standing could have arisen in so short a time pained me exceedingly. I could construe it into nothing but a great want of confidence. “T was seated, holding the ring in my hand, trying in vain to find some clue to the mystery, when another letter was handed to me; ft came from Rose Chetwynd, and contained her thanks for an explanatory note she had just received from Chariie (as she supposed through me),

and also a note which had fallen into her hands through some mistake in direction, and which she accordingly returned. I opened it and found it to be the very letter I had written to Miss Carruthers on the night I left Thanet. This explained all. In my hurry, I had inclosed my letters in the wrong envelopes, and Georgie, reading the writer’s protestations of love for Rose, and indifference to herself, with an un- reasoning pride, which did credit to her head if not to her heart, had not deigned to finish its perusal, or even look at the signature, but had returned it to Miss Chetwynd, and condemning your humble servant as a scoundrel and a trai- tor, had treated him accordingly. Naturally I felt a little sore on the subject. Nevertheless, I instantly wrote to Georgie, explaining the mistake I had made, and gently reproaching her for her readiness to mistrust me.’’ ** And her answer ?’’ asked Ger, breathlessly, ' for the captain had stopped. He laughed. bitterly. ‘‘ Was a very simple one, and the ultimate cause of my Indian cam- paign—merely my letter returned unopened, with these words: ‘Forever. Georgine Car- ruthers.’”’ ‘*O Captain Standish !’”’ and Gertrude’s voice sounded almost like a sob. “You must not trouble yourself about it, Mrs. Baynton; it is more than your stately friend condescended to do; besides, what is it, after all? Nothing but a man’s life darkened by a woman’s caprice ; not a new thing, you know, in these civilized days.” Ger raised her tearful eyes. ‘‘ But have you never thought how she may suffer? Though thinking herself injured, she will not confess it even to me, her dearest friend. O Captain Standish, are you as unforgiving as the Saxon knight? Would you not pardon the woman who has erred through her very delicacy and too great love for you?” He smiled a little sadly. ‘‘Ah, Mrs. Bayn- ton, I think we can hardly call ‘too great’ the love which is ready to condemn unheard?’ ‘*Perhaps not, but it seems to me to be natu- ral for a woman to err in her fear of giving herself an unloved and unloving life. A man can hardly understand this, I think ; you see, though so closely linked, their positions are so entirely different—husband and wife. Captain, is it needful that I should plead for her?” He turned and took her handsagain. ‘‘There is no need for pleading ; before I leave here I think she will have understood me rightly, and then’’— ** And then ?”’ said Ger, softly. ‘‘Kither my wife will end the story for you, or I leave England forever.” For some days after their meeting in the library, Georgie studiously avoided the cap- tain’s presence, and, though perfectly polite and kind in his manner to her, as to all others,

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318 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. _ he certainly did not seek to throw himself into her society. Any continued coldness, how- ever, in their position would have attracted more observation and remark than “ Miss Carruthers”’ cared her conduct should ; conse- quently, in the lapse of a few days, they fell into their old mode of intercourse, meeting and conversing with polite hypocrisy. Georgie oc- casionally inflicting on her antagonist keen stabs of sarcasm with a success which showed her to be a true woman. At last the end came, though in a manner very different to what Standish had expected. It had been a suffocatingly hot day, spent, by the Trafford guests, as such days are gene- rally spent, in complaining indolence, and with many hopes that the morrow might prove cooler. Toward evening, however, a breeze arose, and, anxious to make up for the loss of the day, the greater part of the idlers repaired to the archery ground to decide a disputed match. Among the number was Miss Carruthers, this evening more than usually superb! with a veil of rich black lace flung over her head and heid back from her face with heavy wax-like lilies, looking a very queen, reminding one, in her perfection, perhaps a little too much of Tenny- son’s “‘ Maud.” **Faultily faultless, icily regular, splendidly null.” Mrs. Baynton, seated in the veranda with Captain Standish, glanced from one to the other, as her friend sauntered by with her favorite escort, Charlie Thorne, and, gazing on the sweet cold face that revealed so little, won- dered, asking herself, ‘‘ Has this man ever held her heart, or, once having held it, can it have utterly passed away from him ?”’ and still won- dering, and learning nothing, the little lady felt almost inclined to wish something dreadful might happen, sagely concluding that if either were in danger the other would surely show some feeling, and then matters would “end all right.” Tlf Fates, however, had not designed a tra- gical ending to my love story, and its hero, sauntering round the archery ground, cigar in hand, stringing bows and handing arrows to the fair archers, was certainly not the sort of man to quarrel with destiny on that account ; indeed, I think he would have felt rather in- clined to congratulate himself than otherwise. For about an hour he remained on the ground, and then, excusing himself, returned to the house to write some letters. Completing his task he passed out on the colonnade, and fling- ing himself on one of the divans, fell asleep. When he awoke it was sunset, the archery party were filling the parlors with the sound of light laughter and merry discussion, and one solitary couple promenaded the lawn, appa- rently deeply engaged in conversation. It was Georgie and Charlie Thorne. Several times they passed and repassed, at last, again near- ing the colonnade, Charlie raised his voice ear- nestly, and Standish perceived that he himself was the subject of discussion. “By Jove! Miss Carruthers, if you only knew what a splendid fellow he is!’’ and from his seat the captain saw his young admirer’s boyish face flush, and his honest blue eyes kindle. “By Jove!’ (for this was Charlie’s favorite expression), “‘they did right to call him Lionel; he reminds ove of a lion, one of those great strong fellows, a king in body and soul.” Miss Carruthers did not seem very enthusi- astic, but the subject was too near Charlie’s heart to admit of his ardor being easily damp- ened, and he went on slashing at Mrs. Bayn- ton’s rose trees in his vehemence. “Tf, like me, you had been his constant companion amid danger and desolation, if you had only seen him in those old campaigning days, cheering and encouraging hundreds with his undaunted bravery, when it seemed as though all hope was past—working, day and night, among sick, dead, and dying, with no care for himself, no thought of danger—you would not wonder at my love and admiration for him.” Miss Carruthers’ voice floated out on the air cooingly. ‘‘Then, I suppose, it is because I do not understand your friend that I do not admire him ; indeed, I think I was rather rash in saying my opinion of him was unfavorale.”’ ““T don’t see why it should be,”’ said Charlie, bluntly. ‘“‘Do you know, Miss Carruthers, I always fancy he likes you? He is not the sort of fellow to say much about liking any one, particularly women, but still I think if ever you were in great trouble or danger, you might rely on him for help.”’ A little silence, and then Georgie’s reply came, very low, and perhaps a trifle unsteady, nevertheless, characteristically controlled :— *“‘T have often heard it said that men never form such passionate friendships as women. You have proved this to be untrue. I have rarely, if ever, heard one woman defend another as you have defended Captain Standish.” Charlie warmed again. ‘‘No woman could ever be under the obligations to another that I am under to Standish. There is a story con- nected with my friendship for him which has almost been a secret between us. I donot mind telling it to you, because, in the first place, you are my friend, and I like you.” Georgie smiled. ‘ And, in the second, it will convince you what a splendid fellow he is, and make you like him. Do you care to hear it?” Of course she cared to hear it ; nothing would please her more. And so he told it, Pretty much in the abstract what Mrs. Baynton had heard, though, of course, relating only to three persons, Rose, Standish, and himself. Speaking of his broken engagement with his guardian’s little daughter

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ot of on er MISS CARRUTHERS’ ENGAGEMENT. 319 and the sin and dissipation into which he had plunged in his despair, from which his friend, by his continued efforts, had rescued him ; re- lating the history of what Standish had so lightly passed over, as ‘‘some slight forbear- ance in my position as his superior officer,’’ proving it to have been, in the strict army dis- cipline, almost a matter of life and death, quite a matter of disgrace aud ignominy, from which the unhappy boy had only been saved through the almost superhuman efforts and self-denial of the man whom in his madness he had in- sulted ; describing the unlucky correspondence, ending with the misdirected letter which had caused his hearer so much unhappiness, and adding, gayly: ‘‘ Rose and I often laugh to think how astonished Standish’s lady corre- spondent must have been when she received my lover-like note. And now, Miss Carruthers, what do you say ?” ‘That I thank you for your interesting story; it has cleared away from your friend a shadow which has mystified me for some time, and— and—as I feel rather chilly, suppose we return to the house.”’ Standish drew back in his hiding place, his heart thrilling with a passionate pain. ‘‘ Has she so completely outlived the old love,’’ he asked himself, “‘that she can hear of the in- justice she has done me unmoved? I wonder if her face is as calm as her voice?’’ and so wondering he waited for her coming. A few moments and she stood on the veranda, so near to him that he might almost have touched her. Where her companion was he did not care to know; one thing only impressed him, her face, whiter than the lilies she had crushed in her clenched hand; white even to her firm-set lips, with no shade of color but the dark circles round her weary eyes. This much he had time to see, and she passed into the house. Through the deserted hall and up the broad staircase, which seemed to her almost unter- minable in its length, sometimes stopping, catching her breath with a quick, dry sob, at last reaching her room, closing the door behind her, and, dropping face downward on the rich carpet, sobbing in all the bitter abandonment of her grief. ‘‘O Lionel! O Lionel! Oh my love! forgive me!”’ After all, what was she—with all her pride, with all her strength—but a girl with a girl’s strong power of loving, and, consequently, suf- fering; for, it seems to me, these two are so often linked together, that the one has almost come to signify the other. The remainder of the evening and the follow- ing day Miss Carruthers was notin view. She had a severe nervous headache, and must keep her room till it was better. ‘‘It will soon be over,” she said, when Gertrude, frightened at her scarlet cheeks and heavy eyes, wished to send for the doctor. ‘‘It will soon be over; it is not very bad. I always look dreadfully when I am in pain, and, if you wish me to get better, you must leave me to myself. Please, Ger.”’ And the ‘please Ger’’ said so much to sen- sitive, tender-hearted Mrs. Baynton, that she complied with the request, feeling that perhaps more depended upon it than she could clearly understand. The next evening, however, a farewell ball was given to the officers of the Fourth, who, to the grief of the surrounding feminine popula- tion, were called away, and our heroine, waited on by Ger, was found, to all appearance, in full enjoyment of most enviable health and spirits. ‘‘I told you it would soon be over,’’ she said, gayly, not a little to the astonishment and, if one must speak truthfully, the indigna- tion of the frank young matron. “T thought something had happened; I thought she had learned the truth, and here she is positively looking as though she were the happiest girl in the world,’’ and poor little Mrs. Baynton was puzzled almost to loss of patience. Two hours after Georgine swept down the staircase perfectly magnificent. Her trailing dress of rich white silk, her jewels, superbly unique, heavy bands of gold, thickly studded with pearls, forming zone, bracelets, and negli- gee, a single pond lily resting in her hair. Ger, performing her toilet in the prettiest of wrap- pers, meeting her at the door of her dressing- room, almost screamed with delight. ‘*O Geordie, you beauty !’ And Miss Georgie was walked across the floor, and turned round, and criticized from all possible points of view, and admired in a de- lightful feminine manner; said admiration be- ing expressed by a variety of musical little shrieks and pretty interjectional phrases. At last, the verbal resources running rather low, Ger submitted herself to the hands of her maid with a sigh of ecstasy. ‘‘ Well, dear, if I were only inclined to be envious, I should die of jealousy on the spot. I feel like the treble distilled essence of peonies in comparison with your marble ladyship. Do kiss me by way of a cooling draught.”’ A sweet, low laugh rippled over Miss Car- ruthers’ scarlet lips as she gave the wished for salute. ‘‘Idon’tsee why youshould. I think I have need to envy your brightness. Ger, dear ?”’ interrogatively. ‘* What is it?” ** Am I sometimes a little—just a little—too —too—frosty ?’’ ** Frosty ? what made you think of that ?’”’ **T don’t know,” with half a sigh, and just the faintest suspicion of a quiver on her lip. *T suppose I am blue. I wish some one thought well enough of me to tell me of my faults,”

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320 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ‘* Well, get married,” said Gertrude, sagely, ‘and you will find some one, I dare say, who will be ready enough to do that.’’ Then, turn- ing quickly and facing her, ‘‘Geordie, why don’t you?” The brown eyes opened, and a little wave of crimson color showed itself on the fair face. “Why don’t I—what ?’’ ‘‘Get married and have some one to find fault with you; it is not so very unpleasant.’’ “For the very American reason you are so fond of giving—‘ because.’ ”’ There was a quick rap at the door, and Fred’s voice was heard. ‘‘ Ain’t you ready, Ger? it is seven o’clock.”’ Mrs. Baynton shook out her airy draperies (for she had completed her toilet), and laid her hand on her friend’s white shoulder. ‘‘If the ‘because’ were removed, what would be the effect? Georgie, the Fourth leaves Trafford to- morrow, and, darling, won’t you lay aside the superb Carruthers for to-night?” Captain Standish was seated alone by one of the deep windows in the library. Oppressed beyond measure by the glare and brilliancy of the ball-room, he ha? passed out unobserved, thinking to obtain a few moments’ relief from it. The library had not been thrown open to the guests to-night, and, seated in the flood of moonlight which poured in at the wide win- dow, he had exactly what he needed—time for thought. During the whole of the evening he had been puzzled, terribly puzzled. Watching Georgie, as she held her court, this night as ever star of stars and seemingly so radiantly happy, he had contrasted it with the scene of the night before with a feeling of indescribable pain. ‘*T wonder if I was mistaken in my estimate of her character ?”’ he mused ; “I had thought her a proud, loving girl, thinking herself in- jured through her very tenderness, and had forgiven even her injustice. One word to- night, one glance, would have cleared all doubt away, and yet, knowing of the wrong she has done me, she passes me with cold face and averted eyes. Well, after all, I am on suf- fering as hundreds of other men have suffered, a little pang for a scarlet mouth and a pair of velvet eyes, a little bitterness for a clear-cut face and a crown of amber hair; their glamour once removed, perhaps I may forget—but, oh, my darling, I cannot bear to think of you as Gther than the true woman whose heart I thought I had won.”’ A while longer he pondered, and then rose to return to the ball-room, stopping, however, a moment to listen to the merry voices on the colonnade, to the dancers’ feet, to the delicious throb of the music in the room above. Perhaps this moment decided his fate. I think so, for, as he stood, there came the sound of a light fogt on the stairs, the trail of a woman’s dress on the hall floor, its rustle on the carpet, and some one stood beside him. Some one with the moonlight frosting her falling rebe with silver, with its brightness shimmering in her hair. Miss Carruthers, yet quite unlike her, perhaps more the girl he had called ‘‘ my dar- ling’’ under the trees at Thanet, than she had ever been since that night; still he did not speak to her, acknowledging her presence only by a slight movement. A moment she waited, as though irresolute, then spoke, seemingly not without a struggle for composure. ‘‘ They tell me you leave Traf- ford, to-morrow, Captain Standish, and I could not let you go without asking pardon for the injustice which I have unconsciously been guilty of. My object in coming here is to ex- plain the manner in which I fell into error.” A moment she paused, then, laying one pretty ungloved hand on the window to steady her- self, went on rapidly: ‘‘ It is needless—I think you will spare me more than reminding you of our positions relative te each other when we separated the last night at Thanet. I suppose I had not rightly understcod your arrange- ments, for I was quite surprised to hear of your absence in the morning, and on your valet’s handing me the letter, I opened it, look- ing for an explanation. Only last evening I learned who was the writer. It began, ‘My queen of roses’—the night before you had used those very words to me—and I read on until I came to my own name; three sentences more decided me—I did not finish it. Perhaps it might have been better if I had; you know the rest. This I must say to you; I have been wrong, from first to last; in my pride I have been almost wicked. I ask your pardon; will you not try, at least, to forget it?” and she extended a slender, trembling hand, which he took. Thus far she had lost none of her calmness, speaking hurriedly, with swift-changing color and eyes steadily fixed on the moonlit park, but now, at the old familiar clasp of the strong fingers, her unconquered pride, battling with her conquered heart, broke down in bitter tears. “‘T cannot ask you to forgive me wholly ; I cannot expect it of yon, but—O Lionel! you kissed my lips that night, and, after that, it ‘was so hard to bear.” I do not know whether he had waited for this; it may be that he had. However that was, he spoke now, for the first time :— ‘*T might say a great deal on this subject, but I do not think matters would be any clearer if. I did; and, Georgie, in the end it would all come to the same thing—that the man who kissed’ your lips at Thanet holds your hand to- night with an unchanged heart. Have you not still a little of the old love left? If you have, my.darling, come to me.” He still held her hand, and as he ended he

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WHAT IS A TEAR ?—POETRY. 321 drew her gently to his side—closer, closer, until her head lay on his breast, and drooping face and tear-wet eyes were covered with his kisses. Mrs. Baynton, with that quick intuition of the state of affairs which I think is natural to women, excused their absence by some inno- cent white fibs. “Georgie has gone to rest for a few moments ; she said she felt a little faint, and I dare say Captain Standish is discussing some dreadful massacre with Fred. Did you ever in the worid see anything like men for horrors ?’’ So for an hour, half happy, half sorrowful, the lovers were left to themselves, and certainly they made good use of their time; relating to each other the history of their miserable sepa- ration, laughing at poor Charlie’s love scrapes, and sympathizing with Rose. “Of course, since Charlie’s reform, their troubles are over,’’ said Georgie. ‘Poor little Rose! how unjust I have been to her. Lionel, I am afraid that is my forte.’’ “To be unjust? I hope not. I think your forte, as you call it, is (or has been) too great pride and want of confidence. Ah, my dar- ling,’’ he said, laying his hand softly on her hair, “if you had only trusted me a little more, we should not have these two sorrowful years to look back upon.’”’ It was hardly the superb Carruthers who answered him, with tremulous lips and tender eyes. ““But perhaps the very bitterness has taught me a lesson which otherwise I might never have learned.’”’ When they re-entered the ball-room, arm in arm, Fred, in his delight, would, I fear, have mortally committed himself, had it not been for some matrimonial asides; as it was, his handsome face, for the remainder of the even- ing, wore an expression of blank, though pleased, astonishment. Mrs. Baynton, like a dear little hypocrite, kept up a delightful sem- blance of ignorance, until her guests had sepa- rated for the night, when she rather surprisetl Miss Carruthers by breaking in upon her as that young lady sat by the fire of her dressing- room, delivering to her a short and somewhat disconnected lecture on want of confidence, breaking off in the middle and ending in a per- fectly natural and womanly manner, by laying her pretty brown head on her shoulder and bursting into tears. 6°0o-——————— WHAT IS A TEAR? THE principal element of a tear is water, This water, upon dissolution, contains a few hundredth parts of the substance called mucus, and a small portion of salt, of soda, of phos- phate of lime, and of phosphate of soda. It is the salt and the soda that give to tears that peculiar savor which earned for tears the epithet of ‘‘salt’’ at the hand of Greek poets, and that of ‘bitter’ at that of ours. ‘Salt’? is, how- ever, the more correct term of the two. When a tear dries the water evaporates, and leaves behind it a deposit of the saline ingredients, These amalgamate and, as seen through the microscope, array themselves in long crossed lines which look like diminutive fish bones. Tears are secreted by a gland, called the lach- rymal gland, which is situated above the eye- ball and underneath the upper eyelid, on the side nearest the temple. Six or seven exceed- ingly fine channels flow from it along and under the surface of the eyelid, discharging their con- tents a little above the delicate cartilage which supports the lid. It is these channels or canals that carry the tears into the eye. But tears do not flow only at certain moments and under certain circumstances, as might be supposed ; their flowis continuous. All day and all night (although less abundantly during sleep), they trickle softly from their slender sluices, and spread glistening over the surface of the pupil and eyeball), giving them that bright, enamel, and limpid look which is one of the character- istic signs of health. It is the ceaseless move- ment and contraction of the eyelids that effect the regular spreading of the tears; and the flow of these has need to be constantly renewed in the way just mentioned, because tears not only evaporate after a few seconds, but also are carried away through two little drains, called lachrymal points, and situated in the corner of the eye, near the nose. Thus all tears, after leaving the eyelids, flow into the nostrils ; and if the reader will assure himself of this he has only to notice, unpoetical as the fact may be, that a person after crying much is always obliged to make a twofold use of his or her pocket-handkerchief. ——“- --e BESIDE THE SEA. BY ELIZA F, MORIARTY. Ox gentle waves! that singing flow, And softly kiss the beaten shore, But yesterday you fiercely dashed Against the rocks with sullen roar. Oh smiling skies! that bend above In cloudless glory o’er the world, How lately through your azure depths The storm’s dark pennons were unfurled Oh cruel waves! I seem to hear From out your depths sad drowning cries ; I seem to see the wrecks a-strand Beneath your light, deceitful skies. I think of silent hearts that lie Unburied ’neath your depths, O Waves! The cherished ones, so still and cold, No stone to mark their nameless graves. Oh restless waves! be pitiful When ships are ploughing through the foam; Let longing eyes upon the shore Behold them sailing home.

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322 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, THE LAST EVENING IN LEAP YEAR. BY 8, ANNIE FROST. “GOING out?” The tone was one so full of surprise that it might be supposed, to hear it, that going out was rather an astonishing event in the daily routine of Robert Seymour’s life, or to leave his business during business hours. ‘*Yes,’’ was the reply, while the old gentle- man drew on his well-worn overcoat, and care- fully brushed his rather shabby hat, “‘I shall be out for an hour or two. It is a dull day, Fred, so you will probably have but little to do. Sitters are not apt to come in such gloomy weather.”’ ‘‘Are you going far?’’ not spoken as if dic- tated by mere curiosity, but in a voice full of affectionate interest. ‘As far as W Street. I may be de- tained, but I think I can return in two hours ;” and, with a kindly nod, the old gentleman left the room. It was, as he had said, gloomy weather; a dull November day, not raining, but cloudy, chilly, and disagreeable. Robert Seymour drew his overcoat closely around him, and walked as fast as his rather feeble frame would per- mit towards his destination. He was an old man, to all appearance, and yet he seemed more broken by anxiety and care than by the positive weight of years. His hair was white, his figure, once tall and large, shrunken and stooping, and his large blue eyes, full of be- nevolence and kindness, were yet dull and wavering in expression. As he turned into WwW Street his step grew slower and more irresolute, till he came to a large handsome house where he stopped, looking behind him as if half inclined to turn back again. The house before which he thus paused bore the marks that in Philadelphia signify a recent bereavement. The shutters were bowed from the lowest to the highest story, and from each narrow aperture there streamed long broad bands of black crape; there was no sign of mourning upon the bell-handle, so the funeral was over, but the whole front of the house was dark and gloomy in appearance. Mr. Sey- mour’s hesitation lasted but a few moments, and, with a deep breath that was almost a sigh, he ascended the high broad marble steps and rang the door-bell. A servant raan opened the door, but in answer to his inquiry, “Is Miss Seymour at home ?”’ only stared vacantly at the speaker. With a little touch of impa- tience the question was repeated. ‘“‘ There is no one of that name lives here.’’ “Ts not this Mrs. Connell’s ?”’ ‘Yes, sir. She died, you know, last week. Miss Helen Connell is the only young lady here."’ “Will you tell her I wish to speak with her.” “T hardly think she will see you, sir. She ain’t seen a living soul since the old lady was buried.” Mr. Seymour hesitated; then taking a neat little card from his pocket-book, he requested the man to carry that to his young mistress, and followed him to the handsome drawing- room to await an answer. The footman looked curiously at the card ; it bore the name ‘‘ Robert Seymour,”’ and below that, ‘‘ Photographist,’”’ in small, neat type. ‘* Wants to copy the old lady’s picture, I’ll bet a dollar,’? was the footman’s decision. ‘‘ And I’ll bet another that Miss Helen won’t see him.” Fortunately for his purse, no one was near to accept the last wager, for Miss Helen, looking at the card, sent word to Mr. Seymour that she would be with him in a moment. It was not much longer when she entered the door of the room where he sat waiting. He rose from his seat when she entered, and waited, standing, whilst she crossed the long room. His artist taste was filled and pleased while he watched her, yet his kindly eyes were full of sympathy. She was so pale and sad, so very beautiful, with a dignified, graceful beauty rarely seen in one so young. The tall slender figure in its close mourning dress was full of pliant grace, yet there were vitality and energy, too, in the small white hands now pressed closely together, in the erect carriage of the small head and the firm footfall of the little slippered feet. Her eyes bore marks of exces- sive weeping, yet even in their languor there were resolution and will, and the expressive mouth closed, firmly showing decision in its delicate curves. She crossed the room slowly and gracefully, not pausing till she stood facing Mr. Seymour, when he saw she still held his card in her hands. Making this his introduction, he said, gently : “My name is not unfamiliar to you, I pre- sume ?”’ She motioned him to resume his seat, and sat down herself before she replied, in a low voice, musical and very pleasant to hear: “ Until within a few days the name was a strange one to me, Mr. Seymour, but I have lately learned that it is the oply one I have a right to claim.”’ You were ignorant of this until a few days ago ?’’ he said, in a tone of surprise. ““Yes. I believed myself a niece of the late Mrs. Connell.” “T trust,” he said, gently, “that my visit here will not prove an intrusion, but I under- stood you needed a friend and protector, and I thought your father’s only brother might ciaim it as his privilege to offer that protection and— and affection.” “You are very kind,’’ she said, gratefully. “*T do indeed need friends ; and yet, beyond the mere fact that I am not, as I supposed, related to Mrs. Connell, and that no will of hers can — OUlhtehlCUrhkhlCarlC OU ell eed lle COC Cle le CC

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THE LAST EVENING IN LEAP YEAR. 323 be found, so that I am left penniless, I know nothing of my own position.’’ ‘“What I know is soon told you. Your mother and Mrs. Connell were school-girl friends, companions in young lady pleasures and pursuits, and finally married gentlemen as closely united to each other by the ties of friendship as they were themselves. Mrs. Connell’s son, and only child, I believe, was born soon after her marriage; but it was nine long years before my brother had a child, and then your birth was followed in one short week by your mother’s death. Mrs. Connell at once begged to take you, pleading her love for your mother, her fondness for little chil- dren, and her own loneliness, for she was then a widow, and her son too old for baby caresses and cares. Your father willingly gave you to her loving protection. I do not know whether grief at the loss of a wife he idolized unsettled my brother’s intellect, but it is certain that soon after he began to neglect his business, until he became bankrupt, and within two years followed his wife to her grave, leaving you with Mrs. Connell, who promised to love you and provide for you as her own child.” ‘*She kept her promise faithfully to the hour of her death.” ‘*My brother,” continued the old gentleman, ‘was nearly twenty years younger than myself, and very, very dear to me. I could not but feel a tender interest in his child, perhaps increased by the fact that my own wife and five little ones lie side by side in the graveyard. Still I was content to watch you from my own humble station, glad to see you growing to beauty and happiness, without forcing myself upon your notice. Had Mrs. Connell lived, had you married, or been left wealthy, believe me, I should never have made myself known to you, but yesterday, Mrs. Connell’s lawyer, @ mutual friend, told me that you were left without any provision for your future; your friend’s son absent in Europe, and, of course, in the absence of a will, heir to all his mother’s property.” “Tt is all true.” “Then, my child, let me offer you a home. It will be a very humbie one, for I am poor, and have no luxuries like these surrounding you, but it will give you shelter and protection and—and—need I say, a sincere fatherly love. Give me an uncle’s right, dear Helen, and per- haps in time you may give me a father’s place in your heart.”’ The large tears stood in Helen’s eyes as she placed her hand in her uncle’s. ‘I was think- ing of advertising for a situation as a teacher,’ she said, ‘‘for I have yo right to stay here. Mr. Putnam, my aunt’s lawyer, told me I had a right to my wardrobe, and there is something left of my last quarterly allowance after my mourning is all paid for, so that I am not actually destitute; but I was very lonely and almost despairing when youcame. It all seems so new and strange, and I loved her so much. No mother’s death could be a greater loss.” “T know, dear child, I know. It will be a heavy sorrow for you to bear, but there is One who comforts all sad hearts ready to help you bear your cross.” There was a moment of silence, both being too deeply moved to speak. Then Mr. Sey- mour rose. ‘‘ When can you be ready for me to call and take you home ?”’ he asked. ** Any time to-morrow.” **T will call, then, about two.”’ **T will be ready.”’ She rose, too, now, and came to his side. One moment she looked wistfully into his eyes, now filled with the most loving sympathy, and then the proud, graceful head sank down upon his shoulder, and she lay passive as a weary child in his close embrace. ‘“*My dear child,’ he whispered, smoothing her glossy hair with womanly tenderness, ‘‘my dear Helen.”’ She did not weep or sob as she lay there, for over her poor sore heart there crept a sense of peace and comfort that she had not known in all the dreary days of mourning. She had found a father, and a kind loving protector she felt he would prove. When at last she raised her face to his, to bid him farewell, his heart swelled with grateful emotion to see the quiet, peaceful look in her dark eyes, and mark how the lines of keen sorrow were already softening round her lips and brow. It was not without maay bitter tears, how- ever, that Helen Seymour gathered together her personal property preparatory te leaving the home which she had entered when but one week old. Every object in her beautiful room seemed hers by right of the most loving asso- ciation. Every painting had been selected for her especial gratification and improvement, for she had early shown a talent for art that was encouraged by every loving device. Those of her own execution amongst the pictures she felt she might take with her, but those only. It was a heavy day’s work to select her own treasures from the many around her, but sun- set found her all ready to start, and the next day, in spite of the bitter parting she had had with the inanimate objects that made her home so precious, her uncle found her cheerful and quite ready to take a sunny view of her new life. Mr. Putnam accompanied Mr. Seymour to take possession of the property until the return of the heir from Europe, and his first question to the startled girl was: “‘ Why didn’t you marry Herbert Connell when he asked you, and avoid all this fuss?” Helen blushed, but, in spite of her confusion, did not answer. **Oh, I know all about it,’’ said the old law- yer; ‘‘a pretty pucker his mother was in to see

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a $24 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. all her pet air-castles tumbling to pieces, for a girl’s whim. And the young fellow had to go off to Europe to cure his broken heart.’’ By this time Helen’s self-possession had re- turned to her. ‘‘His heart was not broken, Mr. Putnam,”’ she said, with a touch of haugh- tiness in her voice. ‘‘It was his mother’s will, and not his heart that dictated his proposal. We were brother and sister, that was all, and he went to Europe quite heart whole—as far as I am concerned.”’ ** And left you so”— ** Yes, sir!’’ ‘*How demurely the girl says it. Well, Sey- mour, you have secured a treasure ; take good care of her. Good-by, Miss Helen ; think some- times of your old friends, and I will keep a lookout for that will. There was one, I know, for I drew it up, but Mrs. Connell insisted upon keeping it herself, and I suppose made a bonfire of it, intending to have a new one.”’ ‘*Then she did not forget me ?”’ “My dear child, she left you this house, everything in it, and fifty thousand dollars. The rest all goes to Herbert.” ‘‘T am glad she remembered me. It takes away the sting. I can bear anything else, now that I know it was not intentional on her part to leave me pennyless. I am ready, uncle. Good-by, Mr. Putnam.”’ **Good-by. I’ll come to see you soon.” Something of the above conversation lingered on Robert Seymour’s mind, for soon after they were seated in the carriage he had brought to take his niece home, he said :— “So Herbert Conn@il wanted to marry you?” **His mother wished it, uncle. I may tell you without betraying confidence, that Herbert loved a certain pair of blue eyes better than he ever did my black ones, but the blue eygs were owned by a little seamstress who worked for his mother, and all her aristocratic blood re- belled at the alliance. The blue eyes disap- peared, and Herbert was half coaxed and half threatened into proposing to me. I knew his secret, and refused him. And, uncle, I think that is the secret of the lost will. Aunt Maria was very angry for a time, and I think meant to make a new will, making our marriage some sort of condition in inheriting her property, or, if nothing more, making Herbert’s share de- pend upon his renouncing his love for the little seamstress. Now he, at least, is rich and free. [ hope he will return to Philadelphia and find his lost love.” “Lost ?”’ ‘IT told you she disappeared. She was a timid, conscientious little girl, and I think Aunt Maria persuaded her that she would in- jure Herbert’s prospects if she kept him to his engagement.”’ “Then they were engaged ?”’ ** Yes, exchanged rings, all in due form.” “‘T wonder he consented to propose to you.”’ . “Oh, that was a regular conspiracy. I had promised not to accept him.” ‘Well, well! But it would have provided for you.” **Tired of me already, uncle ?”’ ‘Dear child, I would ask no greater happi- ness than to keep you by my side all your life, But—but, you are accustomed to luxuries’”’— ‘*See how well I can spare them. Do you know, dear uncle, my heart is so much lighter since I know dear Aunt Maria intended to pro- vide for me, that nothing can dishearten me now. It was the pain of thinking myself for- gotten, perhaps as having forfeited her love that grieved me so deeply. Besides, am I not young and strong, able to help you, perhaps, uncle? You have borne ‘the heat and burden of the day,’ you have suffered heavy sorrow, who knows if God in his mercy has not ordered all this, that in your old age you might have a loving daughter to cheer and comfort you, when in your noble kindness you meant only to protect and cherish her.’’ ** He has been very gracious to his servant,’” said the old man, reverently, “‘ but that would be a crowning mercy. But here we are at home.”’ It touched Helen to the heart when her uncle led her to the room he had furnished for her, to see how much loving care had been expended upon its arrangement. True, the carpet was only ingrain, the furniture a simple cottage set, the curtains book muslin, but the colors in the carpet were delicate and tasteful, the painted set matched it prettily, and the few engravings upon the walls, the little vase of green-house flowers upon the table, the pretty finish upon everything spoke of taste and re- finement, and much affectionate thought. Helen’s pleasure and thanks were warmly expressed. “You must not thank me for all, Helen,’’ said her uncle; “I am afraid I should have left you minus sheets, pillow-cases, towels, and such trifles, if I had not had an assistant. And, if you will sit down a moment, I will tell you about my little household.”’ ** Yes, tell me.” *““My housekeeper is an old woman who has lived with me and cooked for me for forty years. She nursed my wife and children in their last illness, and we are bound together by ties of old association and friendship. Her name is Mary Perkins. The only other mem- ber of my family is my assistant in the busi- ness, Frederick Hastings, a struggling genius, aman with a great gifted soul in a frail weak body, an artist, in the noblest sense of the word, full of lofty aspirations, shy and sensitive as a girl, but one who will yet rise above poverty and circumstances, and show the world a great artist. He has a sister, a gentle young girl, who has taken the pains to make your room habitable for you. Her nimble fingers have a a ee ae es — eK Dee SS SS >, reo} 6

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THE LAST EVENING IN LEAP YEAR 325 "provided what my old wits overlooked. I would like, Helen, dear, to have you know and love her, for there is some secret sorrow eating away her young life, although she makes no complaint. She is not as gifted as her brother, but a purer, sweeter spirit never was sent upon this cold world, than that in Susie Hastings’ delicate little frame.”’ ‘*T will love her,’’ said Helen, with emphasis. ** May 1 come in?” Helen sprang to open the door, and revealed a little graceful blonde standing waiting out- side., In one moment the tw6 young girls were locked in a close embrace, while broken words of pleasure, and loving repetitions of ‘‘ Helen, dear !”’ ‘Susie, darling!’ filled the room. ‘Why, you seem old friends !”’ cried Mr. Sey- mour. ‘‘ You did not tell me of this, Susie.” ‘‘How could I guess your niece, Helen Sey- mour, was my old friend Helen Connell, whom I have not seen for two long years. And now, I do not understand’”’— ** Well, I will leave you together for a long talk. You can show Helen where everything is in the room, Susie, and you will stay to tea.” “Tf you can keep Fred, but you know I am his housekeeper.’”’ “T will keep him,” and the old gentleman went slowly down stairs to the room where he received his customers, pondering gravely upon this astonishing friendship, and wondering where Mrs. Connell’s adopted daughter could have met his assistant’s gentle little sister. He found Frederick Hastings busily engaged in finishing off some photographs promised for that afternoon, and rather discouraged at the prospect of completing them, so he was soon busily employed, and quite forgot the myste- rious friendship. Tt was after dark, when the room was closed for the day, and the little family assembled for tea in the small dining-room behind the show- room. They formed a group well worthy the pencil of an artist. The old gentleman, hand- some yet, in spite of his bent figure and snowy hair; Frederick, with his tall, graceful figure, his large soul-lit eyes, fine features, and masses of black waving hair; Helen, graceful and dig- nified, beautiful as a dream, and the pale, ex- quisitely pretty little Susie, with her drooping golden curls, and violet eyes. Mary Perkins quite approved of the tea- party, and signified her approbation in erisp biscuit, dainty cake, preserves that were as deep a crimson as rubies, and a dish of stewed pigeons that might have tempted the most fas- tidious epicure. Helen found herself facing her uncle, and presiding over a neat tea-tray, and, accepting the position with easy grace, quite won Mary’s heart by remembering ex- actly for her uncle’s second cup of tea, how he liked the first prepared. The evening passed rapidly away in plea- sant conversation, but after Helen retired to VOL. LXXVII.—22 her own room, it was not to sleep, but to write a long letter, which, when ready for the post, bore the address of her adopted brother, Her- bert Connell, in Paris. It was not Helen Seymour’s nature to sit down quietly, a burden upon her uncle. He was not very poor, but he made only enough for a modest establishment, and she knew one more mouth to feed would be felt in his limited income. She had been but two days in her new home, when she came into the little room where Robert Seymour worked, and put a small package of photograph cards into his hands. ‘* Are they well colored, uncle?’”’ she asked. ‘*Exquisitely ! Whose are they?” “They are pictures of my personal friends, colored by myself.” “‘They are beautiful. You have given ex- pression and life to some that are very poor pictures.”’ **Do you have them colored here, uncle ?” ** Sometimes, when Frederick finds time. But we have not made a custom of it.’’ ‘¢ Will you trust me to do some specimens for the show-room, and let me help you by taking orders? You know the ivorytypes bring quite @ good price.” ‘*But where did you learn to color ivory- types ?’’ . ‘* Herbert learned photographing for amuse- ment, and I went from step to step finishing for him, till I attempted the ivorytype, and my friends assured me with some success. I am very fond of painting, and if you will give me some instructions, for I am but an amateur, I think I can soon help you.”’ ‘‘But, Helen, I did not bring you here to make you work.”’ ‘*T shall be happier if you will let me help you.” It required some coaxing, however, to win consent to the plan, but she did win it at last, and it was not long before the results began to be felt. A higher elass of sitters came to the little show-room, and where Frederick’s fine finish and Helen’s coloring were secured in a picture, there were but few who hesitated to pay a good price for the likeness thus secured. Days and weeks glided away. Mr. Putnam came to see Helen several times, bringing the news that his letters to Herbert were lying in Paris, waiting that young man’s return from an Eastern tour. He had started before the intelligence of his mother’s death had reached Paris, and there was nothing to do but wait his return in patience. Helen, however, generally received these reports with an expression of which patience was certainly not a component part. **Can’t his letters be forwarded ?”’ she asked once; ‘‘he must come home.”” And Mr. Put- nam sagely decided that the young lady was pining for velvet carpets and lace curtains once

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326 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, more, and wanted to reconsider the proposal of her rejected lover. I have said but little of Frederick Hastings, but the time came when he began to have a deep influence upon Helen Seymour’s life. It was but natural that two young hearts, both free, should feel the delight of a daily inter- course where each was gifted and anxious to make the hours pass swiftly and pleasantly. The young artist was conscious of a new im- pulse given to energies that were drooping and despondent. He had almost resolved to re- nounce the hope of being an artist, and was fast settling into the routine of his daily busi- ness, with no ambition to rise above his pre- sent position, when Helen Seymour came to her uncle’s. He knew her history, and a hot flush of shame rose to his brow, as he saw how cheerfully she lifted the burden in her white hands, which he carried so heavily and wearily. His whole soul bowed in admiration before the brave spirit, that, reared in luxurious idleness, could throw aside so brilliant a past, and smil- ingly accept so quiet and dull a future. Every hour passed by her side strengthened his droop- ing resolutions, till a new light shone in his large eyes, his figure grew more erect, and a new spring came into his step. And following this, a hope sprang up, faint and feeble at first, day after day growing stronger, fill it filled his whole life. His admiration deepened into love, and then glorious-visions rose for the future. For Helen he would win a name, for her he would make the world acknowledge his power, for her he would seek wealth and fame; and when he had gained gold and honors he would come to pour them out at her feet, and tell her of his boundless love. And while he nursed his schemes, and fancied his secret hidden closely in his own breast, He'en was happily dreaming her first love dream. She knew as well as if it was printed in letters of fire upon his brow, the love that filled Frede- rick Hastings’ heart. She was too womanly, too frank and sincere to trifle with any heart, but she was happy in her consciousness of his devotion, and she could not hide her pleasure in his presence. She made no unmaidenly ad- vances, but she loved him, and waited happily till he came to sue for what was already his own. A year and a month had passed away since the November day when Helen Seymour first saw her uncle, Christmas was very near, when one morning Mr. Putnam called, with news that was astounding to all Mr. Seymour’s household, crushing to one member of it. Herbert Connell had returned to Paris, found the lawyer’s letters waiting him, and written to announce his own possession of the lost will. “He will return at once, Miss Helen,’’ said Mr. Putnam, “and he begs that you will move into your own house without delay, and give him a welcoming party back to Philadel- phia. The young scamp writes as if some very happy news had reached him. I know him too well to think his mother’s death is forgotten, in the possession of his property, so I can only suppose there is a wedding in prospect. Eh, Miss Helen ?’’ **You may safely purchase a pair of white kid gloves,’’ was the grave reply, “‘and I pro- mise you a liberal slice of cake.”’ “Second thoughts are always best, don’t you think so, Miss Helen ?’’ “Decidedly.” . And chuckling over his own penetration the old lawyer took his leave, while Helen went with light, quick steps to find her uncle and Frederick. It may lower my heroine in the estimation of the strong minded to admit that she was in- tensely happy in her news. She had borne cheerfully the deprivation of the luxuries of her old home, yet she was glad to think of their restoration. Her uncle should work no more, but be her honored guest for the rest of his life, and Frederick—her heart throbbed highest at the thought of her lover. He could study, now, untrammelled by labor for his daily bread, could visit Italy and find his happiness in his art in that land of artists. Every one of his refined tastes came into her memory with the glad thought that in her hand would rest the power to gratify every fastid'cus taste and fancy. She had never in her whole life felt the delicious happiness she experienced in that rapid walk from Mr. Putnam’s side to her uncle’s. But over this sunshine rose a cloud, tiny at first, but growing larger and deeper till her whole pleasure was overcast. Frederick was changed. He came no more to seek her in the evening ; he seemed to take no interest in the preparations for a return to W: ; he avoid- ed her everywhere. And while her loving heart was growing sick and sad over the change, Frederick was sinking rapidly into his old de- spondency. This heiress, this wealthy young lady of fashion was not his Helen, at whose feet he could pour his hard-earned wealth and honor in the future. What would she care for the paltry sum he could offer, when she had thousands at herown command? What would the future of a poor struggling artist be to her, when the noblest and wealthiest in the land would cluster in her magnificent dwelling? So the two loving hearts suffered apart in silence, until Helen felt as if her own would break when her uncle informed her that Frederick had decided to go to New York, and try to se- cure a position in a photographing establish- ment there. ““Uncle Robert, make him stay to the party ; make him stay for that,’’ she pleaded. ‘Tell him he must see the old year out with us, and help us welcome Herbert. I must have Susie,

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eS EE ee Oe SO SS ind THE LAST EVENING IN LEAP YEAR. 827 too, for that evening; she has promised, and she cannot come without her brother.’’ It was the last day of the old year, and eve- ning had already closed in. The handsome house on W Street was open and bril- liantly lighted, for all Helen’s old friends had accepted her invitation to her New Year’s party. It was almost too early yet for the guests, but Helen was in the drawing-room dressed and impatient. Her dress of costly white lace over white silk was adorned with sprays of starry jasmine, while on her throat, and wrists, and in the satiny folds of her dark hair diamonds glittered like eyes of fire. She was somewhat flushed, and her eyes were rest- less, but this only added to her beauty. Be- side her, pale and lovely, was Susie Hastings, dressed also in white, but only an inexpensive tulle, fastened with clusters of natural white flowers at the bosom and shoulders. No jewels were on her white throat and arms, but she was lovely as a snow drop standing beside her more brilliant hostess. They had been but a moment in the drawing-room when Mr. Sey- mour, in a handsome evening dress, came in hastily. Helen sprang at once to meet him. ** Will he come ?”’ ** He is in the library now. He says he can- not join in the festivity of the evening, but wishes to bid you farewell before your guests assemble. Mr. Connell has arrived, also, and is in his old room.”’ ‘** He will find it all ready for him. O Uncle Robert, give me a God-speed on my errand.”’ He saw that she was almost sinking with agitation, so thought it better to answer her with a jest. ‘‘ Remember Leap Year has only a few hours more to live.” ‘Leap Year! I never thought of that. It is Leap Year.” ‘Yes, for a few hours.”’ Helen’s face was full of earnest purpose as she left her brilliant drawing-room, but once or twice a merry look of mischief, such as had been a stranger there since she inherited her money, crossed her lips. At the library door she paused a moment and looked at Frederick Hastings. He was seated before a small table, his head resting on one hand, and it cut Helen to the heart to see how pale and worn was the face she loved so fondly. Crossing the room she put her hand upon his shoulder. ** Frederick !’’ He had not heard her; but he looked up now with a wintry smile. ‘*Frederick,’’ and now her voice was very earnest, “‘my uncle says you wish to bid me farewell. If it must be so, I will say the word, but before it is spoken tell me, by the memory of all the happy hours we have passed together, what is this cloud that has arisen between you and me.”’ In sight of her earnest face all his pride broke down, and he told his love, his pride, his despair in words broken and often confused, but eloquent from the very force of feeling. She heard him with a happy smile till he fin- ished his confession and let his head fall upon his breast with a deep sighing: ‘‘ And now it is all over.” **Yes, all over,’’ she repeated. ‘All the doubt and suffering. Frederick, my own love, will you force me to exercise the Leap Year privilege, and ask you to take pity upon my heart ?’’ She might have said more, but she was caught in such a close embrace that she could speak no more, only hide her face, while tears of quiet happiness filled her eyes. But a mo- ment was allowed them, fora hasty step sounded in the hall, and then a tall, fine-looking young gentleman entered the library. Helen gave a cordial greeting to her adopted brother, and then begging him to remain where he was for a moment, she sped with fleet steps to the drawing-room again. They had scarcely time to miss her when she was back again with Susie beside her. “* Herbert,” she said, while her face beamed with pleasure, ‘‘I found your blue-eyed trea- sure for you! Will you force her to exercise the Leap Year privilege, too?’’ But she was answered while she spoke, for Herbért’s greeting showed no hesitation in ac- cepting the bride his adopted sister had found for him. Need Isay more? Frederick joined the party with smiling grace, and it was not long before the house was open again for the guests invited to a double wedding. OS THE JOYS OF LIFE. BY MRS, HARRIET E, FRANCIS, Tue joys of life are tiny things, A glance, a loving smile ; A word in tones of kindness From lips that know no guile, Are oft the sweetest pleasures We find along earth’s way— The sunniest beams that brighten up Time’s heavy, darksome day. The cloudless weeks of happiness We picture in our youth, Are visions from enchanted realms— Not sober dreams of truth ; They lure us on, and oft we slight The pearls that gleam each day, Till late we find life’s treasure, rare, Unprized, has passed away, Then let us never scorn these gems, But gather them with care, And hoard them up with miser grasp To gladden days less fair: When time’s bright sun to twilight hours For us is sinking down; When hope can only catch the rays That gild a heavenly crown.

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328 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. BONNIE JEAN MACGREGOR. BY ONE THIRD. ° Not quite ‘‘a mile above Dundee,” where the suddenly narrowing road winds up through the rocky moorland, stood, years ago, a tiny gray cottage, almost alone on the edge of the moor. From its latticed windows one could see near at hand the dusky purple and gold of broom and heather, stretching away towards the quaint old town below, and white sails slowly gliding hither and thither on the wide glitter- ing river, while far across the Tay long blue cloud lines marked the distant coast. And the good people of Dundee thought it ‘‘just a bonnie nook,’’ and never wondered that Doctor Macgregor endured the cold winter ride through fog and storm for the sake of its summer beauty and brightness. Only old Ailie, once servant, and for long virtual mis- tress of the household, grumbled continually that her darling Miss Jean should be caged up there on the hill far from the town’s folk. Brought up under the shadow of St. Mary’s noble tower, the old woman loved the “auld town,”’ and its narrowest twisted alley was as beautiful in her eyes as ever la belle Napoli seemed to the weary Italian sighing in his home sickness, ‘“‘ See Naples and die.’”” Dame Ailie would have looked him through with her stern gray eyes, ejaculated, ‘‘ Eh, sirs, did ye ever see the auld tower and the cross ?’’ and, with contemptuous sniff, returned to her knit- ting, satisfied that the unhappy foreiguer was erushed. Once an over confident youth, fresh from London to his studies in the doctor’s office, ventured to suggest, in an undertone, that the roads out by the Cowgate Port were in a fearful condition, and very narrow as well. Jean’s blue eyes smiled assent, but Ailie glow- ered for an instant, then, deliberately taking off her glasses, remarked, concisely, ‘‘ Ye ’ve a bee in ye’re bannet, my laddie,’”’ and so re- tired in triumph. But that was long ago, and Arthur Lloyd had now no warmer friend than old Ailie, for his diamonds glittered on Jean’s white hand, and the doctor rested at home by the fire in stormy weather, while his young partner took care of all his patients, and satis- fied even the Grahams and Macgregors, who “could na bide ony but the auld doctor’ till his dark eyes and winning manner overcame their dislike of the English. In the July sunset Ailie sat knitting by her open kitchen window. Peace and quiet pos- sessed the house, for Doctor Macgregor was in Edinburgh attending a consultation, Arthur and Jean were far down the garden in the arbor, and that idle hempie of a Peggy, supposed to be hunting eggs in the barn, was in reality exchanging confidences with Sandy, the doc- tor’s man, behind the old pine tree. Ailie’s mind was at ease ; and she surveyed the orderly room, filled with odor from the white rose- bush without the window, with great compla- cency, thinking of the day, now near at hand, when “they grand Londoners” were coming, and bonnie Jean Macgregor was to become Mrs. Lloyd, and go to London for a season’s pleasuring. A heavy, clattering step disturbed her reverie; the doctor’s bell rang sharply, and Ailie rose in high dudgeon to answer the importunate summons. ‘* Weel, hinny,”’ she said, slowly opening the door, ‘‘ could ye na spare the wire? Guide us, now what ’s wrang wi’ ye the day?’’ And she stared with great amazement at the white, frightened face of the panting messenger. “Deed I dinna ken,” he gasped, breath- lessly ; ‘‘ there ’s five ill ayont the low brig, and the doctor must come immediate to my Jess and the bairn, for I fear they ’ll no be living when I’m back.”’ Ailie pushed him into a chair and sprinkled him with camphor, and dashed down the gar- den with flying cap-strings to the arbor where Jean sat listening while Arthur read his favor- ite ballad. Returning, she routed out Landy to harness the horse, and, with severe reproof, saw Peggy safe in the kitchen, then betook herself to the medicine chest for the bottles Arthur would most probably need. The while Jean comforted poor Donald Beag with gently spoken words of hope, and saw him ride away in the twilight, at last, with a half relieved face since he had the young doctor beside him. Late enough that night she waited for the gray horse to return, while the candles burned low, and Ailie slept in her chair. If the blue eyes that looked wistfully out into the Cark- ness could have seen the agony of suffering and death far below in miserable homes, Jean might well have watched and waited till the morning dawned. For a hundred, well and strong at morning, lay near to death that night, and before the sun rose over the Tay sixty dead waited for burial, and the sick could scarce be numbered. Saddening news for Doctor Macgregor on his late return from a fatiguing journey to find the cholera raging, and frightened physicians re- fusing to prescribe for the hitherto almost un- known disease. It seemed going back to that dreadful year of the plague, when in 1544 hundreds died just without the closed gate, and brave George Wishart preached their funeral sermons standing on the wall between the liv- ing and the dead. And, in spite of all the pain and death, another bright, hot day drew towards its close. At sunset Arthur rode slowly home, exhausted by hours of fruitless toil and the sight of suffering which all his efforts were unavailing to reach. Bent on evading Jean, he sought the back entrance, and gained his room apparently un- noticed. Three minutes after Ailie tramped up stairs, unclosed his door to push in a cup of hot tea, and, shortly remarking that Miss — Os. a > wt wh Ste oe me OU lt 4. or 3 da

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BONNIE JEAN MACGREGOR. 329 Jean was waiting for him in the study, de- parted. dean sat quietly in the study where slant rays of light glimmered on the dark book-cases and the confused heaps of papers on her fath- er’s writing-table, while a mavis out side filled all the air with his hurrying song. It was long before Arthur’s familiar step sounded on the stairs, and when he entered Jean sat still and leoked at him in surprise, so changed he seemed, so worn and haggard. The next in- stant she was crying wearily in his arms, and all his fears of contagion were forgotten while he smoothed with tender touch her soft glitter- ing hair. “Tell me,’’ shesaid presently, ‘‘is it really as bad as Ailie heard it? Are so many ill that you cannot take care of them, or is it because the town’s people are afraid to expose them- selves ?’’ Arthur hesitated a little before replying, for Jean had asked the very questions which he most feared to answer. ‘‘It is true,’’ he said, “that all the sick cannot be taken care of as well as if there were fewer, but now that the first panic is over, and your father and Doctor Robertson have returned, I trust we shall do very well. Of course you will not’’— Jean knew very well what was coming next, and understood also his evasion of her question. * Arthur,” she said, abruptly, “I am going back with you this evening, to”— The door opened sharply, and Ailie came in, wrapped in her plaid. “If it’s your wull, Miss Jean,”’ she said, with a look indicating that Miss Jean had better will it, ‘“‘I’ll gang my ways wi’ Sandy, and see his sister in the toun ; she’s sair ill, and nane to guide her but the bairn, forby Norman’s nae that weel, and he just off the brig. Peggy ’ll mind the porridge for the doctor the nicht, and ye’ll no hae ony need of me.’’ And without more ado she was gone, and, while Jean yet looked surprisedly at the just closed door, marched out to the barn with her basket of cordials, and rode off with Sandy in triumph. Arthur locked greatly relieved. ‘‘ Jean,” he said, “it is quite impossible for you to go now, and I should not in any case consent to it; you are altogether too delicate. Ailie will do far more good in the town, and if you have Peggy’s help here, you can put the cordials up and keep the house in order for us. This may last a fort- night longer, and it will wear your father out unless he has good nursing at home. Now, Nanie, darling, will you rest contented with this, and tell me that I may feel certain of your safety while I am gone ?”’’ Jean looked pale and troubled, but answered gently in the affirmative, and for the next hour the two arranged medicines and cordials until Sandy came slowly up the hill, and, after a short rest, Arthur went back to the dead and dying, and Jean was again alone, Four long hot days dragged slowly by, while Jean waited with dull patience, and in the town the doctors and nurses seemed to work in vain. The most powerful doses had no apparent ef- fect ; anodynes failed to soothe and stimulants to rouse ; here and there one was saved as by a miracle, but of the eight hundred and eighty souls prostrate on the fifth day, barely a hundred saw the morn rise. And now dark clouds sweep over the sky and break in floods of drenching rain. Steadily, hour after hour, the rain fell, and east winds blew straight over the yet un- sodded graves that lay so close together in the kirk-yard. The back-bone of the cholera was broken by that storm, as Doctor Macgregor said to fussy, frightened Doctor Robertson, and the people all took heart when the morning brought no new cases. Wild gusts of wind and rain swept across the Tay, and a collier brig out in the harbor foundered and went down ; but that seemed a light thing when in almost every house the living, exhausted with grief and watching, mourned for the dead. Only in the doctor’s cottage poor Peggy refused to be comforted, since Sandy had gone on board the night before to see poor Norman, and the two had gone down together. It was more than Ailie—for the first time unmindful of Peggy’s many misdeeds—could do to quiet her hysterical weeping, or persuade her to lie down. Finally, in despair, she called Jean, who, since her return in the early dawn, had sat watch- ing the deserted road, looking always for Ar- thur and her father. But Jean’s sweet voice availed no more than Ailie’s harsher tones, and Peggy would not cease her aimless walking up and down the long kitchen, or her wild cries and complainings, for all their entreaties, until she dropped fainting by the fire. Ailie took her up in her strong arms and carried her off to her room as if she had been a baby. When she came heavily down stairs, looking grim and stern enough, she began bustling about without any apparent object, sharply evading Jean’s anxious inquiries. At the second short ‘‘dinna ken”’ Jean looked up in an amazed way, and Ailie sat down in the nearest chair, and, for the first time in Jean’s remembrance, began to cry. “Preserve us!’’ she sobbed ; ‘‘it’s the cholera, and wha kens how we’ll end, with the auld doctor doun the toun, and Donald’s Jess ill that a way nae mair than twal hours—and we all alane !’’ Jean dropped her work and sat perfectly mo- tionless for an instant, looking at Ailie as if she found it impossible to believe her, then, as Ailie began to recover self-control, she tried to speak, with at first a very husky voice. ‘ Ailie,’”’ she said, ‘‘if you can take care of Peggy alone, I will go down after father or Arthur. One of them will be able to leave by this time, and I may perhaps meet them on the way. You are not afraid to stay here alone ?”’ “Na, I’ve nae fears,’’ quoth Ailie, stoutly ;

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330 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. **but ye’ll no gang clear till the fut of the hill, my bairn. This is an uncanny place, and it’s no safe for ye; nae dout, ye’ll meet ane or the ither of them sune.”” And Ailie, herself again, mended the fire with great vigor. Jean put on her plaid and started off down the hill at a rapid rate, feeling inspirited, de- spite her vague fear and trouble, by the keen sweeping wind. It was almost like going down into a well to go from the high moor down into the heavy mist overhanging the town ; just in the outskirts she saw her father’s carriage be- fore a crape-tied door, and Arthur had over- taken her, drawn her arm through his, and placed her safely in the carriage, before she had time to explain her presence there. Short as the rapid ride home seemed to the lovers, it was long enough, in Ailie’s thoughts, before Arthur came into the room where Peggy lay faintly crying and grieving. Poor Peggy died that night, and Doctor Mac- gregor came home in the early morning, wearied out with five days’ toil, but relieved, now that the worst dangers were passed, to find faithful Ailie guarding Jean’s bedside, and Arthur half wild with grief and terror. For Jean was shivering with cold in all the heat, and the strongest stimulants brought no flush to the hollow dead-white of her cheek. With closed eyes she lay singing softly to herself, heeding no voice but Arthur’s, and rousing when he spoke but for an instant, then murmuring over and over again, in perplexed forgetfulness, the half finished ballad, never to be remembered or ended, for, as the sun set far beyond the beautiful river, Jean opened her blue eyes for the last time with a silent wistful farewell to the three beside her—and was gone. Thirty years ago—and tangled vines cover the sunken grave where bonnie Jean Mac- gregor—long since forgotten in Dundee—sleeps 80 quietly. Only the old beadle of St. Mary’s points out to chance visitors the graves of those who per- ished in the fearful cholera year, and minds how he went one winter morning, years after that, to dig a grave for auld Ailie Stinson, the last of the stone cottage folk since young Doc- tor Lloyd went to London, and how he was struck with terror at sight of a stiff black form lying across one of the narrow mounds. *‘A’ the toun was greeting the neist morn, when Doctor Lloyd was lain there ayont the pine tree by yon grave wi’ ivy a’ ower it.”’ >> It always grieves me to contemplate the initiation of children into the ways of life when they are scarcely more than infants. It checks their confidence and simplicity, two of the best qualities that Heaven gives them, and demands that they share our sorrows before they are capable of entering into our enjoy- ments.—DICKENS. MY LOST LOVE. BY REBECCA R. PIERCE. On, gently blow, ye autuma winds, Where my lost love is sleeping; Ye gentle stars, above her head, Thy watch be ever keeping! When summer faded on the hills, And dirge-like winds were sighing, She closed her eyes in dreamless sleep Upon my bosom lying. Beyond the pearly gates that shut Its glories from our vision, My darling walks the golden streets In that fair land Elysian; And, like a sweet seraphic strain, Upon my senses falling, I seem to hear her voice again In silvery accents calling. O voice of sweetness! never more Its gentle tones shall cheer me, But, like a calm and soothing spell, I feel her presence near me ; Dear, trusting heart! so cold and still, With anguish all unspoken, I cherish yet a perished dream, And clasp my idol broken! Oh, joyous birds, attune your notes To saddest, softest measure! Oh, flowers, bloom sweetly o’er the spot Where lies my buried treasure ; With pale hands folded on her breast, In dreamless beauty sleeping ; While stars like holy angels’ eyes Their watch above are keeping. aoa ee a A WOMAN’S FRIENDSHIP. It is a wondrous advantage to a man, in every pursuit or vocation, to secure an adviser in a sensible woman. In woman there is at once a subtle delicacy of tact, and a plain soundness of judgment, which are rarely com- bined to an equal degree in man. A woman, if she be really your friend, will have a sensi- tive regard for your character, honor, repute. She will seldom counsel you to do a shabby thing, for a woman friend always desires to be proud of you. At the same time her constitu- tional timidity makes her more cautious than your male friend. She, therefore, seldom coun- sels you to do an imprudent thing. A man’s best friend is a wife of good sense and heart, whom he loves, and who loves him. But, supposing the man to be without such a helpmate, woman’s friendship he must still have, or his intellect will be without a garden, and there will be many an unheeded gap, even in its strongest fence. Better and safer, of course, are such friendships where disparity of years or circumstances puts the idea of love out of the question. Middle life has rarely this advantage ; youth and old age have. We may have feminine friendships with those much older, and those much younger, than ourselves. The friendship of woman is to a man the bul- wark, sweetness, ornament of his existence.

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UNREST. 331 UNREST. BY INO CHURCHILL, In the morning a change seemed to have come over the little family as well as over the face of nature. The sun came no more cheerily out than did the smiles come into Mrs. Banks’ speaking face. Breakfast was over before Julie rose, and she did not see Dolt, he having gone for oil. He did not return until after- noon, bringing with him, when he came, a light carriage to convey Julie to the depot. “We would like you to stay, dear,” said Mrs. Banks, in a sweet, pleasant way, so dif- ferent from her recent feverish manner that Julie looked at her in wonder; ‘but we know that, for our sakes, you have remained against your will.’’ “T have enjoyed myself here,” replied Julie; ‘‘you have all been very kind to me; I feel as though you ought to be rewarded in some way.” ** Don’t speak of it,’’ said Mr. Banks, hastily; ‘‘your wit and courage saved our lives, per- haps, certainly our means of livelihood,” and he took her hand tightly in his, “‘and something else, Miss Julie, we owe you more than tongue can tell. ’Taint likely we shall ever see you again, but while yonder light shines over the waters, and another light on our hearts, we shall not forget you.” The tears came into Julie’s eyes, and Mrs. Banks was weeping, and little Jenny clinging to her skirts; she kissed ‘the child, took the baby a-moment in her arms, bade Mr. and Mrs. Banks an affectionate farewell, and ran quickly out to the carriage, where Dolt stood waiting for her. She threw back a good-by kiss, took a last look at the beach and the light-house, and they drove rapidly away. She had not seen Dolt since he took her into the house the night previous. She looked at him now; there had some kind of a change come over him; it was not in the exceeding paleness of his face, nor yet in the strange, new light in his eye. It was intangible, yet it made itself felt. It was something that commanded her respect; she began to have for him a feeling of reverence. She did not dare to call him *Dolt,’’ or indeed speak to him at all until he first addressed her. He spoke but once or twice on the way, but, when he did, his man- ner was courtly and deferential, as though he were speaking to a princess. Julie had no time for long speculation ; before she recovered from the surprise the fact had occasioned she found herself lifted from the wagon. “Miss Julie,” said Dolt, “‘you said you would like to take home some memento of your stay with us; do you think you will find it inconvenient to carry this?” He held up a beautiful rustic basket formed of the branches she had seon him cut from the rose-bush, and plaited together in a skilful and unique style. The dasket was lined with the softest of ground- moss, and filled in with delicate and beautiful shells, artistically arranged with the long ten- drils of the trailing sea-mosses twined harmo- niously in, and falling down the sides, in brilliant, floating, feathery hues, like the soft- ened, misty reflection of a quivering, dazzling rainbow. ‘*Oh! how beautiful!’’ exclaimed Julie, tak- ing the exquisite thing in her hand; ‘‘how very beautiful! I will keep it always,’’ she said, the tears of feeling coming into her eyes. He conducted her into the depot, and sat down beside her, but she felt afraid to talk to him as familiarly as she had done. His supe- riority had suddenly asserted itself. The whis- tle of the train aroused them both; he took her hand with a respectful, manly grace in both of his: ‘‘Good-by,”’ he said. ‘I knew not whence you came, or whither you go, but I know you will carry light and joy with you wherever you journey. I shall always think of you as my beacon light amid the bewilder- ing, overwhelming surges of my past life; as the star of hope, beckoning me toward future greatness. Good-by! and, in all the dark and weary hours that shall come to you, I pray that a light such as you have kindled may shine into your soul.”’ She had only time for a faltering reply and a pressure of the hand. The train came thun- dering along, he lifted her in, put the parting gift in her hand, and she was whirled away, her thoughts strangely at variance with all she had felt in all her life before. There was no one in the train whom she knew; she reached her destination just at eve- ning; she did not wish any one to recognize her, so she stepped from the car on the opposite side from the platform and went hurriedly home. There was a light in the little sitting- room, but no occupant, as she could see through the window. The front door was fast; she went around to the side coor and found entrance there, threw off her hat and shawl, sat down in her mother’s easy chair, and leaned her head upon her hand. She was almost glad there was no one there; she wanted to be alone a moment to collect her thoughts. She did not see a shadow pass the window, and her mother start back as though she had seen a spirit, and her sister Hatty’s face grow pale with appre- hension. But she heard Hatty’s voice say: “Tt is she come back, mother, I know it is; she was not drowned, after all ; come in mother, and see.”’ “Tt cannot! I cannot!’’ said Mrs. Rathburn, feebly, as though her voice was stricken out of her. Julie rose and went to the door. ‘ Darling mother,”’ she said, in her own musical tones, ‘what ails you. Are you not glad to see me °”’ But Mrs. Rathburn had fainted for very joy ; and it was with great difficulty the two girls brought her in and laid her on the sofa. ‘Oh

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332 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. my child!” said she, as Julie’s repeated kisses brought her back to life, ‘‘where have you come from ?’’ *‘T’ll tell you all in good time; you must only be glad I’ve eome now.”’ ‘*T am so glad, so glad!” she said, rising and twining her arms about her daughter. ‘‘Why, mother,” said Julie at last, looking from her to Hatty, ‘‘why are you dressed in mourning? Who is dead?” ‘Nobody now. Run, Hatty, and bring your scarlet dress, and I’ll put on my brighter gown, for this my child was lost and is found.”’ Then followed mutual explanations and sur- prises; and they talked long after midnight, and Julie thought of the dreary preceding night, when she kept the lonely vigil, and smiled as she looked around and saw by her mother’s and sister’s face how the feeble ray of her presence lit up the lantern room. The surprise and delight of her friends at her return to them, as it were from the dead, can better be imagined than described, and they all clustered warmly around her again. She almost dreaded to meet Walter Chauncey, lest he should claim her, but he did not; he only let her see how the biack, hopeless grave that had been made in his heart was filled up again with flowers ; how the stern, fixed lines about his mouth could easily relax to smiles. There had been some changes in the village. Deacon Todd himself had taken the district school for the winter. Rev. Mr. Chauncey had resigned his pastorate on account of failing health, and Walter had completed his studies and obtained license to preach. Soon after Julie’s return Walter received the unanimous call of the church to fill his father’s place. He had grown up under the parish eye, and seemed best fitted for its needs. Doubtful of his own ability to give satisfaction to so intelligent a people, he had hesitated, but, after earnest and repeated solicitations, had finally yielded. This was the reason he had not again spoken to Julie of his love; there was a higher, holier duty before him, no earthly love must come between him and it. The ordination and installation of the young pastor were matters of public interest, and Julie looked with pride and pleasure on the noble, intellectual face and commanding, yet bowed form of her lover, as he received the holy rite of consecration. And her heart throb- bed with a quickened pulsation as, after the services were over, he first sought his father’s eye then hers. But her heart sank again, and her glance fell, under that look of lofty and soul-thrilling joy. The long months of the winter were more endurable to her than she had supposed they could be; with sleighing, skating, and social gatherings, and occasional lectures, the long, dull evenings were cheated of half their weari- ness. The joy of her mother and sister at her return, the long, loving letters from her uncle’s family, especially Alice’s sprightly missives, and her interest in answering them, crowded out somewhat the old phantom, or pushed it into some secret chamber and closed the door. As the spring opened Alice wrote: ‘I thank you, Cousin Julie, for your invitation to visit you. I love you so, and papa has told me so much of your quiet country home, and of your gentle mother, that I gave him no peace until he said I might spend the summer with you on condition, remember, that you are to come te us for the winter. I think, in one letter, you spoke of a course of lectures. A new star of the first magnitude has suddenly flashed up on the literary zenith, and all lesser orbs are growing pale with consternation. We are all wild about him; if your course is not finished, do try and secure him for one evening; he is to lecture in a city adjoining you next week. I give you his address there, ‘ Dalton P. Banks, . I think you said your friend Mz. Chauncey was the most prominent member of the committee ; ask him to invite this celebrity among you.”’ How familiar that name sounded to Julie; it must be the same “ Dalton” whose name was traced on the books, and into whose port- folio she had glaneed. He was a genius she felt sure, and her desire to hear him grew intense. She went with Alice’s note directly to Walter ; there was to be one more lecture to complete the promised course, and the one who was to deliver it had sent word that cir- cumstances would render it impossible for him to come, and Walter gladly availed himself of this opportunity to secure the services of Mr. Banks. The evening came, the town hall was filled to its utmost capacity, and Walter, after introduc- ing the speaker, seated himself between Julie and his sister Nellie, whom he had accompanied, Every eye was turned with interest toward the speaker. He was youthful, almost boyish in his appearance, and yet the tall figure and ex- pansive brow gave proof of innate manliness. And the wonderful electric flash of his eye, as it swept.round the audience, awoke in every mind a feeling of confidence in his power to sway. Julie’s eyes were riveted upon him; how strangely like, and yet how unlike her half-witted friend. A thousand contradictory thoughts rushed through her mind as he stood for a brief moment as if to gather his strength. Then he announced his subject, ‘The ocean, and its mysteries,’”’ and without note or manu- script, commenced in a flexible, flowing style, like the soft ripple of a shallow stream, his voice enlarging in its wonderful breadth and compass as he went on, till it resembled the great underswell of the mighty deep. He traced from its source each sparkling drop that min- gled with the sea; spoke of the wealth of life and treasure that was borne upon its bosom ; i el i i. ee |

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UNREST. 333 laid bare its inner depths ; drew aside the cur- tain of the deep, and pinned its iridescent folds with sapphire to the Orient. Told how the coral insect extracted the carbon from the lime ef the sea water, and wrought it in artistic forms round the cone of some submarine moun- tain, till it rose, layer after layer, strata after strata, in varied rainbow coloring, thrusting ftself up in the coral reef, or the mid ocean island, where the floating seed might lodge, or the weary-footed bird find rest. He spoke of the beautiful weeds as flowers ; of the shining fish as swimming birds; of the strange crea- tures and creeping things. He then likened our life to the ocean, drawing his comparisons and analogies with a master hand ; taking his audience with him in an irresistible intensity of interest that was almost akin to pain, as he soared to the sublimest height of impassioned eloquence, then launched them off again on the smooth, placid sea of flowery imagery ; as the great, tumultuous, swelling wave may gently break and ripple softly onward into peace. Then pausing a moment, as if recovering from his own overwrought feelings, holding, the while, the spell-bound audience as one heart in his hand, he stepped slightly forward, and in simple, touching language, that brought tears to every eye, he told them the story of a life; like the sea, becalmed, with no action save the surface ruffle of some dream-tossed wave, or the lazy dip of the roaming sea-gull’s wing. Like the light behind the opaque globe, whose glimmer but reflected on itself, and grew dark in its own absorption. He spoke of the hand that stirred the deep fountains till they well nigh overflowed their bounds. Of the fingers that removed the obscurities and kindled anew the hidden fires of the inner soul. ‘*The life I have described is my own,”’ he continued, with deep earnestness; “‘I have stood before many a vast audience, and looked upon the myriads of fair faces turned toward me until to-night in vain. In the momentary glance around the room as I rose before you, I saw the face that had given life and hope to me in my new and strange recreation, and in that moment I chose my theme. If there was any inspiration in it, or any truth in my thoughts or words, I owe it all to her, who, under Him who giveth all their power to sway, woke my benumbed powers to strong, healthful action, and saved my life from continuing the drear, desert blank it was.”’ Julie, forgetful of everything save the glori- ous triumph of the speaker, and the conviction his closing remarks had brought her, had risen and bent slightly forward, her lips apart, her nostrils quivering, her eyes fixed on the mag- netic glory of his with a fascination she could not resist. Walter, seeing that she was becom- ing conspicuous, rose also; then, as if the elec- tric fluid had fired through the golden pipes of sympathy, that in hours of earnest feeling seem to connect heart with heart, the whole audience swayed a moment, then rose with one impulse, and pressed forward toward the youthful orator whose magic words had so enchained them The young lecturer had seen another face than Julie’s, that thrilled a deeper chord in his being, one hitherto lying dormant, that even her potent touch had no power to wake. Nellie Chauncey’s spiritual beauty had beamed orm him ; her dove-like eyes with their wondrous depths had looked into his and touched a spring, whose fresh, pure flowing would be as enduring as the clear stream of the water of life. Introductions and adulation over, Walter and Nellie accompanied Mr. Banks to Julie’s home; Mrs. Rathburn having insisted that she must entertain him who had been the preserver of her daughter’s life, and the congenial party spent an hour together before separating for the night. The fame of Mr. Banks went abroad, and many of his engagements brought him into the vicinity of this pleasant village, and he spent many of the summer days with Julie and her mother, and his new friends, Mr. Chauncey’s family. Walter was more than pleased with him, and claimed him as his guest for many weeks. He was not loth to stay, the charm of Nellie’s childish womanliness won daily on his heart, and the sweet, holy atmosphere of that home had a sacred attraction for his deep, ear nest, religious nature. ‘ But Julie’s feelings, who shalldescribe? Her peculiar interest and sympathetic intimacy with Dalton Banks, and his publicly announced debt of gratitude to her. The strangely congenial east of his nature, in its restless, impetuous current, like the ever changing waves of the sea, finding neither limit nor boundary to its over-reaching tides. Oh! were not these hearts formed in the same mould, for the same deep experiences, bound for one blissful harbor? And Julie’s untamed heart went out, in its cha- racteristic impulsiveness, in a wild flow; an overwhelming, unchecked torrent of passionate love for him, whose life barque she had rescued from the shoal on which it had so nearly stranded. Her new, exciting feelings gave a new beauty to every feature, and the wild grace of her ways was enchanting and infee- tious. Her Cousin Alice came with the June flowers to pass the summer with her, and no innocent pleasure was left untasted. She en- tered with avidity into every sport, and was the acknowledged queen and belle of every party. “* For some weeks she had contemplated a pic- nic in the grove across the river, when Dalton should come back, and she completed every arrangement with fanciful exactness expressly to please histastes. The day was a bright one, such an one as makes mere existence a luxury, and in the early morning Julie and Alice flut- tered like birds through the woods, preparing

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334 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ' for their festival. When the invited parties began to assemble, they felt as though they were entering a fairy grotto, and every worldly, selfish, and corroding thought and care must be left outside the portals. The grove was thickly wooded, with but slight undergrowth, and the flower-gemmed moss was soft as any tapestry. Up through the tall interlacing trees could be seen glimpses of blue sky like the azure canopy of their transient tabernacle rest- ing softly on the towering, vine-wreathed tent poles. Southward, toward the sound, the cur- tain lifted, and the sun threw up the sparkle of the wave in flashing flecks of gold athwart this emerald floor; and the fragrant wind from far- off shores played gently with the festooned garlands and stirred to life the slumbering woodland zephyrs. The happy party of ladies and gentlemen roamed through the lovely bowers ; woke the old echoes that lay in ambush there, and with mirth and song gathered the flowers and twined wreaths for those they loved best. When the hour for refreshments came, Julie and Alice sent the rest of the party away to an adjoining grove, with directions not to come back till they were summoned. Then they hastily arranged the tables, not as usual on such occasions, on one large surface, but on small quartette tables, tastefully adorned and placed at inter- vals among the trees, thus forming little sepa- rate groups of one perfect whole. Each table was laden with delicacies half smothered with flowers, and from one to the other hung droop- ing wreaths of cool, fragrant pine. When the call ‘to come” was sounded, the gay party came laughing back, themselves be- decked with wild blossoms and knots of green strewn over their garments and hats, like a scattering of butterfly’s wings over Queen May’s regal vestments. After mutual surprise and admiration they sat down, laughing again to see, now that they were congenially arranged, that they had unconsciously heightened the picturesque effect ; the coloring of the ladies’ dresses and adornings in each little group either being in perfect harmony or beautiful contrast. Walter and Nellie, Julie and Dalton, sat at one table, as the rest would have it, in the centre of the circle. Nellie’s dress being of pure white, like herself in its sweet simplicity, and Julie’s of a deep sea-green, with silver-hued adornings, forming a pretty centre piece, from which radi- ated all shades and variety of bright but soft- ened coloring. The beautiful day was nearly over; the sun was just throwing its last beams over the trees in a baptismal glory, when one of the party proposed they should go down to the shore before going home. All heartily agreed, and they amused themselves writing their names in the sand, and skipping stones in playful rivalry. ‘What an uncouth rock this is,” said Dal- ton, as they climbed again up the bold shore ; ‘*a sort of miniature Gibraltar, I should judge, by the firm way in which it is set.’’ “Yes,’’ said one timid girl, ‘‘ we call this rock ‘ Decision,’ because it is so firm and un- compromising.” “That’s so,” said a young man, “and it ought to be christened ; come, Walter, you are the only parson among us, suppose you give sanction to the appellation.” Walter looked up with grave reproof in his eye, that somewhat abashed the yourg man. Julie saw the look, and was seized with a spirit of defiance, and noticing that Dalton stood on the very summit of the rock with his cap off and his hair thrown back, drinking in the in- spiration from the sea-breeze, she darted down to the shore, caught up a rough shell all trailing with dripping sea-grass, filled it with water, and, without a word, handed it to the young orator. He took it abstractedly, held it aloft a moment, then commenced in beautiful symbolic language an imposing representative ceremony, calling on Neptune to ratify the act, as he laved the brow of the rock with the consecrating water. The party had all closed round the rock, interested spectators, but Julie, carried beyond proper bounds in her excited enjoy- ment of the scene, knelt on the brow of the rock, and bent her head to receive the same rite. She looked superbly beautiful in her lowly attitude, her hands clasped, and her eyes upraised as though in invocation, her sea-green dress with its oversheen of silver seeming to catch the phosphorescence of the typical water, her long hair unbound except by a cord of silver, throwing back from its jetty masses the lingering rays of the setting sun. The party stood as though struck with awe at the boldness of the sacrilege, as Dalton, stretching himself up like a glorious imper- sonation of the god of the sea, and holding his hand over the bowed head, began, “ Beautiful Julie, queen of the earth, I baptize you”— Just then Walter stepped indignantly forward, dashed the hand aside, and threw the shell with its contents far out into the water. Julie rose angrily, Dalton’s hand clenched involun- tarily, and there was a general feeling of con- sternation manifest on every countenance. But Walter stood with his arms folded, quietly awaiting the result. For an instant the flash in Dalton’s eye was fearful, but recovering himself, he approached Walter, and said: “TI was wrong; after a moment’s thought I should have shrank from the sacrilege as you do; I thank you for your interference. Will you forgive me for wounding you on so sacred a point?” Walter clasped the extended hand, saying, “T am convinced your act was thoughtless, and I fear mine was rude. I would not have raised my hand against you for any personal cause, my friend.”

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B we eww 8 eS ee ' — eS ..y bl Vw SY de, ee ee ek, eee, oe ee ek el wo Ft VY verwve weet aS awe UNREST. B35 Nellie, who had witnessed the scene with her hand pressed tightly over her fluttering heart, stepped forward and laid her little trembling fingers over their united ones. ‘‘ White dove of peace,”” whispered Dalton, ‘‘ I thank you.” The gentleman who had proposed the christ- ening, with a frankness that did him honor, took all the blame upon himself, and begged his young pastor’s pardon for his thoughtless- ness. Harmony was now restored, and the happy party went homeward through the grove, but Julie, though she had too much good sense and taste not to see her error, con- sidered herself very angzy with Walter, while she was really only vexed with herself, but she would not look at him, though he sought her eye anxiously. When Alice Jervis went home in the autumn Julie went with her, returning again soon after the Christmas holidays. Julie’s passion for Dalton Banks was unconsciously fostered by his letters when absent from her, and his un- disguised admiration for her when in her pre- sence. She was indeed most attractive. She seemed actually walking upon the light, scat- tering joy and sunshine with her every tread. She did not stop to inquire if this high-seasoned aliment was nutritious and substantial, she only knew that for the time it was most insinu- ating and palatable to her perverted taste. It was strange, that in two natures having so many points of sympathy, this gifted youth should excite feelings so widely dissimilar. Nellie Chauncey loved him, too, not with that excited, vehement passion that fillec Julie’s breast, but with a deep, quiet affection, that would let the blood out drop by drop from its own patient, enduring existence, if he so re- quired. Nellie seemed a child ; scarcely sixteen years had passed over her head, but she had developed early, and had unconsciously glided into some of woman’s sweetest experiences. One evening, a month subsequent to Julie’s re- turn from her uncle’s, Dalton called and asked to see her alone. He told her his engagements would call him so far away, that he could not hope to see her again until the summer. “But I could not go,’ said he, “without confiding to you my great happiness; that my unstable nature has found anchor, and its moorings are cast deep in the underlying strength of Nellie Chauncey’s pure soul. You * cannot guess how I love her, Julie. A look at her calm beauty is rest to my unquiet heart. A taste of cool, refreshing water to my thirsty spirit.” ‘*But she,’’ said Julie, spasmodically, “‘ does she return your love?” A look of ineffable tenderness passed over his face, quenching the flash of his eye, in a softened mist of delicate feeling, and without a word she was answered. “It is great happi- ness to me to think that, in making this con- nectiqn, Ishall be nearto you. I have seen how the noble Walter loves you; pardon me if I tread upon holy ground,”’ he added, quickly, as a vivid flash passed over Julie’s face. ‘‘ But if my happiness could be increased, it would be in the hope of calling you ‘sister.’ It would be almost too great a joy. Under God, I owe you everything. I have looked upon you as a god- dess, a queen ; and I think of you always with that worshipful adoration, akin, I fear, to idol- atry.”’ ‘Oh, how grand he looked! How proud and happy. Oh, how her heart throbbed in its agonized, frenzied longings! But he did not see. He was only pleading for her approval of his choice, and she said, hoarsely :— “T am glad, Dalton; Nellie is a treasure of which you may well be proud. I shall always rejoice in your happiness and success ; you have only to look to conquer in love as in fame.”’ They sat a short time in friendly converse, and then Dalton rose to go. ‘‘ Nellie was wait- ing,” he said. ‘‘I must bid you good-by, now,”’ half raising her hand to his lips, then releasing it as if the caress were too great a boon to crave. But she held it toward him again, and he kissed it as a favorite subject might press the hand of his sovereign. As Dalton reached Mr. Chauncey’s door he met Walter coming out. ‘She is waiting for you,” he said, playfully, as he saw the young clergyman’s face was turned toward Julie’s home. Mrs. Rathburn told Walter that Julie was in the parlor, and he entered without knocking. She sat on the sofa with her head covered, weeping, as only strong, earnest na- tures can weep, with an uncontrollable vio- lence. Sob after sob shook her frame, as she weaved toand froinconvulsiveagony. Walter remained silent awhile, not wishing to intrude upon her grief; he never saw her so agitated before, and was at a loss to account for her sor row. ‘Can I not comfort you in some way ?’’ he asked, at length. ‘‘I would sacrifice my happiness to save you from pain.” : She shook her head and motioned him away, as he attempted to take her in his arms and lay her head on his breast. ‘As your pastor, then,” he said, and, kneeling beside her, he offered a touching prayer, in which he begged for her the Saviour’s compassion and guidance. Then he went away saddened and perplexed. After that’ night he could not approach her; she kept him at a distance. Then he prepared his sermons with reference to her state of feel- ing, but she sat unconvinced by his most logi- cal arguments, and unimpressed by his most earnest appeals. There was a great unsatisfied want in her soul, that he could see ; but she ut- terly refused to put herself in connection with the all-supplying fountain. She grew gloomy and silent; all her wild, witching ways were cast aside as so many gaudy trifles. She looked at life from a severe, stern stand-point, each duty to be punctiliously fulfilled, whatever of

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836 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, woe its performance brought. Her mother did not attempt to control her, and Walter could only wait and pray. The winter had been most severe, but the spring opened early and suddenly. A heavy, warm rain had come and melted the snow ra- pidly, and the succeeding day the sun snone with almost summer heat, There was a roar and rush of something in the river. The ice was breaking up. Julie, with her uneasy spirit, had at the first sound put on her hood and cloak and run over to the bridge. In the coming twilight her position was not noticed by the spectators on the bank below. It was a glorious, yet awful scene. The ice came rush- ing and tumbling down with the noise of a thousand waterfalls. Whirling giddily, like huge, uncouth animals in fearful play, encom- passing in rude embrace the drift-wood and fragments of broken bridges and despoiled houses ; growing fearful in its thundering roar and impetus, as it rushed in a leaping, impetu- ous, overwhelming mass down the river. Be- coming stayed and choked for an instant by a narrow place in the stream, the immense cakes, crowding and piling upon each other in their terrible haste, with tremendous rapidity and force came rushing toward the bridge. Walter Chauncey had heard the confused sound, and, divining the cause, reached the bank just in time to see the peril that threatened the ab- sorbed and unconscious girl who stood on the bridge, gazing unconcernedly, as it were, into her own yawning grave. ‘Julie, run off, for your life!’ he shouted, with all his strength, just as the maddened ice struck the bridge with its resistless force, and loosening it from its abutments, bore it trium- phantly off, laughing and clapping its cold hands in fiendish glee, then roamed carelessly away into the free open sound. The spectators on the bank seemed paralyzed, but Walter, without a moment’s hesitation, rushed into a neighboring house, procured a clothes-line and a long pole, stepped fearlessly on to a floating cake of ice, and guided himself by the pole to- ward the bridge, that with its precious freight was fast going out beyond his reach. But Julie did not see him; she was looking southward with her hands stretched yearningly out, as she had done so many times before ; she had longed to go floating out into the dim beyond, and now, all alone, she was going, going. A sense of free- dom came over her, delightful in its fearful in- toxication; then a thought seemed to strike her ; the bridge had been terribly shaken, what if it should part, and let her down into the yawning waves? She stepped forward and looked down into the water ; perhaps she should go down into the submarine temple and see the beautiful things Dalton described. Perhaps the coral insect would twine fairy wreaths about her hair, and the mermaid sing to her the siren song. But then, upon her breast would lie that awful pressure of waters, and she would have to rest. She could not, would not rest. A cold shudder of fear came over her, and something seemed to tighten around her heart, as the danger of her position forced itself upon her. Walter, on his treacherous footing was reaching toward her, but she seemed going down, down, wilfully lost to all his love aad care. “Julie, catch the rope,”’ he shouted, throw- ing it with all his might toward her. But, in her excitement, she failed. It was heavy with water; but he drew it quickly in, coiled it again, and, with almost superhuman strength, cast it off—it was propelled by the force of love and it touched the bridge. Would she secure it before the bridge loosened from the mass of ice that had collected around it and moment- arily held it fast? The heart of every spectator stood painfully still; if she rushed wildly for- ward her weight would jar the bridge from its fitful moorings and the last chance fail. But she was collected now. She went slowly, al- most imperceptibly toward the end of the bridge, then, with a quick spring, caught the line. A shout went up from the shore, quickly hushed, again, as it grew doubtful whether she could hold the rope against the fearful pressure of the ice that was striving to force itself on. With the quickness of thought shee tied the rope firmly to a beam of the structure, and with her foot pushed blocking masses of ice slightly aside, but giving them an impetus around the bridge, which they quickly followed, now that there was room for an outward flow. But how should help reach her? A boat would have no chance at all among the floating ice blocks ; but Walter seemed to have conceived the whole from the beginning. He, with diffi- culty, pushed himself toward the shore. The men seized his end of the.rope and carefully, tremblingly, lest the rope should break, drew the burden toward them. It came slowly, but surely. Almost it reached the shore, and then the slender line parted like a wreath of smoke. There was no time for thought, Walter, with one fearful leap, sprang on to the bridge, caught Julie in his arms, and jumped with her into the water. A dozen men plunged in after them, and bore them, clasped in each other’s arms, but both insensible, to the shore. The fear and excitement had overcome them but for a moment, however, and soon they were’ able to be carried to their homes. The conflicting emotions that held sway in Julie’s mind for many succeeding weeks can- not be described. The horror of that hour of peril presented itself continually before her, waking and sleeping; the fearful roll and un- rest of the ice striving to bear her onward to destruction like the tossing of her own tumul- tuous heart, hungrily devouring all that came in its way, without receiving sustenance or healthful life. Oh! would this craving never i il i ee a ee ee LL tium_ee. oe

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UNREST. 337 cease? Must she go on, ever hoping and long- ing for what would never be attained? As Walter said, ‘“‘a weary dove forever seeking rest, its wing ever drooping over the eternal waste of waters?’”’ She would not go out, or see Walter, or any one; the billows were going over her, and no human eye should see the struggle. She went back in thought to that lonely night when her weary frame lay floating upon the water, and the solid land came stretching out under her sinking form, and now that her exhausted spirit was at its direst, most hopeless need, something like the Omni- potent Hand seemed to bear her up and place her on a broad, large surface, strong as the tock of Ages, and she laid herself out in a restful, happy state—content, supremely blest. The next day was the Sabbath, and she went joyfully forth to worship. She did not lift her eyes to the young pastor’s face; but he saw in the sweet look of perfect peace, in the flutter of joy about her mouth, that his prayer had been answered, and the tossing, restless heart had found enduring joy. She was indeed a hew creature; the old chrysalis of selfishness and worldliness had broken away, and her joy was that of the fledgling spirit trying its timid wings. She had not lost her vivacity and originality ; they were only toned down, as a glaring light is modified by the delicate tints of a porcelain shade. Happy in her new-found joy, she yet shrank from Walter, for, with the change in her na- ture, the tide of love for him had reflowed in a clear, shining river. She found her love for Dalton had been but a short-lived passion, and that, as under the fiery tide that rushes over the prairie, the starting grass springs up anew in its freshness, so her love for her noble pastor was blooming again as the rose and the myrtle. That, as the cunning artificer had engraved his own name in the solid granite of the temple, and his patron’s on the superficial, ornamental plaster, so Walter’s name was imbedded in the warm tablets of her heart, while Dalton’s was but imprinted on her fancy. In the soft light of May’s young moon she sought again the river bank ; Walter was there before her, and together they looked toward the far off invisible shore. Neither spoke for awhile, and then Julie began quietly, ‘‘ Peace like a river,’ I never understood before. The river seemed to me the type of disquietude; the ocea& the repository of all hungry, dis- turbed longings. Oh! how peaceful is this scene; and yet I have looked upon it a thou- sand times and could not see its stillness.’’ “It has come upon your heart, now, and grown into your very soul. We, with our disorded vision, think we can see the light, but its most exquisite and powerful rays are above the spectrum ; and yet as those rays can paint our image on the delicate paper or the prepared plate, so the invisible pencil of the Sun of Righteousness has traced the semblance of the Dove of peace in unfading lines upon the tissues of your soul. Do you remember the evening we stood here long ago, beloved, and you said you could not make me a conge- nial home, or dwell contentedly in heaven ?”’ “Yes, Walter, I could make you such a home, now.” He took her to his heart silently, and pressed the tender, solemn betrothal kiss on lip and brow. She looked up-into the great, sheltering hea- vens; the stars winked their golden lashes, and sailed dreamily along in the deepening ether; the damsel moon laid her shy cheek against the bosom of the sky. She looked out on the broad expanse of waters; the light fell softly as a mother’s hand upon a sleeping child, and now and then a murmuring ripple sighed out its sweet content. She had believed in the fanciful conception of the ‘‘ music of the spheres,”’ she beheld now, as it were, the har- mony of perfect, holy peace. Once before her marriage Julie visited Dal- ton’s home; outwardly everything was the same. Mr. Banks went the same round of labor with a cheerful heart, and a pardonable erectness of form that he was the father of so popular a man as Doit. And Mrs. Banks, with all her increasing cares and burdens, yet found time for a song and a sacrifice. She heard from Julie’s lips praises of Dalton’s Nellie, who, when a few years should have passed, would call her “‘mother.’”’ And they talked quietly and happily of those three weeks of hope and fear that had resulted so joyfully. Julie, in the very height of ‘her sparkling beauty, in the hopeful promise of her future usefulness, in the fulness of the cup of happi- ness, whose overflow could not float even a rose-leaf more upon its surface, gave her hand to Walter Chauncey on the same day that, four years before, had found her gathering upon her white robe the sunshine and shadows that should intermingle with her future life. She took out the little outgrown dress, and smiled as she saw how the yellow dust from the buttercup petals had become ingrained in the very texture as the golden thread of her life had given tone and coloring to the changing variegated hues of her own wilful woofing. tial It is only by labor that thought can be made healthy, and only by thought that labor can be made happy ; and the two cannot be separated with impunity.—RUSKIN. It is unjust and absurd of persons advancing in years to expect of the young that confidence should come all and only on their side. The human heart, at whatever age, opens only to the heart that opens in return.—MIss EDGE- WORTH,

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338 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. MRS. O. FOGY’S SUPPER-TABLE TALK. BY THE AUTHOR OF “MISS SLIMMENS.” No, I’m not sick, Fogy, but I’ve the head- ache. I usually get it, nowadays, when I go out. I cannot become accustomed to going bareheaded, or what amounts to the same thing—a bow of ribbon and a bunch of flowers on top of my hair, as if I were going to a ball. I always imagine I’ve forgotten something, and keep putting my hand up to my head to feel if there’s anything there. But, bonnets are not the worst of it, Fogy. I get the head- ache from seeing how things go on; I cannot enjoy a shopping expedition, or take a drive in the park, but I return home so depressed that I’m not fit to appreciate my supper. “Tongue?” Yes, thank you, a few slices. Pickled tongue is one of my favorite supper dishes ; it seems to give the rest a relish. ‘* What is it that depresses me?” Why, the changes, Fogy. Everything is changing, every- thing is spick, span new ; and every change is for the worse. Lupin’s merino isn’t as wide by a quarter of a yard as it used to be, nor as good in color; and we know what is going on in California two hours before it has happened there. There is nothing substantial any more. If you see a pretty young lady you don’t know how much of her it is safe to admire ; she may be like a telegraph message, all spirit and no substance. I could almost manufacture a fash- ionable girl myself, if I could afford the mate- rial. I think I could make a first-rate one out of a piece of lath, if I had free access to one of their dressing-rooms. I’d want about two pounds of wool, a little false hair to veneer it, plenty of hair-pins, and a few chickens to scratch ’round in the front part, to help frizzle it. I’d want considerable cotton—say about the same quantity I take to make a bed com- forter; a couple of calves, say six weeks old, and a pair of high-heeled shoes; for all the girls have got their high-heeled shoes on nowa- days; a big stick of India-ink and a little pearl powder, a diamond ring, and clothes rich enough for her grandmother, ad libitum. All I’d want to set my lath a-going, when I’d got it dressed up, would be a set of springs, so curi- ously constructed, that if once wound up by the key of a good band of music, my young lady would dance the German and waltz furi- ously all night without the least symptom of" fatigne, and declare that the exercise was neces- sary to her health ; but if asked to make a bed or dust the parlor, would instantly run down so as to cause her to sink upon a sofa in a faint- ing condition. Most young ladies have those kind of springs in them, so far as my obkserva- tion goes. I don’t know who took out the patent for ’em; but, whoever did, must have made his fortune; for they are very popular. There’s a young lady next door, Fogy—Miss Bouillone, you’ve seen her—has had one of those kind of springs going in her for the last three years. Her mother is in despair, but she can’t find the key to put a stop to it, and the girl goes on as she has a mind to. How? ‘You took Miss Bouillone to be a most beautiful and stylish creature!” Of course, the gentlemen all do, even old gentlemen like you, Fogy. She is stylish; she is nothing if not that ; but instead of the healthy, old-fashioned muscles and nerves which girls used to have in my day, which enabled them to tidy up their own rooms and wax the best furniture, and even beat eggs for a pudding or a pound-cake, ride horseback, walk a mile before breakfast, and make their own pretty underclothing, and the use of which gave them such fine shoulders and such a rosy color; instead of that kind of natural machinery in her. Miss Bouillone’s got the new-fangled artificial springs. I’ve seen her myself, spin ’round a large room at least forty times, as glib as a top, and tinter up and down in the German from four o’clock in the afternoon until twelve at night, enough to wear out a saw-mill, if kept up all winter, as she keeps it up, and she never gets tired. But, if the chambermaid gives short warning, and her mother orders a broomstick promenade— whiz-z-burr! the wheels fly round a minute and stop, as sudden as if they were broken. Then Miss Bouillone has to lie down on the sofa, and her mother has to do the sweeping. Curious, isn’t it? And they act just so about everything. They will support her through twelve miles of Fifth Avenue and the park, but if she were to turn in the direction of Wash- ington market, they would come to a complete stand-still, so that she would just be able to totter into the house and drop into a hall arm- chair. She has this patent apparatus in her arms as well as her feet. She will pound a piano-forte for three hours with an energy which I never saw equalled by a carpenter, but she could no more lift a tack hammer than she could the pyramids. She over-exerted herself last week dusting two legs of a chair which the parlor maid overlooked, and was confined to the sofa for three days. Her parents felt very uneasy about her; they were afraid the springs were broken where they could not be repaired, but a young gentleman chancing to call with an invitation from his sister to an impromptu sociable—click, click, went the springs inside the higli-heeled shoes as lively as ever. Well, Oliver, I’m glad we have no daugh- ters. I used to feel bad about it; but I see, now, that itis all for the best. I like spring bedsteads, and spring water, and spring chick- ens, but I shouldn’t like spring daughters. Pass me the whip, waiter. You ‘‘ think little girls are the sweetest things in the world?’’ So they are, Oliver. I’d hug and kiss one to pieces if I could find one, but I haven’t seen a little girlina longtime. They Oe —— a th 8004 fa oh tt wf bad oct aot Of . OS 04 ot oe et 64 oO =90o of D ae — awe - =

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f t e Zor vw @ ¢ ~ Vw Oo t's » & yer A SCN Vw & ey & sS We @ MRS. 0. FOGY’S SUPPER-TABLE TALK. 839 are all young ladies now at three years of age, with such a knowledge of the world, and so much self-possession that you could no more think of giving a doll to one of them than you could of offering a pin-cushion to Queen Victo- ria. I expect to see a change in babies soon— they ’ll have chignons tied on the tops of their heads, and their nurses will have to walk them around on stilts to give them a chance to dis- play the trains on their long white dresses, Bless the little dears! won’t it be mournful, Fogy, when they begin to use silver forks as soon as they are born, and scowl with disdain at the sound of a Mother Goose’s melody? They ’ll have to have opera airs altogether in those days; and the poor nurses will be dis- missed if they utter a false note. As for trot- ting them, who ’ll dare to take the liberty ? Not that boys are any better than girls. No, no; girls are bad enough, but boys are worse. We ’ve got one son, Oliver, and he’s more than we can manage. Look at this table to-night! two of us at it, as usual, and his plate turned down and empty. It isn’t three times a week he is here promptly to his meals. And I heard him call you Old Fogy, this very morning, in the hall—your own son! ‘“What was itabout? Because you wouldn’t buy him a twelve thousand dollar trotting- horse, or a seventy-five dollar Panama hat, or what?” Oh, you needn’t try to cover up that boy’s failings; you’re qnite too lenient with him ; he doesn’t care any more for your advice than he does for his last month’s necktie. **You mean to put him to business?’’ The shoe ’s on the other foot, Oliver. He means to keep you at business while he spends the money you make ; and when some sharp girl, with a quick eye for the main chance, catches him in a curl of her false hair—how? you call that “a barber-ous operation ?’’—catches him, I say, and holds him fast, he ’ll marry her and bring her home for me to wait upon. Young folks, now, must begin with a brown-stone front and a car- riage, and somebody’s got to give it to them into the bargain. It was not so with us, Fogy. You clerked with your own father, and lived on your salary, and took a share in the business in due time; and I was as proud and happy as @ queen, with one servant to help me do my work, and one new silk dress a year. “Wish you had known it at the time?’ Why, didn’t you know it? ‘Remember I used to fret continually for a second girl, and a new dress, every time Mrs. Brown had one.” Well, the fact is, Fogy, Brown wasn’t any better able than you to dress his wife, and I knew it, and I didn’t choose to see her put on airs when you had three hundred a year more than Brown, and a rich father into the bar- gain. You’ve a natural inclination to be close, husband; if I hadn’t scared it out of you, I dare say you’d have been an old miser by this time. I’ve not forgotten when I gave you picked-up codfish for dinner, every day for seven weeks, because you would not give me a velvet cloak I wanted. When you complained I always answered that if we were too poor to wear decent clothing, we were too poor to eat expensive food. You gave in just before Christ- mas, Fogy, and I had the pleasure of wearing the cloak on Christmas Eve. A woman who can’t manage her husband, when she’s got his comfort in her power, isn’t much of an orna- ment to her sex. What under the sun do you rattle your fork on your plate in that disagreeable manner for ? As a general thing, I believe I’ve made you comfortable, Fogy. Of course, when you’re unruly, I am obliged to take you down a little justasareminder. I don’tallow you to smoke in the house, or carry a night key, or invite men to dinner without sending up a telegraph to let me know, nor keep a fast horse to trot around after Commodore Vanderbilt with. When you drive in the park I expect to go along. If you don’t do as I wish, I put you on short rations, and I order breakfast an hour before you want to get up, and supper two hours after you’re ready to drop—and I’m not particular to speak for anything good. How? ‘You never cared what I gave you, so that it was not pickled tongue—which it always was!’ Yes you did care, too! You’ve gone to the St. Nicholas more than once, and, late days, to the Fifth Avenue, and you ’ve ordered a hundred dollar dinner to spite me. But you soon got tired of that. A woman can over- match a man when she sets her wits to work. Every time you gave a dinner I followed on with a party; and you know you hate parties. If you act sulky and keep too much in your ‘‘den,’’ I put up a spare bed in it, and invite somebody to come and visit us. By these innocent means I keep you well in hank But, as I was saying, boys are worse than girls in this day and generation. They are good for nothing the most of them, and if they are not absolutely awfully wicked, it’s because they ’ve not brains to be so. There’s our Frederick—humph! there he is, in good ear- nest, though that was not what I was going to say. Well, sir, it’s quite an unexpected treat to see you at the supper-table. Will you have a cup of tea? which, of course, is stone-cold by this time. What’s that? ‘‘Ring for some hot, then!” I must say, you’ve a very re- spectful way of ordering your own mother around. ‘You didn’t order me, you ordered the waiter?”” What right have you to expect hot tea when you’re three-quarters of an hour behind time? Where have you been this after- noon ? “Been taking Miss Bouillone out riding, and wish now you had accepted her invitation to stay and dine at her house?’’ I suppose you wish me to infer that you came home for fear I would keep the tea waiting for you. You

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340 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. shail have some hot, Fred. I’m glad you didn’t stay to dinner, and I’m sorry you took that ridiculous young lady out a-riding. You are not in love with her, Fred? For mercy’s sake, assure me that things have not gone so far as that! You might as well have a picture out of a fashion-plate for a wife—and a thou- sand times better, for that wouldn’t cost any- thing to keep, while she will spend all the money you can rake and scrape together. Oh my son! I wish you had been born a hundred years ago when girls were what they ought to be. Then you might have stood some chance of a hap—you needn’t hold up your hands in such horror. “If you’d been born a hundred years ago your fun would all be over by this time. You’d have been Violetta’s grandpa instead of her’— What? Speak out, Frederick! If you’ve been so crazy, the sooner we know it the better. Engaged, humph! and how do you and Violetta expect to take care of yourselves? You’ve never earned a penny yet of your own, while, as to her—can she spin? Can she make good bread? Does she know how to order a dinner? Can she make her own clothes ? “Zou never thought to inquire, but you sup- posé they keep a sewing-machine.”’ Qh, yes! and a baking machine, and a mending machine, and a housekeeping ma- chine, and a machine for making a man’s home happy, and for bringing up his children. “Qh, mother, we did not get so far as that!” All in time, all in time, Fred! For my part, I detest these machines, They are the bane of the age. It seems as if sewing-ma- chines were invented for the purpose of giving young ladies more time to flirt and promenade and pound those miserable pianos. When I was a girl I used to put three rows of stitching, two threads to a stitch, on the plainest of my bands; it gave me something to do afternoons beside walking up and down the street to show myself. I’ve pieced the rising sun on three bed-quilts. How? ‘‘ You represent the rising son if put under one of those frightful things.” Frederick, how very disrespectful you are! In my day, children stood up in their parents’ presence until given permission to sit down. How? ‘You’ll stand up now, if/I say so?” La, child, I don’t care about your taking your tea standing; but I do wish your manners were a little more of the old school. “Which old school?’”” Why, the old school. No, you didn’t think I meant the old brick school where the boys used to pound each other blue. You know, well enough, the courtly manners of the past, when gentlemen bowed to the floor if a lady passed. ‘“ You’ll get up and practise now, if your father will give you a lesson!” Now, you know, your father was never a model for anybody; but, really, Fred, have you committed yourself with Migs Bouillone? Are you engaged ? Dear, dear, dear! it’s well I am nearly through with my supper, for this news quite spoils my appetite. You have been rash— frightfully rash! You ‘ll discover there ’s some- thing more serious to do than just asking a giddy young thing to have you. How do you expect to support your wife, say? ‘In your arms ?” You ought to be ashamed of youself, Fred! Your father wouldn’t have said a thing like that after we’d been engaged six months. You needn’t wink at your own son, Fogy— you know you never did. There was a time when young people had some delicacy. Seeing you are so free about it, tell me, Freddy, my dear, how you managed the affair. What did you say to her? Said, ‘ Violetta, I love you!” right out there in the very Central Park, I suspect. And what did she say? There, now, I don’t wonder you don’t like to tell. Of course she jumped at the chance of getting into the Fogy family. It’s an old family, and we’re all—‘‘Oid Fogies!’’ Fred, do please be a little more respectful. + I“ jumped at the chance of getting into it!’’ Of all the mean things you ever said, Fogy, that is the meanest. Jump into your family, indeed! as if a Watkins would jump into any family! If I said yes, plump out, it was be- cause I expected, every day, that young Smith would propose, and I wanted to be able to excuse myself on the plea of being engaged. Your mother never wanted for chances, Fred- dy, dear. If'I were a widow to-day, I dare say I know a dozen who would ask me as soon as they dared to. Not that Iever gave them any encouragement to think I’d have them under any circumstances. I’ve often won dered, in my hours of serious reflection, if I could be persuaded to marry again in case your father died. Don’t ask me how I decided ; it matters not to any but myself, and the veil of silence should be cast over the thoughts of our reflective hours. Will you have a slice of the black-cake, Fogy ? I wonder how Violetta Bouillonne will be- have, now that she is actually engaged. If I was her mothey, Fred, I’d be irretrievably offended because you did not ask my consent to speak to my daughter. Your father not only asked permission of my parents to pay his addresses to me, but he asked me if he might kiss me, and was so embarrassed the first time, I remember, very distinctly, that he kissed me on the nose. ‘You didn’t make any such mistake ?’’ Where did you find the opportunity to kiss her, Fred, tell me that? For her sake, I hope it wasn’t right out there on the Drive! “Kissed her in the parlor before her own mother?’’ So, then, Mrs. Bouillonne knows it! What did she say to it ?—but stop, I don’t need to be told. I’ve no doubt she’s tickled to death. To have seen the way that woman’s manceuvred for the last three years would be a,

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MRS. 0. FOGY'’S SUPPER-TABLE TALK. 341 lesson to an army general. I’ve often made her a study when we were out together in soctety, and amused myself watching the trou- ble she took to make herself amiable. When she got a set of young fellows about herself and Violetta she’d make herself as fascinating as an old cat after birds. I used to laugh at her behind her back, but 1’m paid for it now. If I had foreseen that my own son would be the victim te be charmed into her elaws, I should have laughed out of the other corner of my mouth. “You would like to know what her mother had to do with your falling in love with Vio- letta?’”” Would you? Ha, ha, ha! Almost any one who knows her could tell you, evén if they had never seen you two together. I cam describe the whole process, for I’ve seen her practise it on other young men, though she has been so discreet as to let you alone when I was about. Upon my word, the more I think of it, the more I admire that old cat. To begin with, then; she has made way for you to take a seat beside her on the sofa, when Violetta was dancing with some other youth, and has whispered to you that her daughter don’t like to waltz, but is afraid she will be eonsidered odd if she refuses. She has asked youif youdo not think that Violetta has almost too much color ; but that is because she has per- fect health; she is always rosy, even in the morning after a dance, when other girls, who owe their bloom to artificial means, are frights to behold. The dear girl did not want to come to-night, though her heart was set on that par- ticular party, because she, Mrs. Bouillone, had a slight headache, and she was afraid mamma would not be comfortable. She was so affec- tionate; she did not know what the house would do if Violetta was ever taken from it; but she was afraid she should not be able to keep her darling long ; almost every week the sweet child had an offer ; however, thank hea- ven! thus far her virgin affections were disen- gaged ; none but her parents had ever hada place in her heart. Oh, I know the whole rig- marole. And, before you left her, she would invite you to make a morning call; and she would detain you by her side, until her daugh- ter was returned to her by the other young man, when of course it would follow that you would beg the honor of her hand for the next dance. And Mrs. Bouillone would smile, and nod those ugly feathers she always wears, and say, as you led the young lady away, “We shall be at home to-morrow, ‘dinna forget.’ ” To-morrow you would go without your din- ner, which I always will have at one o’clock, to dress yourself to fits and go to the florist’s for a bouquet as big as a dinner plate; but when you are admitted to Mrs. Bouillone’s par- lors, that lazy snip, Violetta, isn’t up and dressed yet; but her mother is, and she apolo- gizes for the sweet girl, who is so industrious, YO, LXXVU.—23 and who got so much engaged quilting the lining of a dressing-gown for her pa, that she forgot to change her morning-dress. However, it’ll not take Violetta long to dress! she does not require so much time for her toilet as those young ladies who are made up by their dress- ing-maids! Meanwhile, how is your dear mo- ther (she knows I detest her), and has your pa made as much money this year as last? Some men have been on the verge of ‘failing, these hard times, but he ‘‘is all right,’’ you hasten to inform her ; and she grows more gra- cious every moment, and admires your bouquet so much. Violetta is a perfect enthusiast in her love for flowers ; sweet darling, she, as yet, knows no more engrossing love, except for her parents! but, Fogy, give me a spoonful of that grated horseradish to settle my stomach ! and you swallow it all, and are ready for more. Then Violetta sails in, in a toilet over which she has spent three hours, and her mother asks her if she dressed so soon, and you don’t see that she has darkened her eyebrows, and lined her eyes, and ‘‘ toned down’”’ her forehead, and ‘brought out’? her cheeks, and crimped her hair, to say nothing of other improvements which I won’t mention here. The truth is, most girls of to-day would make quite passable portrait painters, they practise so much on their own faces. Say, now, own up, Fred, hasn’t it all been just as I have described ? ‘‘Supposing Mrs. Bouillone did treat you with civility ; it was very kind of her, when you were so diffident, and you expect to like your future mother-in-law very much?’’ Oh, dear! where’s my smelling-bottle? like your mother-in-law! ha, ha, ha! he, he! I’m afraid I’m going into tht hysterics, Fogy. If you’d just hand me something—the horseradish? oh, anything! but it struck me as so absurd, and especially that woman ; oh, dear! I said my salts, Fogy, not the salt; there, now, if I un- hook my dress and fan myself awhile I shall get overit. But that poor, infatuated boy! he will never get over it! oh, no! he’ll get deeper and deeper intoit. ‘Expects that woman to make him a good mother-in-law!’ Don’t sus- pect that Violetta has got those frightful patent springs inside of her! Ah, my poor Fred! It would have been better for you to have been born two hundred years ago! If I could warn you, if I could open your eyes in time; but there he goes, banging the door after him, as mad as a March hare. Expects to be fond of his mother-in-law! I believe I’ll lie down on the sofa awhile, Fogy; that horseradish has gone to my head. ee INDECISION is that slatternly housewife by whose fault chiefly the moth and the rust are allowed to make such duli work of life, corrupt- ing all the gleam and gloss of earth’s perishable treasures.—EDITH CLAREL.

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GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. 342 GODEY’S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING. LESSON IV. Fig. 36 shows the position of the two ellipses a and b, which form the bases of the orna- mental sketch shown in Fig. 37. In like man- Fig. 36. Fig. 37. Pew Fig. 40. The flower, stem, and leaves of the sketch ip Fig. 45 must be drawn in, the form being esti- mated chiefly by the eye; the stem ought to be put in first, thereafter the distances between the leaves, and then filling in the details. The ivy-leaf in Fig. 46 is to be drawn in the same way at the last. The ivy-stem and leaves Fig. 41. > aay , Fig. 39. ner, the half-ellipse, formed on the hori- zontal line in Fig. 38, is the foundation of the sketch shown in Fig. 39. So also is the foundation of a flower-petal, shown in Fig. 40, made clear by the amalytical sketch in Fig. 41, where the preliminary forms are shown drawn. Again, the ornamenta) scroll in Fig. 42 Fig. 42. is drawn by sketching a half-ellipse on the horizontal line. The convolvulus flower and stem in Fig. 43 are also drawn by previously sketching an ellipse to form the flower. In sketching the flower in Fig. 44, the pupil must first draw an outline which will take in the whole figure, making it as near the shape of the sketch as the eye dictates. After the cor- rect outline is formed, the details must be dzawn. shown in Fig. 47 should be drawn by first sketching out the length, form, and direction of the stem, then ascertaining and marking the distances between the leaves, and filling in the details as before. The leaf in Fig. 48, and the leaves in Fig. 49, shoutd next be copied. Fig. 50 is the leaf of the common “‘dock.’’ It is to be copied by first drawing an ellipse, and thepe- after filling in the details. Fig. 51 is the stem

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GODEY’S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING. 348 Fig. 43. y Fig. 45. - Fig. 47. Fig. 44. Fig. 46. oe Fig. 49. Fig. 48. \ and leaves of the ‘“‘burdock.’”’ The sketch may be put in at once by the assistance of the eye; it may be better, however, to draw a circle for the part a, and an ellipse for that of b. The scroll in Fig. 52 may be sketched by drawing an outline which would touch all the parts of the design, thereafter filling up the details. In drawing the sketch shown in Fig. 53, the pupil will have to trust greatly to the eye. The stem should be drawn first, its length and direction being carefully noted; the distances of the extremities of the leaves from the stem should next be marked off; next, their general outline, and thereafter the details. The pro- portions the parts bear to one another must be attended to. ,

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344 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Fig. 50. Fig. 52. Fig. 51, ————__ THE TWOFOLD LIFE. BY L. E. 8. “ Way sittest thou by the house-fire lone With tranquil face and mien? A widow’s grief is all thine own— Earth’s keenest sorrow thou hast known— Whence are these looks serene?’ ‘A widow’s grief is mine to bear, Yet mourn not thou for me, Since he whose ev'ry joy I share, In blissful rest, from pain and care Is now forever free! * Death cannot touch that twofold life The precious gift of love! Each transport cheers his lonely wife, That thrills his soul ’mid pleasures rife In the blest world above. “A Grecian stream, so legends say, That rolled by Elis’ towers, Sank downward from the light of day, And ’neath dark ocean sought the way Te Syracusan bowers. “Then, when Sicilian rivers shrank Beneath a goddess’ wrath, Its far-sent wave o’erflowed the bank The drooping wild-flowers eager drank And beauty decked its path! “¥en thus the fountain of my peace Springs far on heavenly ground! It cannot fail, it cannot cease, It only knows a rich increase, And brightens all around! “ Beneath the sea of death it flows, Nor mingles with its tide ; But ever onward as it goes, Bears the pure current that arose Celestial gates beside. “Then marvel not my life should seem From darksome sorrow free, Whilst ever flows its upper stream, Beneath the pure and cloudless beam Of bright eternity !’’

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A MEMORABLE RIDE. 845 A MEMORABLE RIDE. BY JENNIE L. TAYLOR. ‘*HADN’T you better leave the door unfast- ened, Ellen ?”’ said my husband, as I turned the key in the lock, then dropped it in my pocket. “T don’t know,” I said, doubtfully, then, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘‘no, I think it had better be fastened ; the children might get out and run down to the bars at the foot of the meadow to play, and it is but a step from there to the creek, you know.”’ He made no reply, but stooped down and looked at some part of the harness with a slightly perplexed air. ““What is the matter now?’’ I said, with some asperity. The truth is, my husband be- longed to that numerous ciass of individuals whose motto is, never to do to-day what they can put off until to-morrow, while I, on the con- trary, was prompt and decided; with me to will and to do were synonymous, and I had little mercy for such a failing. **T guess this little piece of twine will bring us through this time, but I will certainly mend it to-morrow,”’’ he replied, as I climbed into the clumsy, old-fashioned wagon. The harness being adjusted to his ,satisfaction, if not to mine, he seated himself beside me, and nodding a last good-by to the little faces pressed against the window-pane, we drove off. Our cottage was situated in the little valley lying to the southwest of what was at that time the village of L , in Illinois. A hill of considerable height stood between us and the village, on our side a verdure-crowned gently rising slope, on the other a more abrupt de- scent, with a rather circuitous road winding past little cottages and farm-houses of more or less pretension. Our present errand was to the store, to which we carried our produce as it accumulated from time to time, and received in exchange grocer- ies, dry goods, etc. ; our load consisted in part of a basket of eggs, consequently we were obliged to drive rather more slowly than usual. I left, as I had often done before, the younger children to the care of Grace, who, though but eight years old, had a mind far in advance of her years, and who was never more pleased than when intrusted with some similar duty or responsibility. I charged her not to take the baby from the cradle, but to rock him gently to sleep if he wakened, or, if he would not sleep, to amuse him with his playthings until our return. It was a lovely day in the latter part of Sep- tember, copious showers of rain had alternated with midsummer’s suns, and the freshness of the verdure was still undimmed—it was scarcely yet time for the “‘sere and yellow leaf,” though the maples had hung out their golden banners, as if to try the effect of contrast with the living green of the other forest trees. The cardinal plant raised its slender scarlet spikes from the low marshy meadows, and the no less brilliant sumach lent its velvety masses of bloom to the general stock of beauty ; the birds still sang cheerily as they fluttered to and fro in the hedgerows, and numerous little ground squir- rels skimmed along the fence-rails, dropped sud- denly, and disappeared mysteriously. Every- thing in nature seemed jubilant, and over all © hung that soft veil of mist peculiar to the beautiful season of Indian summer. Old Whitey ambled along after his usual monotonous fashion, and we soon reached our destination. I had a number of articles to purchase and examine, as well as the merits of @® new churn to discuss, and, just as we had settled all to our satisfaction, a neighbor whom we had not seen for some little time came in, which detained us still longer, so that when we turned our horse’s head homeward, I saw with some surprise, as well as a slight feeling of alarm, that the sun had already set, and the soft gray of twilight was stealing up the valley. Our load was a pretty heavy one, my husband having purchased several agricultural imple- ments, of no great weight individually, but col- lectively making no small load for one horse, so that though we were necessarily anxious to get home, we were obliged still to drive mode- rately, particularly as the road was not only hilly, but rough. Chatting upon the various little items of gos- sip which we had heard, we drove on until we had nearly reached the top of the hill, when, turning to make some remark to my husband, I saw achange come over his face, which struck me with a sudden terror; he was pale as a corpse. ‘Look!’ he said, in a voice hoarse with emotion, pointing in the direction of our home. My heart gave a sudden bound, then fell like a lump of lead in my bosom. A cloud of thick, dense smoke, distinctly defined against the clear sky beyond, rose above the tree tops. I tried to speak, but I could not utter a word. At last I said, steadying my voice as well as I was able, ‘‘I think it must be Morrison’s, isn’t it to the left of our house ?”’ “No!” he said, quickly, as he seized his whip and urged old Whitey to his utmost speed ; ‘‘don’t you remember that when we are at the top of the hill the smoke from our chim- ney rises just over the centre of that little group of cedars?’’ Alas! I did remember, and as he spoke we reached the summit, and saw enough to change our fears to certainty ; neither spoke, but each turned and looked at the other with quivering lips and dilating eyes. “My God! and I had locked them in!” I was fairly beside myself, frantic with terror. I felt as if I must leap from the wagon and fly to their rescue. Old Whitey seemed to understand that life or death depended upon his efforts, and he ex- erted himself nobly. On we flew, down the

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346 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. hill, dashing through the stony little brook that crossed the road, over the tumbie-down bridge, whose rotten boards rattled and started up from their places, past the hedgerows, that looked like one continuous mass of flying green ; past the little cottages with the startled chil- dren staring from the doors, thinking of no- thing, caring for nothing but to rescue our darlings. I buried my face in my hands, and rocked to and fro in my seat almost bereft of reason, as I thought of the scene which might be awaiting us. Imagination conjured up all the dreadful tales I had heard or read, to add to my horror. Once only I raised my head, and saw, or fancied I saw, slender tongues of flame cleaving the mass of smoke, which had by this time increased fearfully in volume and density. At last, after what seemed an age, but was in reality only a few minutes, we reached the bottom of the lane which led to our cottage, the angle was a sharp one, and we turned with such speed as to send the hind wheels of the old wagon spinning high in the air. How I got out I never knew. I am sure I did not wait for the horse to be stopped. Rushing to the door, I threw myself against it with such force as to break itin. The room was full of smoke, but, as the opening of the door dissipated it a little, I saw that it was empty, then, suffo- cated by the smoke, and overpowered by ex- citement, I fell fainting to the floor. When consciousness returned I found myself in the house of a neighbor with the children all about me, pretty well frightened, of course, but entirely unhurt. How the fire originated was a mystery which we never could unravel. Grace, sitting with her back to the stove, and with her attention entirely absorbed by the pictures in the old family Bibie, did not see it until Rover, the Newfoundland dog, who had been before quietly dozing by her side, at- tracted her notice by his evident uneasiness, after which he sprang through the window, fortunately taking the whole sash bodily with him, and, running at full speed to the nearest house, soon returned with some of its inmates. Grace, in the mean time, after letting down the two elder children through the window, which was only about four feet from the ground, took the baby from the cradle, and was prepar- ing to follow when the neighbors arrived. The house being old, and built, as such houses usually are, of the most combustible materials, notwithstanding all efforts, soon became a blackened, smoking ruin. Rover and Old Whitey lived to a good old age, and were ever afterwards held in affectionate remembrance for their services on that occasion. One evening, about a year afterward, as we sat in our new house, built on the site of the old one, but more commodious and comforta- ble in every respect, I remarked “that the fire had benefited us in at least one way, for unless the old house had been actually consumed, we should never have had the new one.” “T have felt the benefit of it in another way,” said my husband, gravely; ‘it has taught me never to put off doing anything which should be done at once until a ‘ more convenient sea- son.’ If the harness had given way on that day, where I mended it so slightly before we started, though it would not have interfered with the safety of the children, it would have added tenfold to our anxiety, because it would have delayed our reaching them. I made a vow then that if we were permitted to reach home without accident, I would use my utmost endeavors to overcome the habit of procrasti- nation, and I think you will allow that I have been pretty successful, so that, in more than one respect, we have reason to regard that as a ‘memorable ride.’ ’’ _>-s- HERE AND THERE. HERE our paths are widely parted, But when immortal crowns we wear, In the home of the true-hearted, I shall walk beside you there. If my love for you is truer— Deeper than all others’ are, In that blessed clime, be sure, I shall sit beside you there. Fame’s chaplet here your brow incloses, Adulations fill your ear; Well, so your feet may press life’s roses, Ill kiss its thorns and shed no tear. Every breath you breathe is laden With perfume from the flowers you weas, Frail gifts twined by happier maiden— I shall weave you garlands there— Garlands from those bowers supernal, Of amaranth and lilies rare— Garlands, like my love, eternal— Oh, with these I’ll crown you there, Cypress, Laurel, Love-lies-bleeding, In those gardens never bloom : Nor hidden canker-worm is feeding Till fairest bud is but a tomb. Here your smiles are lavished freely At beauty’s shrine, though false as fair; One day you will see more clearly— Ah, you ’ll smile upon me there, Ishall at your feet sit lowly, Your white fingers thrid my hair; Your kind eyes, serene and holy, Rest upon me ever there. If but my love for you is truer, Deeper than all others are, Oh, in that blessed clime, be sure, I shall sit beside you there. oem WE are ruined, not by what we really want, but by what we think we do; therefore, never go abroad in search of your wants. If they be real wants, they will come home in search of you; for he that buys what he does not want will soon want what he cannot buy.—CouTon.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 347 WORK DEPARTMENT. GENTLEMAN’S WAISTCOAT IN CROCHET TRICOTEE. Materials required.—One pound 3-thread black fleecy wool; No, 9 tricotée hook; three yards fine mohair braid, half inch wide; quarter of a yard of black material for pockets; one and a half yard of black sarcenet ribbon, three-quarters of an inch wide; and some waistcoat buttons, THIS waistcoat is worked and shaped in one Piece, and is given the size most usually re- together round the space left for them in the wool work; add the buttons and pockets. The sleeves are either sewn or crocheted in, taking care to keep the jotn 2 inches to the front of the seam under the arms in the waistcoat. TERMS USED.—Dc, double crochet; wh, work back; in, increase; de, decrease; rs, right side of the work ; 1s, left side of the work ; es, each side. To decrease, you work back the 2 loops nearest either edge together. To in- quired by gentlemen. It can be made larger or smaller as required by using a larger or smaller hook than the one given. When worked ac- cording to the directions given below, join the fronts to the back under the arms; bind all round with the mohair braid ; hem a piece of ribbon on the wrong side of each front, taking care to hold in the work siightly on the left side, so that both sides are exactly alike ; cut the button-holes through the ribbon, and seam | crease, work a loopin the chain between the loop on the needle and the 1st loop in the work at the commencement of a row, and between the 2 last loops at the end of a row. Com- mence with THE BACK. Make a chain of 69. 1st row. de. 2d. Take up all the loops, work back. Work 8 plain rows. é‘

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348 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. 10th. De lones. 10 more rows plain. 21st. In 1 on es 7 more rows plain. 29th. In 1 on es 4 more rows plain. 34th. In 1 on és 2 rows plain. 37th. In ones 4 rows plain. 42d. & de, take up all the loops but 5 last, wb. Work 3 rows, decreasing 1 on es each row. 46th to 54th. Plain. 55th. In 1 on es. 56th. Plain. 57th. Inion es. 58th and 59th. Plain, 60th. In 1 es. 61st. Plain. 62d. Inles. 63d. and 64th. Plain. 65th. Deles. 66th. De 2 es, Work 7 more rows; de2 ones. 74th. (Still de 2ates.) Take up all the loops; wb 8 (count- ing the 4 stitches used in decreasing as2). Take up the 8 loops just worked, with one on needle ; wb 6. Take up these 6; wb 3. Take up 3; wb the whole needleful of loops ; de 2 at the rs, 75th. Take up 12. Wh 8 (de 2 a€ the rs. Work as the 74th, only taking up less loops each time instead of wb so many less. 76th. Take up all the loops and wh, de 1 on es. 77th. De 1 on es. 78th. Double crochet. After the row of de take up 21 loops on the left shoulder, taking up the 2 plain rows (63d and 64th) as 2 loops; wb. This is for the left side of the front. ° LEFT FRONT. 2d row. Take up 3 (with the one on needle) ; wb. 3d. In latrs; take up7 with the in stitch wb; take up 3 more each row until all the 21 loops are raised, and working 1 in on rs every other row. 9th. In 1 on rs; plain on shoulder, 10th. Plain. 11th. In 1 on rs. 12th. De 1 on Ils. Work the next 4 rows plain on the shoulder, and in 1 every row on the rs. 17th. Raise all the loops, and wb, then make 5chain. 18th. Take up the 5ch as 5 loops; raise all the rest as before ; wh. 19th, 20th, and 21st. Plain. 22d. Take up 4; draw the wool through the last 2 loops raised, forming a dc; work 3 more de, then raise all the loops as before; wb to the last dc, then work 4 ch; work off the 2 last loops. 23d. Raise 2 loops; take up the 4 ch as 4 loops; raise the others; wb.. Work 8 more plain rows. 32d. In 1on Is. 33d. Same as 22d row. 34th. Same as 23d row; in 1 on Is. 35th. Plain. 36th. In ion ls. 37th, 38th, and 39th. In 1 on Is in each. 40th. Take up all the loops, make 3 ch very loosely, pick them up on the needles as loops ; wb. 41st. Same as 40th, making 5 ch instead of 3. 42d and 43d. Plain. 44th. Like 22d. 45th. Like 23d. 46th. Delon ls. 47th. Plain. 48th. De lon ls. 49th and 50th. Plain. 51st. De 1 on ls. 52d, 53d, and 54th. Plain. 55th. Like 22d. 56th. Like 23d. Work the next 10 rows plain. 66th. Like 22d. 67th. Like 23d. Work 10 more rows plain. 77th. Like 22d. 78th. Like 23d. 79th. Take up 20 loops ; then work 18 dc; rest plain. 80th. Wh to the dc ; then 18 chain ; finish the row; wb. 81st. Take up 20 loops; then raise the 18 ch as 18 loops ; take up the rest and wb. 82d. Plain. 83d. Inlonls. 84th. Plain. 85th. In 1 on ls, 86th, Plain. 87th. Plain. 88th. Like 22d, and inlonls. 89th. Like 23d, rats- ing 11 only, with the 1 on the needle ; wb. 90th. Raise the last 11 and 5more; wb. Con- tinue to raise 5 more each row until all are raised, taking care to work a button-hole in the 99th row. Work 2 more rows after the button-hole, then a row of dc. Fasten off, leav- ing enough wool at the end of the dc to join the front to the back. RIGHT FRONT. Commence in the 63d row of back, on the rs. Raise 21 loops; wb 3 only; take up these 3 loops (with one on needle); in 1 on Is work back 6. Work the left front over again from this point, but reversing the directions ; where you are told to raise so many loops wb that number instead; where increased on the rs make it the left, of course omitting the button- holes, The first 6 loops of the left edge will be plain after the 17th row. When finished, if sleeves are or are not required, work a row of dc round the armholes. THE SLEEVE. Tricotée hook Wo. 6 and a small fine bone needle. With the fine hook make a chain of 26. Work lrow dc. Then work 36 more rows dc taking each loop from the back, which forms the ribbed crochet. Fasten off. Raise with No. 6 tricotée, hook 38 stitches at one end of the ribs. Wb. Work 19 rows; in 1 on es every other row. 2Qist row. Take up all but 3. Wh all but 3. Take up all but 6. Wh all but 6. Work in this manner, leaving three more each time, until there are 4 on the needle. Take up these 4, and then all the loops to the left edge of the work. Wb the whole row. Work 25 more rows. In 1 ones every other row. Work the 47th row as the 2ist. Then 1 plain row, and a row of de, which completes the sleeve. Join it, and sew it into the armhole. If more fulness is required in the sleeve, cast on more stitches in the 1st row of tricotée, and work the last 10 rows. In 1 es every row. This waistcoat can be worked in any color, according to taste, but black is generally pre- ferred. HEDGEHOG PINCUSHION. Materials.—Red cloth, little pieces of black velvet, gray alpaca, silk cordon in several bright colors, gold beads, emery. THE hedgehog pincushion represented in the design is placed upon an elegant carpet, and makes a pretty ornament for the toilet-table. For the hedgehog, which is made in two parts, take a piece of gray merino, three inches and a half long and two inches and a quarter broad, for the head end, which is pointed a quarter of an inch, and reunded off at the back.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 849 The second part, which is cut a little larger, has at the head part a covering a quarter of an inch long of black silk. Both halves are lined with a strong lining, and stitched together at the edge. Then it is turned, and the empty space is filled with emery, and the remainder of the opening is segvn up. wo chalk beads serve for eyes, fastened in with pins; and two pins mark the snout. Four pieces are placed underneath for the feet. The upper part of the body is also stuck with rows of pins (see design). The oval red carpet is six inches long, and four inches and a quarter broad, and is orna- mented with an applique of black velvet and dark yellow button-hole stitch allround. There is also a lighter raised edge of twisted button- hole stitch. The stars are worked in a long kind of button-hole stitch, and ornamented with a few gold beads. The rounds are of white cloth, ornamented with blue silk stitches and gold beads, joined with green twisted button-hole stitch. The ruche is of red worsted braid. The hedgehog is fastened to the carpet upon a flat piece of cork. ———— —e—___ KNITTED COMFORTER. Materials —Half ounce white, four skeins colored, Shetland wool; one pair of wood knitting-pins No. 9; one pair of steel pins No. 14 (bell gauge); bone orochet hook. Tus shawl has the appearance of being woven, and is worked with wooden needles and fourtold Shetland wool; the foundation only in white, the sides in the Turkish style, in blue, green, yellow, and dark red. Cast on thirty stitches with all the four colors twisted together. Upon the right side, repeat always one plain and one raised-off stitch ; the thread is carried before the latter to the next stitch. Upon the wrong side all the stitches

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350 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. are purled. Work forwards and backwards two rows with the bright colors, and one white row, alternately. For the part round the neck, work only in white twisted together four times. When the second colored end is finished on both sides, work alternately one chain and one double with the colors. The fringe, which is tied on, measures five inches in length, appears crimped, and is of the same colors as the sides are. It is worked with four threads of the wool rather tightly upon steel needles quite plain. The prepared piece of knitting is put into scald- ing water and then dried. The knitting is un- done, and the wool is looped eight threads thick as a fringe in each plain stitch in the stripes. KNITTED SLEEPING SOCK. Materials for One Pair.—Two ounces white fleecy ; two ounces light blue fleecy. THESE socks are knitted with white and those of the preceding one. Then knit with white wool 26 rounds, alternately 2 stitches knitted, 2 stitches purled, then work the foot in the diamond ‘pattern in the same way as usual for a stocking. The back of the heel is formed by leaving the 11 middle stitches of the heel on one needle, knitting the 1st and 11th of these together with one of the side stitches, till the middle stitches have been used up. At the toe decrease so that the decreasings form a seam on both sides of the toe. This is ob- tained by kitting the 3d and 4th stitches of the 1st needle together; on the 2d needle slip the 4th stitch before the last, knit the next stitch and draw the slipped stitch over the knitted one; decrease in the same manner on the other 2 needles of this round. Repeat these decreasings exactly in the same direction and at the same places, so that there are always 4 stitches between the 2 decreasings at the end and at the beginning of 2 needles ; they always blue wool in a diamond pattern, and in rounds like a stocking. Begin at the upper part of the sock; cast on 72 stitches with blue wool on pretty thick steel knitting-needles, and knit 20 rounds of the diamond pattern as follows :-— 1st round. Quite plain. 2d. Purled; both these rounds are worked with blue wool. 3d to 6th. Knitted plain with white wool. 7th. With blue wool; knit 3, draw the wool through the next stitch of the 24 round worked with blue wool, draw it out as a loop, keep it on the needle, knit again 3 stitches, and so on. 8th. With blue wool; the loop which has been taken up on the preceding round is purled off together with the preceding stitch. Repeat the 3d and 8th rounds twice more; the loops of one round must be placed between take place after 3 or 2 plain rounds, and at last after 1 plain round. The remaining stitches are knitted off 2 and 2 together. To complete the sock, the outline of the sole is marked by working slip stitches with blue wool in crochet all round it; work also slip stitches on the sel- vedge stitch of the heel. The stocking is-fin- ished off at the top with a double round of loops in blue wool, worked over a mesh four- fifths of an inch wide. thogee > WATCH POCKET. Materials.—Black and scarlet velvet ; scarlet sarce- net; white China buttons, ard steel beads. THE back and pocket of this watch holder (which is intended to be fastened either to a wall or bed) is first cut in card-board the size required. The back is lined with scarlet sarce-

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 351 plaits and ornamented with buttons and beads to correspond with the top. A hook is added above the appliqué to suspend the watch on. sities BERLIN PATTERN. THIs pattern is suitable for slippers, etc. It may be worked in wool of three contrasting colors. Thedesign shows the mode of working *the stitches. net, and covered with scarlet veivet; an ap- | DESIGN FOR BOTTOM OF PETTICOAT. pliqué of black velvet ornaments the centre | Any light ground may be chosen for this where the watch is to rest, and the appliqué | petticoat, with the plaiting of a contrasting is surrounded with China buttons and steel | color. The diamond pattern at the top is of beads ; the edge is further decorated with steel black velvet, studded in slanting lines of white beads. The pocket is lined with sarcenet, and | beads, and edged with braid. The pattern is covered with black velvet arranged in box- | greatly reduced in size from the model. ————__ eo DESIGN FOR BOTTOM OF PETTICOAT.

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352 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. COTTON CASE. Materiais.—A square of gray perforated leather of six inches and a half; the same quantity of blue sarcenet; one yard of ribbon a quarter of an inch wide; two yards of blue sarcenet ribbon, three- quarters of an inch in width; some black chenilie, red silk, and small crystal beads. Fig. 1. Fic. 1 represents the open case, with the contents strung upon narrow ribbon. Fig. 2 represents the case closed. The leather canvas is ornamented all round with a border of cross stitches of black chenille, placed one upon the other, the spaces between being filled up with two cross stitches of dark red silk. When the embroidery part is finished, cover the wrong side with blue sarcenet ; and under a little white button, exactly in the middle, fasten four nar- row ribbons, six inghes long, taking in the canvas with the stitches, so as to appear upon it as a cross stiteh, These four ribbons are used for taking up the little reels (two each), ‘and are joined in a bow to one of the ribbons sewn on to the middle of the edge. Four other ribbons, each three inches long, are sewn on at the corners, and are fastened by @ silk eye at the other end, to the ribbon, drawn through the reel from the button in the centre. At two corners lying opposite each other, fasten nar- row ribbons six inches long; and at the two other corners sew on, three-quarters of an inch broad, ribbons of the same length; tie them in a bow to keep the whole together. Or- nament the inner edge with a .ruche of blue sarcenet ribbon, three-quarters of an inch broad, and crystal beads. HERRING-BONE STITCH FOR FLANNEL PETTICOATS. Tuts fancy stitch is intended either for heading the hem and tucks of white flannel petti- coats, or for forming a border to a dressing jacket. It is worked in three shapes of scarlet wool, the darkest, which is on the outside, being put in first. In the illustration the needle is placed in a position for working, so that no difficulty will be found in carrying out the de- sign, which is likewise applicable for ornament- ing children’s frocks of a self-colored material.

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WORK DEPARTMENT. 853

CROCHET STAND-UP COLLAR, AND TRIMMING FOR CUFFS. Materials.—Cotton No. 30, colored sarcenet or vel- vet ribbon. WoRK alternately a little raised-looking ro- sette and treble row of stripes like straps (see Figs. 1 and 2) which are out of eight, and Fig. 1.

<

through them a colored ribbon is drawn, upon which the rosettes rest. A part of the collar, including the crochet ruff-like edge is represented in the proper size in Fig. 3, with the arrangement of the ribbon. For a collar, sixteen rosettes will be sufti- cient. These are worked separately. The thick projecting middle ring is worked over a layer of cotton wound several times round a fine wooden knitting needle. Work thirty double over this, closely draw together. Working through both threads, crochet thirty double round the ring again, then turn round and work the six outer scallops as follows :— *T wo double, pass over one stitch of the ring, in the next stitch crochet nine treble, pass over one stitch two double. Repeat from * five times, and finish with one double next to the first stitch.

* Axe ROA as Then go on to the next strap. All the straps consist of three of these treble rows forwards and back. But the first and last straps require only one row. If there are twenty-three chain to crochet, the eighth and ninth, the fifteenth and six- teenth, must always be worked through one of the thick scallops of the rosettes. On the opposite side the rosettes must in like manner be fastened by a single stitch, and the straps worked over with double stitches. For the under edge crochet one row of double and one row of alternately two treble and one picot (six chain and one double in the second of these). Three stitches of the preceding row always separate two treble. The upper edge of the collar also contains one row of double, upon which the edge is worked in rows forwards and backwards as follows :-— lst row. Alternately one chain, one treble always in the third stitch of the preceding row. 2d. Alternately five chain and one double, always between two treble. Fig. 3. +: ARs oe a1“ e& Xe 4 es Wik Hae é 3d. Seven chain, one double in each scallop. 4th. Nine chain, one double in each scallop. 5th. This row, the wrong side of which serves for the right, consists of two chain, and six treble in each middle stitch of a scallop. —_———— ~~ e —_ CROCHET, OR NETTING AND DARNING. ES BE Re oe | aan Beene sesee «a S BSeGee Seeen The wrong side of the crochet is the right | } side of the rosette. For the cross straps, begin with twenty-three stitches. Upon these work, returning (stick- ing first in the seventh of the last worked ehain), four times, two treble and two chain | alternately, passing over two chain in the front | eross edge of the collar.

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co n at GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Receipts, &e, GEMS. Yrs, gems! but perhaps you think I am going to flash diamonds before your eyes, or tell you who built the mysterious fire in the heart of the opal. If you do, you never made a greater mistake in your life. The word gems at the top of this page don’t mean precious stones, It means bread—a kind of breakfast or tea-cake made of wheat simply ground, “Only this and nothing more.” and “wet up,” as cooks say, with cold water, and so containing all the nutritive properties of the grain, without loss by the use of soda or yeast, as the wise ones would tell you. Now, I am not a Hydropathist Vegetarian, Wo- man’s Rights Advocate, Bloomerite, Reformer, or Come Outer of any description, and if I had seen these opaque gems in a Hygienic Institute or Water Oure Establishment—supposing that by any under- hand means I had been inveigled into one of these retreats for poor souls who have had nothing more interesting to think of than themselves and their digestion for so long a time that they have become monomaniacs—the chances are that I should have passed them by in contempt. But I made their cquaintance in a very genteel family, on a table for an epicure, where they had found their way as a sort of culinary curiosity. Finding them in such good company, I ventured to try one, and was aston- ished to find anything made of flour and water only so sweet and light, with crispy crust and sweet, moist, light interior. I went on my way resolved to introduce gems at home. After getting properly made baking pans, and properly ground wheat, one morning they made their appearance on our break- fast table. Now I must confess that it was with some trepi- dation that I assisted at their débdt, for ours is a family hard for a cook to suit, and wont to look with suspicion upon all new and untried dishes. It seemed to me that the gems looked rather meek and ashamed of themselves that morning beside the snowy bread and biseuit light and white as foam, and with so many curious and critical eyes upon them, too. They were daintily examined—finally tasted, and, like the man in the old story of the discovery of roast pig when he had put his burnt fingers in his mouth, they were all in a state of wonder at their goodness. Then gems held up their heads at our house. They had conquered ; and very soon had ignomini- ously routed all other kinds of bread from our table. The white slices shrank away and dried up with chagrin at their total neglect. Don’t think that I am slily arguing to have you give up your roast beef, plum-pudding, coffee at breakfast, or wine at dinner. I am perfectly will- ing you should eat what you like, as I do; but if you wish to feel that you are doing rather a mag¢- nanimous thing by yourself—laying in a stock of health, and, at the same time, gratifying your pal- ate, follow the directions I give you for making gems. Don’t suspect, now, that I have any selfish or sinister motive in this. Unlike the venerable phy- sician whose sands of life have been for so long a time well nigh run out, I will not even try to make a fortune out of you in postage stamps. You shall have the receipt without sending for it. Gems.—Take the best of wheat and have ground without bolting. Stir this flour lightly into cold water, slowly and little by little (as hasty pudding is made), until it is about as thick as common batter or pound cake. It may require some little practice in stirring in the flour. If it is done hurriedly, and half the necessary quantity put in at once, they wiil not be so light. They must be baked in littie pans, which will not make them larger than biscuit. The “gem pans” are best, and they can now be obtained at most hardware stores. They require a quick, hot oven. Let no housewife of an ingenious and inquiring turn of mind go to experimenting by pUtting in 4 little salt, soda, or milk, as are so generally used in cakes, for if one does she will spoil them. Di VEunon. MISCELLANEOUS COOKING. Calf’s Head Hashed.—Calf’s head, one egg, a tea- spoonful of flour, a grating of nutmeg, three table- spoonfuls of milk, some slices of bacon, a dozen forcemeat balls, pepper, salt, mace, an onion, bunch of herbs, one wineglassful of port-wine, eight mush- rooms, pint of gravy, lard. Carefully cleanse the head of a freshly-killed calf, boil it three-quarters of an hour, let it stand till cold, then slice it up into nice-looking pieces. . Peel the tongue, and cut it into thin slices. Boil the brain in a cloth, chop it fine, and beat it up with the egg, flour, milk, and nutmeg. Have ready a frying-pan of boiling lard, and fry the mixture in fritters the size of a crown piece, Flavor the gravy with the whole pepper, mace, cloves, herbs, onion, and Cayenne pepper ; let it simmer ten minutes, strain, and add the wine and mushrooms, Place the sliced head in this, and let it heat gently for ten minutes; serve in the centre of the dish, with the brain fritters, bacon, forcemeat balls round ; strew little egg-balls over the whole. Small Egg-Bails to Serve with Calf’s Head.—Four eggs, a teaspoonful of flour, water. Boil three eggs for six minutes, take the yelks, and pound them in mortar, add the flour and the yelk of the raw egg, beat all together till quite smooth, then roll the mixture into little balls, and throw them into boil- ing water for two minutes just before the dish is served, and strew them over the head. Lobster Rissoles.—Extract the meat of a boiled lob- ster, mince it as fine as possible, mix with it the coral pounded smooth, and some yelks of hard-boiled eggs pounded also. Season it with Cayenne pepper, powdered mace, and a very little salt. Make a bat- ter of beaten egg, milk and flour. To each egg allow two large tablespoonfuls of milk and a large tea- spoonful of flour. Beat the batter well, and then mix the lobster with it gradually, till it is stiff enough to make into oval balls about the size of a large plum. Fry them in the best salad oil, and serve them up either warm or cold. Similar rissoles may be made of raw oysters minced fine, or of boiled clams. These should be fried in lard. Peas au Sucre.—Boil the peas and throw into cold water, then put them in a pan with a little butter, a tablespoonful and a half of sugar, a tablespoonful of broth, one yelk of egg; stir fast, and they are done. Rissables are made with veal and ham chopped very fine, or pounded lightly ; add a few bread-crums, salt, pepper, nutmeg, and a little parsley and lemon- peel: mix all together with the yelks of eggs, well beaten ; either roll them into shape like a flat sauv- gage, or into the shape of pears, sticking a bit of horseradish in the ends to resemble the stalks; egg each over, and grate bread-crums; fry them brown, and serve on crisp-fried parsley. Minced Veal.—Cut the veal into very small pieces, but do not chop it; take a little white gravy, a little a > ee er A ee ® re fo = 4 i.) Aa = Pe all af © + > a we a> ee &S or st Pe |

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RECEIPTS. 355 cream or milk, a bit of butter rolled in flour, and some grated lemon-peel; let these boil till of the consistence of fine thick cream, shake flour over the veal, and sprinkle it with a little salt and white pepper; put it into a saucepan with the other in- gredients, and make it quite hot. Be careful it does not boil after the veal has been put in, or it will be hard. Before being taken up squeeze in some lemon- juice, and serve it on a dish over toast bread. Giblet Pie.—Wash and clean your giblets, put them in a stewpan, season with pepper, salt, and a little butter rolled in flour, cover them with water, stew them till they are very tender. Line the sides of your pie-dish with paste, put in the giblets, and if the gravy is not quite thick enough, add a little more butter rolled in flour. Let it boil once, pour in the gravy, put on the top crust, leaving an opening in the centre of it in the form of a square; ornament this with leaves of the paste. Set the pie in the cven, and when the crust is done take it out. Veal Cutlets with Ragout.—Out some large cutlets from the fillet, beat them flat, and lard them; strew over them pepper, salt, bread-crums, and shred pars- ley; then make a ragout of veal sweetbreads and mushrooms; fry the cutlets of a nice brown in melted butter; lay them in a dish, and serve the ragout very hot over them. Sauce for Fowls.—An excellent white sauce for fowls may be made of two ounces of butter, two small onions, one carrot, half a small teacupful of flour, one pint of new milk, salt and pepper to taste. Cut up the onions and carrots very small, and put them into a stewpan with the butter; simmer them till the butter is nearly dried up; then stir in the flour, and add the milk; boil the whole gently until it thickens, strain it, season it with salt and Cay- enne, and it will be ready to serve. CAKES, PUDDINGS, ETC. Porter Jelly —Half ounce of isinglass to a quart of porter; put into the oven till dissolved; strain, and sweeten to your taste. When cold it will jelly. A Raisin Pudding.—One pound of raisins stoned, one pound of beef-suet shredjfine, eight eggs, quarter pound of flour, two spoonfuls of milk, a little ginger and salt; brandy to your taste; mix all well to- gether, tie up in a cloth, and boil four hours, Scotch Bread.—Two pounds of flour, one pound of butter, six ounces of sugar; rub all together, roll out half inch thick, lay a strip of candied peel on each cake. Flour Pudding.—Fourfspoonfuls of flour, six eggs, two pints of milk ; line a basin with buttered paper, and boil an hour, Buns.—One pound of flour, quarter pound of sugar, quarter pound of butter, quarter pound of currants, a teaspoonful of cream of tartar, six eggs; the salts to be dissolved in a little cold milk, and put in last; drop on tins and bake. Bath Buns.—Half a pound of flour, six ounces of butter, two eggs, and a little white sugar and yeast ; mix, and bake in small tins, rub over with white of egg. Lemon Pudding.—To a pint of new milk boiled add two spoonfuls of flour, and boil till smooth; then stir in a quarter pound of butter and four well- beaten eggs, add the peel of a lemon shred very fine, and sweeten to your taste; line a dish with very light puff paste, pour in the mixture, and bake half an hour. Another, Richer.—Nine well-beaten eggs, three- quarters of a pound of sugar, the rind and juice of three lemons, and six ounces of butter melted ; mix, line your dish with fine puff paste, and bake three- quarters of an hour in a moderate oven. A Sweet Dish of Macaroni.—Quarter of a pound of macaroni, a pint and a half of milk, the rind of half a lemon, three ounces of lump sugar, three-quarters of a pint of custard. Put the milk into a saucepan, with the lemon-peel and sugar, bring it to the boil- ing point; drop in the macaroni, and let it gradually swell over a gentle fire, but do not allow the pipes to break; the form should be entirely preserved, and though tender should be firm and not soft, with no part beginning to melt. Should the milk dry away before the macaroni is swelled add a little more. Place the macaroni on a dish, pour the cus- tard over the hot macaroni, grate over 4t a little nutmeg, and when cold garnish the dish with slices of candied citron peel. Crum Pudding.—The yelks and whites of three eggs, beaten separately, one ounce of moist sugar, and sufficient bread-crums to make it into a thick but not stiff mixture; a little powdered cinnamon. Beat al together for five minutes, and bake in a buttered tin, When baked, turn it out of the tin, pour two glasses of boiling wine over it, and serve, Cherries, either fresh or preserved, are very nice mixed in the pudding. . Chocolate Butter.—Stir quarter of a pound of butter over the fire until quite soft and creamy; put two cakes of good Vanilla-flavored chocolate on a tin plate, and sprinkle them gradually with milk until they become so soft that you can mix them with the butter, then stir them well intoit. Serve it cold, in whatever shape you like for eating with bread or biscuits. 4 Potato Cheesecakes.—Four ounces each of mashed potatoes, butter, flour, and sugar, two eggs; mix all together with a fork, and bake in tins lined with puff paste. Sago Jelly.—Boil a teacupful of sago in three and a half pints of water till done; when cold, add half a pint of raspberry syrup; put it into a shape which has been rinsed in cold water; when turned out into the dish, pour a little cream round it. Soda Cake.—Half a pound of butter, half a pound of flour, three-quarters of a pound of loaf-sugar, four eggs, one teaspoonful of soda,and the rind of one lemon, grated. Beat the eggs for twenty minutes, the yelks and whites separately, melt the butter, and add the ingredients to it separately, beating them all the time. Bake for two and a half hours in a moderate oven. Delicious Dish of Apples.—Take two pounds of apples, pare and core them, slice them into a pan; add one pound of loaf-sugar, the juice of three lemons, and the grated rind of one. Let these boil about two hours. Turn it into a mould, and serve it with thick custard or cream, CONTRIBUTED. HAMILTQN COLLEGE, CLINTON, N. Y. L. A. GopEy—Derar Sir: I see that a subscriber in the Lapy’s Book wishes to know how to make “ crystallized baskets.’’ Thinking it possible I might enlighten him, in case no better article is offered, and having had some experience in the college labo- ratory, I offer the following :-— The principle of all these crystallizations is that they most readily adhere to metals. Make your frame for basket of some metal wire, wind the frame with woollen yarn. Saturate a quantity of pure rain water with alum—done by gently heating and stirring the solution until no more alum dissolves. Then place your solution in some vessel, not of

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356 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. metal, a stone jar, for instance. When the solution cools suspend the basket therein and leave to crys- tallize. The jar should be in a cool place—a cellar in the summer time is best. These baskets may be made red, white, or blue, according as you use bi- chromate of potash, alum, or nitrate of copper. If sulphate of copper is used, it will cerrode iron wire and destroy it. Respectfully submitted, J. A. MARSHALL. Tue following receipts were received from a lady in Cuba :— Cascarilla or Egg-shell Powder.—Save all the shells of the uncooked eggs used in the house. Wash them thoroughly in several waters, Put when dryin a marble mortar, and pound to a dust, or else between two smooth stones, and rub until well pulverized. Take a clean thin bag and put init the powder; soak the bag in clean water, and when all the powder has been worked through the bag into the water, remove the bag. Set the basin away until next day to settle the powder, then pour the water gently but quickly off, when you will find a white paste that can be cut, and dropped with a spoon on a clean table or cloth in any shape one pleases, and must be set in the sun to harden, This is the Spanish Cascarilla de Huevos, or the powder with which every after- noon the black-eyed lassies dredge themselves so plentifully that one has to wipe their lips after kiss- ing one. This is also a magic powder for cleansing jewelry, plated ware, and silver, especially if rubbed on with brandy. Miel Rosada, or Syrup of Roses.—Make a strong syrup of white sugar, throw in two handfuls of rose- leaves, give it a good boil, then strain when half cooled. This is sold a dollar a bottle here, and used to give all kinds of medicine in to the babies and children. It makes also a delightful syrup to eat with buns, smearcase, and such things. Corn Balls, or Cakes.—Grate four or five ears of partly dried corn, then pound it in a mortar; roll it into little balls, and boil them about twenty minutes. Take them out to cool, then mash them up with two eggs and some crushed white sugar, make again into flat balls er cakes, and fry in boiling lard. Sprinkle more sugar over them, andeat. Something nice. Quajada or Quickly made Cheese.—Make a large pan of curds and whey or sour milk, Out a piece of a rennet the sige of a dinner plate, put it in a stone crock, pour over it all the whey, adding also a large handful of salt, Set it behind the stove all night. Next morning pour this whey slowly through a sieve into four or five quarts of milk, leave it until it thickens, then, with both hands extended gently press the curd downwards without breaking, until it is separated from the water. Take a napkin, and gently place the curd in it, double it squarely, and tie in a cross tie, pretty tight, and hang it up to drain. The next day it is fit for use, and splendid with preserves, or jams, or syrups. Fried Plantains or Bananas.—Buy some sweet plan- tains, or bananas, as we in the States call them. If not thoroughly ripe, hang them up in a,room to ripen. Take off the skins, cut in slices, and fry in hot lard until browned, and you have a dish fit for the gods. No Cuban table is without them. The long, green, hard plantains are peeled and roasted in the ashes, when it closely resembles bread. It is also cut in slices, and fried a nice brown in hot lard. They are also boiled in soups, stews, hashes, etc. Tamali, or Fresh Corn Mush.—Take several ears of fresh corn, grate it down, take some milk, stir into the corn briskly, with a little salt, or sugar if pre- ferred, Strain through a coarse sieve, and put it in a hot cooking pot with a spoonful of lard, keep it well stirred for at least twenty minutes, without stopping whilst it is cooking. As soon as it thick- ens, throw it out into a deep plate. Eat either hot or cold. This also is delightfal to fry for tea or breakfast. ELLa VERDL WE have been requested by several of our subscri- bers to furnish receipts for canning green corn and peas ; for light corn bread; for cream chocolates; to take mildew out of linen. Can any one favor] us with the above receipts? MISCELLANEOUS. Matds of Honor.—Make some new milk lukewarm, then put a spoonful of rennet and stir it well through a cheese cloth to get rid of the whey ; to half a pound of the curd put six ounces of butter, four yelks of eggs, end sugar and nutmeg to taste. Mix all the ingredients well, line patty pans with a puff-paste, fill them with the mixture, and bake in a quick oven. The cheese-cakes may be flavored with lemon if de- sired. Treatment of Soft Corns.—A small piece of sal am- mor’ .. dissolved in two tablespoonfuls of spirits of wine, and the same quantity of water. Saturate a small piece of sponge or linen rag, and place it be- tween the toes, changing it twice a-day. This will cause the skin to harden, and the corn may be easily extracted. A good remedy for soft corns is common chalk rubbed on the corn every day, and a piece of cotton wool worn between the toes affected, to pre- vent pressure—the chalk appearr to dry up the corn. A Gargle.—A good gargle for inflammatory sore throats may be made by mixing a little nitre in bar- ley water. A Lotion for Weak Eyes.—Twenty drops of lauda- num and five drop’ of brandy in a wineglass of water. Apply three times a day as warm as the eyes will bear it. To Improve Bad Butter.—Butter that has not been properly churned, or that has not been carefully separated from the buttermilk, or has been im- properly packed, and is turning rancid, should be immediately washed and kneaded in spring water, changing the water two or three times, then resalted with salt pounded very fine, so that it may impart its antiseptic properties the more speedily. Curling Fluid.—Melt a piece of white wax about the size of a nutmegin one ounce of olive oil. Scent it with a few drops of the ottar of roses. Beef-Tea for Infants.—Take one pound of the shin or any fleshy part of the beef, free it from fat, and mince it as fine as possible when raw. Place itina strong earthenware jar, with a pint and a half of soft water, or water that has been boiled. Tie a paper over the top of the jar, and let the beef cook gently in the oven twoto fourhours. Ofcourse the strength wili be in proportion to the time the beef cooks. Pour the beef-tea away from the shreds, but do not strain. No flavoring or vegetables should be used for infants. A small quantity of salt may be given. One pound of meat ought to make tea for from four to six meals, according to age. It is well sometimes to alternate with mutton or chicken tea made in the same way. These meat extracts can always be pro- duced rapidly by using less water, and stirring oa the fire for half an hour. To Clean Gold Embroidery.—Gold and silver em- broidery may be cleaned with spirits of wine, jiluted or not, rubbed on with a small piece of flannel. To Stop a Leak.—Beat yellow soap and whiting, with a little water, into a thick paste. Rub thie over the part where the leakage is, and it will be in- stantly stopped. Se a 4240S Pe we iw ew

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, wea a- of 33% m- ar, ut pt jin nd na of er thy sth not en. nes the TO - on em- ited ing, this im- EDITORS’ TABLE. 357 Evitars’ Gable, ‘* Woman's Record” has lately been revised, many names have been added, and the whole work brought down to the present time. The progress made dur- ing the last thirteen years has seemed to us an interesting subject to place before our readers, in the “Synopsis” which will be one of the new fea- tures of therevised volume* when it appears. ASYNOPSIS OF WOMAN’S PROGRESS FROM 1855 TO 1868. In the progress of the last thirteen years the literary world has kept pace with the religious and the scientific. The plans, the desires, and the hopes that have animated the bosom of humanity have found fitting expression in the books of the epoch. In the feeling towards women the last thirteen years have wrought wondrous changes. Yet these changes have been felt chiefly by the Anglo-Saxon nations. On the continent of Europe the moral influences that renovate society act slowly ; and the material forces of civilization are never favorable to women. Germany his but one woman writer whose name is known to us; Spain but one; Italy none at all. No doubt the natives of each country could point out many above the common level; but none certainly have achieved an European reputa- tion; and the masses, save in Prussia, are almost uneducated. The men of France are busy in drilling and preparing for war, while much of the heavier work thus abandoned falls on the shoulders of wo- men. From whatever cause, the brilliant and grace- ful feminine literature of the last century seems to have perished from the land. ENGLISH WOMEN. In England alone, of all the Old World nations, is there a marked improvement both in the popular attitude of mind towards women and in the place which they occupy in literature. The names of the most distinguished feminine writers have been in- serted in our new list; but a crowd of contributors to the periodicals and to the light literature of the time remain, of whom, from the limits of this work, only a few of the more distinguished can be men- tioned. Miss Annie Thomas has written three or four novels, somewhat fast and given to slang, but bright, observant, and readable. “ Played Out” is decidedly the best. Mrs. Edwards has sent out at least one good work, “ Archie Lovell,”” Miss Amelia B. Ed- wards is known by “ Barbara’s History,’”’ which none of her later works has equalled. Miss E. L. Linton has published two powerful stories, “ Lizzie Lor- ten” and “Sowing the Wind.” NEW MOVEMENTS IN ENGLAND, An impulse has been given to feminine education by the efforts of several leading thinkers to allow women of property to vote as householders, Mr. Mili’s speech in Parliament pleaded eloquently for their intellectual cultivation. A Medical College has been established in London for women exclu- sively, and two ladies have lately been admitted to practise medicine; and, from all appearances, a Woman’s University is soon to be established. Among the lower classes, a movement is taking place that must greatly elevate feminine character. Mrs. L. M. Ranyard, of London, suggested the idea * Woman’s Record: A Biographical Dictionary of all Distinguished Women, from “the Beginning” to the Present Day. By Mrs. Hale. Harper & Brothers, Publishers. VOL. LXxvul.—24 that poor women, pious and respectable, who could read the Bible, would be the best teachers and re- formers of the miserables of London; they could go to the homes of the most degraded, and carry the Bible to the women of the family. When these were reached, improvement would begin. The plan was organized in 1858, amd has proved a great success. Many thousand of the poorest families in England have been bettered in their morals and condition ; and the influence of the change has necessarily ex- tended to the classes above them. A movement that has paved the way for national education is thus going on, founded upon instruction in the Bible. There is but one Book that can by its influ- ence and authority make and keep the homes of men sacred, women honored, and nations free. THE WOMEN OF AMERICA, In the Unirep States the higher culture has advanced but little, and in literature we are behind- hand; but we may fairly point to the records of women in our late civil war to show that sober judgment and high administrative capacity are no- where more conspictio™*..- The management of the immense and numerous military hospitals shows what American women can effect with the brain as well as the hands, The unshrinking courage nd faithful tenderness that sent so many delicately nurtured women down as hospital nurses to the fields of war say more than poems and novels for the elevated feelings and the Christian virtues that form the glory of true womanhood. These high qualities, we are glad and proud to say, have been warmly recognized and appreciated by their countrymen, Americans are everywhere planning and doing liberal things for the daughters of the land. ‘“ Vassar College,” built and endowed by its noble Founder at a cost of half a million, is the only institution in the world where women’s education is provided for as liberally as is that of young men in our colleges. A large number of schools or seminaries for its daughters are now be- ing erected by the great Methodist Episcopal de- nomination, which has, in a work published under its direction, acknowledged that Women—the Count- ess of Huntingdon, Mrs. Susanna Wesley, and Mrs. Barbara Heck—were the Foundresses of Methodism! The Protestant Episcopal Church in Pennsylva- nia has prepared and consecrated “The Bishop Potter Memorial House” as a training school for women in the services of charity and of the Church. Of the Medical Colleges instituted for women in our land, one has lately been liberally endowed. “Mr. Isaac Barton, who died this year (1868), has left about $60,000 to the “ Woman’s Medical College” in Philadelphia. Another great advantage of American women is their employment as teachers in the public schools. This department they have almost taken for their own. In Boston schools nine-tenths of the teachers are women; and in many other cities the proportion is the same. In all our schools, seminaries, and colleges taken together there were last year in the United States 100,000 women to 50,000 men teachers, or two women to one man. Women write the great majority of children’s books, and of religious and Sunday school books in general. They contribute largely to periodical lit- erature; though no new authoress has risen to high

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358 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. reputation. Nor have women been backward in devotion to art; the success of our American sculp- tress has drawn many to the studio. Philadelphia has already one distinguished name in this pursuit —that of Miss Ida Waugh. In painting, women are fast reaching proficiency. Their works have place in all academies and galleries; in a single exhibi- tion last year there were fifteen, some of them of distinguished merit. The war literature was mostly ephemeral; among the few gems is “ The Battle Hymn of the Republic,” by Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, in whose “‘ Later Lyrics” occur many beautiful poems. Among the enduring works we name also “ Notes on Hospital Life,” by Miss Julia Dunlap, of Philadelphia. It shows that refinement of feeling and culture can light up even repulsive scenes with the delicate beauty of Chris- tian sympathy. All who read the book will under- stand better how love of country and faith in God can sustain American women in their duties. Its pages are “full of spirit, of wisdom, and of right feel- ing,” so says the late Right Reverend Bishop Potter. We have had some good poetry in our periodicals ; among the best that of Miss Rose Terry, since pub- lished ina volume. Among successful contributors to our magazines, Miss Harriet Prescott has been distinguished by her “Amber Gods,” and other stories. She is now Mrs. Spofford, and her last work is “Azarian.” ““ Waiting f9r the Verdict,” by Mrs. Rebecca Hardivg Devis.is the latest Ameri- can novel that -ias had marked suceess. And Mrs, John Forrar has written her best book, “ Recollec- _ tions of Seventy Years,” since our last revision. ~“Our Mission of Woman to Woman must not be forgotten. In 1861 this “ Woman’s Union Missionary Society of America for Heathen Lands” * was formed in New York city, and a “ Branch Society” in Phila- delphia. The object is to carry the Gospel into the homes of heathen women. Our missionaries are unmarried ladies sent to teach in zenanas, establish schools for girls, and employ native Christian women as Bible readers. All these objects have been ef- fected. We now have native Bible-women in China, Burmah, India, Africa, Turkey, Brazil, and New Mexico. We have established an American Home in Calcutta, where we have now ten missionary ladies, and the calls for more teachers in zenanas are pressing. A native king has opened his palace and kingdom to our teachers. Had we means and missionaries, it seems that the Gospel would be soon welcomed into the homes of all heathendom. * DOING GOOD. THERE are ways of postey one’s country in which women should be active. The following instances of doing good will carry their blessed influences into the heart’s blood of society, and make our nation better as well as richer and stronger :— In New York city the “ Ladies’ Christian Union Society” has founded a Home in Washington Square corner of Macdonough Street, where such industria young women as are out of employment may find comfortable lodgings at small expense, and thus be spared from exposures to many evils and sorrows, In Boston there is a similar Home for young wo- men, who work for a livelihood, in Beach Street; here the rooms are neatly furnished, and three dol- lars and a half cover all expenses of food, lodging, and washing. A Womsan’s Home has recently been established in Chicago, on West Jackson Street, near Halstead. It provides board and lodging for $3 75 per week, with the use of the library and reading-room, and the privilege of listening to lectures te each week at ~ Home by the clergymen of ali denominations in Yhicago, * int enee sent more information can have the last Report and Link by writing to Mrs. Hale and inclosing a stamp. LITTLE FOXES. BY MRS, MARY ORAM, Litt Le foxes, spoiling The beloved vine Trusted to my tending By the One Divine— Little foxes, wherefore Have ye entrance found To the vine so precious Growing in my ground? Have ye leaped the fences? Have ye climbed the wall? Were there tiny openings? Ye are very small— And ye can creep slyly Through a tiny space ; But I thoaght I closed up Every open place. And I watch by daytime, And I watch by night, For the vine you’re spoiling Is my heart’s delight! I have kept the earth-worm From its precious root ; I have trimmed its branches, But they bear no fruit. For the little foxes Have assailed the vine Trusted to my tending By the One Divine; And though I’ve been faithful Since its birthday morn, They were in the garden ‘When the babe was born. For they are the failings That I would not see When they were my failings, When they dwelt in me; Little faults unheeded That I now despise, For my baby took them With my hair and eyes, And I chide her often, For I know I must, But I do it always Bowed down to the dust, With a face all crimsoned With a burning blush, And an inward whisper That I cannot hush. And sometimes it seemeth Like the Voice of God, And it says, ‘‘ Poor coward, Using now the rod On a child’s frail body Till I hear it moan, And see its soft flesh quiver For a sin thine own!” Oh, my Father, pity, Pity and forgive :— Slay the little foxes I allowed to live Till they left the larger For the smaller vine, Till they touched the dear life, Deerer far than mine. Oh my Father, hear me, Make my dar!ing Thine, Though I am so human, Make her all divine! Slay the little foxes, That both vines may be Ladened with fruit worthy To be offered Thee. THE NEW WORK OF “GEORGE ELIOT.” Wuewn “ Felix Holt” was published, it was noticed by the critics that many of the chapters were headed by short dramatic verses, usually in the form of dia- logue; and one at least prophesied that the next work from George Eliot would be poetry. His expectation has been verified, and the promise of those ehort terse lines has been well fulfilled by the volume before us. “The Spanish Gypsy” is a tale in blank verse,

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ey EDITORS’ TABLE. 859 whose monotony is relieved by snatches of song. The story is simple and pathetic, but full of oppor- tunity for skilful handling. Fedalma has been stolen from her gypsy father and brought up among Span- iards. Duke Silvais her lover; and they are soon to be married, when a gang of gypsy prisoners pass through the town, and the chief, Zarca, recognizes his daughter in the delicate Spaniard. He escapes by night from his jailors, finds access to Fedalma, and, by his entreaties and commands, induces her to leave all to share the lot of her own people. Duke Silva, when he finds her fled, leaves all his retainers and follows her alone, hoping to work upon her love forhim. He finds her at last in the gypsy encamp- ment, but finds also that he has put himself in Zar- ca’s power. At last, carried away by his passion, he agrees to give up friends and home, and become a gypsy for her sake. The story our readers may learn for themselves. Zarca is slain; Fedalma be- comes the queen of her tribe, leads them over to an African home; and Silva goes back to his duties as a Christian noble. We have space only for a few quotations. The place and time of the story are thus de- scribed :— “This town that dips its feet within the stream, And seems to stand, a tower-crowned Cybele, Spreading her ample robe adown the rocks, Is rich Bedimar ; ’*twas Moorish long ago, But now the cross is sparkling on the mosque, And bells make Catholic the trembling air.” . * - * * + . * “The fifteenth century, since the Man Divine Wrought and was hated in Capernaum, Is near its end—is peery | as a husk Away from all the fruit its years have ripened, The Moslem faith now flickering like a torch In a night struggle on the shores of Spain, Glares, a broad column of advancing flame Along the Danube and the Illyrian shore Far into Italy, where eager monks Who watch in dreams and dream the while they watch See Christ grow paler in the baleful light, Crying again the cry of the forsaken.” Zarca is thus described :— “ We have a gypsy in Bedim4r, whose frame Naiure compacted with such fine selection, ’T would yield a dozen types; all Spanish knights, From him who slew Rolando at the pass, Up to the mighty Cid; all deities Thronging Olympia in fine attitudes ; Or all hell’s heroes whom the poet saw Tremble like lions, writhe like demigods,” Fedalma is painted in a song :— “ Maiden, crowned with glossy blackness, Lithe as panther forest-roaming, Long-armed naiad, when she daaces On a stream of ether floating— Bright, O bright Fedalma! * Form all curves like softness drifted, Wave-kissed marble roundly dimpling, Far-off music slowly wingéd, Gently rising, gently sinking— Bright, O bright Fedalma! “ Pure as rain-tear on a rose-leaf, Cloud high-born in noonday spotless, Sudden perfect as the dew-bead, Gem of earth and sky begotten— Bright, O bright Fedalma !”’ The other lyrics are even more beautiful ; but our space fails, Our readers must get the work for themselves. ACQUIRED KNOWLEDGE AND INTUITIVE FACULTY. MEN become skilled in their knowledge of art by the study of books and the culture of their profes- sion. Women study works of art from the love of nature in their hearts and their intuitive faculty of apprehending the beautiful and the true. We bane ~ seldom seen a better illustration of these diffe. Bees in the masculine and the feminine modus of mental improvement, and the beneficial effects these may afford to both than is here bri¢fiy sketched. Maurice was a painter; Antonia an uneducated girl with “a passion for musical art.” They were at Dresden. “It soon became even a matter of course that whenever Maurice had time and opportunity at his disposal, he spent it in company of the Italian girl at the gallery in the New Market. Her enthusiasm was at first intensely uncultivated; but she had, even at the beginning, and in a much higher degree than her more skil companion, the faculty of goin a a to the soul of a picture, and her free and impulsive criticism, though often really wrong, often threw upon the subjects which it touched a light which he could never otherwise have gained ae the study of a lifetime. He often righ ly dif- fered from her, but her remarks, even when widely wrong, were suggestive, and opened out to him new regions of idea, and new lines of criticism. But, in time, the skill and knowledge of Maurice educated her as much as her enthusiasm had opened a new world to him, so that at last they nearly met half-way. And so they, the man and the woman passed through the long lines of painting as if through life—he a knowledge, she through emotion, helping and aiding each other to probe to its real depths the world of beautiful ideas—the world of Art, in which dwelt both their souls !”’ NOTES AND NOTICES. “WELLS’ SEMINARY FOR Younc Lapis,” of which mention was made in our last number, is located at Aurora, Cayuga County, New York. We give the direction, as the institution is now opened, and some of our friends may wish to place their daugh- ters in this new seminary. It was dedicated with mee and interesting ceremonies, The building and furniture cost over $150,000, and were the free gift of Henry Wells, Esq., the great “‘ Express” man, © the educational interests of the country. Addresses were made by Hon. N. K. Hall, Hon. Charles J. Folger, Hon. Charles B. Sedgwick, Rev. Dr. Prime, George W. Curtis, and;:Wm. A. Bogart. Mr. Wells, the founder of the institution, delivered & very appropriate and well-written presentation address on the occasion. More than a thousand people were in attendance. COLLEGE DEGREES CONFERRED ON AMERICAN Youne Women.—These honors are becoming so common in our land, that we do not wonder at the record. Recently two young women graduated with regular degrees from Albion College, Michigan, three from Antioch College, Ohio, and ten from Elmira Female [Ladies’] College, N. Y. In France more importance is attached to the ceremony, and, pro- bably, the lady who gained the honor deserved to be distinguished. “Madame Emma Chenu, who passed a brilliant examination some years ago in science, and obtained from the Faculty of Paris the degree of Bachelicre of Science, came before the same body last month asa candidate for honors in mathematical science. The examination ranged over algebra, trigonometry eometrical analysis, mechanics, the integral and differential calculus, astronomy, etc... She obtained her degree.” “ LitTLe Foxes.”—We omit several short articles from our Table of this month, to make room for this remarkable poem, that we are sure our readers will treasure as a beautiful Psalm of Love. The writer is a Philadelphia lady, wife of Brigadier General Cram, U.S.A. Mrs. Cram is gifted with uncommon power and facility in expressing the tender affections of the heart and the holy aspirations of the soul. Our readers will doubtless recollect two poems—“‘ The Wife’s Appeal,” and “The Trinity,” which have been published in our Table; these were written by her, Both poems were warmly praised, but this third gift of her muse will be the favorite, cad

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a 360 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE, ~ »ffo Our CorresronpEenTs.—These articles are acc@@rad: “I am Happy”—“ A Warning”—“ Imagi- nation” —* Po Eleanor”—* Remembered”’—and “Our Broken Hcusehold.”’ These articles, chiefly poems, are not needed. Some are worth publishing, if we were in want of poems; at present, the supply far exceeds the de- mand. Sowe have returned many that will probably find place in other journals. “Stealing Hearts”— ‘‘ Moonshine”—“ Our Servant Girls’»—“* Nevermore” —* Drifting Apart” and the other poem; both show talent and taste, but there are imperfections in the rhythm—* An Old Story”—“ To Beautiful Florence” (some beautiful lines, but the poem is imperfect) —‘ Acting Charade, Misapprehension’”’ —“ Melette Nelson”—* Kate Eaton’’—and “The Ruined Home- stead.” “The Rights of Women” is a well-considered and well-written poem, but quite too long for the Lapy’s Boox. It will be returned if stamps aresent. There are other poems on hand—these will be noticed next month. “Mrs, Leigh.” The beginning promises well, but we do not aecept a story until we have the conclu- sion before us, Will the author of “ Lena Graham” let us know where she lives. She gives no address but “Sylvan Scene,” and there is no such post-office. Give us town, county, and State. A little care on this sub- ject would save us a world of trouble. “Good Teeth.”” We have given all the matter in this article from time to time in our Book. - HEALTH DEPARTMENT. HOW TO GET TO SLEEP. BY DR. CHAS, P. UHLE, ‘“‘ THE day emphatically belongs to earth; we yield it without reluctance to care and iabor. We toil, we drudge, we pant, we play the pack horse, we do things smilin ly from which we recoil in secret, we yass by sweet spots and rare faces that our very feart yearns for without betraying the effects it costs, and thus we drag through the twelve lon hours, disgusted almost, but gladdened withal tha the mask will have an end, and the tedious game be over, and our visor and our weapons be laid aside. But the night is the gift of heaven; it brings free- dom and repose, and when drops the extinguisher upon the light which glimmers upon the round, un- touched pillow, we, at the same time, put out a world of cares and perplexities. It is a delicious moment certainly—that of being well nestled in bed, and feeling that you shall drop — to sleep. The = is to come, not passed; the limits have just een tired enough to render the remaining in one posture delightful; the labor of the day isdone. A gentle failure of the perceptions comes creeping over one; the spirit of consciousness disengages itself more and more, with slow and hushing de- grees, like a mother detaching her hand from her sleeping child; the mind seems to have a balmy lid over it, like the eye; ’tis closing—more closed—’tis closed. The mysterious spirit has gone to make its airy rounds.” Thus sweetly discourses an able author upon this subject. He apparently never experienced any dif- ficulty in getting to sleep. For certainly it is not so “delicious a moment” as he has portrayed to many of the unfortunate nervous bipeds who “ ex- tinguish the light which glimmers upon their round, untouched pillows” and retire to spend the next half hour or hour in a kicking, rolling restlessness, as if the bed were designed for muscular exercise instead of repose. Such “drain the cup of bitter- ness,” for no one can conceive the annoyance—nay the misery of such an hour until he has himself ex- perienced it. Many are habitually troubled with this affection, and night after night brings with it the usual rest- lessness and jactitation. To such sufferers the fol- lowing advice—gained mostly from Hammond’s valuable little book on wakefulness—may prove of benefit. He says :— “While it is an error to suppose, as is generally done, that a moderately full meal, eaten shortly before bedtime, is yo vp productive of wake- fulness, there is no doubt that this condition is induced by an excessive quantity of irritating or indi- gestible food. A hearty supper of plainly cooked and nutritious food rather predisposes to sleep. Most of us have experienced the drowsiness which so often follows dinner. This is due to the fact that the process of digestion requires an increased amount of blood in the organs which perform it, and consequently the brain receives a less quantity. A pees pe | to sleep is therefore induced. It is a natural and healthy predisposition, and when yielded to moderately conduces to a more complete assimi- lation of the food than would otherwise take place. When, however, the food ingested is not such as is merely sufficient for the wants of the system, but is inordinate in ameunt, or irritating in quality, the hypnotic effect is neutralized, and often a state of wakefulness supervenes from the fact that the quantity of blood circulating in the brain is aug- mented instead of being diminished.”’ Mr. Hammond made a series of experiments upon dogs by taking out a portion of the skull, leaving the brain of the animal exposed to view. Through this opening he noticed that during sleep the brain diminished in size, and became of lighter color; upon the animal waking the usual appearance of the organ immediately returned. He therefore be- lieves that during sleep the brain contains a dimin- ished quantity of blood, and that this condition is absolutely necessary for it. In young children, who are very susceptible to the influence of causes acting upon the nervous system, we often see both sleep and wakefulness result as the effects of eating. When the quantity of milk taken has not been excessive, the child quietly drops asleep at the breast. Onthe contrary, when a superabundance has been ingested, it either remains awake or the sleep is much disturbed. In order, therefore, that a disposition to wakefulness may be removed, it is essential that attention should be paid to the diet of the affected individual. Asa rule people are underfed. This is especially the case with women, who too generally indulge in what may be called “slops” to the exclusion of good, solid, nutritious food. By such a faulty diet the tone of the system is lowered, and local conges- tions of different parts of the body are produced. If the brain be one of these, wakefulness results. Most of the cases of insomnia which occur in wo- men require not only nutritious food, but stimu- lants. Although the effect of coffee is generally such as to induce sleeplessness, there are cases in which its action is entirely the reverse. I have had several slight cases of passive wakefulness under my care which were entirely and speedily cured by a cup of strong coffee taken for three or four nights in succession at bedtime. It is especially useful in women of languid circulation, and a consequent tendency to internal congestions. The good effects of moderate but regular physical exercise in dissipat- ing wakefulness can scarcely be over-estimated. It is almost impossible to produce any permanently beneficial influence without the aid of this power- ful tonic. To be of any service the exercise should be taken in the open air, and should extend to the point of inducing « slight feeling of fatigue. The warm bath is also a very valuable means of determining blood from the head and calming ner- vous irritability. Frequently, especially in chil- dren, I have found that simply putting the feet in water of the temperature of 100° F. has been suffi-

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LITERARY NOTICES. 361 cient to induce a sound and healthy sleep, when laudanum and other means have failed. Among the purely medicinal agents Mr. Hammond recommends BROMIDE OF POTASSIUM above all others. He says :— “T have administered it to dogs whose brains had been exposed to view by trephining the skull, and that I have invariably found it to lessen the quan- tity of blood circulating within the cranium, and to roduce a shrinking of the brain from this cause. Moreover, we have only to observe its effeets upon the human subject to be convinced that this is one of the most important results of its employment. The flushed face, the throbbing of the carotids and temporals, the suffusion of the eyes, the feeling of fulness in the head, all disappear as if by magic under its use. It may be given in doses of from ten to thirty grains—the latter quantity is seldom re- quired, but may be taken with perfect safety in severe cases,” We recommend the work to all suffering from this affection, and think it would well repay them for its perusal. Citerarp otices. From Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia :— PAUL CLIFFORD. By Sir Edward Bulwer Lyt- ton, Bart. We find the volume of the Globe Edition of Bulwer’s works for the current month contains one of Bulwer’s early novels, and one most popu- lar among the young, as presenting a phase of life which, notwithstanding its many drawbacks, is yet strangely invested with charms to the ardent ima- gination. THE PRASSIDICIDE: A Poem. By J. Dunbar Hylton, M. D., author of Lays of Ancient Times,” etc. We are indebted to the author for a copy of this book, which narrates in poetic form the events connected with the murder of Lincoln. That it is not the poem that is destined to be perpetuated, and take its place beside the Iliad, and kindred histori- cal poems, is saying little unfavorable of it; as that is the work which remains for a future generation to accomplish, and we must not look for it in the present. From HARPER & Brotuers, New York, through LippPrinooTtT & Co., Philadelphia :— CAPE COD AND ALONG SHORE: Stories. By Charles Nordhoff. A collection of interesting stories which originally appeared in contemporary monthlies; having for their scene, as their title in- dicates, the eastern shores of Massachusetts. The peculiar features of this sterile section, and the spe- cial characteristics of its inhabitants, are well de- lineated, and the stories are excellently told and entertaining. THE NEW TESTAMENT HISTORY. With an Introduction connecting the History of the Old and New Testaments. Edited by William Smith, LL. D., Classical Examiner in the University of London. This book is intended “to supply a Manual of New Testament History, which in fulness, accuracy, and uses of the best sources of information, may take its place by the side of the Histories of Greece, Rome, England, and France, in the present series.” The work is divided into three parts. The first part con- nects the Old with the New Testament history ; and, for the purpose of preserving the unity of the sub- ject, brings it down to the destruction of Jerusalem. The second book contains the Gospel History of our Lord’s Ministry as related by the four Evangelists ; and the third, the Apostolic History. HARPER’S PICTORIAL HISTORY OF THE GREAT REBELLION. Nos. 33, 34, and 35, con- clude this admirable work. A table of contents and preface accompany the last number. Those who wish a complete copy of the work can procure it from the Messrs. Harpers. From D. AppLeton & Co., New York, through D. ASHMEAD, Philadelphia :-— GOETHE AND SCHILLER. 4n Historical Ro- mance. By L. Mihlbach, author of “ Frederick the Great and his Court,’’ etc. Translated from the German by Chapman Coleman, Illustrated by Gas- ton Fay. Carrying us into the domains of litera- ture, Madame Muihlbach does not yet forsake the already familiar company of courts and courtiers. We are presented with a view of the closing scenes in the life of Frederick the Great. Frederick Wil- liam the Second, his successor, bears a prominent part in the story; and court intrigues form the sta- ple of the work. The poets from whom the volume derives its name are not, however, entirely over- looked ; and in the pages relating to them the reader will find much to make amends for what may, in other portions, be displeasing to our strict American ideas. MR. MIDSHIPMAN EASY. By Captain Mar- ryat, author of “ Peter Simple,” etc. We are pleased to see that Marryat’s works are about to find their way to the public, so that the present generation may have an opportunity te read and appreciate what most of them heretofore have only had at se- cond hand. Midshipman Easy is droll in the ex- treme; and, though belonging to a past generation, will be found to suffer nothing in comparison with modern works of its class. THE WORKS OF CHARLES DICKENS. With Illustrations by George Cruikshank, John Leech, and H. K. Browne. Nicholas Nickleby, Martin Chuzzlewit, and American Notes, are the next in order, appearing under one cover, in Appleton’s edition of Dickens’ works—an edition which in beauty, compactness, and cheapnees, surpasses all we have yet seen. PUNCH’S POCKET-BOOK OF FUN. A collec- tion of anecdotes, wit, humor, and nonsense, that will help to dispose of an idle hour. THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. A Romance. By Sir Walter Scott, Bart. THE MONASTERY. A Romance. By Sir Walter Scott, Bart. We have received the two above mentioned vol- umes—instalments of Appleton’s cheap edition of the Waverley, Novels. From Lee & SHEPARD, Boston, through Lirrin- coTT & Co., Philadelphia :— LIFE AND PUBLIC SERVICES OF GEN. ULYSSES 8S. GRANT, from his Boyhood to the Pre- sent Time, And a Biographical Sketch of Hon. Schuy- ler Colfax. By Charles A. Phelps, late Speaker of the Massachusetts House of Representatives, etc. The coming eampaign will, of necessity, call forth a multitude of documents, more or less reliable, rela- tive to the candidates for election. The volume before us is one of the class we refer to, no doubt answering its purpose well, for the time being; but itis hardly such a one as we should recommend to those who desire a first-class work, to occupy a per- manent place in their library. From Lorine, Boston :— LUCY; or, Married from Pique. A Story of Real Life. From the German of E. Junker. By Jos. 8. Sigmund. Loring’s Tales of the Day are undenia- bly of a higher class of fiction than the mass which

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362 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. finds its way from the houses of our publishers. The present one, of German origin, is excellent,{in- teresting, and not without its moral. REVIEWS AND PAMPHLETS. From Henry CO. Lua, Philadelphia :— THE HALF-YEARLY ABSTRACT OF THE MEDICAL SCIENCES. Being a Digest of British and Continenial Medicine, and of the Progress of Medi- cine and the Collateral Sciences. Vol. XLVII. Janu- ary—July, 1868. From Leonarp Scott & Co., New York:— THE EDINBURGH REVIEW: July, 1868. THE WESTMINSTER REVIEW: July, 1868. Both Reviews contain able papers; and sustain their high reputation. BLACK WOOD'S MAGAZINE: July, 1868. From WILi1aM L. Krnestry, New Haven :— THE NEW ENGLANDER: July, 1868. There is an article on “ Divorce” in this number that should be studied by legislators who wish to reform the laws of marriage. LITTELL’S LIVING AGE: Boston. This vete- ran Journal more than retains its early interest ; it improves, year by year, and deserves its popularity. It is filled with selections from the best English magazines. AMERICAN JOURNAL OF INSANITY: July, 1868. This comes to us from Utica, N. Y., and con- tains much of interest to those who have relatives or friends suffering from that fearful disease of the brain that “dethrones reason from her seat.”’ NEW YORK MEDICAL COLLEGE FOR WO- MEN: This second edition of the “Annual An- nouncement” has “An Appeal,’ which sets forth the condition and success of the college. Send to Mrs, C, F. Well, Secretary, 389 Broadway, for a copy. ~ Goden’s Arm-C buir, OCTOBER, 1868. OcTOBER is the eighth month, as the name implies, of the old Roman year, but the tenth in the Calen- dar of Numa, Julius Cesar, etc, The Senate gave this month the name of Faustinus, in compliment to Faustina, the wife of the Emperor Antoninus. Com- modus wished it to be called Invictus, and Domitian named it Domitianus; but it still retains its name. An old writer thus speaks of it :— “The sear leaf flitting on the blast The hips and haws on ever hedge, Bespeak October come! At last We stand on Winter’s crumbling edge ; Like Nature’s opening grave we eye The two brief months not yet gone by.” Our steel plate this month is illustrative of a little girl’s “ first time at church.” She is not old enough to become awakened to the reality of what is passing on around her. The usual fashion-plate comes next with its cor- rect designs. “The Refreshing Drink”—a tinted picture. An extension-sheet, containing thirty-four engrav- ings of dresses and other articles suitable for ladies and children, A page of handsome sashes is also given. Also, ene of bonnets, caps, and headdresses. The work-department contains the usual amount of fancy work. To Writrers.—We again repeat that we will not accept any stories where runaway horses or upset- ting of boats is necessary to the denouement. We heve lately returned several otherwise good stories. Certainly some other incidents can be invented. Two lovers quarrel: how to reconcile them is the question. They are put on horseback, or in a wagon, or go sailing. The horses run away, or the boat upsets; the gentleman saves the lady. “Oh, my preserver |”? she jexclaims, “how I have misunder- stood you.” They embrace, and the thing is settled. WE have received a specimen of job printing, in colors, from the office of The Herald, Dallas, Texas, that would do honor to any office in this city. WE have chronicled, from time to time, the doings of American ladies in Paris. They are getting to be what is termed fast women. Americans will go ahead; but really, we are sorry to see such things as the following :— MarRieD Lire.—A melancholy bit of gossip is going about respecting a young and beautiful Ameri- can lady who has lived for several years in Paris— the theme of — universal for her exquisite loveliness and her charming musical attainments. Her husband has been in this country several months, and stated the cause of his domestic unhap- piness to be the presence, at his home, of his wife’s arents. The mother, a Boston lady, continually omented ‘dissension. Not long since the husband returned to have an explanation with his wife, which might possibly lead to a reconciliation. He found her in her drawing-room, dazzling in beauty, arrayed in the most captivating style, and in con- versation with a count of the empire. He wished to see her alone, but the mother-in-law interfered and drove him from the premises. The story goes that as he descended the stairs a pitcher full of water was poured on his head, the pitcher held ina pair of deli- cate white hands, and a fairy laugh mocking his mis- fortune. He is now about to apply for a divorce in New York, where the marriage took place. The lady is received into the best Parisian society. REFINEMENT OF CRUELTY.—Some of the Eastern railroads burn wood, from which the cinders fill the cars, clothes, and eyes of the passengers. So that said passengers may not escape having their eye- sight interfered with, the seats are fastened to face the locomotive. You can’t turn them and ride back- ward. There is no ice-water in the cars. A boy, semi-occasionally, goes through with a can and two tumblers, the size of which is a marvel—they hold about as much water as a Sevres china cup. Women with children have to wait probably two hours be- tween drinks, which, if the liquid was anything but water, would perhaps be proper enough. Think of the sufferings of passengers during the late hot weather. Tue Great Central Park in New York has, this year, thrown Jersey in the shade for mosquitos. The oldest inhabitant, and in reference to the park, he is not very aged, remembers nothing like it. Very Neat.—Scene, Paris. In a café. A cus- tomer calls for a paper :— “Gargor! La Franee?”’ “Sir, as soon as it’s free.” “ Then I shail have a long time to wait !”” “None name thee but to praise,” should be in- scribed upon every bottle of “BARretTT’s VEGE- TABLE Harr RestTorative;” for «mong all its would-be compeers it stands alone, unapproached and unapproachable.— Watchman aud Reflector. FasHIONABLE MurpEeR.—Reducing young ladies waists.

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--7 ‘of Heaven, by W. O. Fiske, 30. 4 GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 363 OUR MUSICAL COLUMN. Opera at the Academy.—The coming season pro- mises to be one of the most brilliant ever known in Philadelphia. Bichings’ English Opera Troupe, Bateman’s French Troupe, Maretzek’s and probably two other Italian Troupes, and a revival of the Ger- man Opera Troupe, will, together, give us such a season of music, with lengthened sweetness long drawn out, as we have not known in years. Opera Music.—The best music of all the operas is published in sheet form, and those who live too far removed from the musical centres to attend upon opera, can do the next best thing, purchase and familiarize themselves with the music. These pieces we can recommend: we have heard them in the ope- ras and know them to be favorites. Sword March, from the ever popular Grand Duchess, 20 cents, Belle Rondo, from La Belle Helene, 20. Arietta Waltz, from Romeo and Juliette, 20. Annetta Waltz, from Crispino e la Comare, 20. Masquerade Galop, from Un Ballo, 20. Three Galops from Der Freys- chutz, La Forza and Parisina, complete, 40. Cava- tina de Bellini, very pretty, 20. The above are all arranged in easy style. La Belle Helene, by Kuhe, is a synopsis of the whole of that popular opera, not difficult, 15 pages, $1. Allegro Marziale from Pe- trella’s Ione, is showy and brilliant, 30. La Giselle is a pretty arrangement, 35. So is the Masked Ball Polka Mazourka, from Verdi’s Un Ballo, 30. The following are beautiful operatic songs: In My Wild Mountain Valley, from the Lily of Killarney, 30. King of Thule, from Faust, 20. O Leve, Thou’rt like a Reed bent Low, by Balfe, 20. O Would that my Heart, same, 20. What Joy to Listen, exquisite Cavatina from The Armorer of Nantes, for a good soprano voice, 30. New Songs and Ballads.—Come Down to the Lat- tice, a new and pretty serenade, 20. Why I Love Thee, beautiful song and chorus by E. Mack, 30, Queen of the Beautiful, song and chorus by Ohm, 30, Somebody’s Son, the new and popular comic song, 20. What is the Use? comic, 25. The Orphan’s Prayer, very fine quartette, 30. ’Tis Sweet to Think Sweet is the Work, my God, my King; this is an arrangement we want introduced into every choir and social circle in the land, 30 cents, or five copies to one address, for the object of getting it introduced, #1. Whiie Shepherds Watched, Darley’s new and beautiful quartette, with solos and duet, 60. For Ever and For Ever, favorite song or duet, beautifully illustrated, 40. New Polkas, etc.—Autumn Polka, by Carl Everett, is very pretty and easy, illustrated, 40. Champagne Oharlie Galop, 30, Ada Bell Waltz, pretty, 20. Pick- wick Polka, very popular,40. Surf Galop, as played at Carncross & Dixey’s, 35. Three pieces for Piano and Violin or Flute, viz., Sounds from Home Waltzes, Greealeaf Polke, Elloween Waltz, each 30, Holloway’s Musical Monthly for October, contains three new and beautiful pieces of music, including a sprightly and attractive polka, easily arranged and prettily illustrated, a new sacred song, and an easy transcription of the popular song For Ever and For Ever, all of which music is published in the most elegant style. Now is the time to get sample copies to show to friends preparatory to making up clubs for the new year. Our club rates are low, and our premiums liberal and easily obtained. Single num- bers of the Monthly 40 cents. The last three numbers sent as samples for $1, and three red stamps for post- age. Send all orders for the Monthly or Sheet Music to J. Starr Holloway, Publisher Musical Monthly, Box Post-Office, Philadelphia. Our new music cata- logue sent to any address upon application. Some of the London magazines and newspapers have a department devoted to exchanging. Any persons having articles that they wish to barter, send notice of the same to the editor. Some of the adver- tisements are very curious, and the articles offered appear ludicrous. Here are some of them — —I have for exchange a trombone, banjo, Lallier’s stamp album with about 200; a nice knife, cost 7s. 6d. when new; set of onyx studs, Japanese tan, walking-cane, silver top, and a splendid accordeon.— Julius Cesar. Cat Wanted.—I much want a very large handsome dark tabby cat, marked in black, if possible, very little white to be about it. I also much wish for a very handsome real gold bracelet, also one of Miss Anne Vane’s eccentric monograms, I have many very nice things to give in exchange for the three things.—Zaida. Medicine Chest.—I have a polished ~~ ~y¥ medi- cine chest, lined with velvet, and in perfect condi- tion, with four rows of bottles with glass stoppers, and a draw underneath, with scales and weights, a pestle and mortar, and a small medicine glass. I want in exchange one of Buck’s fretwork saws and an Archimedean screen.—Fretwork. Donkey.—I am in want of a . old donkey ac- customed to little children. I have several things to offer in exchange, amongst others, a very hand- some silver card-case and a double gold locket ; but I am open to other offers for both.—W. H. A. Dogs.—I have a red Sussex spaniel, which is also a capital watch dog, partly broken. I wish in ex- change for it eighteen turkey eggs, or a sitting of — eggs, but am open to any kind of offer.— adstar. —I have for exchange a setter, two and a half years old; well broken. She is very handsome, but rathed timid. I want a salmon rod.—Wallowbrook. Poultry.--I have a sitting of golden Poland eggs, Silvester’s prize strain, hat will any one give in exchange 1—Steamer. —lI wish to exchange a very handsome pair of Tou- louse geese, goose and gander, two years old, from prize birds. o poultry wanted.- -Camelia. Kittens.—I have four kittens—two tabby, two tor- toise-shell—mother capital mouser ; also a tortoise- shell comb, and pebble brooch set in silver. Would like photographs of celebrities, or cameo brooch set in ae ; but am open to offers.—Infatuation. lants.—I require twelve plants of Mrs. Pollock geraniums, and can offer plants of Lobelia speciosa, rown all the winter, an oompng inte bloom ; also dwarf orange tropewolums and African marigolds. Number of lobelias required for one Mrs. Pollack to be stated.—The Little Lady. Wine.—One dozen sherry, one dozen port. Am open to offers in exchange, value, say £4103. Any article must be good. usic, monos, stamps, and live stock declined.—Grapes. Hand-Saw.—I very much wish for a hand-saw for fret-work. I would give in exchange an onyx brooch 0 in silver, and a ring with pearls and turquoise.— ani. Various.—Chinchilla muff and tippet, ivory card- case, “‘ Casseli’s Atlas’ (new), ‘Corner Cupboard,” * Arab,” “Interview,” “Jew,” “First Book of Botany,” “Wild Flowers,” “ tian,” “ British Ferns,” “ Doing and Suffering.” anted, Cruden’s * Ooncordance,’? Pepe’s works, ‘*‘New America.” Open to offers. Noveis and music declined.—Rekab eleh, —Wanted, a small white Maltese dog; must be i and good-tempered. Would give a hand sew- ng-machine or other handsome things for it. Also wanted, gold band rings set with pearls or tur- quoise; have vulcanite ornaments, pretty papier maché work-box, lovely tazza in leather work, and many other things to offer in exchange for rings or other pretty pieces of jewelry.—Sol-fa. RoyAtry selling off—funds getting low :— “The Queen of Spain sold her necklace recently, to Mme, Musard, for £24,000. A Paris correspond- ent states that the —— of Naples has followed her example and has soid a pearl and diamond neck- lace which has been in the Neapolitan royal*family for several generations, and which is described as consisting of a series of medallions, set with pearls of immense size, each medallion connected by chains of diamonds.”

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* 364 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Tae French are of all people the most ingenious manufacturers of stories. Here is an instance :— “There has been one emotion in Paris during the last few days, created by the sudden reappearance in the world of Paris of the Vicomte de one of the quondam favorites, who had left the city in the greatest condemnation and disgrace some seven youn ago, and who returned bronzed and hardened th in mind and person, to resume the place amon his friends which not they but he deciared he h forfeited by his own imprudence and folly. By the kindness of a relative he was enabled to steam away for New Grenada, where he had been able to obtain a situation as clerk to the engineer just then em- ployed in the construction of a line of railway through the country. “In this position he fulfilled his small duties with the most perfect exactitude for more than three years, and at the end of that time, the railway be- ing terminated, was ordered to another duty in another part of the country. The way was over the steepest mountains. He had already got through the greater part of his sommeg when, one — over- come by the heat, he laid himself down by he side of a running stream, which refreshed him both by —- and sound, and fell to musing on the hard fate which had torn him from his relatives and friends to wander thus a lonely exile in a foreign land, when his attention was suddenly called from these high flights to a circumstance which was takin; place immediately beneath his eye, and which ha escaped him while gazing on the heavens. “The phenomenon was this. Close to where his head was lying amid the grass and flowers, the run- ning water formed an eddy, which, after turning in a tiny whirlpool, proceeded to fall into a {narrow aperture, whence, on examining, he beheld no issue. His curiosity was aroused, and he raised him- self up to gaze down into the hollow, the sides of which he found to consist of two blocks of stone, so worn down and polished by the continued rush of the current that he could see to the very bottom. The sight he there beheld made him stagger and fall back, almost without consciousness, on the grass. In that single hollow had filtered for centuries the gold sand carried by the current from the bed of the river some miles higher up, where gold washing had been carried on for many generations. “There lay before him one glittering pile of the precious ore, gleaming at the bottom of the limpid water, and demanding only a strong hand and reso- lute will, both of which he possessed, to draw it to the surface. Needless to say, he retraced his steps to the place whence he had departed and soon re- turned, bringing back men and machine and, as he says, when telling the wondrous tale, ‘You may believe me, if you choose, but in less than three weeks I had become the richest man in the whole republic.’ What bears out the assertion is the pur- chase he has just made of one of the mansions at the Barriére de l’Etoile, and the splendid style in which he has mounted his establishment.” HieH-Hee_ep SxHors.—The corn-cutters say that this last fashion is a great blessing to them. It gives them constant employment. “Aw anecdote is told of Velpeau, the eminent French surgeon, who was a miserly, disagreeable man, and died a few years ago. He had successfully performed, on a little child five years old, a most perilous operation. The mother came to him and said: ‘Monsieur, my son is saved, and I really know not how to express my gratitude; allow me, however, to present you with this Oc agme emes em- broidered by my own hands.’ ‘Oh, madame,’ re- plied Velpeau, ag ‘my art is not merely a question of feeling. y life has its requirements, like yours. Dress, even, which is a luxury for you, is necessary for me. Allow me, therefore, to refuse your charming little present, in exchange for a more substantial remuneration.’ ‘But, monsieur, what remuneration do you desire? Fix the fee yourself.’ ‘Five thousand francs, madame.’ The lady ve quietly, opened the pocket-book, which contain ten thousand franc notes, counted out five, and, =~ politely handing them over to Velpeau, re- Imagine his feelings. How To Entrap Perrumes.—In thejflower sea- son at Cannes plates of glass are thinly covered with clarified inodorous fat he or under this fat the flowers are placed, and the power this substance has to absorb and retain perfumes is astonishing. On these sheets of glass the most delicate odors are thus fixed almost as securely as, on the collodion oe me plates, the most de icate pictures are re- ained. In this way the jessamine, the violet, the tuberose, and orange perfumes travel across France, and arrive here as pure as the day they were given forth from the flowers themselves. The emancipa- tion of the odor from its imprisonment is very sim- ple; the fat, cut into small cubes, is placed in spirits of wine, and the delicate essence immediately de- serts the coarse fat for the more spiritual solvent. Mr. Piesse, in his interesting work on perfumery, says that, “ while cultivators of gardens spend thou- sands for the gratification of the eye, they altogether neglect the nose. Why should we not grow flowers for their odors as well as for their colors?” And, we may add, the ladies may utilize some of our own waste garden perfumes very easily and with pecu- niary advantage to themselves. Heliotrope, the lily of the valley, honeysuckle, myrtle, clove, pink, and wall-flower perfumes, such as we get in the shops, are made-up odors, cunningly contrived from other flowers. Yet they may be made pure with a little trouble. “I want heliotrope pomade,” says Mr. Piesse, in despair; “I would buy =e amount that I could get.” And the way to get it is very simple. If there is a glue-pot in the house, and it happens to be clean, fill it with clarified fat, set it near the hot-house fire, or any other fire, just to make the fat liquid, and throw in as many helio- trope flowers as possible; let them remain for twenty-four hours, strain off the fat, and add fresh ones; repeat this process for a week, and the fat will ihave become a pomade 2 la heliotrope. The same process may be through with all the other flowers mentioned. A lady may in this man- ner make her own perfume, and we may add, in the words of Mr. Piesse, “one that she cannot obtain for love or money at the perfumer’s.” “Tue eminent services which Dr. Richardson has rendered to the medical ape and the public generally, especially by his successful invention of a method for producing, without danger, local insen- sibility to pain in surgical operations, received, on Wednesday, fitting recognition at Willis’s Rooms, when a testimonial valued at over $5000, was pre- sented to him by M traordinary to the queen.” We copy the above from an English paper. We always thought that to America was due the merit # of thisinvention. A few days since we also saw that somebody had been knighted for the discovery of the Electric Telegraph. Where is Professor Morse? Perhaps the English people have about the same knowledge of America as the author of “ Zoe’s Brand,” published by Chapman & Hill, of London. a a bleak, concening. wind was whirling through the streets of New Orleans and along the levee. She stood there shivering, for the high wind, low’ng straight from the wintry regions of ice- bound Danade pierced through her alender cover- ing.” (Vol. i. p. 316, English edition.) In the same book occurs the following: “ As white as a Massachusetts cotton plantation.” Too FrienpLy sy HaLF.—One very hot day a entleman, wearing a nightcap and jacket, was in- fulging himself in looking from his ante-chamber window, when one of his household came ce se into the room, and, deceived by the dress, mistoo him for a certain culinary familiar with whom he could take a liberty, and, stealing softly behind, with a hand by no means light, gave him a hearty slap on what an Irishman would call “the broad of his back.” The poor servant’s dismay may be conceived when, on the gentleman’s turning round, he dis- covered the egregious error he had committed. He threw himself upon his knees, and exclaimed, “I ask your ardon, but indeed I thought it was George.” * Well, and if it had been George,” replied he, “‘ you need not have slapped so hard !”” r. Paget, sergeant-surgeon ex- ~

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— GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. THE LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. ALPHABETICALLY ARRANGED, Is it not a language !—Shakspeare. Sharpness Shyness Sickness Silence Simplicity Simplicity (ingenuous) Sincerit Single-blessedness Singularity Slander Sleep - Solitude Sorcery Sourness Spleen Splendor Sport - Stability Stoicism Stratagem Strength Stupidity Submission Success crown Succor Superstitio Superstition (religious) Surprise Susceptibility Suspicion Sympathy TALENT Tardiness Taste - Tears - - n Temperance Temptation Ties of love Time - Timidity roken (a) Tranquillity Treachery Treason Truth - UNANIMITY Unbelief se einen B e Unchangea Unconscious Uneasiness and jealousy yourw te tes ee 6 8 eve ds *eetneeete ' [a6 22 &£ 3 Ss 4024 1433 ¢ Unfortunate attachment Unfortunate love Union - Unity - Uselessness Utility - VARIETY Vice - Victory Virtue Virtue (reward of) Virtues (domestic) A beta J Volubility Voluptuousness Voraciousness - Vulgar-minded - WarR - Warmth Warmth of senti Weakness - Widowhocd ment ’ ' en ee. fo ee Barberry. Vetch. Field Anemone. Water Lily, Belladonna. Sweet-Brier, a full-blown Eglantine, or Single Rose. Blaberry, Mouse-eared Chickweed. Fern, Honesty. Buiton-flower. Amaranth, Cockscomb, Snake's Lounge, Burning Nettle. White Poppy. Heath, Lichen. Nightshade, Barberry. Common Fumitory. Austurtium, Venice Sumach, Scarlet Nasturtium, Hyacinth, Cresses. Boz. Walnut. Fennel, Cedar-tree. Scarlet Geranium, Almond- tree, Grass, Harebell. ishesCoronella. Juniper. St. John’s Wort, Vervain. Aloe. Betony, Truffle. Passion-flower. Mushroom. Balm, Thrift. White Pink. Flaz-leaved Golden Locks. Scarlet Fuchsia, Helenium. Azalia. Apple Quince. Honeysuckle, Pitch Pine, White Poplar, Balm of Gilead. Amaryllis, Marvel of Peru. Ox-eye, Daisy, Laurestina, Mudwort, Stonecrop. Common Laurel, Bilberry. Whortleberry. White Chrysanthemum, Bit- tersweet, Nightshade. Phloz. Judas-tree. Convolvulus. Globe Amaranth, Red Daisy. Garden Marigold. Mourning Bride. Scabious. A whole Straw, Lancaster Rose. Whiie and Red Rose bound together. Diosma, Meadow-sweet, Grass, China Aster, Mundi Rose. Darnel, Ray Grass. Paim. Mint. Crown of Roses. Sage. House Leek, Abecedary. Tuberose. Lupine. A ifrican Marigold. Milfoil or Yarrow, York and Lancaster Rose. - Cactus, Peppermint. Spearmint. Moschatel, Crowfoot, Hol- low Root, Musk. Sweet Sultana-flower, Sweet Scabious, Winning grace - Cowslip. Winter of age - Guelder Rose. Wisdom - - Mulberry-tree. Foxglove. - Meadow Lichens, Robin. - Wild Sorrel. - Nightshade. - Carnation, Carnation Pink, Wish(a) - Wit - - Ragged Wit (ill-timed) - Witchcraft - Woman’s love - Worth (modest) Woodroof. Yours - - - «+ White Lilac, Youth (early) - - - Primrose. Youthfullove - - ~- Red Catchfly. ZEALOUSNESS - -_ - Elder. Zest - - -+- «+ ~« Lemon. Snort dresses are in the ascendency, if we are to judge from the following Parisian correspondence :— *T shall return another day to the salon, which I hastily desert now, as I have many things to tell ou. The beautiful ball, the exquisite féle at Ma- ame de Pourtalés’, formed anera. What emotion, what expectation, what agonized excitement before that evening! A fierce battle was to be fought, the struggle was to be desperate, the fair combatants were preparing themselves with beating hearts; two yards of stuff were to be suppressed, the short dresses were to deal a decisive blow of the scissors to the robes a e. All the ladies were to appear in dresses which descended to the ankle, and the victory was to be complete. Of this combat, upheld by the prettiest women of Paris, I should like to give you the certain result ; but while some cry with the greatest enthusiasm, others discovered so many inelegant feet among the pretty ones—so many pieds plats bearing splendid names—that they declare that the triumph of the risette has proved quicksand for the grandes dames. hus I must leave you in uncertainty, considering on the one hand the sweeping train, ideal of ele- gance, moving gently over the floor, and on the other, the fascinating piquancy of the arched foot in the high-heel shoe, tapping the parquet beneath our charmed eyes. However, the tournament was a beautiful one, and, even if the short dresses do not keep the field, Mme. de Pourtalés, upholding so radiantly her pet idea, will have carried away full “honors. There were a few—very few—long dresses present; the valiant soldiers of the new cause had sprung all armed, Minerva-like, fruan the hands of Worth, whose temple had been so besieged that several poor élégantes waited for their toilettes until one o’clock in the morning; and Madame d’Hansfeld received her fairy-like dress as she was listening, in a state of extreme distress, to the clock striking half-past two. The scene of the com- bat was an exquisite one; the entrance hall was completely concealed by flowers, and attended by valets costumed and powdered 2 la Louis XV. Be- neath the red canopy, erected over the door, was stationed a group of maitres d’hdtel, dressed as hal- berdiers; by the suite of luxurious conversation rooms was the salle 2 manger, where buffets were sumptuously served, and around glass sideboards iled with strawberries and refreshing drinks. In he ball-room and salons a novel system of coating the air, imported from America I think, was adopte with great success. In the angles of the rooms were stands of flowers, in the centre of which rose glitter- ing piles of ice, which gently melting, refreshed the air deliciously. From time to time Eastern per- fumes were burnt; and, as the féte neared its close, supper was served in a gallery, of which the walls from floor to ceiling were hung with flowers. A FOREIGN minister once told us that he was waited upon by an Italian nobleman, who told him plainly that he was poor, but that he had a title which he was willing to bestow upon any young American lady of fortune; and he applied direct to the minister, because he would be most likely to know which of the young ladies from his own coun- try were so blessed, That is the way they do these matters abroad. Short dresses for ever" THe more a woman’s waist is shaped like an hour- glass, the sooner will the sands of life run out.

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366 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Open Times.—In those days people drank green tea, and ate heavy suppers, and went to bed with warming-pans and nightcaps, and slept upon feather beds with curtains around them, and dreaded fresh air in their rooms as much as sensible folks nowa- days dread to be without it. And if they heard a noise in the night, they got up and gro about in the dark, and procu a light with much difficulty with flint and steel, and tinder-box, and unpleasant sulphur matches. And went to the medicine-chest and took calomel, and blue pills, and salts, and senna, and jalap, and rhubarb. In those owe the fine gentlemen tippled old Ja- maica and bitters in the morning, and lawyers took their clients to the sideboard for a dram, while the fine ladies lounged on sofas, reading Byron, Moore, and Scott. In those days, long leather fire-buckets were hung in the entries, filled with water, and when a fire broke out every citizen was a fireman. In those days, gentlemen chewed tobacco, indiffer- ent where they expectorated, and ladies cleaned their dental pearls with snuff, wore thin shoes and laced themselves into feminine wasps and consump- tion. Babies were put to sleep with spanking and paregoric; and urchins were ed at school and subjected to all sorts of unheard-of chastisements, Picture-books and toys were dear and poor. Big boys played “hockey” in the streets with crook sticks and hard wooden balls, policemen being un- known, and went home to their mothers to have broken shins anointed with opodeldoc. Street fights occurred between schools, and school- masters were persecuted by the biggest boys. Youn ladies danced nothing but formal and decorous cotil- lons, or fast and furious Virginia reels, in wide entry halls, by the light of the candles that called for snuffers every ten minutes, to music by black fid- dlers, or cracked and jingling P ge ; while mothers sat darning stockings, and fathers played backgam- mon, or gambled, swigged brandy and water, came home late roaring bacchanalian songs, and jeans of their sleepy wives in which brown parcel the mi Was wrapped up. Boarding-school misses, in calico gowns, practised thé “ Battle of Prague,” “Cali hfot Bagdad,” or * Clementiai’s Sonatas,” on instruments not much bigger than a modern young iady’s travelling trunk, strung with jingling wires that were always snap- pe ; and occasionally chirped Tom Moore’s “ Me- odies,” or such airs as “Gayly the Troubadour,” “ Pray, Papa, Stay a Little Longer,” or “ The Banks of the Blue-oo-o0 Mosche-he-he-helle.” Guests sat on hard wooden chairs, sometimes with their feet up, over roaring wood fires, “ spittin’ around and makin’ ’emselves sociable” with juleps, egg-nogg, apples, and cider. very man shaved, wore a bell-crowned hat, a swallow-tailed coat with a horse-collar; carried a turnip-shaped timekeeper in his waistband, with a heavy seal hanging out; had his breeches pockets full of silver half-dollars ; wore round-toed boots and linen shirts; cased his throat with high-standi shirt collars; ate all manner of nauseous quac medicines ; dined at one o’clock (some families eat- ing the pudding before the meat); took naps in the afternoon—on Sundays preferring the pews of the church (r that purpose; smoked “long nines;” ate fried oysters and lobster salad, and drank flery Madeira or punch at twelve o’clock at night. Got his feet wet on slushy days, tock awful colds and rheumatisms, sent for Dr. Sangrado, and was bled, blistered, and leeched ; had nightmare, headache, dys- pepsia, fever, delirium, death and darkened room. How Trvue.—Fénélon’s doctrine on the education of women is just this, that it is really more import- ant than that of man, inasmuch as the latter is always their work. Early impressions are the most lasting, and the early training of children is of ne- cessity woman’s work. a said one oF to Madame Campan, “The old systems of education — - ne worth nothing; — is a et want- ng to train up os people properly in France? « ‘Mothers sd Poplied adame Son an. This word struck the emperor. “ Well,” said he, “therein lies at once a complete system of education. It must be your endeavor, madame, to form mothers who will now how to educate their children.” We fear the training of mothers for their very important duties is but little attended to. Children are intrusted too much to servants H but the moral education of a child is what no thoughtful mother would dare to delegate to a stranger. An ABLE TEACHER FoR Boyrs.—Cassell, Petter, & Galpin, of London, have issued a work called “* Uncle John.” One of its designs is to give children in- struction in natural history. Speaking of the rat- tlesnake—which, by the by, is represented in the illustration which accompanies the article as a cobra dicapello, which in no way resembles a rattlesnake— he says :— “It is a very cruel snake, with a sharp-pointed tongue, with which it stings people to death. The tip of the tongue is covered with a very strong poi- oom, Set is almost sure to kill if it once gets into the ood. Then, following this painfully ignorant piece of twaddle and misrepresentation, we are favored with the most extraordinary and incongruous combina- tion of snake blunders it has ever been our lot to grapple with. The boy who described algebra as a wild donkey covered with stripes was lucid when compared with Uncle John. Here it is in its in- tegrity :— “When it (the rattlesnake) is angry, the little scales on its neck and back shake and rattle with a loud noise, so that it is called the rattlesnake. It on upon its enemies, and wraps itself round and round them till _ are crushed to death. As for the little rabbits and hares, it swallows them whole, and then goes to sleep for a month at a time.” We are astonished that so respectable a firm should issue a work containing gross errors like the above. EXTENSIVE WARDROBE.—The wardrobe of the Princess Metternich, it is said, consists of 119 dresses of silk, each of 119 pieces, and trimmed with 1900 yards of trimmings; 164 eo of various materials, adorned with one million of buttons; 61 walking-dresses and cloaks, ornamented with one ton of bugles ; 51 shawls of various sizes and colors; 152 petticoats, in variety ; 275 other under garments ; 365 pairs of stockings; 156 pairs of gloves of every known color ; 49 pairs of boots and shoes; 71 sashes and belts; 64 brooches, in variety ; 72 pairs of ear- rings, in variety ; 31 fans; 24 parasols; 1 umbrella, etc. etc. A Lapy correspondent of the Bulletin, writing of the Roman catacombs, says :— “ Before going further, let me state for the benefit of those who have never visited subterranean ceme- teries, that these immense galleries were excavated first for the burial of the dead; then, when pressed by persecution, as actual homes for the early Chris- tians, their chapels and rooms sometimes cut out of an earthy rock called tufa, and adorned with mosaic or frescoed designs illustrating scenes in their lives, or scripture stories, so beautiful in their simplicit and K so unmistakable that we were deeply af- fected by them. The tombs are in tiers, three or four on each side of a passage-way, so narrow some- times we were obli to walk sileways. Each corpse was allowed just a bed in which it could lie decently composed, and then the place sealed b; a marble slab cemented inthe wall. Ifa violent death had been suffered, a sangliére, or bottle of blood, was placed in a niche outside the tomb. Before one the old monk paused, inserted his taper in a hole that had been drilled through the marble, and bade us look through another near it. Getting down on our hands and knees, we looked into a little tomb, where the skeleton of a child lay with every bone perfectly preserved and evidently undisturbed, after Jifteen hundred years!” Ir is related of Napoleon that when Marshal Duroc, an avowed infidel, was once telling a very improbable story, giving it as his opinion that it was true, the peror quietly remarked, “ There are some men who are capable of believing every- bom but the Bible.” This remark finds abundant illustration in every age. There are men all about us, at the present day, who tell us they cannot be- lieve the Bible; but their capacities for believing any and everything which seems to oppose the Bible are enormous. Anxiety is the poison of human life,

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 367 A FRENCHMAN’s IDEA OF AN AMERICAN GIRL :— ‘*Maurice Sand has been publishing a tale in the Revue des Deux Mondes entitled ‘Miss Mary,’ and intended to be, apparently, a picture of American life and manners, and especially of the manners of American girls. Miss Mary Sewell, the heroine, aged twenty, is the daughter of a rich New Yorker, who speculates more or less in anythiug which pro- mises well, as all rich New Yorkers do, and lives in Fifth Avenue, in the third brown-stone house from Central Park. At the opening of the story he is very much interested in Lake Superior copper mines, and greatly excited by a huge lump of ore which has been sent or to Washington from that on, but which Miss Mary pronounces‘a humbug.’ To make sure, he starts out in search of Mr. Henri de Monta- ret, a young French mining engineer, a gentilhomme, and a man of perfect manners, who has arrived two days before to explore the mining regions on behalf of a French company, and finds him in a bar-room in Greenwich Street, dressed in a coat of gray vel- vet, over a red shirt, a belt round his waist, and a geologist’s hammer stuck in it, pantaloons to match the coat, big boots up to his knees, and a gray wide- awake hat. Having transacted his business with him in a series of epigrams, in which the Freneh- man, of course, had the best of it, the latter strolls out to walk about the city, and finds himself, in the course of an hour, on board the Staten Island ferry boat. At this moment arrives Miss Mary, attired in white muslin, a white sack, and a straw hat, alone in an open phaeton, with a pair of ponies driven by herself; runsthe pole of the phaeton against Monta- ret, and sets him swearing. On seeing the graceful apparition in the carriage he takes her for a person of light character, not knowing the usages of the country, and ‘ chaffs’ her a little in French, to which she replies in the same language and without the least accent. After some further conversation she finds out he is the young engineer her father had gone out to consult, and invites him to get into the phaeton, and pay some visits with her on Staten Island. On the way she learns that her father had asked him to dinner on the following day, where- upon she inquires whether he will not change his clothes, and wear a black coat and white cravat, which he promises to do, and in answer to further queries gives her a little epitome of his own bio- graphy and an account of his reasons for coming to America. ‘On reaching Staten Island they drive to the house of Arabella Williams, opera singer, to whom Miss Sewell introduces the engineer, and who perceives that in spite of his strange costume he is a thorough gentleman. They stay to lunch, at which the con- versation turns on pastry, cotton, and see but as the company is composed of five Sry: ians, three Baptists, and two Unitarians and a Universa- list, they cannot agree on the subject of religion. M. de Montaret, the engineer, is, however, greatly taken by Arabella’s arms and neck, and is quite overcome when Miss Mary took off her sack and displayed herself also in low neck and short sleeves. This at first astonished him, but he recollects that this is the custom of the éountry, and that she might do the same thing in the open air at a promenade without astonishing anybody. Before they leave the house Arabella is in love with the engineer and jealous of Miss ary After a drive round the island they are upset in a thunder-storm, smash the phae- ton, miss the last ferry-boat, and have to come up to New York in a row-boat, reaching the Battery at two in the morning, a circumstance which M. de Montaret thinks likely to damage Miss Mary’s repu- tation, and communicates his fear to the young lady herself, but she assures him that this is a mistake, and asks what she has to fear in his company. He swears to her that she has nothing whatever to fear, as he loves her too much not to respect her. Where- upon she inquires if he loves her already, and on learning that he does, warns him that he does not know her well enough, and asks if he would like to marry her. He says he would; but on hearing that he would have, in compliance with the American custom, to be first angaged to her for a year or twe, declares that two years would be aneternity. Some conversation follows on the subject of Arabella Wil- liams, from which it plainly appears that Miss Mary in her turn is going to be jealous of Arabella, who, by the way, olags in Grace Church. On landing, they walk up to Miss Mary’s brown-stone house, near the Central Park, arm in arm. “On the following morning, when M, de Montaret wakes in his hotel, he finds a black vaiet in his room arranging his things, having been sent by Miss Mary for that al poud: and, on going to the dinner at her father’s that evening, finds all the male guests wear- ing black satin vests and very high, stiff shirt-collars is own costume being, however, irreproachable. The conversation at table runs entirely on mines. After dinner there was a ball, at which Arabella made her appearance, and paid marked attention to M. de Montaret, which Miss Mar perceiving, en- gages him for the next and every other dance during the evening. Arabella Williams is rendered so furi- ous by the turn things have taken, that, on rr that after having heard her sing at the opera he di not go behind the scenes to see her, she wrote him the following note, on rose-colored paper, on the following day :— You would never believe, Monsieur, how much pain you have caused me by eae indifference. Why did you not come behind the scenes to salute me last evening after having heard me? You were alone, and nobody prevented you from coming. Know that I sang for you; but I must either have very little talent, or have displeased you much, that ay should show me so little courtesy. [am wounded y it in my pride and self-love. You are, neverthe- less, a well-bred man, and I do not understand your forgetfulness. Allow me to attribute this want of attention to rea and come this evening at four o’clock to Staten Island to present the excuses which, as a woman, and as an artist, I havea right to demand of you. _ ARABELLA WILLIAMS.’ ** This letter miscarries and falls into the hands of Miss Mary, who, when taking a drivein her dog-cart that afternoon in Central Park, meets Arabella, cuts her dead, and flings the note at her feet. Arabella nearly fainted when she saw the note, but goes off vowing vengeance. “ Within a few days Mr. Sewell determines to start for Lake Superior with M. de Montaret, and Miss Mary makes up her mind to go with them; but her ~ father would not allow her to go further than Cleve- land, Ohio. On Miss Mary’s mentioning to M. de Montaret that she had secured the privilege of mak- ing at least half the amare with him, ‘Ah, dear Mary,’ cries that ae eman, ‘ would that Cleveland were at the end of the world! During the journey on the ‘Central road’ M. de Montaret was terribly annoyed by the publicity of the Americancars. Mr. Sewell, to do him justice, would have given a mil- lion for a separate compartment for his party, but he could not have it. Consequently, although the usages of the country would have authorized M. de Montaret to make violent love to Miss Mary the whole way, his French modesty, coupled with the fact that he had not obtained Mr. Sewell’s permis- sion, condemns him to an excessive reserve. At Cleveland things come to a crisis. Mr. Sewell leaves the young people at the station while he goes to look after the baggage. They walk up and down the track, addressing each other more and more ten- derly, when suddenly Mary gare a ring on Henri’s finger—her mother’s ring. e kisses it fervently; she cries, ‘ Now you are my fiancé!’ He presses her to his bosom, and is just kissing her, when a loco- motive comes up and drives them off the track. Soon after they part.” Maurice Sand must certainly have been in this country! Can there be a doubt of it? We should like to know whether any Frenchman thinks this is a true picture? A Great Borze.—The following is a description of the ceremony of “ boring the ears of the daughters of the King of Burmah,” which took place there lately :— “The whole of the royal party were bedecked with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, emeralds, and pearls. His ent ga and two of the principal queens were scarcely able to walk from the weight of the orna- ments on theirrobes. The king and the queens were supported on either side by maids of honor of rare Burmese beauty. The orchestra was filled by some of the dancing a who performed on sackbuts, drums, harps, etc. It is estimated that the whole affair will cost upwards of ten lacs of rupees. The gates of the palace were thrown open to all—men, women, and children—and theatrical performances went on day and night,”

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368 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. THe HEIGHT OF ADVERTISING.—Give us the cir- cus companies for the sublimity of the art. We give a few extracts cut from our papers. Here is one about the elephant Romeo :— “The largest, and, perhaps, the most important animal is the elephant Romeo. This wonderful beast possesses an historical interest. During the rebellion, as the caravan was crossing a tract of country in the far southwest, there suddenly ap- eared twelve hundred ferocious Camanche Indians, hey fired upon the caravan, supposing, in their blind, savage rage, that the elephant was used to convey stores to the Union army—a portion of the heroic General Sherman’s command bei — that way to pay attention to the rebel Indians. °o less than seventeen balls struck Romeo on his side; but they rebounded. Most of the Indians were mounted. They followed up their firing with the most horrid yells. As they afoneeeere Romeo raised on his haunches, threw his head backward, turned his trunk straight toward the great blue arch above, and epee his front feet together. He re- mained in this position. The Indians were dumb- founded, they assembled around the apparently sup- plicating monster, and they trembled. a thought the animal embodied the Great Spirit. They laid down their arms. They were converted in a moment —in the twinkling of an eye they became changed. The keeper of the animal was slightly wounded; but vege seen the effect produced voluntarily by Romeo, without trouble, and in language the Indians could not understand, caused the well-trained brute to relieve himself from his nait sisting posture and turn up so that he stood upon his head. “The effect this had upon the savages was im- mense, Some of them shed tears, others rolled in agony on the ground, and others, again, broke their firearms. A deputation of the Indians accompanied the caravan for seven hundred miles to a settlement. At this mae everything was explained through an interpreter, They thought the first position of Ro- meo was the Great Spirit, pany at the place it came from. The second position pointed to the place where the Indians were likely to go headlong. They were left to e oy this belief. One thing is very cer- tain, the hostile Camanches did not do much fighting against the Union after this. It seems, therefore, that the wildest red men have some idea of a place of punishment as well as one of bliss. This great animal is of course inestimable in value. This in- stitution contains the largest and the smallest living elephant in America,” Romeo is certainly a wonderful animal. Had not our Commissioners on Indian affairs better engage him? WuQseE mirror was this? Tue Price or A Mirror.—At a recent auction sale of curious objects of art at the Hotel Druot, in Paris, there was offered a small mirror, encased in wood, which was carved in the time of the sixteenth century. It was not much larger than the breadth of a man’s hand, and had been bought six years before by a celebrated amateur for sixty francs, The auctioneer put it up at two thousand francs, The Count Nieuwkerke, superintendent of fine arts, who wished to purchase the re for the Louvre Museum, at once bid ten thousand francs. “Twelve thousand,” said M. de Narishkine, a well-known Russian collector. Both these gentlemen rose to their feet, and in a few seconds, the bidding rose to the sum of twenty thousand francs. “Twenty-one thousand,” said the young Russian, “Twenty-two!” replied the superintendent. By this time there was intense exvitement among the auditors, “Twenty-four thousand,” called the count, in response to his opponent’s rise of another thousand. “ Twenty-five,” said Narishkine, “and I shallstop there.” “ And I will give twenty-five thou- sand five hundred,” said a third speaker; “and I am to purchase if this thing costs one hundred thousand francs.”” The bidding ceased, the stranger counted out the money, rolled the mirror in a half sheet of writing paper, put it into his pocket and marched out of the room, The above mirror was oval, six inches by four inches, Set ina box-wood frame, carved into groups of fruits and figures. The person who sold it origin- ally purchased it for 80 francs, $16, and it sold for 25,600 francs, $5100. Tue CASHMERE SHAWL.—Mind, it must be a real Cashmere. Saune has done great things of late years in the shawl direction; the Frencli patterns are admirably drawn; their colors are sparkling and harmonious ; their “ reversible” shawls, with a pat- tern on both sides, are very ingenious and beautiful articles; Paisley, too, has made gigantic strides in shawl manufacture ; Norwich keeps up its reputa- tion bravely; we can admire the erape shawls of China, and the black silk mantillas of Spain; the “ pineapple” shawls of Cuba, the ribosos of Mexico, the black silk “ calashes” of Milan, the camel’s hair burnouses of Algeria ; but the Cashmere is the shawl of shawls. There is an unapproachable cachet, a distinctive mark, a je ne sais quoi about it, and the — feminine eye can at once and as infallibly istinguish the imitation from the genuine article as the art connoisseur can tell a real from a simu- lated Teniers or Gerard Dow. Real Cashmeres are certainly expensive articles; but what thoroughly good, beautiful, and tasteful thing is not costly? Is a blue diamond to be had for the picking up? Is “twenty-four” or “forty-seven port” to be had for fifty cents a bottle? Are a pair of thoroughbreds as cheap as a couple of ponies? Can you get a Cabana regalia for two cents? The price of a Cashmere shawl does not depend upon caprice, and is little affected by the mutations of fashion. It may costa large sum in the outset, but it is always worth its money, and, relatively speaking (since all human things are subject to decay), it never wears out. It is for this reason that a real Cashmere shaw! has become an indispensable article in a fashionable wedding trousseau. A moire antique, a velvet man- tle, a sealskin jacket, have but an ephemeral exist- ence ; -_ the beauty of a Oashmere shaw! is pe- rennial. FRENCH OPINION OF THE ENGLISH, AND NOT FLATTERING.—M. Moreau has just written an article under the heading “ Les Etrangers en Paris, L’Ang- lais,”? in La Chronique de Paris, in which he thus describes the Englishman :— “He loves his constitution, his tea, his queen, his roast beef; but he deplores his fogs, the exhala- tions of the Thames — him. Therefore he has become the wandering bird of humanity. He passes from one pole to another without feeling astonish- ment, and carries with him his London trunks, his London hats and,jackets, and, above all, his wife, his two daughters, his son William, and his servant Bob. One meets him in white kids at the corner of an iceberg in Scandinavia, and he opens in the Sahara an umbrella made in ‘ Birmingham Street, Liverpool.’ His passion is the scent of virgin peaks; his pride is to commit suicide on a mountain or ina precipice. The names of all English citizens are carved on the flags of Notre Dame de la Garde at Marseilles, at Fonevieres, on the tomb of Virgil, on the Pyramids of Egypt, on the minarets of Con- stantinople, and it is asserted that Lord Palmerston, *Old Palm’ (sic) has carved his initials on the Tem- ple of Juggernaut. “The English are described as ‘a nation of drunk- ards—des ivrognes—and while the ladies are chatting alone in the drawing-room, the gentlemen drink by themselves, laugh and smoke, and sink under the table—a position whence their valets rescue them, ashamed of gentlemen whom fortune has placed above, but wine below.’ Theclimax of M. Moreau’s description runs thus: ‘This people loves its no- bility, admires and quotesit. It is its museum of antiquities. To have a lord in one’s house, shake hands with a lord, be kicked by a lord, is an honor which ~ yf ister in the family archives, and make much of for three generations! The lords know they are omnipotent, because they hold the country in their hands by their names, their colossal wealth, and their hereditary pensions. And they turn this power to account, making fine speeches, cutting about the country, drinking, betting, and crushing beneath their — ‘le pauvre John,’ who lives on potatoes, and takes off his garments to put them under the feet of the great as they pass by.” Jonzs : “ Mr. Smith, I wish to speak to you pri- vately. Permit me to take you apart for a few moments.”’ Smits (who isn’t in the least frightened): “ Cer- pom» 4 Naa if you’ll promise to put me together again.

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GODEY’S ARM-CHAIR. 369 SUBURBAN RESIDENCE, Drawn express!) for Godey’s Lady’s Book, by Isaac H, Hosss & Son, Architects, Philadelphia. | | First Story.—1 vestibule ; 2 hail, TT 9 feet; 3 parlor, 17} + 22 feet; 4 sitting-room, 15 by 18 feet; 5 din- 1 ing-room, 174 by 20 feet ; 6 library, feet; 8 scullery, (re 9 porches, 6 by 9 feet. s ALe } Second Story.—10 principal cham- ber, 17} Mf feet; 11 chamber, 15 { 2 3 by 18 feet; 12 chamber, 174 by 20 "4 feet; 13 bell-room, 14 by 15} feet; il 9 14 bell-room, 14 by 19 feet ; 15 dress- i + = ing-room, 4 by 15 feet; 16 hall, 9 r 9 feet ; 17,18 verandas. . FIRST STORY. THERE are few, if any, in their rural walks, who have not been struck with the eye | of some par- ticular building, and who have not delayed for some time to contemplate and examine its various details. And yet, how ~~ pass on, without knowing why this particular building attracted their attention, while others, of more gigantic appearance and infi- nitely more costly, were passed unheeded. The an- swer is plain, and deserves every man’s attention. It is the exact symmetry of the parts; the simplicity of the whole; and its peculiar adaptation to the locality in which situated. The above design, which is in course of erection for A. A. Carrier, Esq., Bellfield, three miles from Pittsburg, is one of those to which we refer above. It is beautifully situated, removed from the smoke of the city, and only a few minutes drive from it. It is surrounded with ample grounds, and is being fin- ished in the most workmanlike manner. Noexpense being saved to make it one of the first residences in the country. It will cost about $20,000, and is now sufficiently 14 by 19} feet ; 7 kitchen, 15} by 19 | LA? ry Hila . ie au i ‘le ht ry rah 14 by 19 feet; SECOND STORY. forwarded to enable us to say, without hesitation, that it will not have its superior in the country as to its exterior beauty or internal comfort. We have seven dwellings under way and one church just fin- ished, all within view of this building, and when all are completed it will be one of the most attractive spots about Pittsburg. They are all varied in design, no two of them being alike, yet a thread of harmony runs through thent, and, when viewed my agi oe a something is seen in each, peculiar only to itself. We may here state that we know of no building over this vast country, that we have designed, that can be bought for less than double the original cost. Thus you see that, in the end, the services of an architect will more than compensate for the little expense oc- casioned by employing one—not even taking into the question the disparaging differences between a house erected by his instructions, and one without his aid, We have always tin readiness a beautiful selection of drawings. Isaac H. Honns & Son, Architects, Office, 436 Walnut St., Philadelphia, Pa.

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370 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. + WINTER AND EARLY SPRING FLOWERS. THE most conspicuous and desirable among these are the bulbous-rooted section, such as the Hya- cinta, TuLip, Crocus, Narcissus, JONQUIL, etc. They are perfectly hardy, and can be planted out of doors in the autumn, for early spring decoration of the Flower Garden, or planted in pots, and bloomed in the house during the winter, and nothing can ex- ceed their beauty—cheering us during the dreary win- ter months with their bright blossoms and delicious odors. The Hyacinth has become a general favorite, and can also be grown in water, for which purpose there are glasses, called Hyacinth glasses; a stand of these glasses, with the bulbs growing therein, is an attractive object for the parlor window. Mr, Dreer, the Florist, has issued his Annual Cata- logue of Bulbs, with full directions for their cultiva- tion, the forcing of Hyacinths in water, etc., which he will forward to all applicants who inclose a post- age stamp. For the accommodation of purchasers who are unacquainted with the varieties, he has made up the following assortment of desirable bulbs, which will be forwarded, post-paid, by mail on the receipt of #10; or one-half the assortment for $5 :— 6 choice Hyacinths for glasses, or pots, 12 assorted Hyacinths for the garden, or pots, 1s. (6 Tulips, single and double, 12 early a 6 Parrot 50 Crocus. 12 Iris. 6 Polyanthus Narcissus, 12 Narcissus. 12 Snowdrops. 6 Ranunculus. 6 Anemones. 6 Saffron Crocus. 6 Lily of the Valley. 2 Japan Lilies, 2 Fritillaria. Address HENRY A. DREER, Seedsman and Florist, 714 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Pa. “ In a previous number we published a peculiarity in marriage among the Nestorian Christians. Here is another :— “In Venezuela, according to a recent statement, when a young man asks for the hand of a young girl, the father gives fhe supplicant a very hard stone to pierce. It usually takes three years to pierce the stone, and then the father grants the young man’s request, and hands over his daughter. Marriages are scarce in Venezuela, perhaps. It is odd that the matter was never before mentioned; the fashion may become popular in this country.” We have yet to add another :— “ An oriental spectacle, reminding one of some of the scenes described in sacred history and the mar- riage of Ahasuerus, was witnessed at Pekin on the 27th of March. The young Emperor of China, hav- ing reached the age of fourteen, the time had come when a wife had to be chosen for him. One hundred and twenty young girls. ranging from eleven to nine- teen years old, were admitted to the palace on the »yrevious evening as candidates. Seven were chosen rom this number, who had to submit to an exami- nation before the empress-mother, whose business it is to make the choice. Letters from Pekin of the 2d of April inform us that the young lady upon whom the choice of the petnes and his mother fell was born at Monkden, in the province of ey , that she had attained her eleventh year, and that she was extremely beautiful. She ~p" 4 to a family that for fifteen years enjoyed the high favor of the late Emperor Tao Kouang. It is stated that the pene of the Emperor Kapen ye hg will shortly de- clared, and that he will then take the direction of affairs.” Whar is the difference between a fiery individual os slice of bacon? One is rash and the other is a rasher, Curious EXPERIMENT :— “ T was at Phillipe’s (a celebrated Parisian restau- rant), says a correspondent, when an extempere bet was decided. A gentleman won a big pile. He bet that he would bring 500 drops out of an empty bottle, from which the last drain had been apparently re- moved. It was done in the fairest way, without an dodge, on the purest natural philosophical princi- ples. The secret is this. There is a great deal of moisture still remaining in the bottle, only it is dis- rsed all over the surface in homeopathic particles, oo minute to be poured out in = ordinary way. You take the bottle, hold it nearly horizontally, shake it up well, and strike the lower part of the neck dceyrges | on your hand. After you have ma- nipulated in this way for a minute or two (the length of time depends on the performer’s skill), the moist- ure becomes collected and condensed in the neck and then you can jerk out upon a plate or sheet of white paper more drops in a quarter of a minute than youcan countin a quarterofan hour. Itmade pba a sensation at; the time, but soon spread about. PosTaGEe oN THE LADy’s Book, 24 cents a year, pease yearly, semi-yearly, or quarterly in advance, at the post-office where the Book is received. News-dealers may receive their packages at the same rates, that is, 2 cents for each copy of the magazine, and may pay separately for each package as received. PHILADELPHIA AGENCY. Appress “Fashion Editress, care L. A. Godey, Philadelphia.” Mrs. Hale is not the Fashion Edi- tress. No order attended to unless the cash accompa- nies 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. Any person making inquiries to be answered in any particular number must send their request at least two months previous to the date of publication of that number. Mrs. G. N. H.—Sent articles July 20th. S. A. G.—Sent pattern 20th. ©. N. G.—Sent box by Adams’s express 22d. Mrs. P.—Sent box by Howard’s express 23d, B.—Sent articles per order 27th. H, S.—Sent rubber gloves 27th. H. S.—Sent rubber gloves 27th. . C.—Sent articles 27th. .—Sent articles aaepet 3d. Ss. M.—Sent paper 4th. a") D S T. B.—Sent articles 8th. Mrs, T. F. G.—Sent articles 19th. —Sent watch 19th. Mrs. D. A. G.—Sent patterns 1¢th. Mrs, G. R. MeC.—SenPt.air 19th. Miss L. C.—Sent lead comb 19th. Mrs. L. M. Y.—Sent lead comb 19th. Miss J, E.—Sent lead comb 19th. Miss E. M. B.—Sent lead comb 19th. Mrs. S. S.—Sent lead comb 19th. B. W. B.—Sent lead comb 19th. Mrs. H. S. 8.—Sent pattern 20th, P. Q. R.—You would not commit any breach of etiquette by recognizing him. Prude.—Your first or about the cousin, we cannot understand. . There is no particular fash- ion for girls of fourteen or fifteen. Hattie.—Our hands serve us in the Same way, and we know of no remedy. S. J. N., and many other Inquirers.—We do not know of anything that will remove freckles. nn C.—J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, Too late for September number. Old Subscriber.—Spread powdered borax round the place. The roaches will eat it and perish.' Nina.—We do not know an thing about “ Psycho- metric Fascination.” We think, in fact we know, that the “ picture and name of your future husband”? ett —_—

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FASHIONS. 871 is humbug. We do not think it wrong to dance quite the reverse. We do not know of any way o removing superfluous hair except by plucking it out, . D. S.—Continue your riding. There is not a more healthy exercise. H. G. R.—Glycerin, frequently applied, is the best remedy. It is also said to be better than hartshorn for mosquito bites. Miss D.—You cannot procure a situation in the place you mention. There are one hundred and fifty opgnoante before you. lice B.—The gentleman must be recognized by the lady first. H. G.—We make it a rule never to give private addresses. Henry.—There is only one way to improve your writing, and that is to practice from good copies. Writing is but drawing. Meterica.—A well-written novel will do no harm to any young lady, if read occasionally. It is the habit of constantly reading novels, neglecting for them works of a more instructive nature, that ren- ders them so pernicious. Ettie.—After, if at all; but it istunusual in society ere. A Reader in Maine.—Fashions, such as you re- uire, can be found on our extension sheet. egive the idea of the fashion; it depends upon the one fhat uses them whether there shall be more or less trim- ming, and whether that trimming is or is not expen- sive. A delaine may be made in the fashion. The French people of the lower class, who use the cheap- est material, are always fashionably dressed. A fashion for silk will answer just as well for the material you mention. See page 170, August num- ber, for Tomato Catsup receipt, the first one. We have used it in our family for over forty years. Nightingale.—Wait until he asks permission, Ada.— Consistency, thou art a jewel,” is the prop- er quotation, but where from no one can tell. e have before asked it in our Book, and have inquired through a London paper, but received no reply. Mrs. C. S. T.—Tatting does not admit of the va- rious designs you can have in crochet. Melzie.—You will find a receipt for butter biscuits on page 92 January number. Miss D. E.—Our music is mostly original, and is not for sale at the music stores until some months after it has appeared in the Book. Miss H. P. O.—Among a party of friends it might do for two young ladies to whistle a duet, but it would be in bad taste in a promiscuous assemblage, Mollie.—Mosaigne des Salons. We have never heard of its being practised here. It was at one time fashionable in Paris. Miss E. E, A.—On a first visit after marriage, if wine and cake are offered, it is proper to drink the bride’s health, with good wishes for happiness, etc, H. P.—We do not send books by mail. Address the publisher, Angu.—Black and dark colored gloves make the hands look smaller than light ones—as dressing in black is most proper for a large-sized person. Fashions. NOTICE TO LADY*SUBSCRIBERS. HaAvinG had frequent applications for the purenase of jewelry, millinery, etc,, by ladies living at a dis- tance, the Editress of the Fashion Department will hereafter execute commissions for any who may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time and research required. Spring and autumn bonnets, materials for dresses, jewelry, envelopes, hair-work, worsteds, children’s wardrobes, mantil- las, 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, distinct directions must be given, The Publisher of the Lapy’s Boox has no interest in this department, and knows nothing of the trans- actions; and whether the person sending the order is or is not a subscriber to the Lapy’s Book, the Fashion Editor does not know. Orders, accompanied oy checks for the proposed . 2 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 ac- countable for losses that may occur in remitting. Instructions to be as minute as possible, accom- panied by a note of the height, complexion, and ager eee | style of the person, on which much depends n choice. Dress goods from J. F. Hafleigh’s, or Curwen Stoddardt & Brother ; dry goods of any kind from Messrs. A. T. Stewart & Co., New York; lin- erie and lace from G. W. Vogel’s, 1016 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia; bonnets from the most cele- brated establishments ; oe | from Wriggens & Warden, or Caldwell’s, Philadelphia. When goods are ordered, the fashions that prevail here govern the purchase ; therefore, no articles will be taken back. When the goods are sent, the trans- action must be considered final. ADESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION-PLATE. Fig. 1.—Dress of Metternich green silk, trimmed with two narrow pinked-out flounces. Overskirt of black silk, open at the sides, and trimmed with wide thread lace. Plain corsage, with lapels of black silk ; coat sleeve trimmed to correspond. Hair ar- ranged in puffs, and ornamented with narrow green satin ribbon and small rosettes. Fig. 2.—Dinner-dress of Havana brown silk, with an underskirt of a lighter shade. This is trimmed with puffs, each puff being divided by a button. A wide puff extends down each seam of the skirt ; the upper skirt is trimmed with a ruffle. Plain corsage, and sash trimmed to correspond. Hair arranged in curls, with purple flowers twined in. Fig. 3.—-Walking-dress of purple silk poplin, made with two skirts. The upper one is scalloped and bound with satin, and looped up at one side by the sash that is fastened at the side. The lower skirt is likewise scalloped, and trimmed with fringe and satin bands. Two satin rosettes are piaced on the lower skirt, in the space left by looping the upper skirt. Plain corsage, buttoned over to one side, Hat of brown straw, trimmed with scarlet flowers and leaves. Fig. 4.—Evening-dress of white silk. The bottom of the skirt is trimmed with embroidered bands of pink silk, each band being finished by a tassel, The upper part of the skirt is trimmed to simulate an upper skirt, with bands of pink silk and narrow white lace. Low square corsage, trimmed with la- pels of pink silk. Hair arranged in short curls, with white clematis and leaves at onejside. Fig. 5.-Walking-dress of stone-colored Irish pop- lin, with an underskirt of blue. The dress is scal- loped around the bottom, and edged by a deep plaited flornce, It is looped up at the sides by sash ends, bound with satin, and the ends edged by a ruffle. Black velvet paletét, buttoned over to one side, and trimmed with chenille fringe and satin trimming. Stone-colored silk bonnet, trimmed with lace and scarlet flowers in the brim, Fig. 6.—Little boy’s dress of French gray poplin, trimmed with a band of scarlet silk studded with silk buttons. The waist is trimmed to simulate a Zouavejacket. Underskirt of scarlet poplin, trimmed with silk. High boots of gray kid, with scarlet tas- sels. DESCRIPTION OF EXTENSION SHEET. FIRST SIDE. Fig. 1.—Walking-dress of Havana brown poplin, made with two skirts. The underskirt is trimmed with a plaiting, the plaits of which run both across and down. The upper skirt is trimmed with one ruffle, looped up at the side by two ribbon bows. A cape of the same completes the dress, looped and gathered ~ in the back with two falling ends. Hat of brown felt, with turned up brim, trimmed with brown velvet flowers and satin bands. Fig. 2.—Travelling-dress of waterproof cléth, trimmed with narrow black braid. Loose sacque

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872 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. cut in scallops, and bound with black braid, belted in at the waist. The pocket, ala chdtelaine is fast- ened at the left side. Strap, with cloak thrown across the shoulder. Hat of black straw, trimmed with velvet and illusion ends. Fig. 3.—Dress of dove-colored silk. The skirt of dress is trimmed with a plaited ruffle, headed by a heavy silk braid and buttons. The paletdt is but- toned over on one side, and edged by a narrow ruffle and three rows of braid. A round cape completes this garment, which is trimmed to correspond. Hat of dove-colored straw, trimmed with blue velvet. Fig. 4.—Dress of black silk, trimmed with three narrow ruffles. Above these, and extending up each gore, is a fancy black and white silk braid. Plain corsage and coat sleeve, trimmed to correspond. The sash is of black satin, and is fastened at the side. Bonnet of black Neapolitan, trimmed with scarlet and black. Fig. 5.—Dress of Amadis-colored silk (green and gold mixed), made with two skirts. The skirts are trimmed with plaited quillings of green silk, with small lace bows placed atintervals. The upper skirt is looped, en paniers, with a broad ribbon, which is finished by a bow at each side. Plain corsage cut surplice, and trimmed with lapels. Fig. 6.—Dress for girl of eleven years, of blue silk poplin, trimmed with narrow velvet, fringe, and buttons. The skirt is looped up, en paniers, by a broad blue sash. Low square corsage ; underwaist and sleeves of white. Underskirt of black and white striped poplia. SECOND SIDE. Fig. 1.—New chignon. Chignons are increasing in size, and as they are likely to attain still more formidable proportions, attention has recently been turned to render them as light as possible, as few things produce a more disagreeable sensation than anything heavy on the head, and, besides, the heat produced by undue weight is most injurious to the growth of natural hair. Our engravings illustrate a new chignon, which only weighs two ounces and a half—less than half the ordinary weight; the hair of which it is made measures twenty-four inches in length, and is prepared in a novel and peculiar man- ner. Itis not mqunted on a frizette, but, by reason of this ingenious mode of preparation, it always remains crimped and bouffant, and yet so pliable and manageable that a lady can arrange it herself in several different styles without the aid of either maid or hairdresser. The chignon is mounted on a massive-looking tortoise-shell comb; but here again attention has been paid to render extremely light what isin reality very rich and handsome in effect. This is owing to the balls at the top being hollow, which is a great advantage, as a heavy comb is even more disagreeable on the head than a heavy chig- non. For evening wear, some of these combs have been mounted with gold stars, Fig. 1 shows the front view of this new chignon; the front hair is crimped to correspond with the back; the hair is then dressed to look very full and high at the top of the head; at the left side thereis along curl. Both the chignon and curl are shown in Figs.3 and 4. It will be observed that only the end of the latter is curled; the hair does not commence to turn until half way down. Fig. 5.—The marquise casaque. This casaque is made of rich black silk, and ornamented with em- broidery and lace. The fronts, which are long, and form round scarf ends, are edged with lace and small buttons; the back is cut with a seam down the cen- tre,and forms, like the front, two long ends, richly embroidered, and trimmed with lace ; these fall over a third end, longer than the others, but ornamented tocorrespond with them, The ends of the front and back are joined by the basque of the side piece, which is short, and covered with three flounces reaching as high as the waist. The bodice is trimmed with braces; and the epaulettes are lace. Vandykes of satin encircle the throat; the waistband fastens at the back with a satin rosette. Fig. 6.—Costume of gray silk, consisting of a skirt 2 paniers, looped up over a turquoise blue petticoat, and of a fichu edged with blue frills. The fichu is crossed over the chest, then the ends descend the skirt and hold up the pannier, being joined at the back under a large bow. This illustration gives a very fair idea of what is called a pannier skirt; the front breadth is plain, the side ones are gored, and the back straight and full, being gathered to the waistband. Then the skirt is completed with a beuffant, or bustle, made of the same material, and lined with stiff muslin, and likewise gathered into the band; the bottom of the pannier is lastly con- fined by gathers, and fastened on the skirt. The bow which joins the two ends of the mantelet under the pannier ,is made separate, and sewn on one of the ends, the other being fastened to it by either buttons or hooks. Fig. 7.—Jacket with cape, for an elderly lady. Our pattern is made of black cashmere, lined with quilted silk, and trimmed with fringe. The cape is merely lined, not quilted. Fig. 8.—Chatelaine for scissors. Materials: A skein of silk cordon; steel beads, No. 8; nine brass rings, about half an inch in diameter; forty-five brass rings, a quarter of an inch in diameter; two brass spring rings, half an inchindiameter. All the rings, except the two spring rings, have a crochet covering worked in double stitch with corn-flower blue silk cordon. The inside of the large rings is filled with six radii of steel beads strung on coarse silk. The small rings have a simple cross, Sew nine large rings together, and then form the upper point with five small rings, under which fasten a strong hook about two inches in length. Join two lines, each containing eleven small rings, on to the last of the large rings, and at the end of these place the scissors, for which a spring ring must be pushed through each handle of the scissors and the last little ring. This spring ring must be afterwards worked over with double stitch like the other rings. A chain six inches long, consisting of two lines of steel beads fastened together, to imitate mosaic, is likewise placed at the back of the last large ring. At the under end of the latter is placed a sheath, consisting of eighteen little rings, and sewn upon each side, leaving an opening at the top to admit the points of the scissors, sewn also on to the chain divided into two parts. Fig. 9.—This frock is made of white piqué, and is ornamented in front with mother-of-pearl buttons ; above the hem of the skirt it is braided with white cotton braid. The tunic, also of pigué, is cut out in seven Vandykes, and ornamented with braid. Low bodice, with very short sleeves. The braces, which correspond with the rest of the frock, are made sepa- rate from it, and above them the waistband is added. This frock also looks extremely well made of fine white muslin, with the tunic and braces in silk of some bright color, either light blue or cerise. Fig. 10.—Dress for a little girl, of gray delaine, trimmed with bands of gay plaid poplin. The sash ends are made entirely of the poplin. Fig. 11.—Jacket for a boy of six years, made of gray cassimere, and bound with silk braid of a darker shade. Figs. 12, 13.—Fashionable walking boots.

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FASHIONS. 873 Fig. 12.—Congress gaiter of black lasting orna- mented with bands of patent leather. Fig. 13 is of bronze kid ornamented with small bands of velvet and rosettes. Fig. 14.—Child’s first drawers. Fig. 15.—Child’s night-dress. Fig. 16.—First jacket for little boy, of light cassi- mere, and trimmed with black velvet. Fig. 17.—Ladies underskirt made of gray Cash- mere, and trimmed with six rows of points made of purple Cashmere, Fig. 18.—Ladies underwaist made of nainsook muslin, and trimmed with tucks, insertion, and lace, SASHES. (See Engravings, Page 301.) Fig. 1.—Sash of violet colored satin edged with a thick cord, made with four loops standing up and one falling. The ends are finished with small rosettes. Fig. 2.—Sash of black silk bound with satin; the rosette has a square opening in the centre from which the ends fall. The ends are finished with small silk tassels. Fig. 3.—Sash of green silk trimmed with pipings of white and black satin, and small satin buttons. Any of the above models can be made of the same material as the dress, and trimmed to correspond. HATS, BONNETS, ETC. (See Engravings, Page 304.) Fig. 1—Hat of black straw trimmed with colored velvet. A chain and pendants on one side, and a small bunch of berries. Fig. 2.—Bonnet of white silk of the diadem shape. The back is trimmed with a fall of blue Jace, which is edged with two rows of narrow blue lace. This piece comes down and forms the strings, which are fastened by achip bow. Small Bird of Paradise on the right side. Fig. 3.—Breakfast cap composed of narrow ruffles of lace and muslin; the tabs are formed of a gradu- ated puff of muslin edged with lace, and trimmed with a narrow green ribbon. Fig. 4.—Headdress. In front the hair is slightly crimped, brushed straight, and the side hair rolled over it. The back hair is carried up to the top of the head in three long rolls. A large rosette formed of puffs rests on the top of the head, CHITCHAT ON FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER, Persons soon get used to everything, even to eccentricities, and our present costumes appear natural, in spite of the resistance which they at first met with. It must be confessed, however, that it is often not the fashions which are ridiculous, but the manner in which they are interpreted. The double and triple skirts looped back en paniers, are better understood now, and it would be difficult to quote the variety of styles we meet on our fash- ionable promenades. The following deserves par- ticular notice, however, on account of its beauty and originality : Imagine a round skirt of foulard car- melite, ornamented below with two plaited flounces, which are bordered at the top by a fold of silver-gray silk. The upper skirt, of silver-gray silk, is looped back at the sides by bunches of carmelite-colored ribbons. It is ornamented all round with a narrow fringe of the same shade, with a narrow fold at the top. The cassock of carmelite foulard fits tight to the waist, and is looped back en paniers where the upper skirt ends. A long knot behind marks the centre of these paniers, which are much puffed. VOL. LXxvil.—25 The tight-fitting sleeves of the lower waist are made of silver-gray silk. It is said it is the Princess of Metternich who has given the vogue to panniers; she, with many other ladies of fashion, very soon discarded the Empire dresses ; the Empress herself was always partial to ample-flowing skirts. Thus, for once, good taste has had the better of fashion, and, from the scant, ungraceful robes of the First Empire, we are rapidly going back to the more becoming fashions of the reigns of Louis XVI. and Louis XV. Parisian dressmakers study historical costumes of that pe- riod, and think far more of copying than of invent- ing. With the Louis XV. costumes the pannier jupon is indispensable. Underskirts are things not to be overlooked in the toilet. Crinolines are transformed, net given up. The modern jupon is fully puffed out at the sides and back; this fashion is not becoming to all figures—but what fashion ever wast It gives a very graceful tournure to tall, slight ladies, and, at any rate, it suits a far greater number of figures than did the Empire dress, which rendered them all, without exception, stiff and ungainly. For the bene- fit of our reeders who may desire to remodel old skirts, the next number of the Book will contain a pannier jupon. Dresses for walking costume are all made with two skirts, the under skirt being plain gored, the upper one being cut gored only at the sides and front, the back breadths being left plain and gath- ered in French gathers. Some of these dresses are 80 full as to require six or more breadths in the back, this is not at all necessary, three breadths of ordinary width material makes a very nice fulness in the skirt. Materials of two colors, and toilets composed of two colors, have now become quite general. The former are not, strictly speaking, new. They were formerly called shot; they are now known by the name of glacé. When both the colors harmonize well together the effect is very pretty. We have been examining fancy wool and silk materials, which appear to us extremely tasteful. The mixtures of brown and orange, blue and pale yellow, green and maize produce the best effect. Green and rose color, and silvery white and blue, or pink, will make up prettily for children’s dresses. These styles of goods can be had in silks, porlins, and in the above mentioned material. As for toilets of two materials and colors, they obtain great favor, and are most useful as a means of employing to advantage a somewhat worn or faded silk or poplin dress. It is easy to transform such a dress with a little arrangement and retrim- ming into an under dress, over which another is worn with a short or looped up skirt. The waist being of the same as over-dress, trimmed with the same color as underskirt. Two old dresses can be made to answer the purpose, a black and colored one. We also notice a number of handsome gay plaid goods; they will not, however, be as much worn by older persons as by children; they are always a bright, cheerful-looking dress for a child. We see a good many striped materials that are used more to complete a suit than to make a whole suit of; they are mostly used for underskirts. The material is cut on the cross, for the bottom of the skirt, so that the lines appear slanting; this is done in almost all materials. Walking-suits continue as popular as they have been; the wonder now is how we ever existed with- out them. They will be worn this fall made with the pelisse belted in, and, for cooler weather, the

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374 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Colleen Bawn,” or round cloak, made of Scotch plaid will be added. This is a desirable wrap for travelling, as it can so easily be thrown around the shoulders when desired. So far the styles of bonnets seem to be as small as those worn the last season. By reference to our extension sheet in this number two new styles of arranging the hair will be noticed. With the hair arranged thus the bonnet must be thrown more for- ward, which, at present, seems the only change made. We noticed one of blue silk with a round crown and narrow border; ruche of blue tulle in- side; on the left side an ostrich feather covering the border; a bunch of crystal and gold flowers, with small leaves, is placed at the foot of the feather. Strings of blue satin ribbon edged with lace. Another of black lace with a round crown and turned up border cut out into Vandykes, bound with velvet and edged with black Spanish blonde ; diadem ruche of the same blonde; bouquet of feather field flowers ; strings of black ribbon brocaded with colored fiow- ers. A diadem bonnet, the crown of white silk, the border of white tulle arranged in puffs; a bunch of pink roses is placed upon this tulle border; a strip of tulle and blonde with satin pipings is crossed over the bonnet and continued into lapels; bow of satin ribbon upon the crown and under the chignon. There are few persons now but what provide themselves with a waterproof clo1k and costume. They are convenient for bad weather, nice for trav- elling, and answer for a suit to wear on any house- hold shopping expedition. A good style to make them, is to have an underskirt bordered with a flat ruche piped with black silk; the second skirt plain and looped up by bows of black ribbon; a short, loose paletot trimmed with flat ruches. It should be as simple as possible; for it is a costume for rain —na costume without any pre-.ensions whatever. The correct hat to wear with these waterproof costumes is either the sailor hat made of black glazed cloth with a black ribbon round the crown, and black ends floating at the back, or an Annamite hat made of black straw, and ornamented in the centre with loops ofblack glazed leather edged with narrow black silk galloon, This is an ornament which remains unspoiled by rain, A large blue, green, or red feather of the same form as those worn by Tyrolese sportsmen, and fastened in front, occa- sionally decorates this style of hat. Speaking of hats, there are so many styles that persons can select according to what suits their particular style best and not be apprehensive about buying what is not fashionable. There is the Deauville hat with flat, low crown and narrow brim edged with black velvet, and round the crown a black satin scarf is twisted, which is tied at the side like a cravat; a large pheasant’s plume is thrown over the back of the hat. Then there is the Watteau, the brim of which is turned up and fastened in the centre with a black satin bow. In front there is a tuft of scarlet geraniums, which are prolonged into a spray falling over the back and intermingling with the lace lap- pets and satin ribbon that serve to keep the hat on the head. For travelling there is the Béarneis, made of black straw, and bordered with black velvet. The crown of this is round, and the brim lowered more especially over the forehead. The trimmings are black velvet, a cockade of feathers, and embroidered lappets. A large number of dresses are made with Raphael bodice cut square with s clear muslin or lace chemi- sette inside. The latter can be made as elegant or plain as the fancy or means of the wearer admits. Very pretty parures, composed of a collar orna- mented with lapels, and of sleeves with cuffs to cor- respond, are of fine Jinen trimmed with wide strips of Valenciennes lace insertion, upon which em- broidery patterns are worked in appliqué; a border of the same lace, slightly gathered, is put on round the edge. Other models are made like chemisettes slightly open in front. These are trimmed round the top with a double lace ruching, and small ribbon bows placed at regular intervals. The chemisette epens in the shape of a heart infront. There are sleeves to match with ruches round the wrists.’ Some very coquettish caps are formed of small bouillons of tulle. A tiny ruche of colored ribbon is placed between each bouillon. There is a lace border round the edge. Wide lapels of colored rib- bon are left to stream at the back. In linen collars the sailor collar is a novelty ; it is flat, made with a wide hem, and a blue or red stripe. It is narrow behind, wide on the shoulders, and closes in front somewhat in the shape of a heart, which gives it a very graceful appearance. The ends of the sleeves are very fiat, and correspond with the collar. Another very graceful novelty is the collar a la batelitre, very wide in front, with its ends touching the seams of the sleeves. The collar has to be very narrow behind and bordered with a striped linen ribbon. The folded-back wristbands are likewise bordered with striped ribbons, and re- semble the colar in shape. The striped neckties are becoming common, and broader ribbons with white borders and watered centre are used, as well as plain ones of pure pale colors, green, cherry, blue, and lilac being the favor- ites. A simple knot with fringed ends is preferred toabow. Half a yard is enough for a knot, three- quarters for a bow. In our last we spoke of muslin aprons being worn. We will describe some of the patterns ; they are made about half a yard square: One is composed of three pieces of fine book-muslin, the widest part of which measures about six inches; these are cut to a point at the bottom and tapered on gradually on both sides to the waist, and are divided and edged with Valenciennes insertion. The insertion is continued for the band at the top under which colored ribbon is placed, which fastens with a long bow and ends at the back. The bottom and sides of the apron are edged with Valenciennes lace. Another was quite short and rounded at the bottom and edged with fine embroidered muslin. Five oval embroidered medallions ornamented the bottom, and two of a larger size formed the pockets. Another had a bor- der of small points of muslin edged with narrow lace, and pointed pockets. There is no knowing where the whimsical eccen- tricities of fashionable jewelry will stop. For some time pins of the strangest models have been seen, representing now a champagne bottle, an enamel stamp, a pipe, & lantern, a barrel, every imaginable thing that can be copied in gold, pearls, and jewels. The latest innovations which can now be contem- plated in Parisian jeweller’s windows is this: At the extremity of the pin or brooch there is a small, square piece of enamel, upon which some inscrip- tion is stamped in gold letters. This opens a new field to the imagination of artists, and also of friends and lovers. A jewel might replace a billet-douz and contain the tenderest declaration veiled within the words of some mysterious motto. How much mean- ing might thus be conveyed in a very few words. Jewel gifts would answer all the purpose of Valen- tines. We know not to what extent this idea may be carried out in future. At present the mottoes inscribed are insignificant enough. The prettiest noticed is the well-known “ Dieu vous garde,” in gold letters upon blue enamel. FasHion. i a i fr

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ADVERTISEMENTS. 375 INDELIBLE PENCILS. For Marking Clothing, &c. Single, 50 cts. ; 3 for $1; perdoz., $2 75; per gross, 28. Sent, freiyhi prepaid, on receipt of price. More convenient than ink.—Am. Agriculturist. Invaluable for marking linen —Chicago Tribune. Invaluable to the housekeeper.—Lady’s Book. Desirable,convenient, and useful.—Springfield Rep. Manufactured and sold by the indelible Pencil Co., NoRTHAMPTON, MAss. 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. FonpaTori, by the steamer in advance of the party leaving America, a courier will be dispatched to meet their arrival at Liverpool. For any further information, address as above. MOTH PATCHES, FRECKLES, and TAN. HE ONLY RELIABLE REMEDY for those Brown DIscoLoRATIONS on the face is “ Perry’s Moth and Frecidle Lotion.” *Perry’s Comedone and Pimple Remedy” is an infallible cure for black grubs and pimples in the face. Sold everywhere. Dr. Perry treats successfully all Diseases of the Scalp, Loss of Hair, and Premature Grayness. No charge for consultation, personally, or by letter. Address Dr. B. C. PERRY, Bond St., New York. COLGATE & COVS Aromatic Vegetable Soap, combined with Glycerine, is recommended for Ladies and Infants. MACHINE STUCK NEEDLES, 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 spoil- ing them by frequent handling; each one being so secured 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, N. E. Cor. Sixth and Chestnut Sts., Philadelphia. OWLES, DREVET & CO., No. 24 RUE DE LA : PAIX, Paris, 19 William Street, New York, and 76 State Street, Boston, make advances on American securities. and cash coupons on demand. Bills on the United States or England bought and sold. Let- ters for Americans in Europe addressed to our care will be promptly delivered or forwarded. Circular travelling credits issued and cashed. Fashion Editress’ ADVERTISEMENT. The Fasnion Epirress of Gopry’s Lapy’s Boox is prepared to furnish the following arti- cles at the prices annexed :— INFANTS’ WARDROBE, Dresses, from $4 00 to $40 00 Slips, 300 “* 600 Shirts, 100“ 500 Double Wrappers, 3 50 Cambric Night-gowns, 2 00 Plain Cambric Skirts, 2 25 Embroidered or Scalloped skirts, 300 “* 20 00 Flannel Skirts, 3 50 * 20 00 Socks, 62 * 2 00 Flannel Sacks, 3 00 Cloaks, 20 00 ** 100 00 Hoods, 8300 * 40 00 Shawls, or Blankets, 400 “ 30 00 Complete Paper Patterns, 300“ 500 PAPER PATTERNS. Ladies’ Cloaks, Ladies’ Sleeve, 31 Ladies’ Full Dress and Skirt, 1 WO Suit for Little Boy, 1 00 Dress Body and Sleeve, 80 Children’s Cloak, 60 Children’s Dresses, 60 Ladies’ Under Garments, by the piece, 60 LADIES’ ORNAMENTAL HAIR. Grecian Curls, arranged on comb, $7 00 to 25 00 Fancy Hair Bows, 600 “ 1000 Hair Waterfalls, €00 “ 1000 Hair Side Braids, 800 * 2 00 Hair Back Braids, 800 “ 3000 Puffs for Rolling the Hair, 200“ § 00 HAIR JEWELRY. Bracelets, $5 00 to 30 00 Ear-rings, 500 * 20 00 Breastpins, 400 “ 2 00 Rings, 200 “ 10 00 Fob Chains, 800 “ 30 00 Charms, by the piece, 250“ 500 Studs, 900 “ 15 00 Sleeve Buttons, 900 “ 15 00 KNIT GOODS. Split Zephyr Sacque for Infants, $2 00 Zephyr Sacques for Infants, 3 00 Ladies’ Breakfast Coseys, 6 00 Ladies’ Sontags, 3 50 Ladies’ Crochet Shawls, $9 00 to 30 00 Gentlemen’s Afghans, 30 00 “* 150 00 Infants’ Afghans, 1500 “ 50 00 Ladies’ and Children’s Roman Scarfs, 2 50 Gentlemen's Smoking Caps, 500 “* 200 Gentlemen's Slippers, 300 “ 15 00 She can also supply Ladies’ and Children’s complete Wardrobes, Dresses, Cloaks, Trim- mings, Millinery, Jewelry, Silverware, Zephyrs, Wedding and Visiting Cards, Paper and En- velopes, Card-cases, etc. ete. Address FASHION EDITRESS, Care of Godey’s Lady’s Book, Philadelphia.

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376 ADVERTISEMENTS. VERY MAN HIS OWN MINERAL SPA. Each invalid cannot go to Germany to drink the Seltzer Water, but he can carry a portable Seltzer Spa with him wherever he goes, in the shape of a bottle of TARRANT’S SELTZER APERIENT, and produce the effervescent duplicate of a glass of the original fluid in two minutes. SOLD BY ALL DRUGGISTS. OCTOBER, 1868. Bmbellishments, Etc. THE FIRST TIME AT CHURCH. A steel-plate. COLORED FASHION PLATE. Containing six figures. THE REFRESAING DRINK. A tinted picture. ALPHABET OF FANCY LETTERS. EXTENSION SHEET OF FASHIONS, Containing 34 en- gravings of Dresses for ladies and children, and other articles for the toilet. SASHES. Three engravings. HAT, BONNET, CAP, AND HEADDRESS. Four en- gravivngs. DRAWING LESSONS. Eighteen engravings. GENTLEMAN'S WAISTCOAT IN CROCHET TRICOTEE. Contributors Alphabet for Marking (JU uastrated), 293, 294, 295, 296 Fashionable Costumes (Illustrated), 293, 294, 295, 296, 371 Chignons (Jllustrat:d), 297, 298, 371 The Marquise Casaque (Illustrated), 297, 371 Dress with Panniers (Illustrated), 298, 371 Jacket with Cape (/l/ustrated), 298, 371 Child’s Frock (Illustrated), 299, 371 Dress for a Little Girl (J/lustrated), 299, 371 Chatelaine for Scissors (J/lustrated), 300, 371 Boy's Jackets (Illustrated), 300, 371 Fashionable Walking-boots (J/lustrated), 3800, 371 Child's Night-dress (Jllustrated), $00, 371 Underskirt (Jl/ustrated), 300, 371 Underwaist (J//usiated), 300, 371 Child's First Drawers (Jllustrated), 300, 371 Sashes (J/l» strated), 301, 371 Mnsic—The Silvery Morn, by Wm. 0. Fiske, 302 Hat, Bonnet, Cap, and Headdress (Jliustrated), 304, 371 Phemie Rowland, by Marion Harland, 305 310 Separation, Miss Carruthers’ Engagement, by ‘‘ The Second,” 311 What is a Tear, 821 Beside the Sea, by Eliza F. Moriart, 321 The Last Evening in Leap Year,by § Annie Frost, 322 The Joys of Life. by Mrs. Harriet E. Francis, 327 Bonnie Jean Macgregor, by One Third, 828 My Lost Love, by Rebecca R. Pierce, 330 A Woman's Friendship. 330 Unrest, by Jno Churchill, 331 Mrs. 0. Fogy’s Supper-Table Talk, by the author fa ** Miss Slimmens,”’ Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing (JUustrated), 343 HEDGEHOG PINCUSHION. KNITTED COMFORTER. KNITT2D SLEEPING SOCK. WATCH-POCKET. BERLIN PATTERN. DESIGN FOR BOTTOM OF A PETTICOAT. COTTON-CASE. Two engravings. HERRING-BONE STITCH. CROCHET STAND-UP COLLAR AND TRIMMING FOR CUFFS. Three engravings CROCHET, OR NETTING AND DARNING. , SUBURBAN RESIDENCE. Three engravinys. and Contents. The Twofold Life, by L. E. 8., R44 A Memorable Ride, by Jennie L. Taylor, 345 Here and There, 346 Work Department (I/lustrated), 347 Gentleman's Waistcoat in Crochet Tricotee (IZlust'd), 347 Hedgehog Pinecushion (J/lustrated), 349 Knitted Comforter (JuUustrated), 349 Knitted Sleeping Sock (JUustrated), 350 Watch-Pocket (7/lustrated), 38l Berlin Pattern (Zllustr«ted), 351 Design for Bottom of Petticoat (Z/lustrated), 351 Cotton-Case (//lustrated), 352 Herring-Bone Stiteh (Ilustrated), 352 Crochet Stand-up Collar, and Trimming for Cuffs (JUnustrated), 353 Crochet, or Netting and Darning (JlJustrated), 353 Receipts, 354 Editors’ Table, containing— Woman's Record, 357 Doing Good, 358 Little Foxes, by Mrs. Mary Cram, 358, 359 The New Work of “George Eliot,” 358 Acquired Knowledge and Intuitive Facutly, 359 Notes and Notices, 359 Wells’ Seminary for Young Ladies, 359 College Degrees conferred un Ameriean Young Wo- men, 359 Health Department, by Dr. Chas. P. Uhile, 360 Literary Notices, 341 Godey’s Arm-Chair, 362 Suburban Residence (Jl’ustrated), 369 Fashions, 371 To Advertisers.—The LADY'S BOOK as an advertising medium is superior to any other periodical or paper published. The reason is that its circulation extends to every town, village, and hamlet in the United States. ee ieee @ eekek oD

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COMPLIMENTARY NOTICES.

The veteran of its class, but it loses nothing as the years roll along.—Telegraph. Gloucester, Mass. Will give satisfaction to ali lacies of taste.—Senti- nel, Lawrence, Mass. The fixture in American periodical literature.— Transcript, Lynn, Mass. It is replete with choice things.—Sentinel, Tru- mansburg, N. Y. Fresh and sparkling as ever.—Journal, Spring- ville, N. Y. The number before us is a beauty.—Times, Water- ville, N. Y. Nothing can be more beautiful, full, and complete than its numerous and beautiful pictures and plates, —Herald of Gospel Liberty, Dayton, O. This ancient and honorable magazine is truly a treasure to all who possess it.—Herald, Mansfield, O. We are astonished at the combination of the use- ful, the beautiful, and the literary entertainment it exhibits. It is so completely adapted to meet the wants of the ladies, that none should be without it, —Register, Washington, O. Chaste and beautiful, its own intrinsic merit has been the meed of its success.— Democrat, Lock Haven, Penna. It is the ladies’ true friend, always new, never tire- some. It should be in every house. It makes the women smile sweeter, and the girls look more and more bewitching.—Citizen, Franklin, Pa. The great charm in this periodical is its originality and the high order of ability displayed in its prepa- ration. Too much cannot be said in its favor.— Gazette, Mauch Chunck, Pa. We cannot numerate all of its accomplishments, but will state enough to show its worth—steel plates, embellishments, colored fashion-plate, tinted pic- ture, extension-sheet of fashions, embroidery and braiding patterns, foreign and home correspondence and general miscellany and literary articles.—South- ern Star, Marion, Va. It is the leader of fashions and. the instructor of the household. With it as a guide, the ladies can make their homes Edens of elegance and comfort | from which their lords will have no desire to — A copy of Godey in every house, and infidelity/And divorce will become obsolete terms.— ign OF the Times, Carrollton, Ky. We are not surprised at the anxiety of its fair readers to receive it, as it is the standard for the fashions the pad over, its decisions being as binding as the laws of the Medes and Persians, while its literary matter is from the best minds in the na- tion. No one who would keep up with the styles should be without it.—Democrat, Wyandott, Kan. As a monitor of fashion for the ladies, a — of entertaining reading, and a guide for the kitchen, it is unexcelled, and should be in every household.— Free Press, Bridgetown, N.S. This periodical, so long the delight of the ladies, still maintains its popularity among the intelligent and fashionable ladies of the country.—State Journal, wrence, Kan. It is the cheapest, because it is the best ot ail the lady’s books published.—Herald, Catlettsburg, Ky. he reputation of Godey’s Lady’s Book is such that it always stands at the top of the heap of lady’s magazines. This periodical has been published many ne gare there is hardly a lady in the United States ut is familiar with it. As a lady’s fashion book it has no supericr.—Commonwealth, Ripon, Wis. Godey’s Lady’s Book never better deserved the praise of its lady friends and readers. When you want to take a choice home magazine and fashion journal, subscribe for Godey’s Lady’s Book.—Gate City, Keokuk, Iowa. # It is well filled, and ranks high as a journal of lite- rature and fashion.—Register, Fontanelle Iowa. As a literary and artistic journal, especially adapt- ed to the domestic circle, it has a wide-spread repu- tation.—Christian Standard, Cleveland, O. Godey loses none of its interest as the year ad- vances, but seems to gain fresh vigor with each succeeding number.—Press, West Mitchell, Iowa. Resplendent with novelties in the shape of steel engravings, fashion-plates, and designs for all sort of things interesting to the ladies. The literary department is made up of articies of great interest from the pens of the best magazine writers of the day. Each number, as it reaches us, seems to say that Godey tries to excel Godey, for want of a better competitor.—Times, Sweetsburg, Canada, Full of splendid engravings, plates, and designs, - a vast amount of interesting reading.—Democrat, owa.

We welcome it to our table as we welcome our meal when hungry, and feel nearly or quite as much refreshed and satisfied after reading it, as after eat- ing a hearty dinner.—Advertiser, Addison, N. ¥. ill always retain its position as first favorite among the ladies. It matters not how many op- ponents are in the field, the circulation of Godey’s oan is always On the increase.— Mercury, Shaw- neetown, Ill. As usual, it holds rank with the leading works of the country, and is well calculated to please the most fastidious minds, It is very generally sought after by the ladies.—Tribune, Petersburg, Ind. To properly appreciate its many excellencies, it must be seen and examined. Everything in the way of engravings is got up in the highest style of the art, while the reading matter is furnished by some of the best literary talent .n the nation.—Patriot, Burlington, Kar. As usual, it is replete with choice engravings, splendid fashion-plates, interesting stories and read- ing matter. It isa favorite with all who read it, and justly deserves the praise it everywhere receives.— Missourian, California, Mo. Full of interest to the ladies, for its splendid en- gravings, fashion-plates, and numerous recherché and useful patterns, not less than its chaste and enter- taining reading. As a ladies magazine it is unap- proachable.—Republican, Delhi, N. Y. We cannot see why every lady is not a subscriber for Godey 1—Bulletin, Maysville, Ky. NotwithSstanding the zeal of his competitors, Go- dey still holds the lead in the magazine department, and he shows not the slightest sign of surrendering his position.—Sentinel and Times, Bath, Me. It is always welcome.—Union, Machias, Me. It is always popular with the ladies, for whom it is ee J designed.—Zion’s Advocafe, Port'>na>MEB. This indeed is a household-Treastirey tontaining nearly all that is usefwtTor the good regulation of a well-ordered homt.—Journal, Denton, Md. It certainly is very elaborately and beautifully gotteh-up.—Aurora, Charleston, Mass. Favorite magazine of fashion, domestic cultiva- tion, and entertaining miscellany.—Courier, Great Barrington, Mass. The reading matter is from the pens of the most gifted writers of the day.—Courant, Clinton, Mass. The Lady’s Book is a great favorite with the fair sex, and, we doubt not, will continue so as long as the present <9. pai proprietor controls it.—Ga- zette, Delaware, O. . So much has been said of this best of all magazines, that it is hardiy possible to get a word in edgeways. However, we would say to the ladies, if they wish to obtain the best book of fashions, take none except Godey’s. Give ita trial, and you will not regret it, —News, Ingersoll, Canada. Godey has no equal in America.—New Era, La Grange, Texas. As usual, a good book.—Journal, Sequin, Texas. The style of this book, which years ago attained a high degree of excellence, has been preserved with scrupulous care, whilst the intrinsic merit has in no wa depreciated.— Watchman, Sumter, &. C. Godey’s Lady’s Book has among its other good qualities, the one of punctuality.—Guardian of Health and Education, Boston, Mass. The ladies will find it everything desirable.—Jour- nal, Baliston Spa, N. Y. No household library is complete without it,— Herald, Canastora, N. Y. Godey is bound to be second to no other magazine on this continent.—Gazefte, Elmira, N. Y. Godey always will take the lead as a ladies? maga- zine, and it deserves to.--Patriot, Burlington, Kan. The fashion plates cannot be excelled by any ladies’ periodical jin the world,—Sentinel, Franklin, Kentucky. It has not only in the higher circles been a help in the matter of fashion, and a pleasant companion for an idle hour, but its salutary influence has been felt in the quiet well-ordered households of our land in many ways.—Ezpress, Mantorville, Minn. The literary contents needs no commendation at our hands.—Republican, Kasson, Minn. The fashion-plates of the past year were never surpassed, and many a lady has received more than the worth of a year’s subscription from the study of a single number.—Star, Marion, 5S. C. The illustrations are in the first degree of art— chaste, beautiful, and instructive. dey retains ite position as the leader of works of its character in this country.—Bulletin, Gallipolis, O, 3

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Receive their Teas by the Cargo, from CARGO PRICES. 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. ist. The American house in China or Japan makes large profits on their sales or shipments—and some of the richest retired merchants in the 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 Purchaser sells it to the Speculator in invoices of 1000 to 2,000 packages, at an average profit of about 10 per cent. Sth. 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 GN, cae Sth. The , PROFIT HE CAN GET. When you have added ‘te BIGHT brokerages, cartages, storages, } add the original cost of the Tea, it be the consumer has to pay. And now we propose ba we can sell so very much lower than other dealers. 8 Grocer sells it to the Retail Dealer #% cen, msumer for ALL THE 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. By 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 additional expense of transportation) as though they bought them at our warehouses in this city. . Some parties inquire of as how théy 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 wants, and select 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, as seen in the Club Order in the next colamn, and when the club is com- plete 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 no confusion in their distribution—each party getting exactly what he orders, and no more. The cost of transportation the members can divide equitably among themselves. Parties sending Club or other orders for less than q had better send Post-Office Drafts or money with thets orders, to save the expense of collection by express; but larger orders we will forward by express, to collect on delivery. Hereafter we will send a complimentary package to the party getting upthe club. Our profits are small, but we will be as liberal as we can afford. We send no compli- mentary package for Clobs of less thn $30. Parties getting their Teas of us may confidentiy rely upon gatiog them pure and fresh, as they come direct from the astom House stores to our Warehouses. We warrant all the goods we sell to give entire satisfac- tion. If they are not satisfactory, they can be returned at our expense within 30 days, and have the money refanded. The Company have selected the following kinds from their Stock which they recommend to meet the wants of pany sell them in New York, as the list of prices will show. a DY Grocer in lots to suit his trade, at a profit of about 10 re propose to do away with all these various profits and} Clubs. They are sold at Cargo Prices, the same as the Com- | Established 1861. >_> The Great American Tea Company the Best Districts of China and Japan, and sell them wn lots to suit at PRICE LIST OF TEAS. OOLONG (black), 70c., 80c., 90c., best $1 r Ib. pe MIXED (green and black), 70c., 80c., 90c., best $1 per Ib. ENGLISH BREAKFAST (black), 80c., 90c., $1, $1 10, best $1 20 per Ib. IMPERIAL (green), 80c., 90c., $1, $1 10, best $1 25 per Ib. YOUNG HYSON (green), 80c., 90c., 2", $1 10, best $1 25 per Ib. UNCOLORED JAPAN, 90c., $1, $1 10, best $1 25 per Ib. GUNPOWDER (green), $1 25, best, $1 50. Consumers can save from 50 cents to $1 per pound by purcha~ing their Teas of GREAT AMERICAN TEA COMPANY, Nos. 31 and 33 Vesey Street, Post-office Box, 5643 New York City. Coffees Roasied and Ground Daily. GROUND COFFEE, 20¢., 25c., 30¢,, 35c., best 40 cents per nd. Hotels, Saloons, Boardiug-house keepers, and fami- Tes who use large quantities of Coffee, can economize in icle by using our FRENCH BREAKFAST and DIN- COPFRE, . owhich tve will sell at the low price of 30 pound, and Warranted to give perfect satisfaction. B ORDER. Epwarps, St. Lawgexce Co., N. Y., June 3, 1867, THe Great AMERICAN TEA Company. 31 and 38 Vesey Street, New York, Dear Sirs: I herewith send yon anvther order for Tea. The last was duly received, and gives general satisfaction. As long as you -end us such good Tea, you may expect a continuation of our patronage. Asa further evidence that the subscribers were satisfied, you will observe that I send you the names of all thoxe that sent before who were near cept my thanks for the complimentary pachage.: PREathte as the other, and oblige Your obedient servant, DAVID C. McKEE. 4b Japan eoeccesseecs J. Havens -.---+--- at $1 25. - 86 00 5 do Japan ---+++-++++> J. Havens .-------- at i 9 . 1 do Gunpowder- ------ J. Havens -------- at 1°50-- 1 50 1 do Japan ---- coesee -§, Curtigs «+... -s0+- at 1 25-- 1 2 2 do Young Hyson---- 8. Curtis--------- at 1 00-. 200 ldo Japan orerrry: a) N. Shaw---------- at 100.1 00 1 do Young Hyson----- N. Shaw---------- at 1 00-. 1 00 3 do Young Hyson- ----R. MeCargen------ at 1 25-.3 75 2do Green:-----+---- +-R. MeCargen------ at 1 25-- 2 50 4 do Green: «++ +--+ +-++5 Wh. Barraford ---at 1 25-- 56 00 1 do Gunpowder -------A. H. Perkins.---- at 1 50-- 1 50 And ten others-------- Total.-----++--- $51 05 N. B.—All villages and towns where a large number re- side, by cL BBING together. can reduce the cost of their Teas | and Coffees about one-third (beside the Express charges), by | sending directly to “‘ The Great American Tea Company ™ Caution.—As some concerns, in this city and other places, | imitate our name and style of advertising and doing busi- | ness, it is important that our friends should be very carefal | to write our address in fall, and also to put on the number of our Post-Office Box, as appears in this advertisement. | This be eat their orders from getting into the hands of do; imitators. ST-OFFICE orders and drafts make pa order of “The Great American Tea Company. | ters and orders to le to the Direct let- GREAT AMERICAN TEA COMPANY, Nos. 31 and 33 Vesey Street, POST-OFFICE BOX, No. 5643 NEW YORK CITY. out of tea, with a large addition of new subsertbérs. Ac- | ae —

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372 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. cut in seallops, and bound with black braid, belted in at the waist. The pocket, a la chatelaine is fast- ened at the left side. Strap, with cloak thrown across the shoulder. Hat of*black straw, trimmed with velvet and illusion ends. Fig. 3.—Dress of dove-colored silk. The skirt of dress is trimmed with a. plaited ruffle, headed by a heavy silk braid and buttons, The palefdt is but- toned over on one sile, and edged by a narrow ruffle and three rows of braid. A round cape completes this garment, which is trimmed to correspond, Hat of dove-colored straw, trimmed with blue velvet. Fig. 4.—Dress of black silk, trimmed with three narrow ruffles. Above these, and extending up each gore, is a fancy black and white silk braid. Plain corsage and coat sleeve, trimmed to correspond. The sash is of black satin, and is fastened at the side. Bonnet of black Neapolitan, trimmed with scarlet and black. Fig. 5.—Dress of Amadis-colored silk (green and gold mixed), made with two skirts. The skirts are trimmed with plaited quillings of green silk, with small lace bows placed atintervals. The upper skirt is looped, en paniers, with a broad ribbon, which is finished by a bow at each side. Plain corsage cut surplice, and trimmed with lapels. Fig. 6.—Dress for girl of eleven years, of blue silk poplin, trimmed with narrow velvet, fringe, and buttons. The skirt is looped up, em paniers, by a broad blue sash. Low square corsage; underwaist and sleeves of white. Underskirtof black and white striped poplin. SECOND SIDE. Fig. 1—New chignon. Chignons are increasing in size, and as they are likely to attain still more formidable proportions, attention has recently been turned to render them as light as possible, as few things produce a more disagreeable sensation than anything heavy on the head, and, besides, the heat produced by undue weight is most injurious to the growth of natural hair. Our engravings illustrate a new chignon, which only weighs two ounces and a half—less than half the ordinary weight ; the hair of which it is made measures twenty-four inches in length, and is prepared in a novel and peculiar man- ner. It is not mounted on a frizette, but, by reason of this ingenious mode of preparation, it always remains crimped and beuffant, and yet so pliable and manageable that a lady can arrange it herself in several different styles without. the aid of either maid or hairdresser. The chignon is mounted on a massive-looking tortoise-shell comb ; but here again attention has been paid to render extremely light what is in reality very rich and handsome in effect. This is owing to the balls at the top being hollow, which is a great advantage, as a heavy comb is even more disagreeable on the head than a heavy chig- non. For evening wear, some of these combs have been mounted with gold stars. Fig. 1 shows the front view of this new chignon; the front hair is crimped to correspond with the back; the hair is then dressed to look very full and high at the top of the head; at the left side there is a longcurl. Both the chignon and curl are shown in Figs. 8 and 4. It will be observed that only the end of the latter is euried ; the hair does not commence to turn until half way down. ; Fig. 5.—The marquise casaque. This casaque is made of rich black sil’>, and ornamented with em- broidery and lace. The fronts, which are long, and * form round scarf ends, are edged with lace and’‘small buttons; the back is cut with a seam down the cen- tre, and forms, like the front, two long ends, richly embrgidcred, and trimmed with lace ; these fall over a third end, longer than the others, but ornamented to correspond with them. The ends of the front and back are joined by the basque of theside piece, which is short, and covered with three flounces reaching as high as the waist. The bodice is trimmed with braces; and the epaulettes are lace. Vandykes of satin encircle the throat; the waistband fastens at the back with a satin ros*tte. Fig. 6.—Costume of gray silk, consisting of a skirt 2 paniers, looped up over a turquoise blue petticoat, and of a fichu edged with blue frills. The fichu is crossed over the chest, then the ends descend the skirt and hold up the pannier, being joined at the back under a large bow. This illustration gives a very fair idea of what is called a panaier skirt; the front breadth is plain, the side‘ones are gored, and the back straight and full, being gathered to the waistband. Then the skirt is completed with a bouffant, or bustle, made of the same material, and lined with stiff muslin, and likewise gathered into the band; the bottom of the pannier is lastly con- fined by gathers, and fastened on the skirt. The bow which joins the two ends of the mantelet under the pannier is made separate, and sewn on one of the ends, the other being fastened to it by either buttons or hooks. Fig. 7.—Jacket with cape, for an elderly lady. Our pattern is made of black cashmere, lined with quilted silk, and trimmed with fringe. The cape is merely lined, not quilted, Fig. 8.—Chatelaine for scissors. Materials: A skein of silk cordon; steel beads, No. 8; nine brags rings, about half an inch in diameter; forty-five brass rings, a quarter of an inch in diameter; two brass spring rings, half an inch in diameter. All the rings, except the two spring rings, have a crochet covering worked in double stiteh with corn-flower blue silk cordon. The inside of the large rings is filled with six radii of steel beads strung on coarse silk. The small rings have a simple cross. Sew nine large rings together, and then form the upper point with five small rings, under which fasten a strong hook about twoinchesin length. Join two lines, each containing eleven small rings, on to the last of the large rings, and at the end of these place the scissors, for which a spring ring must be pushed through each handle of the scissors and the last little ring. This spring ring must be afterwards worked over with double stitch iike the other rings. A chain six inches long, consisting of two lines of steel beads fastened together, to imitate mosaic, is likewise placed at the back of the iast large ring. At the under end Of the latter is placed a sheath, consisting of eighteen little rings, and sewn upon each side, leaving an opening at the top to admit the points of the scissors, sewn also on to the chain divided into two parts. Fig. 9.—This irock is made of white piqué, and is ornamented in front with mother-of-pearl buttons; above the hem of the skirt it is braided with white cotton braid. The tunic, also of pigué, is cut out in seven Vandykes, and ornamented with braid. Low bodice, with very short sleeves. The braces, which correspond with the rest of the frock, are made sepa- rate from it, and above them the waistband is added, This frock also looks extremely well made of fine white muslin, with the tunic and braces in silk of some bright color, either light blue or cerise. Fig. 10.—Dress for a little girl, of gray delaine, trimmed with bands of gay plaid poplin. The sash ends are made entirely of the poplin. Pig. 11.—Jacket for a boy of six years, made of gray cassimere, and bound with silk braid of a darker shade. Figs. 12, 13.—Fashionable walking boots.

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SSP SESE Ee FR SESS8sctar & a8eSeQs F Pre FES, G5 mSOoPPraseieg 5 am FO FASHICNS. 373 Fig. 12.—Congress gaiter of black lasting orna- mented with bands of patent leather. Fig. 13 is of bronze kid ornamented with small bands of velvet and rosettes. Fig. 14.—Child’s first drawers. Fig. 15.—Child’s night-dress. Fig. 16.—First jacket for little boy, of light cassi- mere, and trimmed with black velvet. Fig. 17.—Ladies underskirt made of gray Cash- mere, and trimmed with six rows of points made of purple Cashmere. Fig. 18.—Ladies underwaist made of nainsook muslin, and trimmed with tucks, insertion, and lace. SASHES. (See Engravrings, Page 301.) Fig. 1.—Sash of violet colored satin edged with a thick cord, made with four loops standing up and one falling. The ends are finished with small rosettes. Fig. 2.—Sash of black silk bound with satin; the rosette has a square opening in the centre from which the ends fall. The ends are finished with small silk tassels. Fig. 3.—Sash of green silk trimmed with pipings of white and biack satin, and small satin buttons. Any of the above models can be made of the same material as the dress, and trimmed to correspond. HATS, BONNETS, ETC. (See Engravings, Page 304.) Fig. 1.—Hat of black straw trimmed with colored velvet. A chain and pendants on one side, and a small bunch of berries. Fig. 2.— Bonnet of white silk of the diadem shape. The back is trimmed with a fall of blue lace, which is edged with two rows of narrow blue lace. This piece comes down and forms the strings, which are fastened by a chip bow. Small Bird of Paradise on the right side. Fig. 3.—Breakfast cap composed of narrow ruffles of lace and muslin; the tabs are formed of a gradu- ated puff of muslin edged with lace, and trimmed with a narrow green ribbon. Fig. 4.—Headdress. In front the hair is slightly crimped, brushed straight, and the side hair rolled over it. The back hair is carried up to the top of the headin three long rolls. A large rosette formed of puffs rests on the top of the head. CHITCHAT ON FASHIONS FOR OCTOBER, Prrsons soon get used to everything, even to eccentricities, and our present costumes appear natural, in spite of the resistance which they at first met with. It must be confessed, how ver, that it is oftea not the fashions which are ridiculous, but the manner in which they are interpreted. The double and triple skirts looped back en paniers, are better understood now, and it would be difficult to quote the variety of styles we meet on our fash- ionable promenades. The following deserves par- ticular notice, however, on account of its beauty and originality : Imagine a round skirt of foulard car- melite, ornamented below with two plaited dounces, which are bordered at the top by a fold of silver-gray silk. The upper skirt, of silver-gray silk, is looped back at the uides by bunches of carmelite-colored ribbons. It is ornamented all round with a narrow fringe of the same shade, with a narrow fold at the top. The cassock of carmelite foulard fits tight to the waist, and is looped back en paniers where the upper skirt ends. A long knot behind marks the centre of these paniers, which are much puffed. VOL. LXxxvi1.—2 The tight-fitting sleeves of the lower waist are made of silver-gray silk. It is said it is the Princess of Metternich who has given the vogue to panniers; she, with many other ladies of fashion, very soon discamied the Empire dresses; the Empress herself was always partial to ample-flowing skirts. Thus, for once, good taste has had the better of fashion, and, from the scant, ungraceful robes of the First Empire, we are rapidly going back to the more becoming fashions of the reigns of Louis XVI. and Louis XY. Parisian dressmakers study historical costumes of that pe- riod, and think far more of copying than of invent- ing. With the Louis XV. costumes the pannier jupon is indispensable. Underskirts are things not to be overlooked in the toilet. Crinolines are transformed, not given up. The modern jupon is fully puffed out at the sides and back; this fashion is not becoming to all figures—but what fashion ever was? It gives a very graceful tournure to tall, slight ladies, and, at any rate, it suits a far greater number of figures than did the Empire dress, which rendered them all, without exception, stiff and ungainly. For the bene- fit of our readers who may desire to remodel old skirts, the next number of the Book will contaia a pannier jupon. Dresses for walking costume are all made with two skirts, the under skirt being plain gored, the upper one being cut gored only at the sides aad front, the back breadths being left plain and gath- ered in French gathers. Some of these dresses are so full as to require six or more breadths in the back, this is not at all necessary, three breadths of ordinary width material makes a very nice fulness in the skirt. Materials of two colors, and toilets composed of two colors, have now become quite general. The former are not, strictly speaking, new. They were formerly called shot; they are now known by the name of glecé. When both the colors harmonize well together the effect is very pretty. We have been examining fancy wool and silk materials, which appear to us extremely tasteful. The mixtures of brown and orange, blue and pale yellow, green and maize produce the best effect. Green and rose color, and silvery white and blue, or pink, will make up prettily for children’s dresses. These styles of goods can be had in silks, poplins, anc in the above mentioned material. As for toilets of two materials and colors, they obtain great favor, and are most*useful as a means of employing to advantage a somewhat worn or faded silk or poplin dress. It is easy to transform such a dress with a little arrangement and retrim- ming into an under dress, over which another is worn with a short or looped up skirt. The waist being of the same as over-dress, trimmed with the same eolor as underskirt. Two o!d dresses can be made to answer the purpose, a black and colored one, We also notice a number of handsome gay plaid goods; they will not, however, be as much worn by older persons as by children; they are always a bright, cheerful-looking dress for a child. We see a good many striped materials that are used more to complete a suit than to make a whole suit of; they are mostly used for underskirts. The material is cut on the cross, for the bottom of the skirt, so that the lines appear slanting; this is done in almost all materials. Walking-suits continue as popular as they have been ; the wonder now is how we ever existed with- out them, They will be worn this fall made with the pebisse beited in, and, for cooler weather, the

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374 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Colleen Bawn,” or round cloak, made of Scotch plaid will be added. This is a desirable wrap for travelling, as it can so easily be thrown around the shoulders when desired. So far the styles of bonnets seem to be as small as those worn the last season. By reference to our extension sheet in this number two new styles of arranging the hair will be noticed. With the hair arranged thus the bonnet must be thrown more for- ward, which, at present, seems the only change made. We noticed one of blue silk with a round crown and narrow border; ruche of blue tulle in- side; on the left side an ostrich feather covering the border; a bunch of crystal and gold flowers, with small leaves, is placed at the foot of the feather. Strings of blue satin ribbon edged with lace. Another of black !ace with a round crown and turned up border cut out into Vandykes, bound with velvet and edged with black Spanish blonde ; diadem ruche of the same bionde ; bouquet of feather field flowers ; strings of black ribbon brocaded with colored flow- ers. A diadem bonnet, the crown of white silk, the border of white tulle arranged in puffs; a bunch of pink roses is placed upon this tulle border; a strip of tulle and blonde with satin pipings is crossed over the bonnet and continued into lapels; bow of satin ribbon upon the crown and under the chignon. There are few persons now but what provide themselves with a waterproof cloak and costume. They are convenient for bad weather, nice for trav- elling, and answer for a suit to wear o” any house- hold shopping expedition. A good style to make them, is to have an underskirt bordered with a flat ruche piped with black silk; the second skirt plain and looped up by bows of black ribbon; a short, - loose paletdt trimmed with flat ruches. It should be as simple as possible; for it is a costume for rain —a costume without any pretensions whatever. The correct hat to wear with these waterproof costumes is either the sailor hat made of black glazed cloth with a black ribbon round the crown, and black ends floating at the back, or an Annamite hat made of black straw, and ornamented in the centre with loops of black glazed leather edged with narrow black silk galloon. This is an ornament which remains unspoiled by rain. A large . blue, green, or red feather of the same form as those worn by Tyrolese sportsmen, and fastened in front, occa- sionally decorates this style of bat. Speaking of hats, there are so many styles that persons can select according to what suits their particular style best and not be apprehensive about buying what is not fashionable. There is the Deauville hat with fiat, low crown and narrow brim edged with black velvet, and round the crown a black satin scarf is twisted, which is tied at the side like a cravat; a large pheasant’s plume is thrown over the back of the hat. Then there is the Watieau, the brim of which is turned up and fastened in the centre with a black satin bow. In front there is a tuft of scarlet geraniums, which are prolonged into a spray falling over the back and intermingling with the lace lap-- pets and satin ribbon that serve to keep the hat on the head, For travelling there is the Béarnais, made of black straw, and bordered with black velvet. The crown of this is round, and the brim lowered more especially over the forehead. The trimmings are black velvet, a cockade of feathers, and embroidered lappets. A large number of dresses are made with Raphael bodice cut square with a clear muslin or lace chemi- sette fnside. The latter can be made as elegant or plain as the fancy or means of the wearer admits. Very pretty parures, composed of a collar orna- mented with lapels, and of sleeves with cuffs to cor- respond, are of fine Jinen trimmed with wide strips of Valenciennes lace insertion, upon which em- broidery patterns are worked in eppliqué; a border of the same lace, slightly gathered, is put on round the edge. Other models are made like chemisettes slightly open in front. These are trimmed round the top with a double lace ruching, and small ribbon bows placed at regular intervals. The chemisette opens in the shape of a heart in front. There are sleeves to match with ruches round the wrists.” Some very coquettish caps are formed of small bouillons of tulle, A tiny ruche of colored ribbon is placed between each bouillon. There is a lace border round the edge. Wide lapels of colored rib- bon are left to stream at the back. In linen collars the sailor collar is a novelty ; it is flat, made with a wide hem, and a blue or red stripe. It is narrow behind, wide on the shoulders, and closes in front somewhat in the shape of a heart, which gives it a very graceful appearance, The ends of the sleeves are very flat, and correspond with the collar. Another very graceful novelty is the collar 2 la batelidre, very wide in front, with its ends touching the seams of the sleeves. The collar has to be very narrow behind and bomered with a striped linen ribbon. The folded-back wristbands are likewise bordered with striped ribbons, and re- semble the colar in shape, The striped neckties are becoming. common, and broader ribbons with white borders and watered centre are used, as well as plain ones of pure pale colors, green, cherry, blue, and Wlac being the favor- ites. A simple knot with fringed ends is preferred toabow. Half a yard is enough for a knot, three- quarters for a bow. In our last we spoke of muslin aprons being worn. We will desenibe some of the patterns ; they are made about half a yard square: One is composed of three pieces of fine book-muslin, the widest part of which measures about six inches; these are cut to a point at the bottom and tapered on gradually on both sides to the waist, and are divided and edged with Valenciennes insertion. The insertion is continued for the band at the top under which colored ribbon is placed, which fastens with a long bow and ends at the back. The bottom and sides of the apron are edged with Vaienciennes lace. Another was quite short and rounded at the bottom and edged with fine embroidered muslin. Five oval embroidered medallions ornamented the bottom, and two of a larger size formed the pockets. Another had a bor- der of small points of muslin edged with narrow lace, and pointed pockets. There is no knowing where the whimsical eccen- tricities of fashionable jewelry will stop. For some time pins of the strangest models have been seen, representing now a champagne bottle, an enamel stamp, a pipe, a lantern, a barrel, every imaginable thing that can be copied in gold, pearls, and jewels. The latest innovations which can now »ve centem- plated in Parisian jeweller’s windows is this: At the extremity of the pin or brooch there is a small, square piece of enamel, upon which some inscrip- tion is stamped in gold letters. This opens a’new field to the imagination of artists, and also of friends and lovers. A jewel might replace a billet-douxr and contain the tendeest declaration veiled within the words of some mysterious motto. How much mean- ing might thus be conveyed in a very few words, Jewel gifts would answer all the purpose of Valen- tines. We know not to what extent this idea may be carried out in future. At present the mottoes inscribed are insignificant enough. The prettiest noticed is the well-known “ Dieu vous garde,” in gold letters upon blue enamel. FASHION.

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HOW WE WENT UP THE MOUNTAIN,

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@RNAMENTAL BORDER. CROCHET OR NETTING AND DARNING. CAPE, VEST, MUFF, PETTICOAT, ETC. ETC. (See Description at the back of Book.) 2 SA oe

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= ne teat FASHIONABLE COSTUMES. (See Description, Fashion Department.) « J

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BIA, tee

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Pa, Qo LES Q \fu\t

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Corner for a Handkerchiel.

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Fig. 6.—Belt ar Fig. 7.—Housewi Fig. 3.—Christening Robe. Fig. 5.—Boy's Blouse. . - . . oeene [For Description of Engravings on this Sheet see Page 462. | Fig. 8.—Fi

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Fig. 6.—Belt and Bow Figs. 9, 10, 11.—Col'’ars. Fig. 7.—Housewife’s Apron, > veeweventt® : j i Fig. 8.—Frock. Fig. 12.—Roy’s Suit, Fig. 13.—Little Girl’s Dress.

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ents ane Ree * eam eae = wn mnie sm Fig. 15.—Ban Fig. 13.—Little Girl’s Dress. Fig. 18,—Velvet Jacke*.

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; Figs. 16, 17.—Bonnets. Fig. 19.—Frock. Fig. 20.—Apron. Fig. 21.—Loose Jacket. ; iyi Vi, P, . _ ne 1, 7 match, 2, 7 the ero 3. FE black t! 4. F Paradis 5, J mixed | Voi

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LATEST STYLES OF HATS. These rats are sketched from Oriyinal Samples now on Exhibition at JR Terry's Emporium of Fashion, 19 Union Square, N. Y. 1. ThePeirette-—Hat of white French felt, trimmed with the new shade of crimson velvet and satin to match, with white ostrich tip in front. - 2. The Tasteé.—Hat of pearl felt, trimmed with blue velvet fluting and satin ribbon, with fluting over the crown, and aigrette pompon. ‘ " 4 3. Hamlet.—Hat of black velvet, trimmed with green satin fluted over the brim, satin streamers with black thread lace, and an elegant pompon. . P ip F oan emreer gg iat of pearl felt, trimmed with brown velvet and satin laid in plaits, and a Bird o aradise feather. 5. Vivandiere.—Hat of black velvet, trimmed with black and scarlet satin piping, thread lace, and steel mixed plume, with black satin streamers. ——__ > TRIMMING FOR COLORED PETTICOATS, (Sce Description, Work Department.) -~ VOL. LXXVIL—26 393

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BRD OF THER WILDERNESS: ARRANGED FORK THE PItANO-FORTE. FOR GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK. Poetry by Hogg. Music by T. Grosvener. Published by permission of J. STARR HOLLOWAY, proprictor of Copyright. 1. Bird of the wil - der- ness! Blithesome and cum - ber-less A ma-tin o’er moorland and lea! Sweet be thy

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BIRD OF THE WILDERNESS. LLL ALLL Lt PP Lae pad Pa Pd te te tn 7 m® cres, see ereccsce sesecce 2 Smee CN —h | —§ + a —$=—g-S-2- =p ae: nx 5s == Em-blem of hap - pi - ness, Blest is thy dwell - ing-place! Oh, to a - bide in’ the de-sert with theo! Oh, > = to a - bide with thee! tM Sige mg, 3. Wild is thy lay, and Joud, O’er fell and founia:n sheen, Far in the downy cloud; O’er moor and mountain green, O’er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudiet dim, Over the rainbow’s rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing away. Love gives it energy, Love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy Jay is in heaven, thy form is on earth.

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AREA 396 NEW BODICES. See Description, Fashion Department.