Godey's Lady's Book And Magazine 1883-11: Vol 107 Iss 641

Page 1

=e AS Aa aN eo, / PON amv ‘> ae ? = fy tx : Ne «-}* eS cise B Dar % i \ eg ‘Gg - 4 a * 3 yess ED Ag 4 i . a Ve = Na =: Ge > a8 2° Se - nye 249 o. 4. e - hy a er a —

Page 2

Any one offering a Chromo or Premium in connection with GoprY’s LADY's Boox is a fraud We give the full value of the Subscription Price in the contents of the Book itself. Chromos or Premiums. Never pay money to strangers for Goner'’s Lavr’s Boor. CAUTION. WIT ALIZED PHOG-PHITES, *°?° ake. Restores vitality to all persons afflicted with weakness, nervousness, or sleeplessness. F. CROSHY COMPANY, Sixth Avenue, N.Y. For sale by Dr uggists, or mail, $t. Promotes good digestion. , 88 we give no > “CACHEMIRE MARGUERITE” BLACK SILKS, Are SoFT ANDPuaABLE ¢ Are SATIN FACE. Do NOT CRACK, ‘ARE INGREAT FAVOR R TURN GRAY.uixKe otHeR | IN EUROPE seca SILK THEIR WELL-KNOWN REPL ARE NOT HEAVILY CHARGED Jl. FO c AB iTY WITH FOREIGN SUBSTANCES, ARE DOUBLE WARP ve TREM WEIGHT oy \emmiel. a ee.) ae a F N YAR TAMPED "Ca HEMIRE ne ai GUERIT®”’ on THE SE E. OR THE GOODS ARE NOT GEN ons, 5. OF THE PRESS. ARTHUR'S Macazine says :—When anything really 1 bew OEM ‘ashion Magazine says :—As French silks | appears, attention is at once called toit. We have recently seen have lost their prestige on account of the adulterations to which | a sample of Silk which out: ivals any similar goude in the market ; many are subject, and rendered ladies suspicious of them all, it | it is called “Cachemire Marguerite.” It is a siik ot medium has been highly desirable that a black silk should be found that | weight, beautiful finish and durable color. We should judge would be rich in appearance and possrss the serviceable and | that it will cive eminent satisfaction to the wearer. wearing qualities which so many require in this standard fabric, CODE Y’S Ladies’ Book says :—We are (requently asked by and that only peed be esta! lished in the minds of ee steadfast our lady readers to recommend to them a good brand of black friends to restore its ancient prestige, ba silk. We feel delighted to call their attention to one of the nov- The acents for the Nonpareil Velveteen in Sve Qutitbemte while elties of the present season, This silk ia called * Cachemire Mar- abroad, found a pure finished ilk standing bigh im the European ; guerite ;’’ it is free from the adulteration of most of French silks. market, and now offer a black silk unsurpassed for richness and | We f-el confident that one trial of this brand of silk will meet a beauty, which ie derived from purity of material, hich quality want long felt in securing @ good and bandsome grade of goods and perfection of Guish, *§ is known as ** Cach emire Marguc:ite.”’ | at a reasonable price. For Sale by all First-class Retailers. SHAEN & FITHIAN, SOLE AGENTS. **T owe my Restoration ‘to Health Land Beauty to the CUTICURA 0) REMEDIES.” State if you wish this book in Eng- lish or German. WORTH SENDING FOR DISEASES OF “THE L LUNGS hae Testimonial of a and HOW THEY CANB ED, Oe a ere he plicanta. prereset pa sty A T)SFIGURING Humors, Humiliating Eruptions. Itching suppose ——— — oe wh pe Tortures, Scrofula, Salt Rheum, and Infantile Hu- r throat or Mention t mors cured by the Cuticura Reuxpirs. Or.J.H. SCHENCK ‘a "CON, Philadelohias Cuticura Resoivent, the new blood purifier, cleanses the blood and perspiration of impurities and poisonous ele- C ments, and thus removes the cause. Bis Curicura, the great Skin Cure, instantly allays Itching and Inflammation, clears the Skin and Scalp, heals Uicers and Sores, and restores the Hair. HOTILe Curicura Soar, an exquisite Skin Beautifier and Toilet above Requisite, prepared from CuTieura, is indispensable in ny ther pees ae aes Sines treating Skin Diseases, Baby Humors, Skiu Blemishes, isa IEE on s Sunburn, and Greasy Skin. VANTE Curicura Remepirs are yy 4 pure, and the only AG EATS WAN] D; | MAGTC teats infallible Blood Purifiers and Skin Beautifiers. 150 Sold everywhere. Price, Cuticura, 5O0cents; Soap, HARB BACH ORCANINA co seni Oa. Howton, it rns as ae ca. Ou, oston, uss. 809 FILBERT STREET, PHILADA., PA. LDREDCEJ DRY goons BY MAIL! @ MACHINE, CHICAGO and NEW Quarters of a Million ty Steck. > woot wakeaien lees. PURE p G his Bhawle, a nam, Hastory, ® Flavoring Extracts pitas tn? saeet Getta Faralahing Cross CEL ALL OTHERS. — Baye) and Giri Supe t Oe sate — ’ ree on _ OOP! oy VONARD, Sth & Market St, Philada. THOS. WOOD & CO., Boston. Oop Please say where: you saw this Advertisement. “—

Page 3

MOLMUAUARTICHESH | Ath Hf Wy yay! De OT RL AMS == | Wei Atl % 4} i 14 4 4 | Wy ail t i dedi hdl phidibad bas vite | ‘ii ty You Dirty Boy! ; All the leading Druggtsts sell Pears Soap.

Page 4

ii GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. @: 7h Club Raisers. 2 ; | ts, VANS ; AON A SG IELIEVING that the true principle of trade is the supplying a good article at a moderate RS if profit, the present management of Godey’s ; } Lady’s Book have so improved the maga- zine that it is only necessary to see it to be convinced that the general verdict of the press is correct—J.e., “It is the most beautiful and cheapest American Fashion Magazine published.” Other magazines may find it necessary to offer premiums as inducement tc subscribers or club raisers; we do not. Our magazine admits of such close inspection, and our club raisers are meeting with such success that we are satisfied we have met the popular domand in giving full value in the magazine itself. That all new subscribers, however, may have a complete set of the Presidential portraits, we will include those already published, in the regular subscription price, when asked for. Werefer you to our terms to club raisers on the next page, and trust- ing you will commence at once we bid you good speed in your work. J. H. Haulenbeek #2(Co., Be | Publishers. : |

Page 5

ee oh KRY Gant ~~ WSJ a wl

Terms to Club Raisers. &. 1 Copy one year, - - - - $2.00 2 Copies “ - - - - 3.50 s. * " - - - - - 5.00 ¢ « “ - . - - 6.50 7 ** *¢ and extra copy to Club raiser, - 9.25 (Making 6 copies in all.) ; + -* 8 “ “ 12.70 8 « “6 4 a sc - (i | 9 «© & « “ “ 15.45 10 « “ -- -- Banner Page of th:s number gives the contents of the magazine d | for 1884. ee

Send for circular explaining how to successfully raise a Club. ——_se CUO! Address all letters and make remittances payable to J. H. Haulenbeek & Co, PROPRIETORS, LOCK BOX H. H., Philadelphia.

Page 6

GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ORGANS "2800" $49.75 ame including Bench, Book and Music. on further the : BORBUU gales of Beatty’s ns during the Autumn an Winter the follo Special Offer is made, namely: lf any reader of this paper wil — the following notice and remit it promp*iy, to- . ther with only $49. 75in cash,by ) Fo. Money Order, Registered Let- —_———- . ter, by Check or Bank Draft, I will . . box and deliver on board cars here ¥ ———— » \) the following described PARLOR , P . ORGAN, with Bench, Book and Music, the regular Catalogue Price being 107.75. I desire this Beauti- ful Cabin: t Organ introduced with- out a moment's delay, and to those who will order this Organ imme- diately a further deduction of $2.00 will be allowed, making the instru- ment cost in all only @47. 75. sole object isto have the organ introduced, thereby securing our good will in your imme- te vicinity, as further sales are sure to follow at the regu- lar catalogue poe, $107.75. Be sure to ae Vy followin, notice and m it to me wii our order : is notice, 1 turned to Dan © F. BEaTTY. ashington, New ersey, from er of this MAGAZINE ogether with $49.75 in sash,entitles holderthere of to one Beatty Or i INo. 800, as specified. ts { 1 Ait NR Money to be promptly _ i Shy Mi ‘ refunded, with interest at * | } H TN Warranted sr (‘S) a ORT Mle pe TROUT AL ea PD RD i Se per cent.,if the organ ii UU i is not just.ias represented : = = y = r one year’s use. ANTELF. B“ ATTY. ——_— . Dimensions—Height, 72ins. Depth, 24ins. Length, 46 ins. Btyle, No. 800. ORDER NWOw. This beautiful PIANO UPRIGHT Cabinet or Parlor Organ con Octaves. Handsome solid Black Toe Case, Treble Upright Bellows, Steel Springs, Handles Rollers pte Music Pocket, Two Knee 8wells, besides Grand Organ Knee Swell. 23 Stops: 1 * ub-Basa; 3 Octave Coupler ; 3 Clarabella; 4 Manual Forte Solo; 5 Bourdon; 6 Saxaphone; 7 Viol di Gamba; 8 Diapason; 9 Viola Dolce; 10 Gran Expressione; 11 French Morn; 12 Harp olian: 13 Vox Humana; 14 Echo; 15 Dulciana; 16 Clarionet; 17 Voix Celeste; 18 | iolina; 19 Vox Jubilante; 20 Piecolos 21 Orchestral Forte;22 Grand Organ; 23 Automatic Valve Stop. Seven rull sets Golden Tongue Reeds, as follows: Ist, Charming Saxaphone; 2d, Famous French Mern; 3d, Beautiful Eiseeies fth, Jubliante Violina; Sth, Powerful Sub-Bass; 6th, Sweet Volx Celeste; 7th, Soft Cello. Seven e all. Order now. Nothing saved by correspondence, What! desire is to sell you an o —the instrum 8 itself. It sings its own praises, Every organ sold sells others in the enone Geena IF YOU NieY aASLE TS. ACCEPT THIS GREAT OFFER, PLEASE WRITE ME YOUR KEASONS WHY, I WANT TO HEAR FRUM YOU ae ey) —- yon order be very particular to give name, post-office, county, State, freicht station and on what raik .¢ I desire this magnificent instrument introduced without delay. : : immediate! ber iurther deduction of $2.00 is given, aherdncattware we - ; AikeManutacturce, | «© DANIEL F. BEATTY, Washington, New Jersey. JOSEPH G' LLOTE'S tie favsite tumbers 308, 405, 532, STEEL™ PENS. _seic througnout tne Worta

Page 7

Page 8

Page 9

Page 10

WALAYAYN: EN RY \ Vida WY Lo

Page 11

Page 12

Page 13

Page 14

Page 15

O. H. HUNTER, LITH., PHILA. a 5s | => nee me me «i ( fs, — iy & Ves a “Sar -~' be ae “Mee OP. = <= to oe Ee gg Po 3 om H mn & fx © peal - z w = = zx =< o — co z ° x o < Le w w n o ” w a Cc a 7 z ° - a <« oO oo Me a cs o m7

Page 16

Page 17

Page 18

GODEYS FASHIONS

Page 19

Page 20

Page 21

oa EMBROIDERED DESIGNS FOR DESCRIPTION, SBE WORK DEPARTMENT

Page 22

Page 23

Page 24

Page 25

VoL OVE.™Big. 27, Fig. 1. For description see Fashion Department.

Page 26

/ bY a): hf yy Hy MY ittD Mh f Py if For de scription see Fashion Department. 3)

Page 27

ce. 4. Fi MR iid Wiis Mo WM heh | Fig. 6. 9 Fig. 7. 409 * Nonpareil Woven Broche with Cloth.” For Description, see Fashion Department.

Page 28

ig. 11. For description see Fashion Department.

Page 29

For description see Fashion Department.

Page 30

For description sce Fashion Department.

Page 31

For description see Fashion Department.

Page 32

Page 33

r . fig. 2. *n* ~Ve *

, Me. % wm] Oo ‘ ay! > Hy" * fy Poe Sn 4 ‘ af N it 7 = } Ine Tem hy) v Fs * ¢ m® @ a o Syeeetat GN ERs) Se? SOE awn a Ps Pe ra, i aA i Fi ‘ ¥ L'9 p aN fi Now, NE A/F = \ \~ 45> 4 a >" \ For description see Work Department. eT, saa i AN OLN AK)! =Th sk:

WER tt * n ur US

Page 34

¥IT" :

og - ae oo it PP | 2 7 bb». on ~-<< 2 oN A SALA Oi ie wy For description see Work Department.

Page 35

For description see Work Department.

Page 36

GOOD-NIGHT.

___ Words by J. E. CARPENTER. Music by FRANZ ABT. Rather slow. — f= === SF ae = : _ —Fecgeennnn ieee 1. In the 2. In the 3. Bleak -~= e1 4. Man now pty ! _» | he a ee eS [soe ces Be ee er eee ee e) 7 Pp “i - e a —— { ft ? > , _ PP " Legato. — — a - ™ } Ot ~~ [ — a [ ae i= ae —a— | = ee ee =e Si Pe et a ER :

2 Se 2 Fs ees ee

=" nai ~ a di West the sun de - clin - ing, Sinks be - neath the wind the grass is bend - ing, Flowrs now slum -_ ber winds the flow - ers benumb - ing, On the hearth the seeks his peace - ful dwell - ing. Cir - cles round the | ? 3 - —_ sé >= mane ee a . — em —_—# + s— 2 =e —_s Wey 6 eS ee <a ENE ——— —_— oa es = ~ | 4 4 7 Cs _ SS ST a 7 eee me = E —— a TS saa + —— ad e o. - — | _@- ao. .

2 SS _ ' ee y - mount - «in height, Tints the clouds with gol - den in the shade, Birds to seek their nests are crick - et sings, Home the lad - en ~ e flies rud - dy blaze, Of the sweets of la - bor

tsi

Published in sheet form, 30 cts.,by WM. H. BONER & CoO., agts. No. 1102 Chestnut Street, Phila. Rae, a a ¢ “Gene een ie ee ‘fom Rm -

Page 37

GOOD-NIGHT. a, _ a = ing, Sets the hills with ru - by’s shin -_ ing, wend - ing, Flocks in told the shep - herds tend -_ ing, hum - ming, And the drow - sy _ bat is com -_ ing, tell - ing, ‘Till his heart with rap - ture swell -_ ing, Se Se eee or eee -o- —— ae —--4 --+- 1 i it | el | | ial yi Trt i q | Te & | Tr Then bids_ all the world good - night! Home - ward _bies the mount - ain maid. . Dart - ing with his leath - erm wing. Grate - ful gives his Mak =- er praise . ™ 3 Cac iniatieniaianaaae’ 4 PEER AT —@:-- = eo — = —— se ry ow we te- Ss ee —- -—-— mf =—S_ rall e dim. | | s+ == Se @ | | | em = a Se Good - night, good - night! Gool - night, Good - night!

Page 38

era

ARCADIA |

ELVETEE

"SONAVIZOXA IWUANAD aoa LL & Of cr

H Dé Are mae A os rc a | Ie - 4

his

WHAT LEADING FASHION N JOURNALS, WHO ARE COMPETENT

AUTHORITIES, SAY OF OUR GOODS :

Fall Fashions. Velvets and the fine grade velveteens promise to be favorite articles of wear for the coming fall season. The leading modistes of New York, the fashion authorities of Paris, and those of Berlin, all speak of the popularity of these goods, and prophesy that more of them will be worn during the season of ’83 than ever before. The “ Arcadia” brand, by its depth and richness of color, closeness of pite, and its admirable durability, comes in to claiin the foremost place among vel- veteens. It has the Genoa face, a fea- ture which has made the Genoa vel- vets famous. Many ladies prefer these velveteens to velvets,inasmuch as they equal the latter in appearance and cost only one-third as much, to this, they are much lighter material In addition and more comfortable to wear. Knickerbocker suit for boys m:; With the above items in mind, our lady readers may be assured of know. - ing what is economical and fashiona. able for the fall. REMEMBER! the consumer we stamp every yard with § For the protection of the opposite stamp. See you get it. The jacket has an K ARCADIA VELVETEEN.

and pockets also bound witii braid.

added cout bound with silk braid

"ARCADIA VELVETEEN (REGISTERED) With the above indorsements, it is needless for the proprietors to say any hing, except to ask consumers to compare tuese goods with any other make and decide for themselves.

h by nothing of its kind. s this season in all the Godey, Sept. 1883. “OT all annoyances as connected with ‘La Toilette’ none is greater than the purchase of some material, appa- rently the very thing required, and the subsequent finding that appearances are deceitful, and money, time, and trouble have all been wasted in the acquirement of an article whose beauty was transient and durabi'ity ‘nil.’ * Since our first recommendation of *Areadia Velveteen’ every purchaser has reiterated the praise we bestowed. Many makers would have contented themselves with having thus gained publie favor, but the great competition in velveteens, and the praiseworthy determination not to be surpassed, have Jed the manufacturers of the *Areadia Velveteen’ to be constantly secking improvements which have re- sulted in the production of the ‘Gen- uine Woven Fast Pile with Genoa Face.’ Peterson, Sept. 1883. “ Another season brings to us many of our old friends with even greater claims to our favor, and among them all none have improved the short in- terval between the last season and this to a greater purpose than the ‘ Arca- dia Velveteen.’ For depth of beauty and richness of coior and durability, the ‘ Arcadia Velveteen’ is surpassed It is shown latest and most beautiful shades and tints that are .rnl- ing in the most fashionable Parisian novelties,

The Fast Pile “Arcadia Velve:cen”’ is of genuine woven {ast pile, with Genoa face, <nd is the only velveteen in tho market that can rightfully claim these qualities. They have stood the test of one season, and have continued to grow in favor from the time of their first introducticn up to now. For lacies’ costumes they are unrivalled, having the following advantages over cll others: First, the color is positive and lustrous in el shades. Second, in appear- ance it cannot be easily distinguished from Lyons silk velvet, being much thinner and fin-r in texture, and conse- quently less heavy than ordinary velveteen or velvets, and w:!l outwear any other material of equal finish and dress. Sold at retail by all first-class dry goods stores, and to the wholesale trade ony by SHAEN & CHRISTIE, Agents in United States,

165 | CHURCH STREET, NEW YORK.

Page 39

abs Pek CS ed an ‘“i- he cs nil he ty UVUOLUME GYII. [{apy’s [300K AND (F) aGazinr. ai my Tas ++, oo MHILADELPHIA, IROVEMBER, 1883. SHSSPHGGSSSSSSSSGHSHSSOSGS: — ( GHANKSGIVING SOLILOQUY. BY KATHERINE ABBEY. A merry, rough winter wind blew cheerily O'er frost field and meadow, o'er city and sea, And he whistled right gleefully, sweeping along, A glad, hearty pean of Thanksgiving song. “Oh! now,” sang he blithely, “ the whole world to-day, Are gathered together to — thanks, and pray For mercies received, and for grace for the year, And in happiest numbers to mingle good cheer.” As he flitted o’er housetops, he peeped slyly down On to each festive board in a certain old town; And he suddenly paused, with a furious blow, As a sight caught fis eye of a table below. “What is this?” he cried fiercely; ‘a dinner for four; Two dogs and a cat, and one man—and no more! Ix this holiday pleasure to dine sole alone With none save the brute kind to beg for a bone 9 Is this human and kindly to hold self aloof From the poor and the needy, thus under one’s roof? To sit by one’s board at a Thanksgiving feast With only companionship of the dumb beast ? “Go, man, in the highways and byways and street, And gather the hungry poor there you shall meet. Your dinner the sweeter for such deeds shall be, And a life of more happiness true you shall see !” Then the angry wind blew as he uttered this last, Such a rattling, banging and terrific blast That the bachelor looked up and shivered with cold, And he paused in his eating, a bone in his hold. “T wonder,” he thought, “if there be any poor In this old town to day who ere hungry? I'm sure If I knew, I would go, ay, I will, and I'll say ‘Are you suffering and needy, this Thanksgiving Day °” “And I'll help them at once: Puss! Tray! wouldn't you now?” And the cat purred ‘‘Mew,mew,’ and the dog barked ‘Bow wow,” Then the rough winter wind whistled wildly and shrill, And laughed with delight as he swept o'er the hill. And he blew his blast louder, and clearer, and strong, Till there rang out this pean of Thanksgiving song: “ Be our means great or smaller, each one of us may From his portion a part give on Thanksgiving Day !” RUMBER 6231. N

Page 40

RC A ne SP tw wo GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. WEDDED TO MISERY. BY EMILY LENNOX. CHAPTER V. THEY MET BY CHANCE. Miss Lois Langley sat in her pretty boudoir toasting her dainty feet on the brass fender. The room was furnished throughout in the Japanese style. The soft, pliant matting on the floor was literally covered with embroidered rugs, the wails were hung with rich flowered silk, and the lacquered furniture shone with gilded storks and bamboo leaves. Scattered about on the mantel, vabinet and table were rare pieces of bric- a-brac—exquisite porcelain, carved ivory and wood, brilliant fans, curiously wrought metal and wonderful needlework. It was a perfect treasure house of Japanese art, and it had cost a small for- tune. Lois jumped up as she heard the front door close. Dr. Langley ran down the steps, entered his coupé and drove off. “There! He’s gone, Toinette!” she cried, clapping her hands in childish glee. “Get me my dolman and hat.” “Oh, Miss Lois!” her maid exclaimed in unaffected horror. “ You are not going out alone at this hour of the night!” “Indeed I am!” retorted the wilful little beauty, shaking out her skirts saucily. “You neednt look so shocked, Toinette. It’s only eight o’clock, and its very different here from what it is in Paris, where a gir! daren’t put her nose out of the door after vespers, and hardly dare walk unattended in broad daylight!” “But it is so dark and stormy,” the maid remonstrated. “There is hardly any one on the street, and—” “So much the better! It would be a terrible shock to propriety if I met any one whom I knew!” : She laughed gayly, and went to the mirrow to adjust her jaunty hat. “Don’t say another word, Toinette!” she cried, 4s her maid was about to utter another remonstrance. “I am_ going. There is no use talking about it! I don’t want Uncle Ellis to know, and there’s no other way to do it. Come now—there’s a good Toinette!—don’t say anything more about it.” She buttoned her sealskin dolman about her, and fluttered out of the room. “Good bye!” she called gayly from the staircase. “I won’t be gone more than an hour.” It was indeed a dark, stormy night. It had begun to snow, and the wind was piling white drifts on the sidewalk. As Lois descended the steps of Dr. Langley’s elegant brown stone mansion, she felt a little nervous, in spite of her stout defense of the undertaking. “T will walk very fast,” she observed, glancing up and down the Avenue, not without shrinking from its gloom and solitude. Then, stepping down upon the pave- ment, she put her words into execution. Her journey was to Argent and Orr’s, the jewelry store in Union Square, where she wished to purchase secretly a Christ- mas gift for her uncie. She reached her destination in safety, and, with quickened steps, turned her face homeward, bearing her little package under her arm. She was thinking how she would tease her uncle with a tale of this exploit, when suddenly she stopped. “Why, they only gave me ten dollars in change!” she exclainid, feeling for her pocket book. “I was in such a hurry I never thought of it’s being wrong.” She walked on to the next gas lamp, and drew out a little sealskin satchel, emptying several gold pieccs into her hand, and running over the bills tucked away in a side pocket. * Ten—titteen—twenty-five — forty-five fifty —sixty—sixty-tive—why, I ought to have eighty dollars! That was very care- less of Mr. Argent.” She turned reluctantly and started back to Union Square; but betore she had walked a block she heard a step behind her. “You’re in need of an escort, Miss,” said a man’s voice in her ear, “May | have the honor?” Lois’ heart gave a wild bound of terror, | as she felt a ruffian hand on her arm, and a towering form thrust itself in front of her. For a moment she was absolutely speechless with fright. Then a shrill scream arose to her lips, but it was stifled | by a hand clapped quickly over her | mouth.

Page 41

ut 1e in WEDDED TO MISERY. 423 “Not a word, or you'll suffer for it!” a brutal voice hissed in her ear. “ Your purse, my little beauty! I'll take charge of all that money.” Lois had two portemonnaies—the one containing the bills and another little one in which she kept car tickets and small change. A sudden inspiration came to her, and she drew this last from her pocket. The man clutched it greedily, and in doing so loosened his hold on her arm. W itha frantic movement, Lois wrenched her sleeve from his grasp, and away she sped like a deer. But in a moment her ruse was dis- covered. She heard a cry of baffled rage, then a deep oath and the ‘sound of ringing footsteps told her she was pursued. On she sped, panting and pale with ter- ror, while every moment shortened the distance between her and her pursuer. She looked up wildly at the gloomy ramparts of brown stone on either side of the street, but not a sign of life was visible anywhere. All was shrouded in that peculiar gloom which hovers over a fash- ionable quarter, where inside shutters and heavy curtains shut off every particle of light, and leave the outside world to som- bre solitude. “Help!” was the agonized ery that burst from Lois’ lips; but ere she had uttered it, she was caught up in a man’s arms and forcibly held there. “Let me go!” she screamed frantically. “Let me go!” “What is it?” said a reassuring voice in her ear. “Do not struggle so! What is the matter? Tell me! Are you in danger? How can I help you?” The tone in which these hurried ques- tions were put, and the gentle force with which she was held, calmed her’a little. She looked up, and saw that she had encountered a gentleman. “QO, sir!” she cried, clinging to the arm from which she had at first tried to extricate herself. “Save me! Save me from that awful man!” Lois’ pursuer now came up to them, and, thrusting her behind him, the gentle- man leaped at the ruffian’s throat. The assault was so wholly unexpected, that the shock of the sudden concussion hurled the villain off his feet. He was a perfect giant, but his assail- ant was upon him in an instant, with his VoL. cvi.—28. knee on his breast, crushing him to the arth. “Rap on the curbstone!” the gentle- man cried to Lois in quick incisive tones. “Three times—the watchman’s signal.” The sound of her little heel rang out clearly on the frosty air, and in three min- utes four policemen came running from opposite corners. “T guess they can take charge of him!” the gentleman said, carelessly brushing the snow off of a handsome overcoat, as the officers laid hold of the cowed villian. “Q, sir!” Lois cried, holding out her hand, which was still trembling with the shock of fear. “How can I thank you ?” He took her hand, and tried to see her face cleariy, but could not. “There is no occasion for gratitude,” he said, with the utmost courtesy. “Iam only too happy to have been of service.” “J—it was very imprudent for me to come out alone,” she said in an embar- rassed way, for she felt that he must think her presence in the street alone at that hour peculiar, to say the least. “New York is not the safest place in the world for a nocturnal ramble,” he said, in a voice whose accents rang pleasantly in Lois’ ear. “T came out for a Christmas present, she explained. “It was for my uncle, and I didn’t want him to know when I bought it.” The gentleman bowed politely, but in rather a cold way, as though he would not have required any explanation at her hands. “Tf it is agreeable to you,” he said, “I will walk home with you.” “Oh, you are very kind!” she cried, as he offered her his arm, and together they made their way to Dr. Langley’s door. At the foot of a long flight of brown stone steps were two gas lamps that shone brightly through the surrounding dark- ness. As Lois turned, and held out her hand to him ere they separated, the light fell full upon her lovely face, and her com- panion started with a smothered ejacula- tion on his lips. “My uncle’s name is Dr. Ellis Lang- ley,” she said, with a simplicity that was one of her chief charms. “You must give him an opportunity of thanking you in person.” The gentleman bowed, and, as with,

Page 42

424 GODEY’S LADY'S striking courtesy rhe stood for a moment with his head uncovered, Lois’ romantic little heart thrilled within her breast. He was the handsomest man she had ever seen. “Good night,” he said, as he put into her hand a visiting-card. “I hope you may suffer no ill effects from your fright, Miss Langley.” As he disappeared down the street, Lois looked after him with eager eyes. Then running up the steps, she read the card by the light in the vestibule. It bore this inscription, engraved with extreme elegance: “ REGINALD TREsH AM, Her Majesty’s Rifles, Hotel Brunswick, New York City.” Cuapter VI. THE WOOING O’T. It was February. Colonel Tresham stood by the open fire in Dr. Langley’s parlor, with his arm resting on the mantel, and his eyes fixed on the blazing logs. ; “What malicious spirit can have prompted the child to love me!” he ex- claimed bitterly “me, of all men! Oh, if I only knew what was best. I do not be- lieve that Neil really cares for her. If I thought that he did—but no! Iam sure he was only joking. And she? She loves me, poor child! Ah! I wish I were not so sure of that.” He heaved a deep sigh, his arm dropped to his side, and he began to pace the room with restless steps. “Sometimes | think that Heaven has vouchsafed me this chance for atone- ment,” he muttered, as he walked back and forth with his arms tightly folded across his breast. “Then again it seems like a cruel wrong which I cannot, must not contemplate. O, God! What have I to do with love? I who go about ve the brand of Cain upon my brow and : sepulchre in my heart!” His mind was in a tumult. It was not that, after years of unswerv- ing fidelity, his heart had foresworn its allegis ance, for Tresham did not love Lois. He only felt that within the past two months during which, as the friend of Neil Vincent, he had become a frequent BOOK AND MAGAZINE. visitor at Dr. Langley’s » house, he had un- wittingly allowed her heart to pass into his keeping—that her happiness was at his disposal, and he could not bear to break her heart! Had he a right to refuse a love that ame to him, unasked, unsought, merely to gratify his soul with long-continued brooding over the past? Though his own heart was dead, he had still the power to make or mar the happiness of another life. But the memory of by-gone years haunted him. If the grave could speak, would it not upbraid him for the course he contemplated ? “God knows I was innocent of evil in- tent!” he murmured with something like a sob. “QO, my lost darling ! Give me your hes wvenly counsel.” Tresham bowed his head, and stood leaning against the mantel quite uncon- scious that he had been waiting there ul- most an hour. Dr. Langley did not come. The door of his office stood ajar. Tresham crossed the hall and entered the library. As he stepped over the threshhold, the sound of his own name arrested his atten- tion. “T mean it for your good, Lois,” the doctor was saying, “T cannot allow you to see Colonel Tresham again.” “JT will see him!” Lois answered, pas- sionately. “You shall not separate us!” “Child.” said the doctor, in a pained voice. “This man does not care for you. Trust me, Lois! Nothing is dearer to me than your happiness ; but this is an in- fatuation you will blush for in after years.” “Never!” she answered with vehe- mence. “If I am to be nothing to him, so be it! What am I, that he should care for me? But my love is his, and his alone. I will worship him to my dying day!’ Dr. Langley groaned aloud. “ Lois,” he cried, in a voice of anguish. “You don’t know what you are saying!” “Yes, Ido! I may be a child in years, but it isa woman’s heart that beats within my breast. Oh, Uncle Ellis, let me be! If you take this love from me, I should die!” Tresham stood as though turned to stone. His face was deadly pale. He heard Dr. Langley walking back and forth in his office; then a storm of pas-

Page 43

| un- into s at r to that rely ued own r to ther PATS ak, irse in- like Ine ood oOn- ul- oor sed the Ch- he to as- 9 WEDDED TO MISERY. 425 sionate sobs, as Lets threw herself down upon the lounge. “My poor child!” Dr. Langley mur- mured, brokenly, and then Tresham sud- denly seemed to come back to life. A look of determination dawned upon his face. He stepped a step forward, and pushed open the office door. A moment more, and he was kneeling at Lois’ side. “Don’t ery!” he whispered, tenderly, as he folded his arms about her, and pressed a soft kiss on either tear-wet cheek. “Tis, look up! I have some- thing to say to you. The crimson tide of shame swept over her face. “Let me go!” she cried, passionately, as she struggled in his close embrace. “ You—you listened! How dare you?” Tresham let her go then, and rose to his feet. “T did hear,” he said, turning to Dr. Langley, “but—on my honor as a gentle- man—I did not listen purposely! Sir, will you allow me here, in the presence of your niece, to make a formal proposal for her hand?” “No!” Lois burst forth. not marry me out of pity! have you, Colonel Tresham.” With a sudden gesture, he seized her two hands and clasped them tightly his own. “Child,” he murmured, sadly. “I have no one in this wide aoe to care for me. I thought that you might not be unwilling to brighten my life a little.” There was something in his voice that stilled the tumult in her breast. She raised her eyes to his, and with that mutual look a strange, new tenderness was born in the heart of each. It was something wholly different from love, and yet it was love; for Tresham felt for the first time that she had grown very dear to him. As Dr. Langley looked at them, the tears rushed to his eyes. “Colonel Tresham,” he said, in an un- certain voice, “ you are a man among a thousand! I would trust her to you without a single misgiving. It shall be as she says.” Then without another word he turned and left the room. Lois was standing now quite still and subdued. Tresham drew her towards him, with extreme gentleness. “You shall I will not = — ¥: Lois,” he sail, softly, “T am very much older than you—almost old enough to be your father. My best days are over. I have nothing to offer you but a broken heart—and a broken life. But, if you will let me try, I think I can make you happy. Will you give me a chance, dear? Will you marry me?” “Yes,” she answered, clinging to him closely, “if—you—will only try to love me a little.” A spasm of pain crossed his face. “T love you now,” he said, kissing her on the forehead, but just as coldly and calmly as if she had been a child. “ But I will not deceive you, Lois. All rhap- sodies were stilled in my heart long ago,” “You loved some one else!” she said, with jealous pain. “You love her still!” “She is dead, child! She died years ago. I would wrong you, if I withheld from you the truth. The best of my life is laid aw: iy in a woman’s grave. If you are satisfied to take what is left, Lois, it is yours to dispose of as you will.” “T will take it,” she answered, tremu- lously. “ But oh, are you not afraid that —some day you may regret having mar- ried a silly child like me?” Tresham looked down into the lovely upturned face, which had grown so very pale, and smiled. “You will help me to forget,” he said, kissing her. “You will teach me new thoughts, and take away the bitterness of past sorrow.” That night he went back to the hotel with a thousand thoughts surging through his brain. As he sank into a chair and shaded his eyes from the glowing fire, he murmured to himself two lines of Byron’s, that seemed to suit his fancy: “Nor was all love shut from him, though his days Of passion had consumed themselves to dust.” CHAPTER VIL. IN CONFIDENCE. The following evening, Colonel Tres- ham met Dr. Langley in his office by ap- pointment. The expression of the latter’s face was unusual. He looked like a man who had nerved himself to some painful ordeal. “Sir,” he said, as he grasped Tresham’s

Page 44

426 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. hand with an agitation which he v ‘ainly strove to conceal, “if I trusted you less the confidence, | am about to bestow upon you, would be impossible.” “Dr. Langley,” the young officer an- swered, quickly, “any trust you may re- pose in me shall be sacred.” “IT know it! I am sure of it! I re- spect you, Colonel Tresham, with my whole soul. But it is not easy for me to speak the words I feel compelled to utter.” The Doctor paced the room several times before he spoke again. His next words were: “ Lois is dearer to me than anything in this world, Colonel Tresham.” ‘I know it, sir!” “But you have not guessed the truth, which is known to no one in New York, except myself. Lois is not my niece, She is in no way related to me.” Tresham started. He couldn’t help it. “You surprise me, sir!” he exclaimed, involuntarily. “ But, all the same, she is my heiress,” added the Doctor, quickly. Tresham raised his hand to deprecate any further mention of Lois’ fortune. “Be that as it may!” he said. “ Miss Langley’s wealth is a matter of no con- sideration with me.” “IT believe you!” cried the Doctor, warmly. “But you know I love Lois just as though she were my own flesh and blood,—so well that I cannot bear to ac- knowledge that she isn’t, even to myself. But to you, sir, I owe a free confession. Perhaps [ ought to have made it sooner. Lois is a nameless child I adopted in her infancy. If it had not been for me, her lite would have been blighted by the lack of a home.” The Doctor spoke very rapidly and with great agitation. “Good Heavens!” Tresham ejaculated when he recovered himself; but it was sympathy more than horror that moved him. “You are a man of honor,” the Doctor continued hurriedly. “This may seem to you a disgrace too deep to be overlooked in the woman you would make your wife, though I swear to you that the truth has never been breathed in this city before. No one knows it; still, I would not hold you to an engagement which— “Sir!” cried Tresham, springing to his feet, and speaking with passionate empha- sis. “ Lois herself is s pure and inaocent— a fitting consort for a king. I ask no more, The Doctor seemed overcome by this generous reply. “God bless you! he murmured brokenly. “I was not mistaken in you. But oh, swear to me, Colonel Tresham, that you will never breathe a word of this to her; swear to me that no word of yours shall ever suggest the truth to her!—of her want of relatives.” “With all my soul!” Tresham said earnestly. “So help me God, no syllable of this shall ever pass my lips under any circumstance or provocation.” Dr. Langley heaved a sigh of relief. “You are a noble fellow,” he said, grasping Tresham’s hand. “ You almost reconcile me to my disappointment. You know it has been my dream for many a year to see Lois the wite of Neil Vincent.” Tresham started. “No,” he said, “I was not aware that —that you thought of such a thing.” Dr. Langley sighed. “Neil’s father and I were chums at college,” he said slowly, “and I have always loved the boy. Poor lad! I wonder how he will bear it?” “What do you mean?” Tresham cried. The Doctor did not answer him, but drew from his pocket a letter of very re- cent date and put it in his hands. Tresham glanced hurriedly over it till he came to these words: “T shall be back in a week or ten days. Do not speak to Lois. I would rather plead my own cause, and learn from her lips whether my life shall be crowned with happiness or misery.” “Good Heavens! Tresham cried hoarsely. “Is it possible—oh, it cannot be that Neil really loves her! ”” “Yes,” the Doctor answered sadly. “ He loves her. He has loved her tor years.’ A smothered groan burst from Tres- ham’s lips. “Oh, if I had known this!” he eried in a voice of agony. “I did not think he was in earnest. Wretch that I am, I have betrayed the trust of my only friend!” Shaken with a bitter anguish, he bowed his head in his hands, and sobbed. “Don’t!” said the doctor, gently. “You couldn’t help it.” 99? bb — ww Fees

Page 45

it— ho this red TOU, im, his urs -ot uid ble ny bu a at WEDDED TO MISERY. 427 But it was long before he could escape the first bitterness of a stinging self- re - ach. ‘What does he mean?” he said at last, when he lifted his pale face, and took up the letter again. ‘“ What is this he says about his fortune?” “ Haven’t you heard ?” cried the doc- tor, in surprise. “ Neil has inherited one of the finest names and estates in Old Virginia.” “What! Is it possible? “It came through his mother. The heir-at-law was a young rake who brought abeut his uncle’s death, and got himself distnherited. The property consequently descended to a maiden aunt of Neil’s mother, and she died three weeks ago, leaving the whole estate to Neil on con- dition that he adopts the name of Gra- ham. Good heavens, Tresham! what is the matter ?”’ “Nothing, nothing!” he gasped, with pallid lips. “ Don’t be alarmed.” The doctor rushed to the wine-closet for a glass of brandy, and pressed the stimulant upon him. Tresham tried to drink it, but his hand trembled so that half the contents of the glass was spilled upon the floor. ‘Excuse me!” he faltered. “I am feeling wretched. I think I will go home.” The doctor called a cab for him. As Tresham leaned back upon the cushions, and was driven rapidly back to his hotel, his face wore the pallor of death. “It is fate!” he murmured, in the ac- cents of despair. “ Fate, pitiless and in- exorable !” 9 CuapTer VIII. MADAME DE ROY. An elegant equipage stood in front of Dr. Langley’s residence. A footman in dark-green livery had just handed in a card, on which was delicately engraved the name of “ Madame Stephanie de Roy.” Then the carriage-door was opened, and a woman superbly clad in black velvet entered the house. As she crossed the threshold of the parlor with the step of a duchess, the large mirror over the mantle reflected a face of wondrous beauty and a tizure of exquisite shape. The satin smoothness of her ivory-white skin, unstained by a single fleck of color, proclaimed her still a young woman; and yet her hair, that fell in soft waves upon a pure Greek forehead, was like the driven snow—a wonderful silvery mass, that gave to her face a special charm. Sinking languidly into an easy chair, she waited for Dr. Langley, but when she heard his hurried step on the stairs, a faint flush overspread her cheek, and she leaned forward eagerly. “Madame de Roy! 1” the doctor ex- claimed in glad surprise, as he advanced to meet her with both hands extended. “ Ah, doctor,” she said, in a soft, win- some voice, as she returned his fervent hand-clasp. “How are you? You did not expect to see me—no? I thought you might have heard [ was to sing in opera here this month.” “No,” he answered, with the look « welcome still shining on his face. “I hed not heard. When did you leave Paris?” “In December. I have been what they call ‘starring’ it through Germany and Russia. I arrived here on Wednes- day, in the Servia.” “Ah, how glad I am to see you again! It is all of eight years since we parted in Paris. But you look just the same as you did then—a little better, perhaps.” “You flatter me!” she said, with a sad, sweet smile. “ How is my—how is Lois?” “Well, very well; and happy, too. But she has grown to be a woman within the past year. Madame, the child is actually betrothed ! ” “ How?” The voice that uttered that monosylla- ble had suddenly grown sharp and in- cisive. The face of the singer grew if possible a shade paler. “T would not have wished it so,” the doctor said, quickly, “at least, not until she was several years older. She is only sixteen now.” “ Sixteen!” murmured Madame with a slizht start. * Yes.” “ But she fell in love before I saw how things were going, and it was too late to avoid the consequences. Fortunately, though, her lover is a man of excellent character. He is thirty -five, at least, and Lois loves him dearly.’ Madame passed her hand over her eyes.

Page 46

428 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “T am sorry for this,” she said, in tremulous tones. “™ What is his name?” “ Tresham—Colonel Reginald Tresham. He is an Englishman, and quite wealthy. He went to Africa to fight the Zulus, and won both fame and fortune. I be- lieve he discovered a diamond mine in Cape Colony.” “Yes,” she said, somewhat impatiently. “But what of him? Is he worthy of her, doctor? Are you sure he is worthy of her?” “T would stake my life on that, Madame. You may be sure he is worthy, when I am willing to accept him as a son-in-law in place of Neil Vincent.” “Ah! Then that old dream is over? What has become of your favorite? I— I thought he was fond of Lois.” “Too fond for his own good,—poor fellow! But he is winning a name in his profession, and fortune has smiled on him. He has inherited a fine name and an estate in Virginia. He is no longer Neil Vincent, but Neil Graham.” “Graham!” Madame gasped, half start- | ing from her chair. “In Virginia?” “Yes. A very fine estate, I am told. Good heavens! Madame, are you ill?” “No, no!” she cried, sinking back into her chair, “It was nothing—only I—I am fatigued. I will trouble you for a glass of water, Doctor.” He hurried away to get it, and left her with one slender white hand pressed con- vulsively over her eyes. “After all these years!” she murmured hoarsely. “Ah, Heaven! How weak I am! But Loisshould never have married one of that hated name—never, never!” The Doctor returned with a tray con- taining both water and wine. “Ah, you look better now,” he said, in a tone of relief. “I hope you do not overtax yourself. Tell me what you have been doing.” “There is not much to tell,” she an- swered, with an effort. “But you shall hear it another time. I have only a little while to stay. We rehearse this after- noon, and I would like to see Lois before I go.” “You will find her changed,” the Doc- tor said, as he rang the bell. “She has grown very pretty.” “ 1—I would like to meet this lover of hers,” Madame said, slowly, as the Doctor dispatched a servant for Miss Lois. “Of course! I am anxious that you should. I think you will like him. Ah! Here she comes! See here, my lady- bird, do you know who this is?” In her trailing robes of pale pink cash- mere, Lois stood for a moment on the threshold, hardly crediting her eyes. Then she uttered an exclamation of joy, and flung herself into the arms of Madame de Roy. “Ma plus chére taute!’ she cried. “ Ext ce possible que je te vais encore?” Tears rushed to the eyes of the beauti- tiful singer, as she clasped her to her heart in a passionate embrace. “Ah, mignonne!” she said, smiling. “You have not forgotten me, or the French I taught you in the Elysée Mon- martre?” “Dear Madame!” Lois cried, warmly. “T eould never forget you!” The great singer gently disengaged her- self, and held the girl off at arm’s length. As she looked down at Lois’ lovely face, lighted by a pair of large, dark eyes, and framed in a tangle of jetty curls, soft as silk, many strange emotions chased each other over Madame’s pale tace. “So like him in some ways,” she mur- mured, “and yet so unlike him in others!” “Child,” she said, aloud, “ you are very pretty. But I suppose your lover has told you that many a time.” Lois’ face flushed sweetly. “You have heard then?” she asked shyly. “Iam going to be married.” “Not right away, I hope! You are ‘o’er young to marry.’” “Not till next fall. teen then.” Madame de Roy smiled slightly. “T wish you had waited longer, Lois,” she said. “You won't say that when you see Colonel Tresham. Oh, he is—” She paused in the midst of her eulogy, and dropped her head with sudden con- fusion. “T have no doubt he is everything that is desirable in a lover,’ Madame said with a low laugh. “ But I shall not take him on faith, child. I insist upon seeing him before I form an opinion.” “T am sure you will like each other,” Lois said earnestly. “TI hope so. But I really must be go- ing. I shall see you again, Doctor. I I shall be seven- wt oes.

Page 47

b you Ah! lady- cash- 1 the eves. | joy, lame ried. uti- her ing. the [on- nly. er- rth. ely ark ‘itv ons ale ur- . ry lus ed WEDDED TO MISERY. 429 just came to tell you I was in town. I will talk to you again, Lois, about—stay! Why can’t you come and take luncheon with me to-day? My carriage is at the door.” “ Where are you stopping?” tor inquired. “ At the Brunswick.” “The Brunswick!” cried Lois. “Why, that is where Rex boards.” “Rex ?” queried Madame. “ Oh— Colonel Tresham! indeed? Well, so much the better! Now I am sure you won't refuse me. Go get your wraps, child.” Lois obeyed her eagerly. As she dis- appeared through the door, Madame’s eyes followed her with a tender, anxious look. “Tt is love,” she murmured; “and yet —it is not the love that I knew.” Once in the carriage, with Lois at her side, she clasped the girl in a close em- brace, and cried with passionate vehe- mence ; “My darling, my darling!. glad to see me again?” In a kind of mute wonder, Lois looked up at the pale, beautiful face that was bending over her. Hot tears fell upon her cheeks; the eyes that met her own were full of an unutterable love. “Yes, madame,” she said softly. “I am very, very glad.” Madame lunched that day in the din- ing-room, She and Lois had just taken their seats when Colonel Tresham entered. He noticed Lois with extreme surprise. “Here he is!” she exclaimed, and then, half unconsciously, she touched the vacant chair at her side. He came over and shook hands with her. “ Rex,” she said, with a happy flush on her face, “this is Madame de Roy, an old, old friend whom we knew in Paris when I was only five years old. Madame, this is Colonel Tresham.” Tresham’s dark melancholy eyes were lifted to the beautiful face of the singer, and then he started slightly. Not a line, not a feature of her face was familiar to him—except perhaps the eyes. But no! they were different, too. She did not in the least resemble any one whom he had ever known, and yet, as he met her earnest, questioning gaze, he felt a strange thrill that might have been ac- the Doc- Are you | counted for by that mysterious law of “elective affinities.” All in a moment he knew that this singularly beautiful woman was in some unknown way associated with his inner- most self. It could not be in the past, he thought, for he had never seen her before. What was the presentiment that influenced him so strongly? He could not tell. Meanwhile, Madame de Roy regarded him with extreme earnestness; but her face, schooled to mask her feelings, be- trayed not the slightest emotion. “A very handsome man,” she mur- mured, as Tresham took the vacant seat at Lois’ side. “ But much too old and too grave for her.” Lois was in high spirits. Her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks were like roses. Tresham watched her with a kindly, in- dulgent smile that did not escape Madame. “ He does not love her!” she exclaimed, with much misgiving. “ Or he loves her only as a child, My darling, my dar- ling, God keep you from sorrow and suffering! I could not bear to see your lite blighted, too.” She did not enter much into the con- versation, but, from time to time, Tresham met her eyes, which were fixed upon him as though she sought to know his inner- most soul. More than once the rich blood dyed his dark skin; for though his face was turned away, he knew that she was look- ing at him, and his pulse quickened. “ He will never deceive her,” thought Madame, as she noted the lofty contour of his brow, the noble carriage of his head, and the manly look that character- ized his whole bearing. ‘ He will never deceive her; but he will not—he can- not love her as Lois deserves to be loved. Oh, God, save her from that cruel fate that is worse than death—the fate of one who loves, yet is not beloved!” They rose from the table presently, and Tresham walked out of the diningroom at the side of Madame de Roy. “T have heard of you so often!” he said. “ Your name was familiar to me long before I came to America; but Lois has it on her lips daily. Madame de Roy seems to embody her idea of all that is lovely and excellent in woman; and,” he added, gallantly, “ I’m sure I don’t won- der.”

Page 48

—— 430 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. The great singer smiled. It pleased her to know that Lois thought of her ; the compliment was simply ignored. “And now,” Tresham continued, “I hope to learn what is her idea of a voice. Lois has always said to me that if she could sing like Madame de Roy, she would be quite satisfied.” ‘I think she will, some day,” Madame said, musingly. “The child had a very quick ear, and her middle register is un- usual. If her voice were cultivated, I should not be surprised to hear her in opera some day.” “T hope that time will never come! Tresham exclaimed, with a quick frown. “Do not encourage her in any such fancy, Madame, I beg you!” “Sir,” she answered, coldly, “J never try to influence Lois in any way. I have no right. But I am sorry to say you must excuse me now. I have an engage- ment this afternoon, and Lois—” “No apology, madame!” he said, quickly. “Good afternoon! I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you again.’ “How do you like him?” Lois asked, proudly, as her handsome lover walked away. “Like him?” echoed madame, as her eyes followed the manly figure till it passed out of sight. “Very much! But he is different trom what I expected—en- tirely different.” 9” CHAPTER IX. FAITH. Colonel Tresham was pacing the floor with restless strides. On the table lay two of the special librettos of the Royal Opera Company— ‘Norma” and “ Lucia di Lammermoor ” —containing the opinions of the press concerning the voice and vocalization of the celebrated French prima donna, Ma- dame Stephanie de Roy. Beside these yellow-covered books lay a pair of kid gloves, an opera glass, and envelope containing complimentary tickets for the evening at the Theatre. Tresham paused in his restless walk, and his eyes fell upon a picture of Madame de Roy, that was printed on the cover of the libretto. It was nothing but a wood-cut, which could not portray the spirituelle beauty of the great singer’s face; but at the sight of it, Tresham’s pulse began to throb. “What madness is this?” he cried, pas- sionately, as he turned the pamphlet over, and hid the face from view. “She fascinates me. I can think of nothing but the smile she gave me; I see nothing but that look of earnest appeal; I hear nothing but hername! Madame de Roy! I must not—I will not succumb to this strange influence.” Once more he began to pace his room, but an imperative rap arrested his foot- steps. It was Neil Vincent—Neil Graham— that entered the room. His face was deadly pale, and wore a look that Tresham could not mistake. He knew instinctively that his friend believed he had deceived him, and had come to demand a reckoning. “Neil, my dear boy!” he stammered, faintly, but Graham’s hand was at his throat, and choked his utterance. “ Traitor!” he cried, with flashing eyes. “You have deceived me! You have stolen Lois from me!” * Neil, Neil! Hear me, for God’s sake!” “Silence! No cavilling, no lies, Tres- ham. Answer me, yes or no. Is it true that Lois Langley is your promised wife?” “Yes!” Tresham answered, wrenching himself from Graham’s desperate clutch. “Stand back, Neil, before you do what you may repent.” “Repent!” hissed the frantic man. “T could kill you, in cold blood. Tres- ham, you are a liar and a knave.” The Colonel’s face blanched to a ghastly whiteness, but he still controlled himself. “ Neil,” he said, em “listen to me! No! You shall he: I did not deceive you. I swear that T told you the truth. I do not love Lois with such a love as yours. She is to me little more than a pretty, lovable child. I always thought of her as such. Never once did I seek to win her. Her love came to me unsought. It was only when I found her happiness at stake that I asked her to marry me. Neil, as God hears me, I would gladly give her up to you to-night, if I thought she would be happy.” His yoice and manner stilled the storm of passion in Graham’s breast ; but his words awakened thoughts of unutterable bitterness. “She loves you!” he cried, in tones of

Page 49

to ~~ re We -« ” a WEDDED TO MIS “J have loved her for years. I have loved her as a child, a girl, and now as a woman. There has never been a moment since I have known her, when I would not have laid down my life to serve her. And yet she gives her love— her love, to another—a stranger who says he does not prize it! O, God! This is too much.” In the utter ecstasy of despair, he sank down in a chair, and bowed his head upon the table. Tears were rolling down Tresham’s cheeks. He trembled with an emotion he could not master. “Neil,” he said, looking at his friend with unutterable grief’ and tenderness, “ I never dre: amed of this. O, my dear boy, believe me! I would sooner have died than have done this thing delibe rately. Why did you not confide in me? W hy did you not tell me all?” “ A man does not lay his heart bare for nothing,” he said, bitterly. “ But you could have trusted me.” “Vou!” = Yes, me! Qh, anguish. Neil! Look into my eyes. I am telling you the sacred truth. I did not know, or I would have stayed away, if it had cost me my life!” Graham lifted his head. His friend had sunk upon his knees, with the tears still wet upon his cheeks and a look in his -eves that silenced every doubt. For a moment he gazed at him, and then, with a sudden impulse, he grasped his hand. “T cannot doubt you, Rex!” he cried, hoarsely. “But—O, God! How ean I bear it?” “Tt is not too late,’ Tresham said, agerly. “You may win her yet. Neil, if you can make her love you, I will give her up gladly.’ “No,” Graham answered, hopelessly, ‘it is you whom she loves. You have won her—my darling, my beautiful little love!’ A mighty sob shook his stalwart frame, and his head sank again. It was long ere they spoke. When he raised: his head, his eyes met the sorrow- fi il vaze of his friend. “Tresham,” he said, huskily, “swear to me that you will hold her happiness gti that you will never, by look or word or deed, whatever the cost to ped give her a moment’s suffering ERY. 43 Swes ur r that you that you can . spare her. will do this.” “T will,” his friend answered, solemnly. “Her happiness shall always stand before my own—I swear it!” “ Rex,” cried Graham, springing to his feet, “I trust you in the face of all evi- dence, because I love you. Oh, tor God’s sake, do not deceive me!” “T never will!” Tresham answered with passionate emphasis. “ Neil, you shall trust me implicitly, because I give you faith for faith. To prove to you how absolute is my confidence, I will tell you the story of my wretched past; I will re- veal to you the secret of my life. Neil, the name you now bear is mine, also. J am Roland Graham!” “You!” he cried, staggering back. “You the man who murdered Commo- dore Graham!” “ Not murdered, Neil—it was not mur- der. Hear my story, and judge then. God knows how I have suffered! He knows at whose door the guilt lies.” The memory of the past swept over him like a tidal wave. The story of his wrongs fell from his lips in quick, pas- sionate utterance, and Neil Graham for- got his own great sorrow in the tale of anguish to which he listened with bated breath. ‘Tam that Roland Graham!” Tresham said bitterly at last. “I may deserve your contempt, but oh, Neil! by all I have suffered, do I not deserve your pityalso ?’ “More than that!” Graham cried, flinging his arms about him. “Rex—you will always be Rex to me! You have— you always shall have my eternal friend- ship. Oh, forgive me that I ever doubted you fora moment! Henceforth my trust shall follow you to the grave, my noble friend!” Strong men that they were, they were both trembling with emotion, both moved to tears. “Do not despair, Neil!” Tresham said, ere they parted. “ You have my consent to win Lois, if you can.” Graham shook his head sadly. “You are going to the opera to-night?” he said, glancing at the tickets on the table. “Yes, I wish you would join us.” “Perhaps I may, ’ Graham answered, wearily, but Tresham’s face brightened as he added:

Page 50

432 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “T wish you would. You may meet Madame de Roy.” CHAPTER X. THE ORDEAL OF FIRE. In the right proscenium box of the Theatre Lois was seated on the third opera night. She looked very lovely in an evening dress of soft creamy erape, with a Marechal Neil rose in her hair. Colonel Tresham sat beside her in a faultless full-dress suit, with a tuberose in his buttonhole—tender and attentive, but still very pale and subdued. The opera was “Lucia,” and Madame de Roy sang divinely. Never had the great prima donna looked more beautiful, never had she acted more perfectly, never had her voice sounded more like the voice of an angel. Tresham leaned back in his seat with that strange fascination. Every note that she sang thrilled him with ecstacy; every movement she made charmed him com- pletely. Toward the end of the second act, the door opened and Neil Graham entered the box. Tresham started out of a dream, when he felt his friend’s hand laid lightly on his shoulder. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “It is you, Neil. Lois!” She was leaning eagerly forward, drink- ing in every note of that wondrous melody. She turned as Tresham spoke, and gave Neil a smile of welcome. “Hush!” she whispered softly, as she held out her little gloved hand. “ Don’t speak now!” Neil took the little hand she gave him; his strong fingers closed over it, and he held it unrebuked. Tresham’s eyes were once more fixed upon the singer, and Lois was so much absorbed that she forgot herself. Neil saw nothing but the lovely girlish profile, the soft jetty curls that clustered about her neck, on which glistened a slender thread of gold, supporting some- thing that was hidden in her bosom. She had always worn that little chain ever since he had known her. The opera went on. Madame de Roy in shimmering robes of white satin held the audience entranced by her wonderful rendition of the Mad Scene. But suddenly a cloud of smoke burst forth from the left wing of the stage, and the awful, paralyzing crv of fire sent a thrill of horror through the listening muititude. The orchestra ended with a dissonant crash; in a moment all was the wildest confusion and fright. Tresham still had his eyes on Madame de Roy. As the flames burst forth and began to lap themselves about the scenery, she shrank back with a low, nervous ery. Tresham heard it. Without a thought or any recollection of Lois, he leaped on to the stage, and was at her side in a moment. Impelled by a wild, passionate desire to save her, he clasped her in his arms and bore her away as though she had been a child. She knew him in a moment. As his strong arms encircled her, and her head sank upon his shoulder, she clung to him with a sense of security and trust. Looking down at the beautiful face so near his own, Tresham’s eyes were lighted with a fire that had been smoldering for sixteen long years. “Darling!” he whispered, passionately, “cling close to me. I will save you, or we will meet our fate together.” She did cling to him with an abiding trust. As he clasped her closely in his arms, and rushed through one smoke- clouded passage after another, her white satin dress trailed on the floor, and her beautiful silver hair, which had been un- bound, and fell in rippling waves far be- low her waist, fell upon Tresham’s shoul- der like a drift of snow. He never forgot that moment till his dying day. The air was ringing with groans and shrieks; the heat and smoke were suffocat- ing. The crackle of the flames, the crash of timbers, and that pale, beautiful face pillowed on his breast, with its eyes upturned to his in a look he could not analyze. Tresham remembered how he fought his way out of the theatre; but just. when he felt the fresh air fanning his cheeks, one of the swinging doors crashed inward and struck him. He saw it coming, and turned so as to ward off its weight from her. That was all he remembered. a a ee a ae nD —_

Page 51

ful rst nd ing his ke- Lite her un- be- yul- got und cat- the iful yes not ght hen eks, ard s to was WEDDED TO MISERY. 433 When he opened his eyes. he was lying in his own room at the Brunswick, and Neil was seated by his bed-side. It was broad day-light, and a flood of golden sunshine filled the room. The fire seemed very far away in Tres- ham’s recollection; but he remembered the falling door, and shuddered. His lips moved slightly. Neil bent over him, but could not hear what he was trying to say. “Lois is safe, Rex,” he said, trying to divine the cause of his anxiety, “sate and unhurt. Madame de Roy escaped, too, thanks to you. She was hurt a little, but she will soon be all right again.” A look of intense relief’ passed over Tresham’s features. “Thank God!” he murmured, faintly. “T could not have borne it to lose her.” Neil turned his face away to hide a look of pain. y “ He does love her,” he murmured, bit- terly. “She is lost to me forever.” It was weeks before Tresham was well again. During the long days and nights that he lay there stretched upon a bed of pain, there was but one thought present to his mind, and that thought was burdened with despair. He loved Madame de Roy! Yes, he loved her. All the pent-up passion of years had burst into a flame. He loved her with the whole strength and fervor of his ardent soul, and he loved her in vain. “(, God!” he eried in the agony of his spirit. “I have not asked for happiness. Only grant me peace. After all I have suffered, all I have borne, spare me this.” It was a bitter struggle. He knew that the strange, beautiful woman for whom he had conceived this unreasonable passion was near him, under the same roof. He felt by some subtle instinct that he had it in his power to make her love him, and yet he was bound to Lois, bound by a hundred ties, fetiered by honor, and the solemn oath that come what would, her happiness should always stand before his own. “God help me!” he said, burying his face in his hands. “This is but a fitting sequel to the past.” There came a day when he was able to sit up, worn and haggard, but still con- valescent. Madame de Roy had sent daily to in- quire for him, but now for the first time she came to see him herself. Tresham was seated at the window in his little private parlor, inhaling the per- fume of the flowers blooming in a ma- jolica jardiniére. The great singer was clad, as she al- ways was off the stage, in deep black. Her long silken skirts rustled softly as she crossed the room, and held out to him a beautiful hand of marvellous whiteness. “Colonel Tresham,” she said, in a voice that trembled slightly, “I cannot express the gratitude I feel. I know not how to thank you.” Tresham’s hand closed over hers, and he did not offer to release it again. He sat there perfectly mute and passive, with his eyes fixed upon her face, over which a soft flush was slowly creeping. The memory of Lois faded away. His whole soul went out to the woman who stood before him in her regal beauty, the woman whose hand he held closely clasped in his own. “Don’t!” he said, earnestly, as she opened her lips to speak again. “ You do not—you cannot know what happiness it affords me to serve you.” She could not mistake his look and tone, and, like a dream, she recalled the words he had spoken on that night of peril to them both. A look—a spasm, almost of terror flasheh across her face. “Hush!” she* cried, shrinking back. * Remember Lois!” Tresham fell on his knees at her feet, and lifted the hem of her dress to his lips. “T do remember Lois,” he said, pas- sionately. “I could not be such a wretch as to forget her. I mean to make her happy—I mean to make her my wife; but it is you whom I love, you whom I worship, Madame de Roy! You—yvu you a She shrank still farther from him; but her whole form was shaken with over- whelming emotion; the color came and went in her face like a flickering fire. As Tresham raised his eyes to her, he caught one glimpse of a possible heaven, from which he knew that he must turn away. “You love me!” he cried, passionately, holding out his arms to her. “ Darling, > darling! ” y!

Page 52

i é 7 ¥ : r if re aa 434 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “No, no!” she answered, with des- perate vehemence. “I must not—I can- not! Love is not for me, Colonel Tres- ham,—your love least of all. O, Lois! My darling, forgive me!” “You shall not deny the truth,” Tres- ham said, hoarsely. “I know it—I feel it. For God’s sake, give me the only comfort possible. I will never speak to you again—never cross your path!” “Let me go!” she cried, wrenching her skirts out of his grasp. “You know not what you ask. Even if Lois did not stand between, there is another.” “Another! Whom?” “My husband.’ “Your husband!” he gasped. “I thought—” “You thought ‘Madame’ was merely a stage title? You were mistaken, like many another. I have a husband of my own.” : She laughed bitterly, and the sound of her voice chilled Tresham to his heart’s core. Slowly, and with a painful effort, he rose to his feet. “My fate pursues me,” he murmured. “Madame de Roy, I crave your forgive- 99 ness. His head sank heavily upon his breast; there was a rustle of silken drapery, and, when he looked up again, she was gone. (Coneluded in our next.) * = SHIPS ASTRAY. MRS. WHEELER HAWLEY. QUESTION. Where is the ship that was meant for me ’” Perhaps it was wrecked on life’s fitful sea. Or did it sail to some other fair clime ? And they whom it came to know not it was mine. It must be so, and I wait in vain For my ship that’s laden with hope and gain. Still I must pace this dreary gray sand, And think it righ? that another hand Will use the gold and drink the wine, Hidden away in that ship of mine. If it must be so, proud heart, be still, Bow to your fate if it is His will. ANSWER. Wait no longer for ships of earth Laden with gold, wine, or mirth, Look up higher where crowns of gold, Are awaiting the lowly Christian soul. In exchange for ships that oft go astray, It may be a crown and eternal day. ONE NOVEMBER NIGHT. A ROMANCE OF HALLOW F’EN. BY MRS. NELLIE EYSTER. Sauntering down a pine-shaded avenue of Pacific Grove, Monterey, one evening of this summer’s vacation, I halted near the cedar wreathed tent of my interesting and vivacious acquaintance, Miss Priscilla. She was a prominent figure in the fore- ground of the magnificent picture before me, as, nearly enveloped in a scarlet shawl, one fringed corner of which partly concealed her brown hair, she swung in her hammock like a gayly-plumaged bird in its nest. One forefinger was thrust between the leaves of a volume of Herbert Spencer, while the right hand was held between the dazzling rays of the setting sun, and a man and woman, who stood, in bold re- lief, upon the cliff in front of us, overhang- ing the Bay of Monterey, and looking out toward the ocean. Priscilla was a woman of moods and tenses; I had discovered that fact long ago and learned to respect it. Now, although her eyes seemed riveted upon the noble looking pair who were standing as still as statues, 1 questioned whether she saw them or me until, without remov- ing her gaze, she said, with a quiver of her lips half between a sigh and a smile; “What a precious pair of dunces we were, and yet—how rough the road that leads out from the harmless superstitions of our youth into the colorless realisms of maturer years.” “Quoting from the philosopher in your hand, or shall I credit that remark to you as a piece of original thinking?” “As mine legimately, by the right of a ridiculous experience. You see that party ahead, don’t you? Well! he is one of the leading men and minds in San Francisco; his wife is a society queen: They have “lots” of money, give grand entertain- ments, and patronize all that is artistic in real art, while I am an unknown and humble School marm in San José you know—but years ago we three were on the same social plane “away down souf in ole Virginny” and there’s where the dear old fun happened : ‘Ah me! to think of it, Only to dream of it,’ as np a £2 ot ae a

Page 53

n d e- r= 1t W, ao 1g er ns ty he 0 ve n- in nd as re wn re

ONE NOVEMBER NIGHT. 435

Her sudden laugh rang out as merrily as a chime of sleigh bells; then her eyes grew darker beneath the shadow of a passing thought, as she continued: “And after fifteen years of separation, here we meet most unexpectedly in California, they, a part of its greatness; I, a—” “Tantalus of a story teller, for you know our common weakness. Give me the ‘experience’ now, while the living links are almost within grasp, ’ I said. “ But [ never got it until it came to me in the form of on adjunct to a merry Jetter.” The story is told so ns iturally, and there is so much freshness in its display of girl- ish simplicity and old-time fun, that I beg the readers of the Lapy’s Book to enjoy it with me. “Ona certain Friday morning, October 31th, of eighteen hundred and long ago, Aunt Dorothea sat at the head of the breakfast table, and Uncle Nathan at the foot. He was its autocrat, she its oracle; while I, the orphan niece reared by their bounty, and dependent upon their love for the joy and brightness of my young life fancied myself, as I was, sandwiched between them, its spice. The pair were brother and sister, bachelor and maiden ; so like and yet so unlike that the one needed but to be in the affirmative upon any subject, from the creation of the world to the shape of General Jackson’s nose, to be opposed by the other with every argument in the range of his or her limited logic.” “*T think,’ said my aunt, emphatically, as she violently stirred her cup of cottee, a sure symptom with her of mental ex- citement, ‘that without a belief in the supernatural, as a proof of the immediate and material agencies of divine power, one might as well live like a heathen, and you know it, Nathan.’ “<T know you to be not only a foolish but an irreverent woman, Dorothy, filling this child’s head with such abominable nonsense. I tell you, no event ever has or ever will occur, which cannot be traced to a natural cause if one has the wit and patience to seek for it. But when did woman ever reason out anything different from the way she wanted it to be?” and sawing his mouth from ear to ear with his red bandana handkerchief, he strode out of the room with anything but the measured tread which typefied a meek and gentle spirit.

“The subject under discussion, which had evoked my aunt’s pious platitudes and my uncle’s dogmatic denunciation, was the near approach of hallow-eve, and the marvelous revelations which fate— my aunt assured me—had been known to grant those who sought to pry into the future, during its magic hours. “Now, if there ever existed that psycho- logical phenomena, a girl of one idea, it was I at that period; and the overwhelm- ing desire was to find out by some occult means, into whose masculine hands would be placed the rein which was to guide my earthly destiny as a wife. Not that I was particularly in love with any body to my uncertain knowledge, but I had be- gun to ‘dream dreams,’ and from out the one most vivid in my memory at that time, Eben Taylor’s blue eyes looked into mine the most lovingly, and his alone was the presence which created that myster- ious and blissful tremor somewhere in the region between my throat and dia- phragm, vulgarly called ‘palpitation of the heart. “Not without some reason, too. Had he not, as a proof of his confidence in me told me the secret, which, as a-dry-good’s clerk he had sworn never to reveal, viz., that his employer’s cost-mark was Jacobus Rex? Had he not also written in my album a poem without quotation marks, beginning:

To PRISCILLA: Oh, thou, with soft blue eyes and sunny hair, Thou hast the name the Holy Virgin bore? “In very truth I had been baptized Priscilla, which was affectionately abbre- viated to Silly by Uncle 1 Nathan; and my eyes and hair, unlike those of the ideal Madonna, were the color of a ripe dewberry ; but I knew Eben meant to say that to him I was pure and exalted— and I was no heartless critic. If he had a rival, it was my most intimate friend, Jessie Grande, or ‘Grand Jessie’ as in the depths of my loyal and loving heart I delighted to “call her. She, but one year my senior—and I was but seventeen —was a glorious creature, as wild as a partridge, as full of caprices as a March hare, and as difficult to entrap in the sly game of ‘win and wear.’ “We were very retired village girls, as uncultured as clover blossoms, yet with plenty of village beauty, who had never told their love; but now, thanks to the

Page 54

—— 436 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. genial sympathy and strong internal con- sciousness of Aunt Dorothea, we had learned the open sesame into the golden- lined cave of futurity, if we would but have the courage to try its potency and enter In. “Since the first of October, when aunt had carelessly scattered the ripe seeds of her sentimental experiences upon the virgin soil of my imagination, they had taken root, and grown with almost the luxuriance and rapidity of Jonah’s gourd. The word Hallow Eve had become cabal- istic, and it seemed to me that all I heard or read of the past, present, or future, but nourished my morbid desire to ‘try my fortune’ after the traditional fashion. It might have been the motor which I blindly called destiny, which was urging me, or it might have been the comming- ling of certain natural and subtle causes whose effect I named coincidences. Cer- tainly, everything within the narrow boundary of my daily life seemed know- ingly and unknowingly to feed this mush- room of a fancy, and even my aunt’s kitchen furnished its modicum of inspira- tion. Its queen (and one of my warmest friends) was a tall, angular, and quite in- telligent Scotch-Irish girl, who, con- fessing to have had two and forty birth- days, the larger number of which had been spent in the ‘ould counthry,’ had entertained me for many an hour bya recital of the popular and poetic legends of ‘Erin’s green isle.’ She had over- heard the entire conversation at the breakfast-table ; and a few hours later, while | was helping her seed the raisins for the Sunday plum-pudding, she had thus addressed me : “*Shure, Miss Silly ! an’ it’s misilf that’s afther belaving Misther Nathan doesn’t know ivery thing, no more than any other mon. that’s niver done any sparkin’ to clear the litter from his brains; or he’d be niver the mon to shpake so disparag- ing of the blissid saints who go about the night of HaMow Eve, puttin’ swate dhrames into the heads of poor mortals. “ * Them that thries their fortins wid faith that whativer’s a goin’ to be will be, are niver disappinted, as I saw once wid my own eyes, “*Whin I war young—och! that I should have to live to git oldher ivery day—my mother’s home was in Dungan- non. I had an aunt, though, who lived in the nate little town of Cogh, county of Derry ; an’ airly in the month of October, I wint down to pay her a visit. She had an only darthur, my Cousin Norah. Och! and she wor a purty craythur, wid eyes as black as sloes, teeth as white as the in- side of a conch-shell—barrin’ yer own, Miss Silly, which are jist like them—and cheeks like the heart of a kilkenny rose. Norah had niver a sister or brother ; nay- thur had I, so we loved each other intirely, and niver a bit of a heart-sacret had ither of us, but we’d be afther tellin’ the hull of it to one anither as clane and thrue as we'd tell it to the praste. “* Right ferninst my aunt’s house, there lived one owld Sargint McKee, who had a nephew that was a docther, Edward Shaunnissey by name, or Docther Ned, as ivery one delighted to call him. Troth indade, thin, there wasn’t a splindider young mon in the whole county of Derry, nor Dublin naythur, thin he: so kind alike to rich an’ poor, so larned an’ gin- tale in all his talk, an’ wid such illegant manners, that if it was a rainy day, an’ we would mate him in the shtrates, he would take off his hat so proud-like, an’ smilin’, that it was almost as good as sun- shine. Now, Norah was the innocentest craythur in the world, an’ one day as we were both a sittin’ by the front windy a knittin’, an’ Docther Ned came ridin’ by on his prancin’ pony, as proud-like an’ bowld as a young king, Norah tweeted at me like, an’ she says, ‘Jane!’ says she, while her brown lashes fell over her eyes like silk fringin’, ‘ Jane, if I wor a rich lady like Miss Ellen Congree, jist fur to have Docther Ned sit by my side for one hour, an’ shphke wid me so kind an’ rispictful as he does wid her, I’d be almost contint to die aftherwards.’ “*Och Hone, Norah!’ said I ‘an is’nt it yersilf that’s a thousand times swater an betther lookin’ than Miss Ellin, wid all her goold, and faix! but I wish he wor afther findin’ it out.’ “*Och macushla! Niver say that again or I’ll die for shame’ said Norah an her rid cheek got white as an egg shell. Well, the ind of the month came, an wid it Hallow Eve. All the girls in town was preparin’ different quare ways to find out who was the lad that loved ’em most; so Norah and I hunted up the asiest and surest plan, which was to shtale a pickled herrin’ and before going to bed, ate it

Page 55

of er, had eh! ves in- wn, and Use. ay- ely, had the ind ere nad ard , as oth der ry, ind rin- ant an’ he an’ un- test we ya by an’ ted ays her ra jist side ind | be s’nt ater all wor rain her ‘ell, 1 it was out > sO and cled e it ONE NOVEMBER NIGHT. 437 without washin’ it, head, bones, tail and all. ‘But where toshtale one widouta buyin’ of it, there was the throuble. Jist at airly twilight, Aunt sint of us roun’ the edorner to Widow Rooney’s grocery for some tay. While she wor weighin’ of it, I an’ Norah, each slid our hands in a barrel where was salted herrin’, an’ hidin’ them under our aprons, took the tay an walked off’ as innocent lookin’ as the stars. Now the spell was—after ating the herrin’ wid our eyes shut—to git into bed backwards without shpakin’ a word an go to shlape. We'd drhame shure that we were thirsty an the mon who would give us wather wor the one we'd be shure to marry. “*Well! weate our herrings—Oh, wirra! wirra! but they wor an awful dose—an’ soon got into bed. Bye and bye I got awake wid a terrible thirst; my throat seemed on fire, my tongue was parched an dhry like paper, and nivir a word of a dhrame had I had yit that I could re- mimber. “*Norah! Norah!’ I shouted, but she slipt on quiet as a baby; so gropin’ my way down to the kitchin—fur it war midnight an black as sin—I found the churn setting in one corner full of sour buttermilk, an I dhrunk—and I dhrunk, yis indade, nigh on to a quart. Thin my mouth got cooler, an I wint back to bed. Norah still slept on; but jist whin the first shtrake of daylight came into my room, I was wakined by hearin’ her call in a quick loud voice ‘O Doctor Ned! Doctor Ned, give me wather; For the love of heaven give me wather.’ “*T thought she was dhramin of him an’ only laughed, but thin she moaned so pitiful that I sprung up an’ thried to wakin her. Och! She wor not shlapin’, no indade, but in a burin’ ragin’ fever, and all her ery was for Docther Ned an’ some wather. Aunt wor most scared to death. She run for Docther Ned, who came at once, an’ sat down by poor Norah’s bed for hours, puttin’ ice-cloths to her white forehead—for she was flighty like a looney—an’ tryin’ in her swate low voice to calm her down,’ “*Did she live?’” I asked, deeply in- terested in the humbie heroine. “*Indade an’ she did,’ replied Jane, triumphantly, ‘an’ that’s why I say, whativer is to be, will be. She had a sore time though for three weeks or more. All the rid blood left her roun’ chakes, till she was white as a lily, but Docther Ned watched over her like an angel, an’ if she loved him more ivery day, indade it was no wonder. One afthernoon I wint into her room; she had just began to sit up in an asy chair, an’ if she was thin an’ pale, she was beautiful anyhow. Docther Ned must have thought so, too, for her head was layin’ on his shoulder, an’ he was knalin’ beside her holdin’ her little hand in ’is, an’ looking at her like she was the pictur of the Blissid Virgin.” “*An’ what’s afther bein’ the wrong now?’ said I. “*Tt’s just bein’ the right, Jane,’ said he, lookin’ as happy as heaven. ‘ Your cousin Norah has promised me _ niver again to ate another whole pickled her- ring, nor try to find out what mon loves her most, for plase all the saints, before next Hallow Eve she’ll be my own little wife—an’ niver another will love her su well an’ thrue as I.’ “And did he, Jane?’ I earnestly asked. “*Shure an’ ye’re as onbelavin’ the thruth as yer Uncle Nathan—bad luck tou him—Of course he did. ‘Don't the birds go in pairs, And the rabbits and hares? Why shouldn’t they be afther doin’ the same? Arrah now, Miss Silly! belave me; there’s a hape more goin’ on inside our lives than folks, mon folks ’specially, sees on the outside.’ “And I believed Jane as I did the prophets of old. As if to cap the climax of my convictions and strengthen my courage to which Jane’s story had added no little weight, our good old minister, whom I reverenced as I did the Bible and Fox’s Book of Martyrs, closed his sermon the next morning with the sen- tence ‘According to thy faith be it unto thee. And however seemingly in- consistent thy desire may seem with the manifestation of natural laws, if thy prayer reaches the divine ear, it shall be granted thee in that limitless measure of omnipotent benevolence whose gauge is ever and only, according to thy faith.’ “Not another point in that excellent discourse from its ‘firstly’ to its ‘six- teenthly,’ could I have recalled even un- der inquisitorial tortures, and little did the saintly speaker dream of the eon that one of the youngest of his flock was about to make of his consecrated words. ’

Page 56

43 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “At length the first of November and Hallow Eve came. With what intense eagerness I waited for supper to be over, the chickens to go to roost, the evening star to rise, or any other event which would usher in the ‘early candle light’ of that evening sacred to love and mys- tery. Having arranged to spend the night with Jessie, 1 received aunt Doro- thy’s kiss of benediction and encourage- ment, and ran down the one long street to her father’s house. It stood quite apart from the neighbors, surrounded by a picket fence, and almost hidden from view in a solid square of Lombardy pop- lars, which shivered and moaned and wailed in the first November wind like so many howling dervishes. “T had passed the two most important stores in the village on my route: that in which Eben Taylor, with large white hands, measured yellow flannel and blue calico, and into which I cast a furtive and burning glance as I hurried by the open door; and the new ‘Grocery and ‘Hardware Emporium,’ where in great golden letters on a black sign-board the name ‘Nelson Meredith’ announced the proprietorship and enterprise of its owner. Jessie was unquestionably the belle of the village, and of the many aspirants for her favor, none was more ardent and _persist- ent than the quiet, self-sustained, noble and modest young grocer. Strange in- consistency! She esteemed no one so lightly. “*T have a soul above breakfast bacon and white crockery,’ she had recently said to me, with a saucy curve of her red lip. ‘ Besides, the man that remains as stolid us & Dutch doll, whether you smile or frown upon him, is too tame for my taste. He has no dare in him, no impulse: if I were drowning, he would first ask my per mission before he’d jump in to save me. Don’t mention him: he irritates me more than I can express.’ “*He looks every inch a man, Jess,’ I retorted, for although he rarely noticed me, he was nearly my ideal hero. “*Pray! is that any special virtue? So does Deacon Muncy, and you know we despise him.’ “*Then too, he is as bold as a lion, and remarkably steady and reliable; Uncle Nat says,’ I continued. “*Silly! I cannot bear ‘steady’ young men. They are as prosy as they are un- natural. Mr. Meredith would not turn aside from the straight line of properness fora kingdom. He is goodish, ‘only that and nothing more,’ and I would’nt be his wife.for a pint of pearls and diamonds.” “* Has he asked you, Jess?’ “T was curious, for altho’ we were as closely united in our girlish ‘sunshines and shades’ as twin cherries on a stem, Jessie was reticent upon all matters which involved the self-respect of her lovers. It was a rare virtue. Her answer was a shrug of her graceful shoulders and a dropping of her creamy eyelids over her great gray eyes, which I was at liberty to interpret just as I chose. “ For weeks preceding this conversation, Nelson Meredith had passed and repassed us daily, with a bow of recognition only, and whenever thrown in company with Jessie, was as politely curt and indepen- dent in his treatment of her, as to the veriest stranger who crossed his path. I recalled this, naturally, as I checked my speed when nearing his door, forgetting until I reached it and peeped in, that he had gone to a distant city two days previous, nor would return, positively, until the end of the following week. “With asigh for the unknown, but I doubted not illimitable happiness of being loved and wooed after the chivalric foshion of those gallant knights, Sir William Wal- lace and Thaddeus of Warsaw, I sped on and reached Jessie’s house, panting, almost breathless, and as expectant of some over- whelming revelation, as my fore-mother, Eve, when ‘“¢Her rash hand in evil hour, Forth reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she ate.’ “*Which shall we try first, Jessie?’ I said, as sitting in the broad window-sill of her own room, we seriously laid our plans for the night’s campaign. «Suppose you do the ball of twine and I the \eking glass,’ she replied, ‘but we will have to take separate rooms or the charm will not work,’ looking, as she spoke, as brave and beautiful as my fav- orite picture of St. George attacking the dragon. Indeed, if ever before a doubt had assailed me that Joan d’Are was a mythical personage, because valor such as hers was impossible to a woman, it then and there vanished, as I realized in my Jess, that the sublimity of courage could be represented by a blushing girl. “* My trial is the hardest, Silly,’ she con- os — -—— 8 = oe

Page 57

of ins nd we he she iV- the ibt , a len my ld Ole

ONE NOVEMBER NIGHT. 439

tinued, ‘I am to go into the room, turn around three times ere I close the door, walk backward to the mirror, suddenly face it, eat an apple which I am to hold in my left hand, and comb out my hair with my right, all the time looking steadily in the mirror; soon I will see the image of the man I am to marry reflected from over my right shoulder.’ “*And I, Jess! I have forgotten my part already, for I am a little nervous, I be- lieve. Aren’t you?’ “<Pshaw! You are simply to sit at the open window of the dark room—in here, I suppose, throw out your ball of twine, holding fast to one end of the string, and say slowly three times “As I unwind my lover winds,”’’ “*Oh, Jess! Will he, really?’ “<Of course, if he’s true. Only believe, you know.’ “The tall old clock in the dining-room struck ten, and the house settled into a night-quiet, as with my candle in her hand, and a face as solemn-looking as Edgar Poe’s raven, Jessie left me alone in her room, and proceeded to an apartment at the other end of the hall, where the mir- ror could reflect her pretty figure from top to toe. “Summoning my courage, I stood at the opened window, and throwing out three or four yards of the white cord, I began slowly to unwind, beginning the incanta- tion so low I could not hear my own voice. I faced the east, and the moon, in her third quarter, was just silvering the tree-tops. To the end of time I shall re- member the weird aspect of that night’s outlines. Round after round paid out through my trembling fingers, but there was no response. More than half the ball was gone, and I was at the end of my second repetition. Pshaw! It was all a humbug—but just then the cord tightened. Tangled in something, I thought. Mercy! no! it jerked percept- ibly. Somebody was at the other end! Never did telegram fly more rapidly than the electric thrill which almost palsied my arm, as it flew along the linen thread. Another strong jerk! My heart stood still. ‘As I un—’ no use, my lips were rigid with fear, I was dumb as a stone; but see him I must, were he twenty times a ghost. I leaned out, holding fast to the tightening string, when looking up at me from the ground I saw two glaring rings VoL. CXI1.—29,

of fire, and as the ball fell from my nerve- less grasp, Tim, Jessie’s old Maltese cat, sped across the lawn as fast as his tangled fore paws would permit. That horrid cat! From that day to this I have had no feline attachments. Of course Eben was faithless, or his disembodied hand would have been stretched forth to choke the cat who had impishly intruded upon that supreme moment of our lives. Blind- ing tears filled my eyes, and I was aglow with secret mortification. It was to me as though I had knelt at Eben’s feet, and asked his love, only to be rejected. A little envelope was in my apron pocket even then, containing a bunch of withered pansies and the original lines: “<This evening I am quite unwell, The cause of which I cannot tell. Accept these pansies, and send to me In return, your sympathy.’ “The envelope had been thrust under the front door the evening previous, and at least six times that day I had read over the delicious, easy-flowing rhyme; with the proud consciousness that the world would some day bow to another poet, and I would be his ‘ Highland Mary.’ “Wrapping myself in the sackcloth and ashes of my misery, I crept on tiptoe across the matted hall, to see how Jessie was faring. Her door was ajar as I entered noiselessly. How charming she looked as she stood with her unbound hair rippling in goldish-hued strands to her knees, and her eyes staring upon the senseless mirror with an intensity which should have quickened all the mercury in its frame! No one else was visible or in- visible. Why should not I be the lover over the right shoulder? So peep I did, directly through the yellow tresses, and my reward was a real start and stifled scream such as no queen of tragedy ever excelled. “*Q Silly, How could you!’ she ex- claimed when her pulse beat slower, ‘ He was just coming, I know. Silly! Silly! How could you—?’ “* Be so silly as to be satisfied to live an old maid, oad fondle cats through half a century? Not I.’ I retorted. “Then I related my wretched experience, and its comic ending, while she confessed to having, early that evening, cut from out a newspaper all the letters of the alphabet in capitals; put them in a basin of rain water, faces downwards; and hid

Page 58

440 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. the basin under the bedstead; an hour atterward (having spoken tc no one in the interval) she had walked backwards to it; touched her forehead three times to the earth like a devout Turk; then looked into the basin with the expectation of find- ing that the initials of her future lord had ‘turned up;’ ‘and, don’t you think Silly,’ she said ‘all that I saw was X. Y. Z. Now just faney me loving even a cherubim if his name began with Xerxes or Zebe- dee.’ “When a greater hero, named Nelson, was at hand,’ I added slyly. “*Pshaw! “No more of that, as thou lovest me.” That delusion died’ months ago,’ and if as she spoke, the carmine of her round cheeks grew a shade deeper, it surely was because she raised her arms above her head as she twisted her heavy hair into a coronal. “So far, we were disappointed fortune hunters, defeated at our strongest points. But one avenue into the hidden future was yet open to our limited knowledge of mysticisms, and that was so full of name- less horrors that the coolest nerves had failed in the trial. Aunt Dorothea said so. It was called ‘The Cold Supper.’ There belonged to it a tradition of a spirit lover, who, during its performance, had gone through with the farce of cutting his own throat; and the poor girl who witnessed it while ‘trying her luck,’ having, when married, been murdered by her own husband. “ * Nevertheless,’ said the brave Jessie, ‘having gone this far, let us try even it, and see what is going to be, even if it never comes to pass. I wonder if we are having enough faith?’ She asked it with the seriousness of another Felix. “*O, Jess, faith is a will-o-the-wisp, and we are the victims of our own credulity. Let us go to bed,’ I urged, realizing in my heart’s deepest depths as I spoke, that it was better to trust on and be deceived, than to lose the blessedness of trusting Eben. “¢Then I shall try it alone,’ said Jessie, with a look of such cool determination that I was magnetized into yielding. “It was now half-past eleven: thirty minutes more, and the book of fate would be sealed to us for another long year. There was no time to lose; so seudding along in shoeless feet to awaken no mem- bers of that incredulous family, we reached ' the long, narrow dining-room, now cold and dark. Reassuring each other by a fervent pressure of the hand—for we dared not speak, lest the spell would be broken —we proceeded, according to Aunt Dor- othea’s previous directions, to make the necessary preparations for what consti- tuted a Hallow Eve Cold Supper. “We laid the table with plates, knives, and forks for four; a few slices of thinly- cut bread, some salt, and a tumbler of water at each plate, composed the menu. We were to open wide the front door; sit at the table in perfect silence, each beside a vacant chair, and as the clock struck twelve, ‘the solemn hour when graveyards yawn and ghosts do noiseless tread,’ the spirits of our predestined husbands—were we to have any—would glide in, each to the side of his mate, make a feint to eat bread and salt, then mysteriously vanish into thin air, until the appointed time for them to reappear in the flesh. “Oh, the goddess of'Common Sense, and ye disciples of Epicurus! I would not again go through such an awful ordeal for as many suitors as the renowned Penelope or the magic sword of an Alexander. It is a wonder our hairs did not bleach whiter with fear than by any now-known chemi- cal process, and our fair young faces grow aged in the swing of a pendulum; for we had scarcely sat down and ‘settled,’ ere the wind, which had been toying with its strength all afternoon, began to blow al- most a hurricane. The windows rattled in the loose casements; one opened shutter banged against the wall, like a blow from a sledge-hammer or the thud of a mailed hand; and—the candle went out. The moonlight streamed into the room with generous radiance, and I saw that Jessie’s face was as gray as ashes. I could hear, notwithstanding, the war of the elements, the rhythmic pulsation of our two hearts, and the current of blood surging from the right to the left ventricle, as no micro- phonic aid of to-day could have equalled. Suddenly the old clock whirred, wheezed, stopped, then struck twelve. A firm, ringing step was heard at the front door; three or four strides, and a man’s form darkened the doorway, and then sat for one instant in the chair alongside Jessie. Only an instant, however, for the next five minutes were a chaos of ‘confusion worse confounded.’ Jessie fell back in her chair in a dead faint. I saw the man stvop and

Page 59

ONE NOVEMBER NIGHT. 441 hurriedly kiss her; then as hurriedly he vanished, closing the hall door after him with a power of touch wonderfully matter- of-tact for an immaterialized lover. The apparation was that of Nelson Meredith: I would have sworn it in all the courts of Christendom. Nevertheless, when our vil- lage choir met for rehearsal the following evening, and our leader’s old tuning fork gave us the key-note of “Geneva,” we missed the deep organ tones of Nelson’s bass, which always upheld so boldly our reckless sopranos; and mingling with a chorus of Handel was an under-current of almost petulant regrets that Mr. Mere- dith could not possibly take his ‘part’ on the coming Sabbath, by reason of his hay- ing been, and still being, so far away. Eben was there, the faithless Eben, who had not tried to defy fate, even though my hand was to be the guerdon of his ef- forts; and somehow, he had already dropped through the meshes of my fancy into the merest common-place of a village clerk. “ Jessie remained at home all day, with that unpathologized convenience, a wo- man’s headache. “Weeks passed. Nelson returned, but made no effort to gain the favor once de- nied him. Of course I had made our midnight adventure into another social salad tor our dinner table—at least Jessie’s experience; for mine, at least my disap- polmtment, was too sensitive to be touched by unholy hands. “*Just as I told you,’ said Uncle Na- thaniel, with his grim chuckle of self- complacency, which was harder for me to swallow than a dose of aloes. ‘You were the victim of an optical illusion. Read Chambers upon that subject, and you'll be wiser than your poor aunt in your day and generation.’ “* Just as J told you,’ echoed my aunt. ‘There are stranger things ’twixt heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Nathan, We'll bide our time and see.’ “ But of all unexpected things, was the change which, after that night, gradually took place in Jessie. She had made me swear that I would never, even under inquisitorial torture, reveal the name of the ‘object’ (mot ghost) that had kissed her upon the dreadful occasion; and I did, excepting only to uncle and aunt. The sparkle went out of her; she iost her power of saucy repartee, and grew as cold and indifferent to her many admirers as another Britomarte. Even, the bloom left her round cheeks, and she seemed to me as one over whom the knowledge of some heavy doom was pending. “‘Surely Jess, you do not believe in that “Cold Supper” affair,’ I said one day, ‘for see, Mr. Meredith never comes near you. The wise books say, that men like he, of bilious sanguine temperament, are proverbially fickle.’ *“Fickle! He’s as true as steel—but— he is also as proud as Lucifer, and knows his own value,” she hastily replied, with an injured air. “*Umph! This is tardy justice,’ I said, and grew more perplexed than ever. “Two uneventful months passed when one evening Jessie expressed a desire to attend the ‘Methodist revival’ then in progress, ‘that is, if we can go without an escort’ she said. The church in which it was being held was the one place of rendezvous and ex- citement in our village, and thither, after business hours, everybody’s feet turned. Jessie and I sat near the door where we entered, and shortly after our arrival, the two vacant pews in our rear were filled by men, we thought, for we would not have looked behind us to make sure of it for a kingdom. The doors were closed and the fervor of the exhorter increased as the supply of oxygen in the air-tight room diminished. He was the village blacksmith, and just while invoking the loving Father to let ‘the tilt-hammer of Thy wrath fall upon the head of every unrepentant sinner in this community,’ with a low groan Jessie fell against me in a swoon. “«Please Miss Priscilla! She needs air, that is all,’ said a low voice over my shoulder; and before I could collect my thoughts, she was in the vestibule, sup- ported by Nelson Meredith’s arm, while her white face jay upon his breast as con- tentedly as the head of ar infant upon its pillow. “So it chanced—or was destined—that the next Hallow Eve, Jessie, the bride of - , a month; Nelson Meredith, the ‘steady young husband; and I, still silly enough to await my heart’s true mate, sat in their gem of a ‘country parlor over the once despised ‘ Grocery and Hardware Empor- ium.’

Page 60

442 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “The loving saints bless all aching and anxious hearts to might,’ I piously yet mischievously ejaculated, with an arch glance at the blushing bride. “*Silly! remember!’ She raised her finger as a note of warning. “*As they so unexpectedly blessed mine,’ said Mr. Meredith, looking from her face to mine, while his was aglow with laughter. ‘But for what I thought then the illest wind that ever blew, I would never have found my own.” “*Nelson,’ said Jessie, ‘was it really and truly you in the flesh? seizing his hands as if for better ‘ convincement,’ but with her face as suddenly white as the lace at her throat. “* Really and truly, was his calm reply. ‘If love defies bolts and bars, you cannot think it would hesitate at the opportunity to utilize a girl’s superstition, would you? Unforeseen business compelled my hurried return home that night, and my eqnally hurried departure from it before sunrise of the following morning. Passing your house—although it was the longest way— I saw through the opened shutter, and at once took in the situation; It was a des- perate hazard, but, little wife, I was a desperate man, and believing God created you for me—if I could get you—lI used the means. That was faith and works united. And now let us hallow the eve for the days of auld lang syne, my dears.’ “Uncle Nathan and Aunt Dorothea have long since passed into that blessed land, where, we hope, the earthly discords of conflicting opinions are lost in the heavenly harmony of a perfect under- standing. I, still a maiden, as you know, have concluded that some women are born to higher destinies than to simply be the companion of one man. I am proud of the age in which I live. I adore California and the future that is being opened for the culture and progress of my sex, and yet, and yet, I often turn most wearily from the angular prose of to-day, with a sigh for the innocent and harmless romances of my girlhood. — There is no greater breach of good manners—or, rather, no better evidence of ill-breeding—than that of interrupting another in conversation while speaking— or commencing a remark before another has fully closed. THE OLD MILL. BY HOLLY STANHOPE. I stand on the brow of the hill, At the end of the grassy lane, And gaze in the time-worn mill, With mingled pleasure and pain. It was there, in the distant “long ago,” I played with childish glee, With one who now is lying low ‘Neath the shade of the cypress tree. Ah! my merry childhood days were brief, For they scarcely had begun, ’Ere my heart was filled with pain and grief, And my happy days were done! It was also there, by the laughing rill, That my love was sought and given. Ah! then the valley by the mill Was, to me, an earthly Heaven. But those bright days are forever gone, And with them their good and ill, And I am left alone To reverence the dear old mill. Is it strange, then, that I Should stand on the brow of the hill, And gaze with a smile and a tear, On the old time-worn mill? 2- ad JEEMS JACKSON'S BY ROBERT C. DAUGHTER. MEYERS. PART III. CHaprer XII. MOTHER AND DAUGHTER. And now began the struggle for’ life, which seemed denied them, yet demanded from them atevery point. Her great fond belief in the love and honor of her father, alone sustained the girl. But in all the ast there had been victuals and drink, but now even so much was gone, and winter was close at hand. There was perpetual moaning and peev- ishness from her mother. Desperation in- deed, came to the girl. Then she could not get rid of Phebe, for Phebe refused to go, pay or no pay, and Cicily saw in this but evidence that Phebe wasaspy. Then one day Phebe failed to come as usual, and this was a proof that she had found out sufficient, and was now with the enemy. She began to feel that had Richard Cartwright been all that she had hoped he was, and that, had he kept his promise, all this might have been otherwise—that

Page 61

fe, ed nd er, JEEMS JACK SON’S DAUGHTER. 445 had he come as she had said he would, she would have been sustained by his fealty to her father. She began to hate him for his falsity. Who was he?—why was he so much to her?—and why did she see in him her own strength, and her father’s love? But then she was so weak physi- cally, maybe that made her mental con- dition as it was. Then she had no work; she had too much time to think. And want pressed them sorely. She had some trifling bits of jewelry, w ‘hich she had long held as re smembrances of her father’s lov- ing generosity, and these little trinkets she had once thought she would rather die than part with. Now she let them go piece-meal, taking them to the city—with a hope of seeing a face—and disposing of them for whatever was offered her. Then one day they were all gone, and the larder was bare. That day, after a long silence, she said carelessly, almost cruelly : “Mother, we have scare ely anything to eat. You have some little jewe Iry— But her mother broke out, “Oh! what had brought them to this; and Oh! the waste of years before; and Oh! the mis- ery of the present, when she had seen how things were tending, and was too confused to understand.” It was useless to argue; shawl about her. “ Mother,” she said, ing since yesterday. I think I am wild now, and can bear little more. [ have always ie the truth from you—.’ “T know you have.” “Oh, I cannot tell you even now. Don’t blame me; don’t worry me any more, for my reason’s sake. I am going out now to look for work again—any kind. There is enough in the closet for your din- ner—.” Then there was at last an awakening; for with a passionate movement her mother cried out, “Oh! she had been blind, blind all her life, a sinful old woman.” She was on her knees before her daugh- ter, who raised and kissed her. But she cried out that “That was not the kiss of a daughter who loved her mother; and what did it all mean ?—what did it all mean ?” “Bear with me,” whispered Cicily, “bear with me. I know you miss some- thing in me. But I have never known my mother till this minute.” Her mother tore from her fingers the rings she had ever worn. She went Cicily threw a “T have eaten noth- through the house collecting her little all of value, and came without a word and placed them in the hand of her daughter, only raising her woeful eyes to the child she had borne, and whose love she had forfeited. I do not think that Cicily Jackson ever felt as she did that day as she walked through the frosty ways, after she had calmed and left her mother. She noticed the steely blue sky, and felt that there was joy even in the sight of it; a little brown bird hopped before her a "few steps, then perched upon a hedge and piped to her all the little that he knew of song; the tiny stream by the meadow had a veil of ice over it, and beneath the veil the bright water ran merrily, and fish like silver ar- rows darted here and there. For a com- panionship had come to her; a love like no other love in all the wide, wide world— her mother’s love—more than even the love her father had had for her, and which had made him turn to her in his distress- ful times, when his weak mind appealed to him with all the strength of weakness. Oh, if Richard Cartwright would only come now!—if she might only believe in him as she felt that she could! CuHapTrer XIII. “T MIGHT HAVE DONE 8O MUCH.” She disposed of her mother’s trinkets— hoping to see a face? She went from shop to shop soliciting work. Then she came back to the village, walking up and down its one long business street. Opposite old Grymby’s she paused, and looked wistfully into the ‘stationer’s window, doubtfully. “But mother loves me,” she murmured, and went in. There was Margret, frowning when she saw her, but listening to the asking for employment. “T have some sewing,” she said, with a toss of her head, “but I don’t like to trust it to anybody and ever rybody. It’s rather partic ular work, ahem!” “T will undertake it—will you let me? r “The fact is, George, he—well, we’re to be married. I haven’t much time to sew or do anything, he’s here so muc th.” ad congratulate you, and I will try to please you.’ we hepe | you will, Cicily Jackson. Dear me! To think that you should come to me for work!”

Page 62

444 GODEY’s LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. But after many directions and explana- tions relative to the shortcomings of seam- stresses in general, and inexperienced ones in particular, the sewing was entrusted to Cicily, and she went home. Far into the night her silent mother and she worked on Margret’s wedding- garments, sewing the long white seams—- the ticking of the clock the loudest noise there. When at last she had taken the work from her mother’s hands and kissed her, Cicily went up-stairs to the window, and saw in the moonlight the far-off tree in the church yard. Then she started back—for there down by the garden-gate was a man—Morgan, whom she had not seen for a little while, had come back. But despair no longer claimed her, her first thought was of her mother, and the thought drove despair away. In the morning as they sewed, she said to her mother: “Did you ever hear father speak of a friend named Cartwright?” and how her heart throbbed for the answer! “Cartwright—Cartwright! I think not. Your father was always making new friends, and—” her mother’s voice timidly sunk into silence. Had Richard Cartwright then been deceptive? Was he also ready to trip her? Should she tell her mother all? But when she looked up and saw the pale, nervous face bent over the sewing that was so difficult to do, she could not say a word. Ah, the pain of confession of guilt to those who have a like feeling of guilt! So on until Sunday came again, and they had not left the close rvom since they had begun the sewing. Her mother came to her when the little bell of the village church was ringing: “Will you take a walk?” she said. “To church?” asked Cicily, shuddering. “I could not meet the man there—I— mean I could not meet the people—” “Not to church. I could not bear to meet the people either, Cicily.” So they went down the bright wintry way to the churchyard. It was rather after church time, and a few people were on the road, and these they did not notice. And they went into the churchyard and wound about the stilly mounds there until they came to the one that preached of loss to them alone. They could hear the minister in the church praying, but i he prayed not so loud nor fervently as this poor mound of earth for these women to remember that he who rested there had not always been a miserable man, but once had been loving and true, and even an innocent little child; and oh, to re- member how much their own love had once been to him! It was the first time the widow had been here since the funeral, and she sunk upon her knees beside the grave now, and smoothed out the limp frost-bitten grasses and picked some crumbling dead leaves away. The people in the church were singing now, and it sounded sweet as angel voices at that distance. “Cicily,” said her mother, “I wonder if you ever knew your father. I see him so different in these few days—and after all these years of blindness! He tried to battle against more than we know. I might have done more—I might, per- haps, have made him better. For we loved so fondly when we were young, Cicily, very, very fondly, and were both so childish. But 1 never meant to do him harm, child, I never meant that.” “T am sure you did not, mother.” “ But the sin, child, the sin!” “Nosin was meant—there was no sin.” “T might have done so much; he might have known me better.” “TL hope he sees me now, mother, and how much [ love you—that love is respect und memory to him.” And her mother wept softly and spoke of old times in the hushed yoice that graves know so well. And still the people in the little church seemed to sing on, and the song sounded like angel voices hovering about the grave of one weak man’s sad mistaken life. Cuapter XIV. PHEBE AGAIN TO THE The next morning, Cicily took the fin- ished work home. There had been a light fall of snow the night before, and she saw the marks of feet about the ground beneath the window of the parlor where she and her mother had sat late last night. She entered the stationer’s shop, and placed her bundle upon the counter betore Margret. The latter did not offer to open the bundle, but looked sullenly at her work-woman. “ There’s more work, if you want it,” FORE,

Page 63

vy as men had but ven re- had had unk and Sses ives rere as der see and He OW. er- we ng, oth do n. rht nd ect 1er he ol]. ch ed he en in- nd he or ite r’s he id ad JEEMS JACKSON’S DAUGHTER. 445 said Margret. “And George Green’s got shirts to be made ; want ’em?” “You have not told me if what I have done for you has pleased you.” For answer, Margret lightly caught up the bundle, and shied it into the back room. “There!” she said, “and now you can take the other work, if you want it; and you needn’t say a word more ; and there's your money.” Was this another of Morgan’s traps? However, Cicily took up the work, and moved toward the door. “ You can get more work at Gordon’s, the butcher’s,” called Margaret. “ I hap- pened to mention it to Mis’ Gordon—” “ You did?” “You hardly expected it, of course not,” cried Margret. “ Nobody ever ex- pects anything ot me. If a villian comes along and throws out insinuations, and tinds all about a poor girl and her family, and goes from place to place always for news of the same family, and comes and makes hearts burst, 1 suppose nobody should expect anything of me. J’m no- body; never was. But I've found out a thing or two ; George isn’t a post-office for nothing. And when two men come to him, and try to find out if Jeems—your tather—received a letter—” “Two men!” “ Yes, Aim, the viper, and a gent that put up at Grymby’s—Mr. Cartwright. As | was saying, when all this happens we come to the conclusion that it ain’t all good that’s meant for the family that’s asked about. Not that we ever cared much for that family till the viper came. And then we rather made up our minds to stick by that family just to upset the viper’s business, for blood’s thicker than water, Cicily Jackson. There, get about your business; do.” On that walk home from the stationer’s, Cicily’s feet were as lead. There had been a hope, deny it as she might, until now; but now the iron had entered into her soul—Richard Cartwright was false! But she must show nothing to her mother; she must sew on Margret’s wed- ding garments until the end should come. She only wished that the end might come soon. ‘Then why should she not confess whatever secret she had? Ah, no, her futher and she were both involved—it was not only herself: So she worked beside her mother for another week, and nothing came; and again she took her work home, again her money was handed her, and more work given her. She could not understand it; was it all a trap—the openness of Mar- gret, and all? And why were so many traps needed ? Margret had scarcely said a word this second time, and Cicily had neared the door before the stationer aruvused herself. “Tf I wasn’t scared to death every time I heard a pistol, ’d do something awful,” announced Margret. “O you may well look, Cicily Jackson. He come between me and George, would he?—him! Look here, do you think vipers is fond of water? Because if ever one got a swim in a horse- pond—oh, you needn’t stare: I mean it, ] do, I do, I do-o.” Cicily turned to the door again—but found herself imprisoned by Margret’s arms. “ [ will kiss you,” cried Margret, “there! I don’t wrong people for nothing,” and thrust her semstress out. Cicily saw it all in an instant; a thrill permeated her every nerve—there were hearts beating for her mother and herself at last. A fetter of the chain that bound her fell away. But should this man be maltreated ?— did she not call herself guilty from the first? Then why should he sutter for her? She reached home and found the door barred. “Has it come at last?” she said. Her mother appeared at the window; “ Phebe’s behind the door,” she said, “and I can’t move her.” Then the door was flung open, and there was Phebe red as a peony. “ Yes,” she cried, “it’s Phebe, and what’s more it’s goin’ to be Phebe till the end. I don’t want no money, I don’t want no nothin’; but here Iam, and here I stay, and | dare you to put me out. You think I deserted you? Nary! I'd been here long ago on’y father he locked me up in the garret, he did, and bored gimlet-holes in the door. Every day he'd come up and say, ‘Pheeb, did you see me take money from him?’ And I'd say, ‘I'll swear I did!’ Then another day he'd come up; ‘Pheeb,’ he’d say, ‘you're sure you see me take money?’ and Id say, ‘sure!’ Then again it would be, ‘It was money, Pheeb, was it?’ and I'd chuck the

Page 64

446 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. piller at the gimlet-holes. This, wi’out no coffee, went on for ever so long, and I got real tired-out. So yes’day when he comes up, I says, ‘Father,’ I says, ‘the widder and the orphing is cryin’ through the land fer pertection from them as treats ’em bad. Ef I harmed the widder and the orphing I'd be afeared 0’ goin’ the way o’ all flesh.’ That kind o’ softened him—for futher he ain’t hard at the core; he’s like Quaker-apples, awful hard on the outside, but ef your jaws is good ’n’ strong you'll git into the mealy sweetness wi’ a hard erunch. So he kind o’ hemmed and hawed, and at last he says, says he, ’Ef you'll say ‘ Buttons,’ out you come, Pheeb.’ “* Money,’ I says. “* Buttons,’ or bread and water tell you're an old maid,’ says he. “*Money,’ says I. “* Buttons,’ or water wi’out no bread,’ says he. “* Money,’ says I. “* Buttons,’ he yells, or bread wi’out the water.’ “So I ups and hollers, ‘ Buttons,’ and I was out. “*Now, Pheeb,’ says he, ‘ye’ve said it warn’t no money, so don’t gi’ no more sass.’ I don’t know what seems to come over me, for I jest lights my eyes on him, and I begins a screechin’ like all-possessed, and ketches hold o’ his whiskers and lifts ‘em up the wrong-side-out way, and pins him up agin the wall—my own father, mind you! ‘Was it buttons, father!’ I says. “* Yes, Pheeb,’ says he, a puckerin’ up his eyes and a strikin’ out. Then [ lifts a leetle higher: ‘ Buttons, father? ’says I. “*Pheeb, it was but—’ says he, a be- ginnin,’ when I gives a onmerciful raise, and he yells, ‘mebbe it might a-ben—but- tons, dang him, and I'll hev it outen his hide.’ So I tells father to rub lard in, and I bolts, and here I am. And I knowed it was money.” And Phebe stopped for breath, and loosened her apron string. “Don’t look at me that-a-way,” she cried, as no one replied to her; “don’t you look at me. I’ve come to pertect you.” “Protect us!” murmured the widow. “Yes. And I don’t know what makes you so quiety, widder. I ain’t used to you this a-way. Got a cold in your head? —nurology? You used to be peart enough and chipper.” ee at “ What does all this mean, Phebe?” “Jest this: After I’d fetched father to his feelin’s, I see him go off to Sammel Jones’, and they both comes, mild as honey. ‘Will you do a leetle favor for us,’ asks Sammel. I kind o’ grunted ‘I ain’t much on favors,’ I says. Father, he rubbed his whiskers. Then Sammel, he says, ‘the Lord pervails on us to gi’ back to that man his onlawful begot money, which he gev us to buy another bit o’ land.’ ‘Oh, ho!’ says I, ‘the Lord pervails, does he? Pity you let tother un pervail fust.’ And he jest hands out his purse, hatin’ like pison to part wi’ it. But I grabs the money and goes to Margret’s—which said somethin’ ’bout hair, and eyes, and waist, you know. I thought mebbe she’d know where to find him at, she’s sech a one for men-folks, and he ain’t much ’round lately, I hear. So she did know, and we forgev each other, and I told her all over how he called her brazen, tell she ’most danced. Then we writ a note, us two, axin’ him to meet a friend to-night nigh the hoss-pound, which would tell him somethin’ "bout the people he’s lookin’ after—never you mind that though, widder; never mind, a good bit I know. The men’s all roused, and they’re a-goin’ to take and duck him for every time he’s gev a different Chrisen’ name, and then they’re a-goin’ to ram his money all full o’ tar into his hair, and each man’s goin’ to hev a shy at him—all ’cept Sammel Jones, he says he’s goin’ to pray for him. Sammel’s like some preachers, they cuss putty hard when they pray. Now clear out, for I’m a-goin’ to red-up.” And Phebe began to bang the furni- ture out of place. Cicily looked at her mother. Had she not brought the man here—was he not attending to his duty? She must try to defend him from the senseless wrath of the people. She left Phebe and her mother, and went out in search of Mor- n. For a long time her quest was fruitless. She saw him at last lurking after her in his usual impudent manner, that had called the eyes of all the place upon her. She wondered why the people did not accuse her of a heniousness—she, James Jackson’s daughter—and help the man all they could. She led him away from the settled parts of the village, out on the road to the church-yard. She went further—she entered the yard—for she must have him near enough to speak

Page 65

”” pr to mel ney. asks 1uch 1 his ‘the that 1 he Oh, he? And like the said nist, now for ely, anh vy he ced. n to ind, the ind ood and for en’ his ach ept ray Ts, ay. p.” Di- she 10t to ot ler Dr- fas ng er, ce le 1e, he ly ut he or ik JEEMS JACKSON S SRS E TSS 447 to him without being observed. She saw him looking in at the gate. She went as far as her father’s grave, and there called out. “Come to me here!” Morgan entered. “You received a note this morning, making an appointment with you this evening,” she said. ‘A note? Who says so?” “ One of those who wrote it.” “Of course, I know it’s a hoax ; only I didn’t know anybody would tell you.” Then she told him. He laughed. “To think of it now,” he said. “ Douse me, eh?—give me back the money two rascals were pleased enough to take, eh ?” He looked at her. She was standing poorly clad, looking down at the mound at her feet. Above them gray masses of snow clouds lowered, and the tree beside them swayed and cracked in the moaning air. “Why do you tell me this?” he asked. “ Perhaps to save myself,” she answered. “These people know that you watch me. And this vengeance of theirs will only lower me in my own eyes.” “Suppose I should tell these people what brings me here?” “Suppose J should?” “You?” “You are a detective; you are after a clue in a great robbery case. Will that satisfy you, and cause you to be a little more considerate for a woman, if not for a thief?” He looked at her distrustfully. “You are very bold,” he said. “ But my time is up, I resolve it from this moment. I had intended otherwise, but now! I will bear the woman in mind, not the thief. The end has come.” What had she done? What had she said ?—and after all this long warfare? But he turned on his heel and left her standing there beside the grave. And looking back after he was far down the road, he could see her still standing there like a silhouette, motionless in the gray air of the churchyard, her back-ground a lowering mass of storm-clouds. CHAPTER XV. “80 WILL I TRUST IN YOU, CICILY.” He went immediately to Poll’s tavern, engaged a room, and wrote a note to Richard Cartwright: “Come now—the sooner the better. The necklace shall be in your hands the minute you arrive,” ? “ Considerate to the woman!” he mut- tered, as he sealed the note. “ Bah! play- acting. And trying to get me out of the way to-night, that she may get off. Con- siderate to the woman, if not to the thief! Ah, Richard Cartwright, you have been ‘considerate to the woman,’ haven’t you? You are the slyest rogue on record, Richard Cartwright. But I have nothing to do with you; I can find nothing more out here, so I might as well deliver up the necklace, and end it all with the re- ward the old man will give me.” Then he sent Poll’s boy fur Sammel Jones. “ Ah, Jones,” he said, when that worthy presented himself. “I suppose you’ ve heard what is to happen to-night ?’ Sammel rubbed his hands feebly. “T hev heered a little, sir,” he said, and modestly coughed ; “but my mind is sot more on what’s ’bove the earth than what’s below, sir.” “Water, I presume you mean. I sup- pose you know I am to be ducked in the horse-pound ?” “T hev heered a little, sir; but we hear loads o’ things in this world.” “ Now, look here, Jones,” Mr. Morgan went on, cordially, “you and I are men of business. I saw that in you from the first. Now, how should you ‘like to make a little money?” “Well,” returned Sammel, his eyes twinkling, “the mind o’ man can’t despise the goods o’ the world. I’ve ben de- frauded o’ a little money lately—in fact, all that you gev me along in John Samp- son. I can’t go into partic ‘lars, but de- frauded’s the word. Is it a easy job, sir?” “What I want you to do is this. To- night I shall not venture out. I should like you to come here, put on this soft hat and big kerchief, so there’ll be no danger of your being taken for yourself, and “then go down to the W idow Jack- son’s, and just peep in at her window for an hour or so, and then report to me. Nobody will accuse you, you know.” “There’s no danger I’ ll be found out ? For John Sampson ‘and the men—” “i thought all the danger was at the horse-pound.” “Not that kind o’ danger ; but people’s ruther took in the Jacksons jest now, and

Page 66

448 ¥ODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. —twenty-five dollars was what you said, sir?” “Did I mention thought of twenty. it five more.” “ | was allers called obligatin’. I'll do it, but I hope no harm’Il come to the wid- der’s character—me, as a man, skulkin’ ‘bout. No, my own character's ’stab- lished ; that must pertect the widder’s. You couldn’t make it thirty, I s’pose? for it was through me as Sampson gev up the garding, you know. He hild out, but I pervailed. On’y twenty-five? Oh, well!” * Be here at seven.” “At seven. And mum’s the word, sir. I don’t ax no questions o’ your intentions, so I ain’t a guilty party—on’y a business athair.” “ You are as innocent as you ever were.” “’Bleeged to you, sir. Yes, my char- acter’s ’stablished. Atseven. Good day.” After Sammel had gone Mr. Morgan remained in his room till late in the after- noon, casting and recasting the volumincus notes of his first great case, till he had got them into symmetrical form. Toward sun- set he sauntered out toward the Jackson cottage. Phebe saw him ego by, and chuckled and watched him till he had disappeared in the far-off gloom, and even then kept ut the window. As the shadows settled down more heavily, Phebe, wild with sup- pressed excitement, went from the parlor and back again, with half-articulate mut- terings and little whifls of laughter. Once, when she had gone from the room, the widow hastily said: “This is the first chance I have had, Cicily. What does it all mean?” Then Cicily kneeled down beside her mother, “There is a great trouble impending over us,” shesaid. ‘“ We shall be accused of a crime, and there may be difficulties in the way from which it will be very hard to extricate ourselves. Do not trem- ble so, do not be so frightened; you must know it; L can keep it from you no longer.” “Oh! Cicily—erime !” “We shall be apprehended for rob- bery.” “ We?—you are dreaming.” “If not we, the disgrace is for both of us.” “Your father—.” “ Was father capable of crime?” any sum? I had But you can make “ Never—never.”’ “Then do not ask me anything more now, mother—for I cannot tell the story even now: I am too weak. Remember, though, that we must protect father, and maybe your ignorance of the story will be his surest protection. If there is any guilt, it must be mine alone. The world who loved him not, to whom he did not make himself lovable, accuses him enough, with enough cause. But we who should know him best, and who should see past all weakness and failure, should shield him from further dishonor. Father never could have been dishonorable toward men, for he prized himself too little for that— it is men who are selfish, who are dishonor- able. You believe in him, mother, do you not?—in his old love, that went so often wrong?” “T am weak, child, I am weak,” her mother said. Her arms about her, the daughter spoke again. “But you trust in me, mother?—you believe in me, even though I tell you no more of the story now?” “T do, Cicily, God knows how fondly,” “Then whatever comes, no matter of what I am accused, only believe in me— and in father’s freedom from guilt.” “So will I trust in you, Cicily, come what may.” “It is what I have waited for from you,” cried Cicily with a thrill, and Phebe coming in, stood astounded, “ Yous two must be afeared o’ the dark,” she sniffed, and lighted the lamp, and the other two sat down to work, But Phebe was shuddering at intervals and knitting her brows as she sat there. Once she started up to draw the curtain, and fell back with a shriek. “Oh, Lordy!” she said, “ Morgan’s fuce was right agin the winder.” At that moment voluminous cries filled the air outside; it was as though the witches of the universe were celebrating their sabbath around the cottage, Cicily and her mother arose in perturbation, but Phebe began to clap her hands and raise her voice like one of those outside, while the cries left the garden and grew fainter along the road. “They're got him, they’re got him!” shouted Phebe. “ Hark, there’s a cheer! That's one douse. There’s another—a deep one, Margret’s, There’s another— a little one, Sammel’s.”

Page 67

re “Vv Y, d ve iv a JEEMS JACKSON’S DAUGHTER. 449 A knock on the door shook the cottage. The door creaked on its hinges, and in walked Morgan. Phebe gave a smothered shriek, and backed against the wall. “T have called professionally,” he said. “Will you listen to this?” He held a scrap of paper under the lamp, and read: “Stolen, a necklace of thirteen large diamonds; the clasp broken. Jewellers and brokers are cautioned against nego- tiating for the same or any part thereof, as a full description of the stones will be forwarded to the jewellers and others of all the cities of the United States and Europe.” He approached the elder woman; “I apprehend you, madam,” he said, “for the theft of the necklace.” Cicily looked on, dumb. Her mother merely said: “ You can substantiate this charge?” For the first time he noticed the change in the widow. “ What nonsense is this?” Cicily began, when her mother stopped her. “Child,” she said, “this is the impend- ing sorrow; let me bear it.” “This man knows that he accuses me,” eried Cicily. “Look here!” and_ tore her dress loose at the throat—and there they saw the shimmer of the diamonds. With a loud ery her mother flung herself before her. “What does it mean?” she cried. “ What does it mean?” “Remember, you are to trust me, mother,” “I do, I do; but the meaning ?—the menuning?” But here a series of strange maneuvres diverted their attention. Phebe was seen to run rapidly into the kitchen, then with the impetus to rush like a whirlwind toward the detective, and kick him with terrible effect. For the shock caused Phebe to lose her balance—but wasn’t he down too? “T bear you no ill-will, Phebe,” he said, picking himself up; “on the con- trary, | admire your force of character and hostility.” “I wish you was at the hostility—the hoss-pound,” she screamed, tearing at her apron-string. “ Yes, but Sammel Jones took my place ——for a consideration,” *Sammel Jones !—him /” “And now,” he said, turning to Cicily and her mother, “I shall remain here, and await the arrival of the owners of the necklace.” And here Phebe rushed from the house like a second whirlwind, not even taking the pains to close the door after her, her sobs echoing for awhile through the dark outside; and Mr. Morgan got up and closed and barred the door, with all the familiarity of the owner of the house. But Cicily and her mother paid little or no attention to him now, holding to one another, whispering words of comfort throughout the long, cold night, that man keeping watch and ward over them in silence. Cuarrer XVI. THE OWNERS OF THE NECKLACE. The next day there was a fortune in news in the village. The rage over the failure of the performance at the horse- pound, where Sammel hed only received two or three deep dips before his identity was established, was pacified by this news. Indeed, the ringleaders in the affair over- night felt that it was providential that the detective had not been ducked. Phebe had rushed home last night with the news, urging upon her father the necessity of a forcible rescue of the accused girl, “ Law's lawr,” he said, shaking his head. “’Tain't,” she cried, “it’s lies, She's innocent as the babe unborn—innocenter, Ef you don’t do it, Pil—” “What?” he asked, touching his whisker. She only burst into weak tears, urging and entreating with the reckless incon- sequence of a woman bent on carrying her point. But her arguments availed little—"* For lawr’s lawr,” reiterated her futher, and frowningly smoked his pipe all night long, listening patiently to Phebe, who was helpless for the first time. Early morning found Phebe still pleading. Karly morning, too, spread the news, In the first hours, Cicily Jackson was a highwayman, A little later, and she had degenerated from the realms of romance into a mere matter-of-fact burglar. Time added arson to the burglary, and nearly raised her to the prestige of highwayman- ship again, Aud murder was on a fair way to being one of her attributes betore night—which should elevate her more eflectually than anything else.

Page 68

450 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Thus popular opinion voted Cicily down, and all Phebe’s protestations fell flat. “ You’re all born cats,” she said as she left house after house that morning, “or you'd see like me. A regular nest o’ blind kittens.” She rushed to Margret after the men had failed her. “You know Morgan wasn’t ducked last night,” she said, “and you know what he said agin you.” “George Green must come to us,” de termined Margret, breathing heavily. “T’ve ben to him,” said Phebe. “But he hasn’t been to us,” explained Margret. “Wait! Have I any authority, or not? Wait!” ; : So the two young women being staunch, the one young man came on order, looked helplessly at them, and was not allowed to speak, “She made me a better girl than I ever expected to-be,” wept Margret, “and never said—There, don’t say a word George Green, or something ’l] happen.” “She’s good ‘nough to eat,” sobbed Phebe, “and Morgan, he—Oh, why don’t you say somethin’?” “T wish Morgan knew my opinion of him,” said George Green, with fire in his eyes. Margret quenched the fire: “You had plenty of chances of telling him that,” she said coldly, “ when you gave him all the news he wanted.” “No more than you did yourself,” he replied, the fire coming to life again. “TI never told him a single solitary thing,” she said damply. “And you don’t say the fact when you say I did,” muttered he. “Oh, he calls me a falsehood,” wept Margret. “ You called me one,” he returned. “That’s right,” she cried, “I’m only a woman. Maybe you’ll say Morgan didn’t say I was brazen—you that’s such a friend of his.” “Mebbe, George Green, you'll say it wasn’t his fault as I was called yeller- eyed, red-haired, big-waisted-?” suggested Phebe. “Nobody called you them,” sniffed Margret. “ They did,” contradicted Phebe, “you know they did. There, now!” “TI wish I was dead,” desperately said George Green. “T wish we all were,” cried Margret in tears again. “Ef you please,” said Phebe, “you needn’t to wish me dead; I never done nothin’ to you.” “You gave me sass.” “You called my mother out o’her name, which I won't take off o’ nobody.” “T didn’t.” “What shall I do!” cried George Green, “ can’t you see I’m helpless ?—that we all are?” And the little shop held three helpless people indeed. There were knots of villagers in the street busy over the affair. Some pitied, some blamed, but none disbelieved—what they had long known of the family was not calculated to make them charitable in their suspicions. Then old Grimby spoke a kind word for Morgan—“ He quite took to me,” he said. At Poll’s tavern it was currently reported that Morgan had never owed a cent, always paid up—they forget that James Jackson had never owed a cent either. Morgan became the hero of the hour. But in the cottage two women sat up close to one another in the dull grey morning-light. The wind had wailed around the eaves, and feathery snow had tapped with velvet fingers at the windows the live-long night. When the morning broke sufficiently they both with one accord looked out toward the church-yard, where the snow had evened all the mounds with the paths, making the sinner’s and the saint’s graves smooth and pure alike. And they watched a tree all white as Carrara, that stood at the head of a giave they could not see. Morgan suid little or nothing, busying himself over some papers. And so they waited. Toward ten o’clock Phebe came in, her face swollen and dark, and sat up against the wall, and never opened her lips. Margret came in trembling. “Don’t come nigh me, you man,” she said, with infinite scorn, “you would pil- lute me by the touch of your little finger,” and bursting into tears, sat close up beside Phebe. And so they waited. John Sampson came in and stared at Morgan as though he were a new and vir- ulent species of slug. “Widder Jackson,” he said, “I'd like to send ye a load o’ taters, Early Rose, ef you'd like.” ~ me - at tt - of Oo

Page 69

| in you one JEEMS JACKSON’S DAUGHTER. 451 Then he addressed the fire-place: “Sammel Jones is took bad, and’s a-goin to fetch action for false pretensions.” Then he sat down beside Margret. And so they waited. Yet not a word had been said to Cicily —they could not believe her innocent! It was hard on to noon when Morgan, writing on a slip of paper, said, “ Miss Cicily, the owners of the necklace will stop at the hotel. May I ask you to have one of these people take this note to them? —it will bring them here. I would save you all I can.” “T think Mr. Sampson will oblige us,” said the widow. Sampson arose, took the note, glared at Morgan as seeing a more deadly species in him than ever, and left the house. A little while later, Margret’s feelings seeming to overcome her, she suddenly took to screaming, made a dash for Mor- gan, slapped him soundly, and precipi- tately left the cottage. . * Anan!” said Phebe against the wall, “the women allus does it.” Morgan grew impatient, walked up and down the narrow limits of the parlor, pausing at any chance sound outside. Then wheels were heard in the distance struggling through the snow. There was a straightening up of every one in the room. “ They are coming,” said Morgan. The wheels labored nearer. “They are here,” said Morgan, looking toward Cicily. She sat close beside her mother, her hand in hers, their eyes fastened upon the door. There was a scraping of feet on the little porch outside, and Morgan went and threw open the door—when Richard Cartwright led in his father. Then Cicily tore her hand from her mother’s, started upright, crying: “My faith was not misplaced. But you come too late—and I waited for you,” and sunk upon her mother’s neck. “Mr. Cartwright,” said Morgan to the elder man, “this young woman has the necklace. These are the owners of the necklace, Miss Cicily.” “He the owner!” she cried, and only clung to her mother the more, utterly broken, and murmuring of the terrible shock, to think that it was he!—to think that it was he! The elder Cartwright, who had stood as dumb-founded ere this, now started toward her, “The woman who looked through the glass. partition!” he cried. “It is not you who have this thing—you, his daughter! Keep it, keep it! It is yours—it was your father’s. I held it in trust for him. I betrayed my trust, and he knew of the diamonds too late; he received them on the day he died. Richard, Richard, tell her the story I told you. Here it is, written down as you bade me write it. Read it—read it.” “Oh, father !—the shame, the shame,” in an agonized voice, said the son, but took the paper, steadied his voice, and read: “Years ago I had a friend, a free, happy fellow, who valued money as nothing, and whose widowed mother saw, when it was too late, that the careless rearing of the boy had rendered him utterly reckless as to money matters. She saw in me the plodding business man. She told me she had settled her modest fortune on her son; but she doubted how long his extrava- gance would keep him respectable after her death. Then, bursting into tears, she placed a case in my hand—it contained a diamond necklace, the great value of which she scarcely knew. ‘Keep it for my boy,’ she said; ‘should he ever dissipate what money I leave him, go to him and tell him of this necklace, which was my mother’s, and which he knows nothing of—-as I al- ways intended it for a glad surprise for him. I make you trustee of these stones, and should he ever be in need, then one stone is to be detached and sold; and three years after another ; and three years after that, one more; and so on, until the thir- teen stones are disposed of. In case of his death before the final disposition of the stones, those remaining go to his wife and children. Should he fail to marry, then you, his trusted friend and mine, shall re- ceive the remaining stones at his death. And should he never require the money these stones will bring, you are to keep them until his youth is over, and danger of his extravagance allayed. Then you are to tell him all this, and receive an equal portion of the diamonds in recognition of your fidelity.’ This she made into writ- ing—the old letter is in the hands of my son, Richard Cartwright. She died shortly after this, and two years later the son mar- rien. Then I lost sight of him, for he left the city, happy and in easy circumstances.

Page 70

452 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Tt was after my own marriage that a terrible temptation came to me. I went to the village to which my friend had re- moved, and saw him happy. I gave the diamonds to my wife. She knew that I could not afford so valuable a present, and her distrust burned into me. But I told her a lie—I told her they were mine, but that I had never quite liqui- dated the debt contracted for them, yet was in a position to do so gradually. Many a time I have cursed those dia- monds lying upon her neck. I was tempted to tear up the writing that mother had entrusted to me, but at such times there would come a hope of repara- tion at some future day, in one shape or another. But there came a day when I heard that my friend was in altered cir- cumstances, that his old extravagance had not died, and that he was in want. The time had come for disposing of the first diamond. I sent money anonymously to him, and thus I kept him up. But I could not give up the necklace. In one of those awful days, when I had just heard afresh stories of his wife’s and child’s misery, I was going to my room, when I met my own wife, dressed for a a grand dinner. She came smiling to- ward me, those diamonds gleaming upon her bosom. With a shriek, I rar lh them from her, breaking the clasp, and told her the truth. I caught her as she fell. Then came her sudden death. After that I cared for nothing: I hated the diamonds, their owner, my own tem tation, all, as murderers of my wife. What reparation could bring my wife back tome? My son knew of his mother’s diamonds: dared I tell him the truth, too, and forfeit his love ‘and trust—he, Who was all I had in the world? He knows how long the diamonds rested in the fire-proof, the agony eating into my brain. A short time ago I heard that my one-time friend was in the dregs. For the first time I realized how his child must feel for a disgraced father—I, who had a child with a disgraced father. I resolved to send the necklace to its owner. I took it from the safe, and sent it to him with a note without a signature. “ More hereafter,” was all I wrote, for I could not tell him all just then. Then my son advertised the theft, and in a way full of suspicion—for he suspected me, and the advertisement was to tell me that he did so. That advertisement led to my con- fession of the truth to him, and to all sub- sequent action in the matter.” “And the face I had thought a delu- sion, an accusing vengeance, was the face of my old friend’s daughter, who looks so like her father,” cried the old man “and the owner of the necklace—Cicily, Miss Jackson, what ails you ? For she was wildly regarding them, erying out: “It was my face you saw; my father must have thought of you as his only friend, and after he had anonymously re- ceived the diamonds had thought of you, and fled for advice to you, afraid of he knew not what; and when he was near you, afraid even of you, for he doubted himself so much, I followed him to yonr place, and brought him home again, speechless and broken. Father, father, | knew, I knew you were not guilty! For I found the necklace in my father’s pocket when I placed his clothing away after his death. I determined to shield him; for love is not always blind, and I knew and loved my father well enough to know him innocent of crime—poar, poor father !”’ and she fell unconscious to the floor, to be raised by Richard Cartwright, who was in turn beaten off by Phebe, who, as soon as she saw a glimpse of revival in Cicily, laid her in her mother’s arms, and rushed from the house in her whirlwind fashion. Then Richard Cartwright turned to speak to Morgan; but that gentleman had disappeared, nor was he afterward seen in the village nor encountered by any of the actors in this little story, idagh John Sampson and George Green went on far vilgrimages, fondly hoping to come across him. But these pilgrimages were not thought of until later in the day, for an hour after Phebe had disappeared, there was a great shouting outside the cottage, and in came Phebe, dragging Sammel Jones, who appeared somewhat exhausted and held An but was kept pretty well forward by John Sampson. “Speak up!” commanded Phebe. “ Mis’—leastwise widder Jackson,” be- gan Sammel, in a watery treble, “I’m mortal ’shamed o’ myself, and I’m—lI’m a leetle glad as I was ducked last night. For Miss Cicily’s a shinin’ light on the walls o’ Belshazzar—” “Don’t drag in Scripter,” commanded Sampson, and haled Sammel forth. And

Page 71

‘on- ub- lu- nce iso ind Liss em, her uly re- ou, he ear ted onr ‘in, r, I ‘or ket his for ind OW rp}? be vas on ly, ed on. to acl in the hn far OSS 106 an pre ge, nel ed ell be- ’m ’m ht. the led nd JEEMS JACKSO there was Margret Mindil outside with George Green and a host of others, with the village band, which having but a limited repertory, and desiring to perform music suitable to the occasion, played “Willie we have missed you,” with many accidental variations, the will of the per- formance making up for what it lacked in artistic merit. “You must speak to them, Cicily,” said her mother, as the shouts drowned the band—except the drum which Poll played. “Let me go instead,” said Richard Cartwright, and though the people cheered him, abetted by old Grymby, they insisted upon Cicily. “They have known us so long,” her mother. “But they never would have known father’s innocence as I knew it,” said Cicily starting toward the window. “Had they loved him they might have known,” murmured Richard Cartwright. “Yes,” she said tremulously, her eyes on his, “for love is not always blind.” said EriLoGue.— One year later. S'pose you know, Sammel, how our Phebe went to town for a spell ?” “T hev heered suthin’ to that ’ere effect, John.” “ And how George and Margret Green's likewise went?” “T mought’ a’ heered that also, John.” “ Yes, our Pheeb’s to be a sort o’ bride- maid. And you know the presents as come down here for all 0’ us? ~Pheeb’s to give ’em out when she comes home again.” “ Ain’t it a fine thing to be rich, John? But we mustn’t be carnal. Now wi’ riches we can clothe the hungry and feed the naked, and perwide for the fatherless, and be prodigal sons, and daughters 0’ N’S (eh? Y ou’ re a rum ‘un, Sammel ; DAUGHTER. 453 Herodias, and. good Samaritans, and lep- ers, and all the perfec’ people in the Bible.” * And not forgit old times, and them as ili-treated you, and which you’ve forgev, there’s no gittin’ away in you.” “T’ve forgev everybody, as you seem to seem to doubt it, John. Yes, I don’t hold no spite, I hope the angels and serubims ‘ll look down upon this happy couple, and make it like it was at that ‘ere marriage where all the water turned to wine. Lor’!” “Wine’s a rum thing, Sammel. Let’s see! It’s nigh twelve o’clock—the time o’ the weddin’, Talkin’ o’ wine, and sech—do you ever drink suthin’ soothin’ bout this time o’ day, Sammel ! ,? “T hev done so on a few ’casions, sech as buryin’s, and—” “Don't you think it'd be ’spec tful to sort o’ drink the health o’ the bride?” “Why, I thort that too, John. And ef you won’t mind, I’ve got a leetle flask o’ old Jamaicky in my pocket. "Tain’t over strong to taste, but it beats all crea- tion for its layin’-out qualities,” “Sing’lar, Sammel, but I’ve got a leetle flask in my own pocket.” “Then, here she goes, John. Hark! there’s the twelve o’clock bell at Grym- by’s! Minister’s a sayin’, ‘ Will you, Richard, take her, Cicily?’ Let’s wait till minister’s done.” “Two seconds gone. Minister’s in a awful hurry—got a chrisenin’ on hand. Here she goes! Here's to the bride, and may she be—” “Stop, John! It’s onlegitimate to drink healths wi’out mentionin’ no names, Here’s to the hilth and oe o’ Mr. Richard Cartwright and * Richard Cartwright—leastwise, her as we allus called, ‘ Jeems Jackson’s daughter !’” LOVE'S RETREAT. DOROTHY HOLROYD, (See Jllustration.) I stole away trom the noisy riot, With that in my hand [ fain would hide. I knew a spot that was green and quiet, Where I could read and be satisfied ; And only the God of Love might see What word my letter had brought to me. Above and around the golden glory Flushed the world with a radiance bright, And touched the token of love’s sweet story With tremulous bars of sunset light. Such tumult within my heart was pent, While the happy blushes came and went. And never a sound of earth came near me, Save when a bird or a bee hummed by— Nor ever a bee or a bird did fear me, So still and glad in my joy was I. [place, And Love looked down from his vine-wreathed With the endless smile on his sunlit face. Uutil—with a step the silence vanished ! My heart throbbed so, I could hear it beat; And all the fears that I thought were banished, Back returned with his hastening feet. And yet, when his love is for me alone, Why should I fear to confess my own?

Page 72

454 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. A CHARADE IN FOUR ACTS. BY GRIFFITH WILDE. f Mrs. Lanepon. Dresutie | FLORENCE LANGDON, Peiasindes + Mrs. ARBUTHNOT, Florence's aunt. Pat, Mrs. Langdon’s protégé. Captain Lupeate, Florence's Suitor. Act Ist. Pat. Scene: A Drawing Room. Mrs. Lang- dé and Mrs. Arbuthnét discovered doing faney work. Mrs. Arbuthnot (takes up an envelope and opens it). So this is Julian’s letter? He wants to come back badly, poor fel- low! Mrs. Langdon. He need never have gone away, if he had behaved himself! Mrs. A. Upon my word, Lucy, you are the most inconsistent woman I ever knew ! Mrs. L. Why so? Mrs. A. After bringing up the boy, and educating him like the son of a millionaire, you suddenly send him adrift, for no reason in the world that I can see, except— Mrs. IL. (interrupting.) Julian has turned out very differently from what I thought he would. Mrs. A. Nonsense! Why, he isn’t a bit worse than any other boy in his cir- cumstances. Mrs. L. Circumstances! Julian hasn’t a penny in his own right. If I hadn’t taken him in, he’d been in an orphan asylum, and then I wonder what would have become of his card and wine parties? I do not propose to have my bureau covers drenched with champagne, and my drawing room littered with poker chips. If you want to oe up with that sort of thing, you can; but I won’t submit to it! Mrs. A. But, my dear Mary— Mrs. L. (excitedly.) I wonder that you think I would allow Florence such an as- sociate | Mrs. A. Now, Lucy, don’t be absurd! I’m sure Julian is a hundred per cent. better than that wild Irishman downstairs. Do tell me what ever possessed you to adopt that fellow? Mrs. L. (in a milder key.) Well, he came here one morning in a very forlorn condition, and begged for employment. There was something about him that I liked, and—well, I had a curiosity to see what could be made out of such material, and—lI adopted him. Mrs. A. Good Heavens! Mrs. L. (plaintively.) You never did understand me, Mary. I am really un- happy if I haven’t some kind of a protégé to occupy my time and attention; and Pat is such a promising subject !. Mrs. A. (with disgust.) I’m glad you think so! Mrs. L. (serenely.) Besides, there is no danger of Florence’s falling in love with him. Mrs. A. (starting.) You don’t mean to insinuate that she and Julian— Mrs. L. Yes,I do! They were mak- ing fools of themselves, and that I wouldn't have. Confidentially, my dear Mary, that was my first reason for send- ing Julian away. With her face and accomplishments— Mrs. A. And her fortune. Mrs. L. (nodding.) And her fortune, Florence, ought to do better than marry a penniless barrister! Mrs. A. You are not afraid of Pat, then? Mrs. L. (indignantly.) Pat! Why, Mary, what are you thinking of? Mrs. A, I was only joking! But Pat is positively the worst case I ever saw, and Florence takes to him so kindly! Mrs. L. I'm afraid Florence always will be a hoyden! (Noise outside. Shouts of laughter.) Mrs. A. There they are now. (Pat outside, sings a comic song and dances. Florence cries: Bravo, bravo! and comes rushing in.) Florence. Oh, Mamma, you just ought to see Pat dance a clog! It’s just too lovely for anything. Come on, Pat! (Pulls him in by the hand.) Begin all over again, (Pat enters in real Irish costume and stands sheepishly before Mrs. L.) Mrs. L. (turning to Mrs. A.) Isn’t he acharacter? (Zo Pat.) Well, Pat, what is this famous dance Miss Florence raves about ? Pat. Och, mum, it’s nothin’ at all, only a bit o’ a clog I learnt at Bally scroggin’. Mrs. L. (to Mra. A.) A national dance, no doubt. How delightful! (Eagerly to Pat.) Do let us have it, Pat. i Sl to be . k 4 aul Fl Gro eal] wh dr: yur ( ru the: the par Do ( pas kilo hea and ] CNG lire mol bae giv this (A I Jul

Page 73

Be WY ~ PATRONAGE. 455 Pat. Qh, it’s loike as not you’ve seen it, mum. They dance it ivery night down to the Hoodlum Variety. Mrs. L. (stiffly.) I have never been in- side of the vile place! Pat (innocently). Thin you raly ought to go, mum, jist for oncet, to say ye'd been there. Florence. Go on and dance, Pat. Let us have the clog, and then a breakdown! Mrs. A. (rises, and shrugs her shoulders.) Excuse me, Lucy. I have a headache, und can’t stand much noise. ( Leaves.) (Put looks dubious.) Ilorence. Never mind, Pat. Go on, that’s a good fellow! (Begins to hum a lively air, and claps her hands. ‘at dances, and his face is gradually lighted up with a broad grin. As the clog proceeds, he and Florence get excited. She joins in with him in a rollick- ing dance, and they shout to each other: “Bravo! Heigh! First rate! Once more!’ Mrs. L. is evid: ntly annoyed. ) at. Now, all thegether. Hooray! Whoop her up! q ( Florence joins in a breakdown.) Mrs. L. (in a shocked tone.) Florence! Florence ! For shame ! Florence (excite dly ). Good! Excellent! edly. ) Mrs. IL. Stop this minute! Pat, what do you mean by such conduct in my drawing-room? Florence, I'll tell your guardian ! (They dance around Mrs. L., and she runs ajter them, catching first at one and then at the other, vainly trying to make them stop. A minute is consumed in comic pantomime. ) Mrs. lL. (enraged.) Stop this minute! Do you hear me? \ The dance goes on, and in a towering passion, Mrs. L. rushes out. Then Pat and klorence drop down on the sofa laughiug heartily. After a pause, and assumes the manners of a gentleman.) Pat. (slipping his arm around Flor- ence’s waist, and dropping his brogque en- tively.) “Oh, dear! I'm afraid if your mother finds that I have dared to come back here in disguise, she will never for- give me, Florence! Sometimes I think this masquerade is very poor policy.” ( He takes her hand.) Florence. But, if it were not for that, Julian, we should be separated entirely!” Vou. cxu.—30. Faster, Pat! (They laugh excit- at wipes his eyes Pat (looks down at her in a sentimental way). And that is the only thing that reconciles me to this deception. Oh, Florence! Sometimes I am very unhappy when I think of your mother’s stern dis- approval, Darling, if the worst comes, you will not abandon me utterly to de- spair ? Florence. Never, Julian! How can you doubtane? In another week, I shall be of age, and then nothing in this world can separate me from my Irish lover. If need be I will run away with Pat! Pat (fondly). My dear little sweet- heart! (Re-enter Mrs. L. with Mrs. A. ut and Florence spring to their feet.) Mrs. L. (severely. ) Pat, you may go. Pat. Tm in no hurry, mum. Mrs. L. (angrily.) I command you to co! ‘at. O—oh! (Goes toward the door, but turns suddenly.) How did ye loike the breakdown ? Mrs. L. Insolent! Begone! (He goes.) Mrs. L. (to Florence sharply.) To whom were you talking when we came in? Florence (in trepidation.) 'To—to Pat, mamma. . Mrs. L. (severely.) Go to your room! A girl of your age ought to have some dignity. You ought to be ashamed to be on such familiar terms with a servant. Florence (pertly.) Pat isn’t a servant. Mrs. L. And what is he, then? Florence. Your protégé, mamma.” Mrs. A. (laughing.) That’s so, Lucy! Mrs. L. (with dignity.) That may be, but Pat is Pat all the same! Florence (aside). Um not so sure of that. ( Goes out.) Mrs. A. (still laughing.) I can’t see that you have mended matters much, Lucy. Mrs. L. (sinking into a chair with a deep sigh.) Perhaps not; but I meant well, Mary. I did, indeed ! ( Curtain.) Act 2p. —Ron (run.) (Scene: Same as before, but stage in semi-darkness, Enter Pat, that is Julian, without his disguise, and in dishabille.) at (walking around in search of some- thing). I wonder where the deuce I put that book! I can’t sleep a wink to-night

Page 74

456 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. My brain seems on fire. (Sinks into a chair, and buries his face in his hand.) at. I feel like an ingrate! Here I am, practising a base deception on the kindest benefactor a man ever had! I am outraging the hospitality of my noble- hearted patron—for what? That [ may run away with her daughter like a thief. (Gets up and walks about in a@ restless fashion.) e “at. There must be an end to this! I can’t stand it much longer. (Florence, in a loose wrapper, with her hair flowing down her back, and with a candle tr her hand, appears tn the doorway. Sees Pat, and sereams. He takes to his heels and runs across the stage, and she fol- | lows him. They run back and forward across the stage several times, but finally meet face to face, and start back in evident sur- prise.) Florence. Julian! Pat. Florence! ( They embrace. ) Florence. Why, what made you run? at. I thought you were your mother. Florence (pouting.) That’s compli- mentary! Well, sir, 1 thought you were a burglar. Pat (laughing). Oh, pshaw! Girls don’t usually run after burglars. Florence. What are you doing here anyhow, at this unearthly hour? “it. My guardian spirit told me you would come. Florence. Now, Julian, don’t be silly! Pat. 1 couldn't, if I would. Florence. What were you doing? aut. Hunting for a book. And you? Florence. I came to bring one back. Shows it.) “ut. The very book I was in search of ! Florence. I knew you were reading it, and I slipped a note between the pages. Pat (reaching for the book), A note for me, dearest? Florence (holding it back). No, you cannot have it now. I was not sure of seeing you to-morrow morning, and I wanted to warn you, 4ut (in alarm). happened ? Florence. Mamma is going to send you away to-morrow, Pat (aghast), Why, has anything To-morrow! On your hirthday—the day when you come of uge? Florence. I plead with her, Julian, to let you stay, but she would not hear to it. Pat (gloomily). It appears that I can’t please her in any character. What do you intend to do, Florence? Florence (embracing him warmly). 3} shall do as I said I would. I shall ru away with you. Pat (eagerly). Now—at once? Florence (laughing). Well, hardly now Won't to-morrow night do, Julian? Pat. Oh, Florence! Will you do thi: much for me? You do not know— Florence (listening). Hush—sh! } thought I heard some one. at. I guess not! Florence. Yes, I did! You must not stay here a moment longer. You may be discovered. Go! I will meet you to- morrow night at eleven o’clock in the garden. Pat (embracing her tenderly). not fail me, dearest ? Florence (releasing herself ). No—I will be there. Hark! What was that? A step? Yes, it was! It is mamma, Julian—I—I mean Pat! Run, Pat, run! Quick! Not a moment is to be lost. (They run out at opposite sides of the stage ). CURTAIN, You will Act IIL. —AGE, (Scenre. Same as before, but drawing- room brilliantly lighted. Enter Mrs. Langdon and Florence, both in evening dress a Mrs. Langdon. You seemed a little curious, Florence, to know why I insisted on your wearing that dress this evening. Well, my dear, I have a delightful sur- prise in store for you. Capt. Ludgate is coming to take us to the opera to-night. Florence (in consternation). To the opera! Mrs. Langdon (smiling). Yes, dear! [I have not forgotten that this is you twenty-first birthday. I have arranged this little pleasure party to celebrate your coming of age. Florence. You are very kind, mamma, but I—I do not care to go—indeed, can’t go to-night ! Movs. L. (sharply.) Why not? Florence (in terror and confusion). I— [—don’t feel very well. C. he pe en ro W dt fo bu gr Va sO Wwe ric an SOl lig aft fii Pa FI for al as tw ma cel ma ba: yor

Page 75

0 his 10t ay to- the vill —] at? na, in! eite ar ! you red our PATRONAGE. 457 Mrs. ZL. Nonsense! ~ ‘That is a mere subterfuge. I have engaged a bax, and I invited Captain Ludgate to accompany us. Florence. But, mamma, I really can’t go! . Mrs. I. Don’t be silly, Florence. Florence (in distress.) I—I—it is im- possible. (Aside.) Oh, what shall I say? I cannot go to-night, for Julian will be waiting for me in the garden! Mrs. L. Ido not want any nonsense, Florence. You will go with me and the Captain. to-night. You ought to feel honored by his company—a man of his position and wealth. Florence. You know very well that I can’t bear him! Mire. L. You talk like a child, Flor- ence! I suppose you would rather be romping with Pat, than go to the opera with Capt. Ludgate? Florence. Yes, I would. I can’t en- dure Capt. Ludgate, or the opera either, for that matter. You may like Patti best, but I like Pat. Mrs. L. You are a_ heartless, un- grateful girl. (Begins to weep.) And you will bring down my grey hairs with sorrow to the grave! You are positively worrying my soul out of my body! f Florence. We }], mi ay be you will be rid of me soon. Mrs. L. What do you say? Florence. I shall marry some day, and then I won’t trouble you any more. Mrs. Ll. That remains to be seen! I am continually in terror lest you make some unsuitable match. You seem to de- light in running after all the miserable— Florence (indignantly), I never ran after a man in my life! Mrs. L. Well, 1 suppose it’s hardly fair to call that abominable creature, Pat, a man; but it does seem to me, Florence, that you have very little sense for a girl of your age! Now here is Captain Ludgate, the very beau ideal of a husband—rich, sober, upright— Florence. O, mamma! He is ugly as a mud fence, and twice as old as Tam! Mrs. I. Thi at only makes him forty- two—not'a day too old. Do you want to marry some snip of a boy who hasn’ t two cents to rub against each other? Years make very little difference where a hus- band is concerned ! Florence. Then why ean’t I choose a young one? Lon a child like Florence. Mrs. L. Ahem! Don’t be impertinent, Miss ; know very well what I meant to say. Capt. Ludgate has done you the honor of offering you his hand, and a share in his vast estate, which aggregates two million dollars—two—million—dol- lars, mind you! Florence (with spirit.) I wouldn't have him if he were worth a billion! The old fat consequential fool! (Enter Mrs. Arbuthnot drawing on her gloves.) Mrs. Arbuthnot. The carriage is here, Lucy, and Captain Ludgate is in the par- lor. Mrs. I. Go and put on your wraps, Florence. Florence. Mamma, I really can’t go this evening. Mrs. L. Go and do as I bid you! Florence (moving toward the door). I dare not persist in my refusal, or she may suspect, and, if she were to discover that Julian is here, there would be no hope for us. Oh,what can I do? IL must go, and yet—if I fail to meet him, what will he think? I must trust to fate—the fate that has been to us both kind and cruel. I would I were ten years older, that I might dare to act for myself. (Fit.) Mrs. L. (to Mrs. A.) I really don’t know what I shall do with that girl, Mary. She still refuses to listen to Capt. Lud- gate’s suit, and he has asked to-night for a final answer. Good Heqvens! ‘To think of her objecting to a rich husband merely because he is a little older than she! Such a fortune as Capt. Ludgate’s would have justified Methusaleh in wooing one of the mymphs. Send him up here, Mary— won't you? Mrs. A. (smiling.) Who! Methusaleh? Mrs. L. (languidly.) Captain Ludgate, please, (Kevrit Mrs. A.) Mra JL. ( pensively.) There is not so very much difference between Captain Ludgate’s age and mine; but he’s such a fine-looking, well-preserved man that he looks younger than he really is. How becoming that new suit of uniform is! I always doted on a soldier coat (sighs;) and the Captain seems to be just the man to wear one. He is so broad-shouldered, and carries himself so well. I wonder that a man like him should fix his fancy I should think he would prefer a woman somewhat o#der —one that could sympathize with all his “urnest aims and lofty pursuits. What a

Page 76

458 blessing it would be to become the wife of suchaman! (Captain enters and advances.) If such were my most happy lot, I think my cup of joy would be full. To be mis- tress of such a heart and such a fortune— ah! I wish I were young again! (Captain presents himself. Mrs. L. utters a startled exclamation). Captain (bowing profoundly). What, pray, can have led Mrs, Langdon to make such an idle wish, when the rose of youth is still blooming on her cheek, and the brightness of life’s morning still beams in her eye? Mrs. L. (simpering.) Oh, Captain! Really—oh-——you must not flatter so! Captain (taking her hand with exag- gerated gallantry). My dear madam, I never flatter. Besides, what is the use of flattery, where plain truth is such glow- ing praise? Mrs. L. Really, Captain Ludgate, your gallantry overwhelms me. (Sighs.) Men like you are so seldom found, nowa- days. Cuptain (aside). By Jove, she has a good deal of penetration, for a woman of her age! (Aloud.) Ahem! My dear Mrs. L., pray tell me—excuse my impatience —but how fares it with my suit? Mrs. L. Not so well as I would wish, captain. Florence is very foolish—she is a mere child, you know, with very little judgment of her own. Ah, if all women were only like me, you would not have to sue—ahem! I mean all young women, captain, you understand ? Captain (bracing up). My dear Mrs. L., say no more. I have always prided myself on never having been refused in my life. At your suggestion, I will re- treat, for I see your daughter is not at all inclined to the married state. Mrs. L. She is so very young, captain! Captain. Too young entirely. 1 ought not to have dreamed of such a thing. It was a foolish fancy. Mrs. L. (looking down.) I do not think so, captain. A man like you might justly aspire to any woman’s hand. Captain (aside). What a deuced sen- sible woman she is, anyhow! (A/oud.) Dear madam, you are very kind! Mrs. L. Not kind, captain, only just. Captain. It is a rare thing to hear justice from such fair lips as yours! Mrs. L. And gallantry from as true a soldier as yourself! GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Captain (aside). Te-he! I like that! (Aloud.) . Mrs. Langdon, | admire you immensely, Mrs. L. O, Captain! Captain (getting closer). The fact is, I only admired your daughter from her likeness to yourself. If I had thought— I repeat, dear madam, if [ had thought that anything in this world could have induced you— Mrs. L. O, Captain! I am not so inapproachable as all that, am 1? Captain (taking her hand, and slyly putting his arm about her). Well, no. But I am so diffident! Mrs. L. (lays her head in languishing way on his shoulder.) And you have so little cause to depreciate your worth. Captain. Te-he! Mrs. L., you are a remarkable woman. Ahem! I like you awfully, in fact [ am dead gone; I mean I love you, and, if you are agree- able, I don’t know but that an hour hence I can adore you. Mrs. L. O, Captain! you may if you like. Captain. That’s the way to talk! Zounds, what a fool I've been! (Mrs. L. recoils.) Not now, not now, bless you, no! I meant that I'd been a fool not to speak of this before, and not go beating about the bush. Madam, will you, ahem! will you consent to be the partner of my joys and sorrows, the solace of my declin- ing years, and all that?) I am not much of an orator. Mrs. L. (eagerly. ) cient. Captain (dropping on-his knees). Love- liest of your sex, will you marry me? Mrs. L. Dear Captain! I thought you knew my heart. You are the only man who could tempt me to quit the estate of single blessedness. (They embrace rapturously. Meanwhile Florence appears at the right of the stage, and Mrs. Arbuthnot at the left. Both ex- You—ah— One word is suffi- | claim in one breath: “ Mercy !”’) Captain (bracing up.) Ahem! Mrs. L. (extricating herself.) Dearest Florence! Dearest Mary! Do not be surprised. Captain Ludgate has _trans- ferred his suit to me. He has chosen a partner who is nearer his own age, one who can sympathize with him in every particular, one who—in short, myself. Florence (devoutly.) Thank heaven! | = Mrs. Arbuthnot (coming forward). My oy I, th m ar in fi ) sic Wi hi: Up of a Hi do

Page 77

it! ou Ss) ' lu, to ny ny in- ch n! Ly PATRONAGE. 459 dear sister, allow me to congratulate you! And you, too, captain! I wish you every joy! (They shake hands all around.) Mrs. L. (with emotion.) Florence, em- brace your mother. (The y embrace.) Captain (looking - his wate ‘h). Ladies, it is high time we were off. ( Gives his arm to Mrs L.) Shall we go, love? (They lead the way out.) Florence ( following, stays aside). I will go now, gladly. I can explain it all to Julian, and maybe—who knows what may come of this? We will wait and see. (CURTAIN.) ( Exreunt.) Act 4rn. PATRONAGE. (ScENE. Same as before. L., Mra. A., and Florence, the rvom.) Mrs. L. Oh, | did enjoy the opera sO much last night! Dear Philander, we are so much indebted to you for the even- ing’s pleasure ! Captain. How so? footed the bills. Captain, Mrs. all seated about ! You—ha! ha!— Mrs. L. Ah! That is the least con- sideration. We could not have gone without an an escort, vou know. A loud knock at the door.) Mrs. L. Come in. (Enter Julian, in propria persona, with his throat swathed in red flanine /. All start up, except the captain). Florence. Julian! Dear Julian! Mrs. Arbuthnot. My dear boy! Mrs. Langdon. What does this mean? Julian (coldly, laying aside his hat, and talking through his nose). It means, Mrs. Langdon, that I have come to make an explanation, and to ask for one, before I leave your house forever. Florence (runs towards him, and lays her hand on his arm; Dearest Julian! Don’t be I have some- thing to say to you. Julian (shaking her off). I hope you have; Sar from the beginning, Miss Florence, I would have you understand that I do not appreciate practical jokes. Florence. Jokes, Julian! Julian. I pretty nearly got my death of cold last night waiting for you in the garden till one o’clock in the morning! Hereafter— Mrs. L. Waiting for Florence! What do you mean ? says aside). rash! Florence (in despair). If you had only let me explain, Julian! But now you have ruined our only chance. Julian (drawing himself up). Yes, madame! I was waiting for your daughter last night in the garden. Mrs. L. (angrily.) That explains it' Florence, have you been in the habit of ineeting this young man at midnight? Florence (tearfully). Omamma! Don’t scold! Please, don’t scold! Julian and I love each other, and— Julian (bitterly). I thought so once, but now my fondest hopes are blighted ! Florence (to Julian). It wasn’t my fault—indeed, it wasn’t. D—d—don't b—be ec—c—cross, Julian! They made me go to the opera, and [ couldn't get away. I was almost w—w—wild, but mamma would not hear to anything and —and— Julian (melting). me that at first ? Florence. You w—wouldn’t let me! (He takes her in his arms.) Mrs. L. What do you mean by such liberties, Mr. Ware? Julian. That I love your daughter and want to marry her. Mrs. L. You! your presumption. Mrs. A. Don’t do anything of the kind, Lucy. He has a perfect “right to ask, at least. Captain (coming forward). What is all this? Ha! Cupid’s darts have been flying far and wide it seems. So this is your lover, Miss Florence? Mrs. A. Nonsense ! Florence (runs to the Captain). O, sir! Won't you say a word torus? We eannot be happy ‘without each other, and— Captain. I understand perfectly, per- fectly. (To Mrs. L.) My love, when the sun of our own happiness is in the zenith, you cannot have the heart to mar the bliss of these young lovers. (Aside to Florence.) That will do, won’t it? Mrs. L. My dear Captain, you don't know how utterly unworthy Julian— Julian. But I have reformed, Mrs. Langdon. I haven’t played a game of poker for two weeks. Florence. Indeed, he hasn’t, mamma! Captain (seizing Julian's hand). What, sir! Are you a poker player? Let's shake! That’s smy game from the word go! Why didn’t you tell Ha! ha! I laugh at

Page 78

460 GODEY’S LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Mre. L. (aghast.) ‘Captain Ludgate! Captain. When I was a young man we used to play in the barracks after taps every night till two o’clock in the morn- ing, and then the fellows would all get full. Mrs. L. How perfectly dreadful! Captain. Well, wasn't the very best discipline you know, but boys will be be VS. Mrs, A. That’s what I say. Captain. And if that’s all you have against our young friend here, you can’t well repudiate him, seeing you ‘have ac- cepted me. Mrs. L. Captain ! Captain. No; more’s the pity. But you must take him on faith. Come, say the word that will make them h: appy; as a favor to me. Mrs. L. 1 would do anything for you, Captain Ludgate. (To Julian.) But it I give you F oneal Julian, what do you propose to live on? Julian. 1 can work for her. Mrs. L. (relenting and holding out her hand.) You foolish boy! You have noth- ing, and it will be years before you will arn enough at the law to support a wife; but my approaching union with Captain Ludgate will make me independent, and, if you continue to behave correctly, I will settle my own personal fortune on you; besides, Florence is now of age, and has her own inheritance. Julian (bowing). You are very kind, Mrs. Langdon, but I have always said that I would never live off of my wife's money; and as for accepting so much from you, that is impossible. You have already done a very great deal for me. I appreciate it, but cannot accept any fur- ther benefits, now that I am able to earn my own living. If Florence marries me, she must marry @ poor man. Captain (slapping Julian’s shoulder). Bully for you! I admire your spunk! Mrs. Arbuthnot (to Florence). Julian never would be patronized ! Mrs. Langdon (graciously). As you will, Julian. Florence has her own money to fall back on, and I guess you won't starve. Captain. And I have a little unin- vested capital [ don’t mind loaning you. Come on. ( Tukes Julian’s hand.) That's the idea, ( Takes Florence's hand, and But all men are not like you, puts it in Julian’s.) There you are, now. Take her! (Referring to Mrs. A.) It’s all right, my love, isn’t it? Mrs. A. Yes, take her, Julian! She will make you a good wife. ( The captain tueks Mrs. A’s arm through his. Captain. Bless you, my children-that- are-to-be! Bless you, in your basket and in your store! (Julian and Florence kneel. Mrs. A. comes up alongside.) ,May you always have a full hand! (Jo Mrs. A.) I think we'll have a good run of luck ; you have two pairs to start with! (CURTAIN. ) snteeteneiamnmaiiaiis INDIAN SUMMER. BY GEORGE BIRD. A dreamy languor lingers Like lost perfume in the air— An odor shed From flowers dead— An echo from rare songs that were. A gentle light diffuses Thro’ the strange, mysterious haze ; The smokes that rise In azure dyes From funeral pyres of summer days. We walk in pleasant places That fond summer loved the most; Again we meet In converse sweet, For summer haunts them like a ghost, «° AUNT RUTH ON PALMISTRY. KATE CROMBIE, They call it “Parmistry,” nowdays, and speak on’t as an “occult sience,” and so on; but ’tain’t nothin’ in the world but jest tellin’ fortunes by the lines o’ the hands. We didn’t use ter calklate anybody knew much about it but “hory sages” and gipseys; but now it’s all the rage among fashnerble people and respectable folks, same’s paintin’ on chiny, ye know. When I was down ter the beach ‘long with my niece—she that was Araminty Smith—everybody was chuckin’ full on’t; it did beat all! The young fellers went into ’t hed fust; it give ’em sech a good chance ter hold the girls’ hands, and look inter their eyes, and dew a good many things ’t they couldn't no other way. op tel tel as lik oC} gil ku “ ( wl be to: Tu ha we re. m st Ou

Page 79

yw. [t’s She igh at- nd ce ay : of AUNT RUTH ON And the girls, they was glad o’ the oppertunity ter say disagreeable things ter them that they had a spite agin, and ter make love in an underhanded way— as ye might say—ter the young men they liked the looks on. There was one harnsome black-eyed girl ter the hotel where we stopped that knew more about it than all the rest uv ‘em put together: they called her the “ Gipsey queen,” and most every evenin’ when we was down in the parlors, there’d be quite a crowd round her, havin’ their fortunes told. It was curis ter hear her go on, and ruther onpleasant tew sometimes. She had sech a way o’ huntin’ out a person's weak pints, and holdin’ ’em up for the rest ter laugh at. But arter all, she was so good-natered about it, and as she sarved us pooty much alike, nobody thought o’ gittin’ mad at her. Wall, arter we got home, Minty and me we continuered ter think o’ the sub- jeck, and finally we took a notion we'd study up, so’s ‘t we could tell fortunes ourselves. We went on, and ransacked the book- stores and libries from one end ter t’other; and we examined and studied the hands o’ the members o’ the family till they was all wore out. Jack—that’s Minty’s husband—said how ’t his’n was paralyzed. Jack's hand was an oncommon good one to study, bein’s the lines were so clear and deep, and sech a lot on ’em; he said we'd found everything there, from a large family o’ children to a sea voyage—everything but a five-dollar bill ! When we'd worked ourselves inter quite a stew over it, and our resources was pooty nigh exhausted, Jack come luggin’ home to us oneday a great big book. He laid it down onter the table as care- ful as if it had ben so much gold. “There, girls,” says he, “if you must study ‘the black arts,’ you'd better go ter the founting hed. So I’ve gone and in- vested in this ere book—here’s the hull thing! Now, I advise ye ter set right down tew it, and make yerselves comf'ta- ble. And hereafter I want you ter lem me alone.” Minty dropped on to her knees afore the monstrous volyume and looked at the title page. \\ “Why! Aunt Ruth! she said, excited, PALMISTRY. 461 “this ere book is over two hunderd years old! Think of it! And oh dear me, dew look at all the queer diergrams and things ! Sech a treasure! how upon arth did you it hold ou’t Jack?” “Money fetched it,” said he laughin.’ “JT paid a dollar a year for’t, and more teu: all I hope is, that you'll git the vally o’ the money out on’t!” and he laughed agin, and shrugged up his shoulders and went off. Arter all, I don’t s’pose it was no more nor less ’n idolitry, the way we actid with that old book. One or t’other on us was on our bended knees afore it the biggest part o’ the time. sut it was dretful hard gittin’ anything practikle out on’t—because the writer seemed ter be one o’ them prosy long- winded fellers that never say anything right straight out nor come ter the pint ‘less they’re ’bliged tew. So we had ter wade through oceans 0’ words ter git a single idee. It was all spelt with long “ses tew. I must say I think there’s ben improve- munt in the art o’ spellin’—if in nothin’ else; our forefathers was awful shifless about some things! However, we managed ter git a good deal that was new and curis ’t we couldn’t probably a’ found anywheres else ; that’s what made the book cost so much [ ’spose —though Jack says that nowdays any- thing two hunderd years old is worth its weight in gold—except o/d maids, and them don’t fetch half price! It was real mean for him ter say that, for I know a good many old maids that wouldn’t be if they could help it; they ain’t ter blame. Wall, when we'd got the mounts and lines and things pooty well fixed in our heds, we begun ter be crazy ter tell every- body’s fortune. Our washer-woman was one o’ the fust subjecks we lited on to. She took her great hand out o’ the tub, and held it up to us drippin’ with suds—as tickled as could be. There’s nothin more univarsal than the desire ter know the futur’, I find. Biddy’s hand was a sight ter see; as red as a piece o’ beef, and all scarred and seamed, There was holes on the back of ‘em that the rats gnawed when she was comin’ over from Ireland in the steerage. One finger had been took off by a ma- chine, and the rest was all out o’ shape or 5

Page 80

462 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. with rheumatiz. It didn’ t take no sience ter tell that poor Biddy’s lot had been a hard one. But she asked the question they all dew, invariable. “Shall I live long?” says she. “I should like ter live long. mum,” lookin’ up inter my face wistful as a child. She had lived long a’ready; she was in her sixty-fifth year, and bein’s she’s tough as an ox, she bids fair ter live many a year longer. So I says, “’Cordin’ ter all appearances, Biddy, you'll live forever.” “An’ is it rich I’m goin’ ter be?” she asked next, jest as they all dew. “T don’t see no legacies nowheres,” says I, “but you’ll never want for bread.” “ Ligacies, is it?” she repeated, with a broad grin. “Sure an’ I’ve had me ligacy! Didn’t Mary Mulrooney lave me the illigant warmin’-pan? Whin I went ter borry it of her the last time, she was mad, and she says ter me: ‘ Biddy Sullivan, it’s tired o’ lindin’ Iam! Kape the long-handled thing now, till I eall for it, says she. And w hin I heard she was dead I claps me ould man on the back the fust thing, and says I: ‘Mike, she'll niver call for the warmin’ pan!’ says I. ‘Thrue for you,’ says he, ‘its a liga ACY ; but go on with the fortune, mum.” “Oh, you have a good heart line, and a fair hed line, and your last days will be your best!” says I, glib as a poll-parrot. “Glory be ter God for that, mum!” says Biddy, fervent as a Methodist meetin’; “it’s nade enough I have o’ better days. What with Mike’s batin’s whin he’s in the dhrink, and pinin’ for the fine litter o’ pigs gone from us in the spring, it’s nade enough I have o’ better times, I say,” and a big tear or two fell inter the wash-tub. We paid her double wages that day, and giv her a baskit 0’ eatables ter take home with her. She thanked us over ’n over. “ An’ shure,” she said, as she trotted away, “I fear me this is one o’ thim last best days ye mintioned in the fortune.” It’s curis, but everybody wants fortune ter bring ’em something they hain’t got and can’t have. Them that hain’t no children are dretful anxious ter find them in their hands. The poor want legacies and riches ; fools want honors; and cut- and-dried old maids that all the signs in the Zodiac couldn’t alter, they want hus- bands. And funniest of all, married folks are dyin’ ter have ye say they're goin’ ter be widders or widderers pooty soon; and when you tell ’em they'll probably enjoy a good many years with their present pardners, they express great relief, but they don’t as a gineral thing look happy. Minty’s minister is a good man, but awful sot and old-fashioned in his notions, and wants everybody ter think jest ex- actly as he does. Now, I like these ’ere old-fashioned folks myself, and hain’t nothin’ ter say agin ’em; only I dew believe most on ’em have weak spots jest the same as other folks: Minty’s minister had, and I must say I was sorry ter have a hand in findin’ "em. Somebody ’d told him how carried away we was on the subjeck o’ Parmistry, and about our old book, and so on: and what does he dew but come right over ter see about it, and set us right. He spoke very severe ter Minty ; said how ’t he did “hope no one o’ his flock would giv’ any porshun o’ their arthly probashun ter any sech friverlous—not ter say wicked—dewices.” He wound up by sayin’: “Fortune tellin’, my dear ladies, is no more nor less than a silly humbug, by which only the ignorant and superstishus is took in,” etc., ete, “Yes, sir,” says Minty, lookin’ up at him humble and respeck ful as could be, “of course, nobody would expect you ter take any stock in’t—we don’t read/y, but it 7s curis and amusin sometimes.” She turned her face up ter his, inner- cent as a baby, and smilin’ as a rosy, and took hold o’ one o’ his white hands, and looked at it admirinly. He was old enough ter be her father— he smiled down on to her, indulgent but very superior. “What nice hands,” she goes on, “long taperin’ fingers—hands o’ the highest order, ’cordin’ ter the old book, Aunt Ruth?” “Yes,” says I, “and he’s got a double line o’ life, s’ true as I live! the fust one I’ve ever found.” “But then,” says Minty, “we haint never examined no noted men’s hands afore.” “ And what might a double line o’ life mean?” he asked, condesendin’ but grand as the great Mogull. “Oh” it means everything good and great!” says Minty, gushin’. NI

Page 81

d it it A LESSON FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. 463 “ And then your hed line is so deep and clear—and your line o’ the heart—wall, it must be ruther tryin’ for a minister 0’ the Gospel ter be sech a favorite with the ladies:” says she. “Come, come!” Jaughed the minister, settlin’ himself back comfortable in his chair, and givin’ up both hands ter Minty “it is amusin’ rarther—for anything so foolish: but go on: go on.” Then she told him a good deal that tickled him up mitily: so far it hadn’t ben nothin’ but favorable. But all of a suddin Minty give a little scream. “Was you ever drownded? Oh dear— I beg pardon—of course you never was: but didn’t you never fall inter the water nor nothin’? “Never!” says the minister, lookin’ wild and settin’ bolt upright in his chair. “What dew you mean, child?” Minty dropped his hand as if it had ben a hot coal, and looked distressed enough. “What do you see?” asked the minis- ter. Minty laughed kinder hysterikle. “Pshaw,” she says “of course there aint nothin’ in it, no way—” “Perceed, I ask you to perceed,” he said, tryin’ tersmile. “I assure you I find it very amusin’—very much so indeed.” “But this ain’t exactly funny—or wouldn’t be if it was true,” said Minty. “See here!” and turnin’ to a diergram in the old book, she showed him where the tips of the fingers was full o’ ttle wavy lines, and sure enough, there on every finger o’ the minister’s hand was jest the same lines—as plain as day! And it said in the book that sech signs meant dangers by water, or death by drownin’. The minister he laaghed a feeble laugh, and picked up his hat ter go. “Curis,” he said, “very curis, but fool- ish.” “T s’pose it is,” said Minty, most a eryin’, “but if I was you I'd keep away from the water. Don’t never go nigh it, will you?” “Our lives is in the Lord’s hands,” he answered, very sollum. “Yes, but you’ll be safest on dry land,” said Minty, and he wefit away. Now, sot as he was, and strong-minded as he was, he had his weak spot, didn’t he? And he'll be afraid o’ the water as long as he lives! He even went so fur as ter have an artifishul pond on his grounds filled up, sayin’ how ’t standin’ water wan’t helthy. And when his Serciety offered him a vacation and money ter pay his expenses ter go ter Europe, he took the vacation and the money, but his fisician didn’t think a sea-voyage would be benefishul ter him, so he went to the mountings instid. “Poor man,” said Minty when she heard about it, “he needn’t hang off: if he is ter be drownded he will be, if a drop o’ water never touches him!” But, between you ’n me, I don’t believe much in Parmistry arter all. —* EXOTICS. MRS. S. L. OBERHOLTZER.,. The fair and rare exotics Beneath the hot-house pane, Fee) not the wind’s caressing, Or sweetness of the rain ; Know not the dews delightful Of violets in the lane. Smooth-breasted as flamingoes, And warm with Southern dyes, Azaleas, rhododendrous Camellias lift their eyes ; My own half-pitying meet them, And thought to wild bloom flies. a A LESSON FOR HUSBANDS AND WIV Es. Mrs. Osborne came into her sitting- room with a frown on her face. The room was a pretty one and so was the face, and the frown looked decidedly out of place. But out of place or not, it was there, and there it meant to stay until its fair owner settled a question that was dis- turbing her peace of mind. After one short year of married life she was forced to the conclusion that husbands are a different species from lovers, and the knowledge did not please her. On the contrary, it very much displeased her, as the frown and sparkling eyes bore mute testimony. An only child, idolized at home, and a belle in society,she had grown up, kind-hearted and loving, prone to be a trifle imperious and exacting, but with it all possessing a good share of sound

Page 82

464 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. common sense. She did not imagine, when she married, that her life would be a bed of roses. She had loved Ned Osborne dearly, but she had not idealized him to the extent that girls are apt to do. She had imagined that each would dis- cover failings in the other, but she was not prepared for just the kind of failings she had discovered in him. They were of a kind that she found it hard to excuse. She had been brought up in a home where the little courtesies of life were never omitted, and the contrast between a courteous, considerate father, and a sel- fish, discourteous husband had been forced upon her attention that morning—not for the first time—in a way that made her tin- gle with mortification. Before their mar- riage Ned Osborne had been the most de- voted of lovers. Her slightest wish he fondly obeyed. She had not expected the husband to be as devoted as the lover, but she certainly had expected Ned to carry a certain degree of love-making into their married lite. Not only had he failed in this, but he had failed in the common civilities of daily life, and it touched her pride in a way that Ned would have found it hard to understand. It was the old story that wrecks many a woman’s life. After the honeymoon the husband unconsciously drifted back to the ways he had been used to in his old home. He only treated his wife as he had treated his mother and sisters. Since Minnie had become intimately acquainted with his family, she partly realized this. She was clear-sighted enough to see that his man- ners were the natural result of his home training, but that did not make it easier to bear. Many women share Minnie’s experience so fur, and a great many of them make up their minds that they can- not help matters, and so allow themselves to drift helplessly along, possessing hope- less lives and hopelessly selfish husbands, and being more to blame for it than they can imagine. But Minnie Osborne was made of sterner stuff. She would not lose her husband without a struggle. Woman like, she did not dread so much the loss of his love, as she feared to lose her love and respect for him; for it is not enough for a woman to be loved, she must also love. Her little slippers beat a tattoo on the carpet, and her’eyes shone ominously as she thought over the. scene at the breakfast table that morning. She had made up her mind as she dressed for breakfast that it should not be her fault if Ned failed in his attentions to her; so she dressed herself with unusual care, and went down prepared to be gay and enter- taining if her husband gave her the least chance. She certainly looked dainty and sweet enough to transform any husband into a lover. Her pale blue cashmere wrapper with trimmings of filmy lace, and rose-buds at her throat, was perfect, and so was the pretty expressive face. When sheentered Ned was already at the table, absorbed in the morning paper. As she seated herself by the coffee urn, she waited a minute, but still he did not speak. “Good morning, Ned,” she said, with an effort at her usual tone. A half grunt and rustle of the paper was the only response. There was inter- esting news in the paper that morning, and Mr. Osborne divided his time between it and his breakfast—he had none to spare for his wife. She realized, with a pang of mortification that if she wished any breakfast she would have to wait on herself or remind her husband of his re- missness. She had always dismissed the servant at meals, preferring to be undis- turbed, and she was devoutly thankful now that no sharp-eyed hireling was there as spectator to the scene. “Ned,” she said, in her most silvery tones “dont you think you could spare me a little steak?” Ned glanced up.impatiently from his paper. “Don’t bother, Minnie. You certainly are old enough to wait on your- self.” Minnie’s eyes flashed, and her lips closed firmly together. Not a word did she say, and the meal was finished in ab- svlute silence, save for the rustle of the newspaper and clatter of dishes. When it was over Ned rose, and with a careless glance at his wife, and a “I'll be late this morning,” he was off. Minnie had been used to neglect before, but to nothing se bad as this. It was the first time he had left her without some slight ceremony of leave-taking, though kisses he had dis- pensed with some time before. As Minnie reviewed this scene and other episodes of the last few months, the lines in the white forehead grew deeper, and at last her wrath found words: “I won’t stand it one minute longer,” she exclaimed, while her soft lips settled into a resolute line that

Page 83

or sO d st id er . ig, en Oss his en ad of lis- nie of ite ver me ler dat A LESSON FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. promised well for Master Ned’s subjec- tion. “If he can be cured, I will cure him, and if I find his case hopeless I will go back to my father’s; for I never will live with a man I despise. I’m afraid my love won’t stand the test of many more such months as the last few have been.” Her mind made up, the frown cleared away, but the resolute look remained, and was there when Ned came home that evening. He always lunched down town —another thing that cost his wife a pang —aand after their late dinner was over, he generally proceeded to entertain himself, with a supreme disregard of the partner of his bosom, that made that amiable partner feel anything but pleasant. It was so this evening; Ned stretched him- self in the cosiest chair he could find, saying, quite as a matter of course, “Get my dressing-gown and slippers, Minnie, and then I'll be comfortable.” The desired articles hung in a closet much nearer their owner than to any one else, but Minnie rose quietly and handed them to him. She waited a moment, and hearing nothing, said demurely, just as if he had thanked her: es You are welcome.” There was some- thing in her tone that made him look at her curiously, but then he asked her to hand him the papers, and soon he was oblivious to all the world. His enjoy- ment, however, was not long undisturbed. He was interrupted by an imperious voice. “Ned, go into the next room and bring me my basket of zephyr; I need a new shade.” He dropped his paper and looked at her. She went on serenely with her work, not seeming to notice his amazement. He picked up his paper again. “Are you getting too lazy to wait on yourself, Minnie?” he inquired, sareas- tically. “I’m surprised that you should interrupt my reading. You can’t expect me to attend to such little matters. If you really don’t feel like exerting yourself, call a servant.” And Ned went on with his reading, and his wife with her fancy work—but with a little gleam in her eyes, not there before. Presently he wanted another paper. The rack was near him, but almost from force of habit, he asked his wife to get it. He was met with a startling response. “I’m surprised at you, Ned. Are you getting too lazy to wait on yourself? I 465 would suggest that as the rack is nearer you than me, you get the paper yourself. If you don’t feel equal to it, however, by all means call a servant.” I suppose Ned Osborne had never been more astonished in all his selfish life. He gave her another long stare of utter amazement. Then he rallied to say freez- ingly: “I admire your politeness, Mrs. Osborne.” “Thank you! As I am imitating my husband, the compliment is doubly pre- cious,” was the serene reply. The re- mainder of the evening passed in utter silence. Ned maintained a dignified though injured demeanor, and Minnie smiled naughtily to herself. “Ah, ah, Master Ned,” she thinks, “you don’t realize that this is only the beginning.” He began to realize it the next morning. When Minnie came in to breakfast, he was seated, reading as usual. They took their places at the well-spread breakfast table, and Ned went on with his paper, helping himself abstractedly to beefsteak and hot rolls, and leaving his wife, as usual to wait on herself. Presently he became conscious that something was wanting to complete his comfort. He looked at Minnie. She was nonchalantly reading a paper, sipping a cup of fragrant cottee, oa taking little bits of her roll between whiles. The coffee was the miss- ing link. He frowned, and said crossly, “Do you intend giving me any coffee this morning, Mrs. Osborne?” Mrs. Osborne glanced up from her paper a moment. “As you said to me about the steak yesterday morning, you are certainly old enough to wait on your- self without bothering me. J am _ very much interested in the news this morn- ing.” And she went on with her paper, “almly ignoring the blank look that settled over her husband's face. Ned finished his breakfast without any coffee. He went to his business indignant. But it made him think, and his thoughts bore fruit. After two or three meals in which he went coffeeless, he succumbed. He could not go without his favorite bever- age, he did not like the thought of pour- ing it out himself, and finally, he had a lingering suspicion that his wife was in the right. So he yielded ag gracefully as possible. He supplied his wite’s plate and he got his coffee. It seemed a very little matter, but it was the beginning of a

Page 84

466 revolution. But he had to be conquered inch by inch. One evening he came home with a box of fine cigars. He told Minnie that he wanted to smoke while he read his papers, and that it was only a whim of hers that she didn’t like tobacco smoke. “ All the other fellows smoke at home,” he said, as he lightedacigar. “You surely won't mind these; they are as fragrant as orange blossoms. They have such a soothing effect on the nerves. It won’t be more than a week before you will tease me to continue smoking.” Minnie said nothing, but she thought volumes. Ned smoked and read in supreme content. He felt that he had asserted his supremacy. He had always intended to be master of his own house, and he was; there could be no doubt about it. He put away the papers in a short time, and began to chat pleasantly with his wife. There is nothing that makes a man so good-humored as to feel that he is having his own way when it has become somewhat difficult for him to do so. Minnie responded readily, and he congratulated himself that she showed so little inclination to pout. She was the best of company, and the evening that be- gun in smoke, ended very pleasantly. But though she seemed so docile, it was only seeming. Her mind was busy in- venting a plan for Ned’s discomfiture. She spent the next day practicing a—to her—difficult accomplishment. It made her sick, but by night she had conquered. When Ned lighted his cigar that evening, his wife produced a dainty case of cigar- ettes, lighted one, and putting it between her rosy lips, puffed away as calmly as though it was an everyday occurrence. Now if there was one thing more than another that Ned Osborne hated, it was to see a woman smoke. His wife had often heard his tirades against the practice. He had often said that a woman must be fast and loud and altogether unlovable that would smoke. And now here was the wife of his bosom, sitting in a free-and- easy fashion, with her chair tilted back, and her feet on a stool, coolly reading a paper and puffing away as if she enjoyed every whiff. It was too much. “Mrs. Osborne,” he began, sternly, “does this mean that you know how to smoke?” Mrs. Osborne did not seem very much impressed. She smiled saucily. © GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. “Tt looks very much like it, my dear.” “Have you been keeping the practice a secret from me?” “ Not exactly, seeing that I only learned to-day. I thought it would be so nice and cosy for us to smoke together. On the same principle that two people eating onions can’t smell each other’s breath. thought if we both smoked, we would find each other's society so much pleasanter.” Ned gave her a searching look, but she was the picture of innocence. “Are you trying to pretend that you don’t know that the sight of a woman smoking is infinitely disgusting to me?” he queried, hotly. “Oh, yes, I knew it,” she answered, sweetly, “just as you have known that the sight of a man smoking has always been infinitely disgusting to me. It has only been a whim with each of us, and we will soon get over it. I fear your cigar isn’t having a soothing effect on your nerves this evening; you appear somewhat ruffled. Won't you try one of mine? They are delightful. It won't be a week before you will miss them so much that you will tease me to commence smoking.” The sarcasm was obvious, now. Ned fidgeted, frowned, and finally laughed. He rose and flung his cigar into the grate. “T give it up, you littie witch. I can’t stand it to see you smoke, and if you'll promise to abstain, I will.” Minnie’s cigarette case promptly fol- lowed his cigar. “T willingly promise, my dear husband, for to tell the truth, I’m not much attached to the weed.” Her gay laugh had a touch of triumph in it, and Ned looked rather sheepish. He began to have that wondering respect for his wife that a man has for a woman when he begins to find that she is more clever than he had imagined. Success always commands our respect, and he found she was very successful in check- mating him. Not content with minor victories, our plucky little general mar- shalled her forces for another attack. She would not rest satisfied until he made a final and complete surrender. In common with a great many other wives, Minnie had to ask her husband tor every cent of money that she received. She would not have minded this so much, | if it had been cheerfully granted; but Ned — het h: a di ey lo dt th ht we is m wi da Mm pe all ho

Page 85

A LESSON FOR HUSBANDS AND WIVES. sometimes grumbled, and sometimes re- fused entirely. She knew that she was not extravagant. Ned’s business was good, and he did not deny himself any little luxury that he craved. She had ulways wanted a settled allowance, but she could never bring her husband to consent to 1t, One morning at the breakfast table she broached the subject of a new silk, that she wanted to wear to a large party they were invited to attend. As she had half expected, Ned refused, saying that she had plenty of dresses good enough to wear. She quietly accepted his refusal, and by night she had made up her mind what to do. If she had been tempted to waver in her determination, the next day would have decided it; for a handsome suit was sent home to Ned from a fashion- able tailor’s, and the bill enclosed, with its various items, was a hundred dollars. As Minnie glanced it over, she smiled, a little bitterly, and then, donning her stylish walking suit, she went down town to do some shopping. She had never gone in debt for even a spool of thread before, but Kendall « Brown were per- tectly willing that she should buy their entire stock, if she wanted it, for they knew that Ned was able to pay for it. But she contented herself with a hand- some silk and trimmings, and also bought several yards of rare lace, of a pattern she had always coveted. Altogether her pur- chases amounted to two hundred dollars, and she went home feeling that she had done a pretty good morning’s work. That evening Ned said to her in rather an apo- logetie tone. “I suppose you're vexed about that dress, Minnie, but really it seemed to me that you could do without it as well as not. I never could imagine what you women do with so many new . You must admit, my dear, that your sex is dreadfully extravagant.” . “Yes,” said Minnie, demurely, “I ad- mit it, of course. But you need not worry about my dress; I bought one to- day.” Ned dropped his paper. “Where, may I ask, did you get the money ?” “I tried to get it of my husband, as perhaps you remember. Your new suit and a bill for a hundred dollars was sent home this morning, and I concluded I dresses. | couldn’t do better than to follow your ex- ample. I went to Kendall & Brown’s, and they were happy to trust me to any extent. I didn’t buy out the store, how- ever. My bill was only two hundred dollars. Would you like to see it?” This last with a mocking smile. Ned made some remarks more forcible than elegant, to all of which Minnie listened with the utmost composure; but when he had finished, she rose and said with de- cision: “Tf you know of any reason, Ned, why I shouldn’t have a new dress as well as vou a new suit, I should like to hear it. You already have a dozen suits as good as new, and I’m sure the number of my presentable dresses falls far short of that. On one thing I am determined, if you won’t give me any allowance, I shall run bills at the stores. I have submitted for the last time to the humiliation of asking a husband for money to be refused,” and with head erect and sparkling eyes, Minnie left the room, leaving her husband to some very uncomfortable reflections. To give him his due, he was not a bad fellow at all. He had been spoiled be- fore Minnie had the training of him. His mother had thought men were superior beings, born to be waited on and looked up to; his sisters were of the same opinion; asa natural consequence he was firmly of that belief himself. He had clear ideas as to the dutv of women to him, but he didn’t trouble his head much about his duty to them. But his decided little wife was beginning to open his eyes, and though provoked and astonished, he had a lurk- ing admiration for her spirit after all. He thought over the matter for several days, and as a result, he handed Minnie a handsome sum, and asked her if that would do for a monthly allowance. For answer, his wife threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. It was a warm clinging kiss from a pair of very kissable lips, and it pleased Ned more than he would have thought possible. Kisses had grown rare between them. They did very well to win a wife with, but once won, Ned supposed she could be kept without any such little attentions. As time went on, Minnie grew almost dis- couraged. True, she had nothing to com- plain of now in regard to money matters, and he was more courteous and attentive than formerly, but still he failed to be

Page 86

468 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. what his wife wished—a lover. It was not enough for her warm, loving nature, that he should like and respect her just because she was his wife and he knew he ought to; she wanted him to dove her, and to show it. Ned began to find her an interesting study. He even caught himself smiling during business hours at some neat check- mate he had received. He found his wife very different from the clinging, docile girl he imagined that he married; but though more vexing, she was certainly more in- teresting. Under her tuition he began to have a dawning suspicion that perhaps he had been rather selfish, and when that idea begins toe penetrate a man’s mind, he is near a millennium. But at present the thought was only in embryo, and it needed a sharp awakening to fully de- velop it. He came home one hot summer day full of a new plan. It was getting too hot to attend to business ; he needed some recreation. He told Minnie that he had promised to go with a fishing party to spend a couple of months near Alton, quite a fashionable summer resort. A lot of the young fellows were going, and he anticipated a jolly time. “It’s just what I need, Minnie. I have been working too hard, and the city is no place to stay in summer, any way. You mustn't get lonesome. It might be a good idea for you to stay at your father’s till [ come back. You ean if you like.” Minnie listened, and smiled a little bitter-sweet smile that always made him uncomfortable—but in the excitement of getting off, he forgot all about it, and nothing disturbed him for the next week. He fished and smoked and joked with the boys, enjoying his bachelor freedom ex- ceedingly—but only for one short week. One night, about a week after our fishing party was snugly settled, there was a grand hop at the hotel in Alton. All of Ned’s party went except himself, but he staid at home, and devoted a few thoughts to his wife, and thought himself a very good fellow for doing so. He went to bed early, and as the fellows came home late, he did not hear the ball discussed till they met at breakfast. Al Jordan set the ball rolling, with a quizical look at Ned. “Old fellow, we saw some one you are slightly acquainted with, last night. She’s the belle of the place. All the men are raving about her wit, her beauty, and her style. You had better go down and im- prove your acquaintance.” Ned-exhibited but slight interest. “It’s hardly worth while for an old married fellow like me,” he answered, laughingly. “What’s her name?” Al leoked at the boys; there was a smile on every face, as he answered, sol- emnly, “ Mrs. Minnie Osborne.” Ned jumped to his feet. “ What!” he shouted. “ Not my wife?” “Your wife; just so. A jolly good time she seems to be having, too. She asked after you, and hoped you were en- joying your fishing.” Poor Ned! he certainly had enjoyed it amazingly for one short week, but his wife’s polite wish was doomed to be un- fulfilled after that. The boys chaffed him unmercifully, for they could see what a surprise it was to him, and it pleased them vastly. He went to a charade party a night or two after this, especially to see his wife. He saw her, but it did him but little good. She greeted him cordially, quite as if he was an old acquaintance, and then she dropped him. Mrs. Os- borne seemed to be a general favorite, and was in great demand. She acted —and acted remarkably well—in all the charades, and when she wasn’t acting, her chair was surrounded by a group of men. To Ned, who had always been used to having his wife all to himself, this was anything but pleasant. He chated and fumed inwardly, but try as he might, he couldn’t speak to her alone. He no- ticed, with a jealous eye, that she was looking briiliantly. She had been a very pretty girl, and now her husband noticed for the first time that she had developed into an exceedingly handsome woman. As he watched her, his thoughts were a curious mixture of pride and jealousy, mingled with a thrill of triumph that she was his after all. Taking it altogether, the charade party was far from being a success, as far as Ned was concerned. He voted it a bore, and went home early to pass a miserable night. He was accom- paniedby that worst of all company— jealousy. After that he haunted Alton, to the great neglect of his fishing. His wife was nice to him, but she was nice to a good many others, too, and there was an invisible line between them, that he > «& ee fT, DRT — Rm eee my ot

Page 87

cenit asetaliasath Ste hn Sac i aS i eee

THROUGH THE CLOUDS 469

SUNSHINE found it impossible to cross. _Woman’s tact was too much for him. However one day he managed to catch her alone for a few minutes, and bettered matters a great deal by peremptorily telling her she must go home with him at once. She looked up in the prettiest surprise. “Why, Ned, I hope you are not getting tired of this chs arming place. W ‘ith all respect for your authority, I must confess that I haven’t a thought of going home fora month yet. But don’t wait for me, if you are anxious to return. You can stay at your mother’s, you know”—this last with a naughty smile. “Do you women never forget any- thing?” her husband answered, angrily. “What if I did ask you to stay at your father’s? It would have been a better thing for you to do than to come here and flirt. Do you suppose I am going home and leave you here to be talked about?” He stopped, for he saw he had gone a step too far. Minnie confronted him with flas hing eyes. “That will do, Ned; you have said quite enough. The worst that can be said of me is that I like to be admired, and that I accept the admiration of other men because my husband fails to see any- thing in me worthy of praise. You may all me a flirt if you like, but let me tell you this: no woman ever flirted that was happy in a husband's love.’? And then she was gone, but her words remained and haunted him. He knew that what she had said was true. She was a general favorite. She was gay and entertaining, the best of good company, always; but she never ste ppe <i over the line of good com- radeship, or allowed any one else to do so. But Ned was tormented by a thousand fancies, and among them all, the thought that he had lost his wife’s love was the most unbearable. He did not go home, as she had kindly suggested; but he staid on, growing more desperate every day. No lover could have longed more arde ntly to tell his hopes and fears, and no maiden of sixteen, inte nt on ey vading the question, could have eluded him more artfully than his wife. But at last Fate favored him. While fishing one day, he met Minnie, looking like the goddess of spring in her dainty dress, with her hands full of flow- ers. He came toward her eagerly. “Minnie,” he began, abruptly, much longer is this to last?’ “how

| each other His wife smiled. «a believe you anid you were to stay two months, and if you still adhere to it, your fishing will last about another week. I suppose you will be tempted to stay lenger, though: you are enjoying it so much.” “No,” he answered, impatiently; “I am not enjoying anything. Why do you pre tend to misunderstand me? Does it give you pleasure to see me miserable? It you knew how unhappy I had been lately, you would surely ”—he hesitates. ‘Behave better,” put in his wife, wick- edly. “ No, that was not what I meant. You behave better now than I deserve, Minnie dear. I haven’t been a good husband to you. I ean see now that I have been selfish and unloving often; but [ want to ask you to forgive me, and to give me my old wife again. The new one is clever and fascinating, but the old one loved me. Can I bring her back?” Minnie looked at him earnestly. “ Yes, Ned,” she said, and her voice quivered, “the old wife loved you, but she had a nature that craved love in return. She was warm-hearted and_ sensitive, and longed with all a woman’s heart for a husband that was a lover. You failed to satisfy her. If she came back to you, could you satisfy her now ?” “Yes, for I love her with all my heart and soul. Come, darling.” He took her in his arms, and their lips met in a long, long kiss—a kiss that promised forgive- ness for the past, and happiness for the future.

SUNSHINE THROUGH THE CLOUDS. BY F. P. W. Jack Merton and his wife had not been quarreling—far from it. In fact, during the five years of their married life, al- though many dark and threat ning clouds had rolled across their horizon, yet the thunder of angry words had never ‘shaken their domestic “atmosphere for even a single occasion. And yet, Mr. and Mrs. Merton, although as dee ply in love with as they had been before their vows to love, cherish, and obey were pub- licly made, were not happy. How many people who live unhappily in the marital relations ever attempt to analyze their difficulties, so that they may

Page 88

470 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. know how to throw sunshine through the forbidding clouds upon the path of duty that leads to happiness? The number is few, indeed; and Jack Merton and his wife were of the class who suffered, but knew not how to summon the angel of understanding with healing upon her wings. On the particular occasion of which we write, Mr. Merton had come home from lis work with the disappointment of a “bad day” hanging over him. Added to this was the fact that the cook had made a failure of the evening meal, which made matters much worse than they would have been otherwise. After tea, Mrs. Merton said, “Jack, I have been writing an article for the county paper, to-day, and I want you to read it, and tell me what you think of it.” “Tt seems to me,” replied Mr. Merton, “that if you would devote a little more time to overseeing the cook that we wouldn’t have such abominable suppers.” “] am as sorry about the supper as you are, Jack; but I had a eall from Mrs. Welch while Jane was preparing it, and had to leave her to her own resources. But never mind the supper now, Jack, for here is my article, and I want you to criticise it.” Somewhat reluctantly, Mr. Merton took the several sheets, and read them through. “Well, what do you think of it?” in- quired Mrs. Merton, anxiously. “Oh, I suppose it will do,” said Mr. Merton, in a hesitating tone which said plainer than words that he did not like the article. The truth is that, excepting some minor errors, Mr. Merton thought the article good. But he allowed his peevishness to get the better of his manli- ness, and instead of telling her exactly what he thought, he chose to say what he knew would strike deep at her heart. “What is the matter with the article, Jack?” “T have said that it will do, and isn’t that enough ?” In reply, Mrs. Merton took the manu- script, and walking to the grate, in which was a blazing fire, she tossed the written pages upon the glowing coals. “Why, Harriet!” exclaimed Mr. Mer- ton ; “ what made you do that?” “ Because I chose to do it!” hotly re- ylied Mrs. Merton, who felt that she had we insulted and ill-treated.

“T think I shall find a little more con- genial company,” said Mr. Merton, and directly he was on his way to the club-room. And this was the nearest approach to a quarrel that had ever taken place be- tween Mr. and Mrs. Merton. “ He loves me not!” said Mrs. Merton, to herself, bitterly. “Why should we spend a life-time in misery together? My mother’s home and heart are always open to me, and I will go there this very night!” Mrs. Merton was a resolute woman, and she proceeded to carry out her rash and im- prudent plan without delay. She gath- ered a few of her personal effects, and telling the servant girl that she could have a day to herself, she quitted her home, and ere long was in the presence of her mother, who was astonished enough to learn that she had “come home to stay.” Jack Merton was not happy at the club. Gay companions did not dispel the cloud that had settled over him, and at a compar- atively early hour he started for home. He was always a temperate man, and club life to him did not mean debauchery and viciousness. “Poor Harriet!” mused Jack, as he walked briskly homeward. “I guess I must have been mad when I spoke so harshly to her. She is the light of my life, and I am dimming my own light. Will she forgive my harshness? Foo! that I was to allow my business cares to make of me a brute!” Finally the evening walk was at an end, and Mr. Merton turned gladly through the gateway to the door of his house. He noticed that there was no light in the hall, but thought it had been forgotten. He let himself into the house with his latch- key, and lit the gas. He went directly to his wife’s room, and té his surprise found it unoccupied. <A hasty search through the several rooms resulted in his finding them all silent and deserted. In alarm Mr. Merton repaired to his wife’s chamber again. Upon the dressing bureau he saw a sheet of paper folded, addressed to “ Jack Merton.” With trem- bling fingers he tore it open, and in hor- ror and astonishment read the following: “Jack: We must part. Itis not proper that we should longer live together. The marital relation was intended to make people happy, and not to fill two lives with misery. When you read this I shall be gone from you forever. “Harriet Merton.’

ot oS hi h Ww al he hi it al in e al pl tu ort In re st wl W m in Wi dix

Page 89

SUNSHINE My God! | sarelessness What have I from me forever! “Crone and driven away by my own and heartless conduct. done?” And thus for a time Mr. Merton up- braided himself. But finally false pride came to his aid, and he ejaculated: “Deserted by my wife, I shall never face my acquaintances. I shall leave my sorrows and troubles behind me, and build a new home and a new life elsewhere. And the start shall be made to-night.” Rapidly and earnestly Mr. Merton be- gan making his preparations for deserting his home—tor leaving behind him every- thing that he held dear on earth. An hour’s time sufficed to make him re: udy, with satchel packed and important papers and documents secured. With his satchel slung over his shoulder he started to leaye the house. His way led him through the library, and as he reached it, he paused to give the familiar place one look of farewell. Upon the wall hung a fine picture of his wife. It was aspeak- ing likeness, true in every detail of expression. Mr. Merton glanced at it, and was reminded of the day when it was placed in position. As he hung the pie- ture he remarked: “My dear, whenever I look upon your likeness I shall think of you as being the purest and best wo- man in the whole world.” And she had replied, banteringly, “I have read in stories of English life of picture galleries where some portraits hang facing the wall. Who knows but you may want to turn my picture some day?” The incident and jt conversation came vividly to Mr. Merton’s mind now, and as he gazed upon the portrait he felt his brave resolutions growing weak. It seemed that he could not withdraw his eyes from the portrait of his wife. “No, no, no!” exclaimed Mr. Merton, in despairing tones, while tears blinded his eyes. “I cannot desert you thus, Har- riet. We can be hi: appy together yet; hut she has deliberately left me. Be a man, Jack Merton! Turn the picture with the face to the wall, and then hasten to catch the midnight train!” o* * * * “My daughter, what does this mean ?” inquired Mrs. Merton’s mother, as Jack’s wie entered the house, and almost imme- diately began sobbing. Vou. Cxi1.—31. THROUGH THE each CLOUDS 471 “Oh, n mother, ‘mother, I happy!” said Mrs. Merton, burst of tears. “It took a long time for the story to be told, but it was told at last, and Mrs. Merton sobbed on her mother’s bosom like a tired child. “ Harriet, my child,” said Mrs. Merton's mother, gently, “have you and Jack ever talked together about your troubles—that is, have you ever tried to discover where the fault lies so that it could be remedied ?” “We have never talked about our trou- bles in that way ” “When you have fault to find with Jack, do you ever go to him kindly, yet plainly, and state your grievance ?”’ “No, mother; but he has never done so by me.” “T suspected as much. Now, Jack do not hate each other?” “Why, mother, I love my husband.” “Yes, and I believe that he loves you. If you will only be frank and plain with other, you will be the happiest couple in the world.” “Oh, mother, do you think so?’ I am sure of it, my daughter. Now, you must go home at once, and begin a new life.” “What, not to-night ?” “Yes, to-night. You know not what trouble a single night of se paration may cause you both, You must go home, and I will accompany you.” As Jack Merton was lifting his hand to his wife’s picture he heard the street door open, and before he realized that his wite had returned, she had thrown her arms around his neck, and through her sobs was saying, “Oh, Jack, I love you—I cannot give you up! We must not part, for my heart is breaking now!” In answer Jack Merton folded his wif to his bosom, exclaiming, “ My darling it is possible for us to live together, and live happily. I have acted very wrong, and here and now I beg forgiveness.” And from that night henceforward Mr and Mrs. Merton were changed people. Whenever clouds swept across their lives— for clouds will sweep across all lives—they banished all false pride, and soon the glad sunshine shone again through the mists; and Mrs. Merton never tired of advising those whom she saw in trouble of the surest and safest way of finding the only sure road to happiness. am so un- with a fresh you and

Page 90

472 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. THE FIRST LESSON. BY MAX VANDER WEYDE. (See Steel Plate.) A handsome sleigh freighted with seal- skin robes drew up in front of the down- town depot, and two young ladies alighted on the sidewalk. “T tell you, Ethel,” the elder said, ear- neetly, as they passed through the waiting- room, “You never will be happy in this world until you marry and settle down.” “Oh, I knew that was what you would say!” was the languid reply. “ You don’t seem to understand, Sophie, that life seems to me nothing but a dreary monotony. The mere necessity of ex- istence frets me beyond expression!” “Tow absurd you are, Ethel!” Mrs. Eyre cried, laughing. “You went out entirely too much last summer. {f don’t wonder that you weary of such an endless round of gayety; but when you talk of be- ing tired of lite, you make me smile!” “T am glad I amuse you,” Ethel said, quietly. “But it’s a positive fact that I couldn’t fall in love if I tried; and, for my part, I think matrimony is a fool’s paradise. I hate men, and henceforth I mean to live the life of a hermit.” “A hermit—you!” exclaimed Mrs. Eyre, with a playful glance at the lovely fuce which stood out in delicate relief against a halo of golden hair. “ Non- sense! You can’t get away from the world; it will follow you—the masculine portion of it, anyhow.” “But no one will know where I have gone to spend the winter, unless—Sophie, you wouldn’t be mean enough to tell, would you?” “1? Noindeed! Though I don’t pre- tend to approve of your running away in this Quixotic fashion. Depend upon it, you will be glad to come back to town for New Year’s. You will find, Ethel, that even books and solitude may bore one after a while.” “T don’t think so,” the girl said, care- lessly. “There, the train is open! I won't keep you waiting any longer, Sophie. Good-bye! Tell Oscar—” The last few moment’s parley was lost in the surrounding bustle and excitement. The adieux were briefly spoken, and then Ethel took her seat in the car for a four hours’ ride. It was a dull journey all the way. A heavy snow storm blew up en route ; the daylight faded early, and it was pitch dark when Ethel stepped out upon the platform at Plumbasset. For a few moments she stood there quite bewildered. The great white flakes were coming down in dense masses. She could see nothing in the blinding snow but a solitary figure at the other end of the platform, a few shapeless objects here and there, a sickly light or so, and one red-eyed lantern at the switch. “T wonder,” she began, and then paused, for the man at the other end of the plat- form shifted his lantern, and came to- wards her. “T beg your pardon,” Ethel said, ner- vously, as soon as he was within ear-shot, “but are you not Mr. John Downing?” "Te he answered, touching his cap, “that is not my name.” “T expected Mr. Downing to meet me here to-night,” Ethel faltered, looking about her in dismay. “ But I don’t see anything of him.” “He knew you were coming, I sup- pose ?” the stranger queried. “T telegraphed him this morning.” “The telegraph office was removed to Bridgeton last September. I am atraid your message has not been delivered.” ~ “Oh, dear!” Ethel exclaimed, in dis- tress. “Will I have to walk to Mr. Downings ?” ; “You! Walk—in this storm? Why, it’s a good ten miles, and the roads are almost blocked !” “But what else can I do?” she cried, lifting her pale, anxious face so that the light fell full upon it. “I can’t stay here all night.” Lawrence Scott looked at her in aston- ishment. “What glorious eyes she has!” he muttered. “And pale golden — hair! Good heavens! My ‘Snow Maid’ has come to life! I am very sorry,” he said, aloud, looking about him with extreme solicitude. “ But iff you will allow me, I will take you over to Mr. Pierce’s for the night. That’s only five miles, and I am going there myself.” “Thank you!” she faltered. “ You are very kind; but I am sorry to trouble you.” In a few moments she was snugly en- sconced in a roomy old sleigh, wrapped up in buffalo robes di al ac Wl sti fo wi Wi th af sal he aA be Wwe on sle wa hoi br ho. act no get bee be W for sid spr we her Pie (in abc to | rr

Page 91

THE FIRST LESSON. 473 “T believe you said it was five miles to Mr. Pierce’s,” Ethel said, awkwardly, as they drove off. “Are you employed there? I—I mean—excuse me—” She did not see the amused smile that lifted the ends of his sweeping bronze moustache, “Yes,” he said, quietly. “I am one of Farmer Pierce’s hands.” Ethel shrank back into the corner of the sleigh. Her fund of conversation was exhausted; and, as the keen wind blew the icy flakes against her cheeks, she shivered; but it was as much from appre- kension as from cold. It was not a time for the play of polite phrases. The night grew darker and darker; the fury of the storm increased, and Ethel lapsed into the still mood that accompanies intense anxiety. They had been riding for over an hour, when suddenly her companion uttered a startled exclamation. The horse plunged forward, and sank into a deep gulley that was filled with drifted snow. The sleigh was instantly overturned, Ethel was thrown violently out against a fence, and after one brief agonizing moment of pain, sank back unconscious. When she came to herself, it seemed to her that the whole occurrence was an un- easy dream; for she was lying in a soft bed, with her face turned toward a bright wood fire that shed its cheerful glow on one of the cosiest rooms she had ever slept in. A stout, good-natured-looking woman was standing on the hearth mixing some hot mess in a little iron saucepan; a tall broad-shouldered man stood by the bed holding Ethel’s hand. It was her new acquaintance, Lawrence Scott, but she did not recognize him till he spoke. “Well, here we are!” he said, in a gentle but cheery voice. “If it hadn't been for that wretched stumble, we should be all right now. This is Mrs. Pierce. We have been trying to make you com- fortable. How do you feel? Does your side pain you much? It was an ugly sprain; but I guess we can get along very well till the doctor comes. He can’t get here till to-morrow. Meanwhile, Mrs. Pierce is willing to do all she can, but” (in a lower tone) “she don’t know much about nursing, so you will have to trust to me.” This was said by way of apology, as he proceeded to rearrange her pillows and give her some medicine. Just then Ethel felt too miserable to question his presence, and only in a vague way did it occur to her that gentleness and efficiency in a man might sometimes be found where it was least expected. It was weeks before she got well, but no one in town ever knew of the accident. “Tf I told them,” she reflected, “they would come right up here in a body and take me home, and I won’t go!” As she slowly recovered from the ac- cident, she grew accustomed to the pres- ence of Lawrence Scott. But if he had known what was good for him, he would not have hovered so persistently about her chair, for it was not many days ere the sun of his happiness rose and set in Ethel’s eyes. One evening after she had gotten quite well, he came into the little sitting-room with the mail, among which was the last number of Ethel’s magazine. When he gave it to her, she was sitting in an easy chair, dressed in a loose white woolly gown, that became her well. “You never looked more like the Snow Maid’ than you do to-night,” he said softly, as he looked down at her with kindling eyes. “And when am I to hear about this ‘Snow Maid’ of yours?” she asked saucily. “You promised to tell me all about her, you know.” “And so I will! It shall be now—if you like—just wait a moment!” Her eyes followed him as he left the room. “Strange!” she said musingly. “ But he is the first man I ever knew who failed to bore me to death!” Lawrence came back with a roll of paper in his hand, and, seating himse!f on a stool at her feet, in the ruddy fire- light, he bagan to read without ceremony, “The Ballad of the Snow Maid.” It was a long and beautiful poem, that brought first the tears and then the gen- tle smiles of keen enjoyment. “Oh, how lovely!” Ethel cried, when he had finished. “ Who wrote it?” “T did,’ he answered, rolling up the manuscript. “You wrote that! Why, how could you? It is perfectly lovely. It must have been an inspiration. What does it all mean ?”

Page 92

474 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. . The & Snow M: sid j is my ideal,” he said, quiétly, “a pure and perfect woman, cold and irresponsive to the common herd, but melting readily by the fire of Love. The Snow Maid is the woman I worship—she is yourself, Ethel Eyre.” Then all at once the tide of passion burst its bounds; he prostrated himself soul and body at her feet ; it was hers, to do with him what she would. Shocked and surprised, she repulsed him as gently as she could. How did he dare to speak of love to her? “I thought you knew, Lawrence,” she said, “that I came here to escape from all such scenes as this. I shall never marry. I do not think I am capable of loving any man.” “Let me teach you to love me!” he cried, eagerly. “O, Ethel! I know I could succeed if you would only try to learn !”’ Still her answer was no, and when he left her that night, she gave him not the slightest hope. Yet, when he rose in the morning, and met her coming down stairs, he was just as foolishly happy as ever. “ Lawrence,” she said, laying one little hand on his arm with unconscious co- quetry, “I think I have done wrong in remaining here. I think I ought to go over to Mr. Downing’s, as I first intended i “Don’t say that!” he cried, sharply. “Ethel, if you will only stay, I—I will never presume to annoy you again.” “ Please don’t put it in that way. You know what I mean. I like you ever so much, Lawrence, and I want you for my friend.” “ Well, you have me,” he said, grimly. “ But—but I shall not be happy unless things go on in the old way, just as though you had not been suc ‘h a foolish fellow as to fancy yourself in love with me.” He winced under this, but said nothing. “Unless this can be,” she pursued, “ I shall not care to stay here any longer.” He caught her hand, and crushed it in his. “Tt shall be as you wish,” he said, hoarsely. “I cannot bear to lose you. Only do not ¥ asm me if I forget some- times.” “Then you will take me down to the lake this morning? You know you skate as soon as I was able. I am quite well now.” He agreed to this with a blind obe- dience which had grown habitual; but when she presented herself after break- fast, ready for the sport, it took all huis iron will to keep him from taking her in his arms. She looked perfectly bewitching in a dress of soft, dark-blue cashmere, with a jaunty jacket of blue velvet edged with snowy down. A coquettish little hat of blue velvet decked with a long curling ostrich plume, completed her costume, which was one of the simplest and most becoming she had ever worn. The lake that morning was like a beautiful mirror, over which Lawrence glided with all the ease and grace of a practiced skater; and oh, the delight of holding Ethel’s hands in his, of feeling her gentle dependence on him, of looking down into her sweet glowing face, so near and yet so far away! Her timid missteps filled him with delight; if she had been his only pupil, he would have been con- tent to give lessons skating all of’ his natural life. But Ethel tired by and by, and begged to sit down and rest, while Lawrence dis- played his skill for her amusement. Thus bidden, he glided over the ice in all the intricate figures that a fine skater can acquire. Ethel was delighted, and what wonder that, in the intoxication of her approval and the excitement of sport, he forgot his usual caution, and glided over the west side of the lake, where the ice was nothing more than a thin crust upon the water. Ethel called to him to take care, but her warning came too late. There was a sudden crash, and the next moment Lawrence was struggling in the water. One moment of wild horror, and then, with the strength of desperation, Ethel seized one of the loose planks of the boardwalk, and dragged it over the ice. Her prompt action saved his lite, but be- fore aid could be summoned to drag him out of the water, Lawrence was chilled to the heart, and no precaution saved him from a long, tedious lung fever. Ethel’s turn at nursing came sooner than she expected. Six weeks passed. The worst of the winter was over and gone, when Lawrence came back from the edge promised me you would teach me how | of the grave whicre he had been lingering. 82 fil 66 ¢ hie lif ha bu his ceiv Pier nob! For you poet Pier cam Sure who myst “) abou Ah, cong it m sce 7 I kn than gave in |e migh

Page 93

THE “You are going to get well now,” Ethel said, gayly, as he sat enthroned for the first time in the convalescent’s chair. “Oh, Lawrence, I thought this day would never come. After all, there is much in life worth living for!” “That depends,” he said, after a long pause. “That depends.” He did not look at her, or he might have seen what was passing in her mind; hut all at once she slipped her hand into his, and whispered shyly : “ Lawrence, does it depend on me?” He gazed at her with incredulous joy in his eyes. “What do you mean?” he cried, ab- ruptly. “T mean that I will take back all I said to you before you were sick. J—I— Lawrence, you have made me a proselyte to love.” Afterwards, when he held her in his arms and called her his sweet little eynie, she told him how it had all come about. “You are different from all other men I have known,” she said apologetically. “T think it must be because you have lived so much out of the world. You haven’t had a chance to be spoiled.” “But I never lived ‘out of the world,’ as you call it, till last summer, when my health broke down and I had to take to farming.” “What! Lawrence, have you been de- ceiving me? Are you not one of Mr. Pierce’s hands? Are you not the nature’s nobleman I thought you were?” “Tam Lawrence Scott, otherwise ‘ Adon Forrest,’ whose humble efforts at rhyming you may have seen now and then.” “You are Adon Forrest, the celebrated poet? O, Lawrence! How could you?” “But I have been one of Farmer Pierce’s hands, too, honor bright! I came up here for health and repose. Surely, Ethel, it cannot matter to you who or what I am, so long as I am in myself all that you believed me?” “No, no!” she cried flinging her arms about his neck. “I love you for yourself. Ah, Lawrence! you don’t know what a conquest you bave made. I did not know it myself till that day when J thought to see you drowned betore my eyes. Then I knew that to lose you would be worse than death. Darling, that first lesson you gave me in skating was also my first lesson in love. If it had not been for that, I might have gone away without knowing!” FIRST LESSON. 475 “No, no, sweet ‘Snow Maid!’” he whispered. “I knew I would win you some day!” a oF — ANDREW JOHNSON. The subject of our presidential portrait this month was the seventeenth president of the United States, born at Raleigh, N. C., Dee. 29, 1808. He was left fatherless when four years old, and at the age of ten years was apprenticed to a tailor whom he served for seven years; during this period he was not allowed to attend school, and until the time of his marriage his educa- tion consisted simply of a knowledge of reading which was taught him by a fellow- workman. He married about 1829, and his wife taught him writing and arithme- tic. He first entered into politics in Greenville, Tenn., being elected as aider- man, and from that time (1830) was almost continually in office in some capa- city, serving twice as governor of Ten- nessee, and also as military governor of the State by the appointment of President Lincoln. In 1864 he was nominated vice-president on the ticket with Abraham Lincoln, and being elected, was inaugur- ated March 4,1865. Six weeks later Presi- dent Lincoln was assassinated by Booth, and for the third time in the history of our country the yice-president became president viz: Harison died April, 1841, one, month after his inauguration, and vice-president Tyler succeeded to the chair. President Taylor died July, 1850, and vice-president Fillmore assumed the duties of President. It is a noticeable fact that each of the vice-presidents who have succeeded to the presidency through the removal by death of the Presidents, have by their acts estranged a large por- tion of the party that elected them to office. This was the case to such an ex- tent with President Johnson, that articles for his impeachment were presented in Congress, resulting in the vote of 126 in favor and 47 against such action. trial, however, resulted in an acquittal. In 1875 he was again chosen United States Senator from Tennessee, and served during the short session—sbortly after which he died. Considering the few advantages of his early life, he certainly showed great ability and courage, and though often accounted narrow-minded and obstinate, his honesty Was never questioned, The «

Page 94

476 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. >k*WORK DEPARTMENT. #< A, B, C. INFANT'S AFGHAN. The wide band, A, and enriched with embroidery, worked in blue is worked with white wool, silk. These wide bands are alternated with the narrower plaited bands. C. To make this band make a row of chain longer than'is required for the work, and on this work 3 rows of tricoter. Having made three of these long narrow strips, plait them together loosely, and on each side of the plait work a row of double crochet to keep the whole firm. The A is edged with the double scallop, B. The first row is worked with whit wool; 9 chain, join in a circle, into this work, 1 { double, 4 chain, 1 long, 2 chain, 1 long, 2 chain, 4 chain, 7 long, 12 chain, joined at the 1 long, back to the first of the 7 long; then 9 chain, and repeat the scallop. For the second row work a series of plain scallops like B, and on the edge of these work a row of slipstitches with finer colored wool, taking up all the stitches by the wool through without working. D. STAND FOR NEWSPAPERS. passing wickerwork ina An ob- long piece of olive-colored plush with cretonne The stand itself is made of bent wood or bamboo frame, both gilt. appliqué flowers, covers the top of the side pan- els. The horizontal staves of the frame, as well as the lower arched part, are covered with cro- chet openwork ; ball fringe at the corners, and the same arranged in festoons below the em- broidered band, as shown in the illustration. EK. DesigN Drawn THREADS. This design is suitable for a variety of pur- to the puses according material it is worked upon. Pretty doilies may be made with congress canvas, and the stitches worked with colored silk; tor doilies about one and a half inch of the material must be left at the edge to be frayed When worked lawn it forms a pretty border for pocket-handkerchiefs. In worked out for fringe. upon nainsook muslin or this case the long- stitches must be with the finest linen thread. On congress canvas it will make pretty tidies with blue or pink split zephyr. F. KNITTED Skirt. MATERIALS Reguirev: Berlin or three-thread fleecy wool and two bone knitting-pins, No. 9, and two pins, No. 11. This skirt is simply and quickly made; it is composed of twelve stripes, each knitted sepa- rately.

Commence at the bottom, cast on with white wool forty-one stitches. Ist row. Make one, knit nineteen, slip one, knit two together, pass the slipped stitch over the two knitted together, knit nineteen. Make one, knit to the end of the repeated throughout. The 3d, 4th, 7th, 8th, 11th and 12th rows are knitted with blue wool, all the rest with white. 2d row. row. ‘These two rows are To decrease the size of the petticoat towards the waist, knit with No. 11 pins after two-thirds of the length has been worked. The length of the petticoat must be regulated according to the size require d. When all the stripes are worked, the y are joined together on the right side with singie- stitches worked in crochet For the one double into the edge of knitting, four chain, one treble into first of four chain, one double crochet edge, work with blue wool into petticoat. Repeat all round. The top of the petticoat is sewn to a deep band of white linen. The bottom is finished by a kilting of musiin, edged with lace, put in un- der the points. G TRIMMING: CROCHET MATERIALS Required: Crochet cotton No. 20, and a moderate-size steel hook. Make a chain the length required. Ist row. One treble into each stitch. 2d row. One trebie into a stitch, two chain, pass over two stitches, and re peat. 3d row. One double into a stitch, * two chain, pass over two stitches, one double into the next, repeat from * twice more, five chain, pass over three stitches, and repeat from the beginning of the row. * Three five chain, keep the top loop on the ith row. double trebles under the hook and draw through all together, two chain, repeat from * twice more, four chain, three clusters of double trebles worked as before under the same chain, one chain, oue treble worked under the second two chain of last row, one treble under next six chain, two chain, one treble under same treble chain, two chain, one treble under same six chain, four chain, one under same six chain, one treble under second two chain. Re- peat from the beginning of the row. Sth to 9th rows. Three double trebles under the second two chain between the clusters of last row, two clusters of three double trebles under four chain, four chain, two clusters separated by two chain, under same four chain, two chain, two chain, one chain, one cluster under next one treble under one chain, two trebles separated

Page 95

by two chain, under next ir chain, four chain, two trebles separated by two chain, under same four chain, one treble under next one chain, one rinning of the row. chain. Repeat from the be 10th row. One double under four chain in the de pth of scallop, one chain, two clusters of three double trebles, separated by four chain under the chain between the clusters of last row, four chain, five clusters, separated by four chain under four chain, two clusters separated by four chain under the two chain (in all nine clusters), one chain. Repeat from the beginnin Pa of the row. H. GARTER. This garter is formed of a band of wide braid with picots at the edges; it is embroidered with a cross-stitch design with silks or Andalusian wool, and is lined with ribbon It is fastened by a steel clasp, and is ornamented with a bow of ribbon. I. Fire Woop Basket. The frame of this basket is lined through with grey holland put on with brass-headed nails, the outside is covered with crimson plush em- broidered and finished around with a sil A drapery is fastened across trimmed with silk k cord. tassels, and three silk pompons. The handle is covered with cord finished with pompons. This basket is used to keep wood in near the fire- place as an ornament Pa SACHET. The sachet is of ruby plush d with pale pink satin; the outside is ornamented about half-way up with cream-colored congress can- vas from which the threads have been drawn. The spider-web stitches and the working over are in pale blue silk; the cross and long stitches The edges are finished by a cord and the bottom with tassel-fringe. in olive and pink silk The work is about seven and a half inches in width and about eight inches in depth. B, in ee, B, O, P, QO B82, DT, VY. Part OF ALPHABET FOR MARKING. Fancy letters for marking handkerchiefs, nap- kins, pillow cases in white cotton embroidery, or for pin-cushions, ete., in silk embroidery. The balance of the alphabet will be given next month. EMBROIDERED DESIGNS (See Colored Page in Front of Book.) Fig. 1 and 3.—Work Basket on STanp. The stand is of black wicker work lined with blue satin with a lid upon it. The design for WORK DEPARTMENT. 477 embroidering the lid is given full working siz: in Fig. 1. It is embroidered with silks in the colors here shown. Fig. 2 and 6.—Stanp ror Co.oGne Borr.es. This stand is made of stiff cardboard lined through with crimson satin with a division in the centre for the bottles to fit in: they are of cut glass. The handle is made of twisted wire, 1 he pit Ct that trims the outside is made of crimson plush covered with silk cord and pompons. embroidered in colors; it is given full working size in Fig. 2; it is trimmed upon both edges with a row of quilled olive satin ribbon, with silk pompons at intervals. Fig. 4. MIRROR IN THE Form OF A HaTcuet. The frame for this mirror is made ot - = covered with plush, with a rest at the back to set it upon a bureau or dressing-table little care and ingenuity could make this pretty little trifle. Fig. 5.—Hand mirror with plush covered handle and back, the back embroidered with rose and foliage with arrasene. We present these pretty trifles to our readers, knowing that many both young and old will be glad to com- mence thus early making ready their Christmas gifts, to which the designs given will prove a welcome addition. As in olden times the long and costly process of weaving by hand in colors was often ¢ by painting on the fabric with mineral pigments, this process has been re vived, and tapestry naint- ing is now all the rage. It may be noted that modern science has enabled the tapestry painu to fix his colors in a manner unattainable by the old artists. Perhaps one reason of the pop larity of tapestry and tapestry painting lies in the fact that they have the advantage for deco- rative purposes over oil paintings, in that the appearance does not depend so much upon be hung in a particular light. Amon ticeable novelties may be seen beautifully painted pictures npon silk for use as transparencies in place of stained glass. Another addition to th decorative arts is also just now attracting at- tention. It is called Lustra painting. The base is velveteen, Roman satin, or fine cloth.” ridge of embroidery or needlework of some com- *Out-meal The outlines of the pattern consist of a pact nature, and the enclosed spaces are filled up with peculiar metallic colors, which when dry produce a luminous appearance. All colors are used—reds, browns, blues, purples, greens, also gold and silver When dry the work pre- sents the luminous sheen or lustre of enam«e and is remarkably effective.

Page 96

478 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. FASHIONS. DESCRIPTION OF COLORED PLATES. Havana brown velvet, trimmed with gold lace embroidered with colors, Fig 1.—Bonnet of gold-color feathers tipped with gold, and shaded velvet flowers. Fig. 2.—Bonnet made of dark green chenille network laid over satin, full ruche around the bonnet of lace and satin, large rosettes made of Mandarin yellow velvet. Broad strings made of satin bound around the edge. Fig. 3.—Bonnet made of the new shade of red velvet, trimmed with satin ribbon rosettes and silk pompons. Fig. 4.—Bonnet made of gray velvet, trimmed with steel lace and ostrich feathers. Fig. 5.—House dress made of sapphire blue damassé velvet and armure silk. The front of skirt is of the velvet, the back of the armure, trimmed with a plaited ruffle, headed with a deep band of the velvet. The sash drapery is of the plain goods, the ends trimmed with velvet. Lace and ribbon loops and ends trim the sides of skirt. The bodice and sleeves are of the damassé, trimmed with lace, and ribbon bows. Fig. 6.—Walking dress made of ottoman silk; the underskirt is trimmed with one kilted ruffle, with along very fully draped overdress in the front, the edge finished with bound scallops; the back is all kilted. Cloak of black satin surah, lined with plush, and trimmed with satin bows, passementerie and lace. Velvet bonnet covered with rows of narrow silver braid, and trimmed with a long ostrich feather. Fig. 7.—Reception dress of claret-color satin surah; the front of the skirt is trimmed with alternate rows of lace the color of dress, and plaited ruffles. bouffant in the back, looped at the sides by rib- Pointed jacket bod- ice trimmed with a double row of lace; the front is trimmed wtth plaiting, and ribbon bows; the sleeves are trimmed with bows. The drapery is very long and bon bows with long ands. DESCRIPTION OF FASHIONS, Fig. 1.—House dress for lady, made of brown the skirt is kilted, with short apron overdress braided. Pointed jacket braided around the edge, also up the fronts, back and sleeves. camel's hair; Fig. 2.—House dress for lady, made of navy blue cashmere, with kilted skirt and short over- dress. Jacket bodice cut in turrets and trimmed with a narrow pattern in braiding. The jacket is illustrated in the full-sized cut paper pattern given with this number. Fig. 3—Bonnet of golden brown velvet, drawn and pleated over the frame and trimmed with | feather trimming, ostrich feathers and orna- mental pins. Fig. 4.— Bonnet made of dark red velvet trimmed with toothpick rosettes, and birds in- side the brim. Fig. 5.—Wool-felt hat, faced and trimmed with velvet, long feather and fancy ornament. Figs. 6and 7.—Front and back view of lady's walking dress made of tourterelle woven broché velveteen and cloth, manufactured by Sheen and Fithian, 55 Leonard street, N. Y. The under- skirt is of the woven broché, edged witha narrow plaiting made of the Nonpareil velveteen. The overskirt is of the cloth. Jacket bodice, with vest, collar, and cuffs, of woven broché. Hat of felt, trimmed with velvet and feathers. Fig. 8.—Standing collar made of velvet, fas- tened with a buckle, lace jabot in front. Fig. 9—Dress buckle of nickel silver, with flowerets upon it in oxydized silver. Fig. 10.—Black velvet muff; in the centre of the muff there is a kitten’s head, surrounded with a quilling of lace, ribbon, and jet. The strings are velvet lined with satin. Fig. 11.—Visiting costume for lady; dress of black ottoman silk, the skirt plaitings, with a deep puff them. Cloak of velvet, trimmed with passemen- terie and chenille fringe. Black velvet bon- net, trimmed with large bird and lace. Fig. 12.—Walking costume for lady, made of Havana brown camel's hair; the ruffle around the edge of the skirt is embroidered with large balls, those up the front in a design. The po- lonaise is of cloth of a darker shade, with gaged collar, and side passementerie. trimmed with narrow above bodice, sleeves, revers of embossed velvet, trimmed with Bonnet of velvet the same color as dress, with trimming of feathers and wings. Fig. 13.—Walking costume for lady, of gray cloth; the skirt is trimmed with one box plaited ruffle; the blouse polonaise is of cloth embroid- ered all over with cats’ heads and trimmed with ribbons, fastened at the sides and tied in front also made into bows. Hat of felt trimmed with velvet and long ostrich feather, Fig. 14.—Dress for child of five years, made of electric blue cashmere; the front is gored, the back is shirred with plain side bodies and the skirt set on in double box plaits with « large sash bow. The front is trimmed with embroid- ered insertion and edging, cape and sleeves trimmed to correspond. Fig. 15.—Bonnet for little girl of two years, made of white felt, with shirred lining of white satin inside and full cap of lace. It is trimmed with satin ribbon and feathers. qu ne trat tum cons bod) fort) ber patt onai mag Ina extr: FAS A: beco medi

Page 97

Fig. 16.—Snake bracelet, with head set with a large ruby surrounded with diamonds and pearls. Fig. 17.—Evening dress for young lady, made The skirt is trimmed with Box one of pink nuns veiling. several narrow kiltings, short overdress. plaited bodice with epaulette bow upon shoulder, and ribbon belt and bow at side. Fig. 18.- Roman gold. -Fancy pin for the hair, made of Fig. 19.—Gold pin for the hair, set with tur- quoise. Fig. 20.—Silver pin for the hair Fig. 21.— steel tor a bon- net Fig. 22.- Fancy ornament in Myrtle green walking costume for lady; the skirt is made of satin surah trimmed with two box-plaited ruffles. The polonaise is of embossed velvet trimmed with a large ribbon the back, Velvet bonnet trimmed with feathers. bow in and a jabot of lace all down the front Fig. 23.—Suit for boy of ni and leggings. Cloth buttons up the front, ne years, velveteen knickerbockers overcoat trimmed with braid and upon the collar, cuff ind pockets. Velvet cap of astrachan, Front and back trimmed with a band Figs. 24 and 26 view of cloak for little girl, made of cloth, with cape and enffs of velvet. Velvet bonnet trimmed with feathers. Fig. 25.—Suit for boy of six years, made of gray tweed; the coat is a loose sacque, with col- lar and cuffs of plush. Fig. 27.—Dress for boy of four years, made of Liack velveteen. The waist is plain, with kilted ekirt. It is trimmed with a band of feathers up the front, around the sleeves and collar; velvet CAL). Fig. 28.—Suit for girl of eight years, made of marine-blue cloth; the dress is trimmed with a kilting; the coat fits the figure; the cape is trimmed with a broad band of velvet; velvet cuffs and sash. Drawn silk bonnet of same shade as suit The cut pattern is for the trated in Fig. 2; it house jacket illus- lesign for an au- The pattern half of back, side The cut In the December num- is a pretty « dy tumn and winter house dress, consists of five pieces—tfront body, collar, and sleeve. pattern is forty inches in the bust ber we intend giving our readers a full-sized pattern for one of the latest styles for ladies’ pol- We magazine that gives full-sized ladies’ patterns. onaises, now so fashionable are the only In a store this pattern costs 60 cts.; we make no extra charge for it. FASHION NOTES AT HOME AND ABROAD. As the season advances, tailor-made garments become more and more popular; jackets are of from twe! medium length—that is, ty-four to FASHIONS. 479 twenty-six inches—made of ottoman cloths, very elaborately braided. The fronts are single- breasted, with an officer’s standing collar; or they may be double breasted, with a high- notched revers collar. In some cases there is braiding in rows, or in a pattern that covers the entire front of the jacket. Astrachan cloths and the curled astrachan furs are to be very much used for trimming winter jackets; these are to be put on as the merest edging, or else in wide bands that nearly cover the skirt of the garment. Brown, gray, green, navy blue, and black, are the colors most largely imported. Gilt braids, mixed with black or dark-colored braid in their silver and bronze soutache, are also trimmings, and a great deal of Hercules braid, an inch or more in width, is used for trimming cloth garments of all kinds. Polonaises aud pelisses, made in severe tailor fashion, are very popular for autumn, and will continue so for winter costumes. The polonaises may have plaited fulness added on the hips and the plaite 1 or This simple styl drawn backward to show ruffled skirt beneath. pretty in the new tapestry woollens that sides, is very come in dull colors of brown with green, blue with brown, and blue with red; these figured goods are used for the overdress with plain wool skirts that have gathered flounces bordered with bands of velvet If figured goods used for the skirt, the polonaise is the material is reversed, and the of plain cloth, so plainly made that it is not even draped, but hangs straight, like a pelisse. Simple costumes for autumn are made of finely-chee ked cloth, with a full blouse bodice trimmed with several rows of narrow velvet rib- bon. The skirt and tunic are trimmed with the same, and cockade or star bows of velvet ribbon to match are placed here, there, and every- where over the bodice, skirt, and draperies, Bonnets are to continue small, and many have a slight corner rolled back from the front; this is covered smoothly with velvet, or with the new tufted silk binding that resemble Astrachan fur. The crowns are ample and are square, or else they are high in Normandy fashion, but are not The full fluted aad pleated worn during the summer are repeated in felt and pointed, brims velvet; others again are in close cottage shapes, with large square crown and a curtain band The novelty for young ladies is the This the visor, front, and band of the close cap worn below it. joékey cap bonnet of felt or velvet. has by jockeys, but the crown is higher, has a crease or fold front to back, is cut off so that it rests lightly upon the knot Poke bonnets are not largely imported, and the back of the crown of hair. though they will be worn by those who like shade over the face. Velvet fur felts; the novelty for the latter is to trim them bonnets are the most fashionable, also

Page 98

480 with cloth of light quality, it is arranged in a scarf of many easy folds around the crown, and as a puff inside the brim. Velvet bonnets are trimmed with velvet, and many repped fabrics are also used; as gray is so universally worn, steel lace, woven of metallic threads, yet as fine almost as cobwebs, is one of the novelties, which combines with the gray as garniture. Beads are very large and of odd shapes, and are princi- Feathers are Natural birds, wings, feather crowns, brims, heads and pally of jet or of tortoise shell. used in every way milliners can devise. skinned and entire large birds covering the bonnet are all used. Varieties of colors are used, Worth’s favorite contrast of brown and green is very ! ishionable. New finest meshes, with deep scallops filled in with darned laces are on Malines net of the rns, or with leaves or roses. This is feather desi imilar to the favorite Oriental lace, but looks finer and more like the real Mechlin, which both these laces imitate. Lace cravats and fichus are less worn than they formerly were, but the most stylish are made up with a full jabot that passes around the neck and down each side of the front to the waist line, with a flat row below this, while inside is a standing frill that makes a full plaiting around the neck. Small crochet bullet-shaped buttons remain sn favor, but there are many new buttons that glitter like jewels, being made of the colored metals and colored pearl, with cameo centres or with painting. The new clasps, of which one or two are on most dresses, are chosen of the metal or pearl of the buttons, and may be leaves, birds, dragons, or flowers in design, and the colors may be had to match almost any combi- nation in the dress goods. Satin cord passementeries in leaf, vine, and block patterns are imported in all sombre colors for trimming plain cloth and cashmere dresses. For richer passementeries are solid leaves or flowers of chenille or of velvet, with satin cord edging the figures. Fouragéres of heavily knotted silk cords, with bars and medallions of chenille, are for the front of basques, jackets, and skirts. These are usually in crescent shape The jets used are large, and finely cut beads, in solid of three cords drooping in each ¢rescent. leaves and flowers, or else edging chenille flowers. Chenille fringe is in great variety, and It is twelve inches deep, with each strand finished with a jet bead. Lace or net, both black and brown, is embroidered with chenille for flounces and the fronts of dresses. Beaver in its natural ‘color will rival astra- chan as a fashionable trimming. Velvet spots are introduced into Spanish laces that are used both for dresses and bonnets. almost supersedes all others. sometimes Large cords, like ropes, made of chenille and GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. metal braid twisted together are used for edging bonnets. A novelty this season is blocked felt bonnets, pressed into small fluted stripes like corduroy. The new fabric for wedding dresses is white silk gauze, with large velvet figures in high relief. Carved wood ornaments for bonnets are the season, made of light woods tridents, novelties of the representing tusks, griffins, dragons, and harpoons, The thickly corded Antwerp silks are again in favor for both dresses and cloaks, as they come in single and double widths suitable for both dresses and for circulars. The newest imitation Valenciennes laces copy the designs and tints of real lace so perfectly that they are fast coming into favor for trim- ming evening dresses and for lingerie of all descriptions, Plain India cashmere, as fine as thatscen inthe centre of camel’s hair shawls is largely imported in gray shades and also in purple violet, shades for autumn costumes, ‘ Dark blue wool dresses, trimmed elaborate ly, with red braid, or else made up in conjunction with red wool of a brilliant huge like ponceau, or else the new vermillion and dark red tints are popular for young ladies. NOTES FROM OUR FOREIGN CORRES- PONDENTS. When we sent our last letter we thought Paris but this month finds our modistes as busy, and our stores could not be gayer or more hurried ; more crowded with fair purchasers. The question of dress sleeves is perplexing; we have so long been having the straight coat sleeve that we look qnestioningly at the new designs; they are made to stand up very high upon the shoulders, being stuffed position. with cotton to make them remain in They are long and quite tight at the to the elbow for With the former, the three-button glove is sufficient, as they are wrist for street wear, short evening and dinner dresses. no longer fashionable drawn up over the sleeve. With the latter the glove should come up over the elbow, so that no particle of the arm be visi- Un- dressed kid gloves are the most fashionable of ble; all bracelets are worn over the glove. dark shades for day, medium or light for even- ing. Walking dresses, as well as evening cos- tumes, are made with large paniers and huge bustles, consequently the skirts cannot be cut as scant as they have been, All che shades of gray are worn, and never have we noticed one color so universally adopted. Gilt braid, gilt gauze, and gilt lace, are em- and new trimmings for the neck ployed in sleeves of dresses. Three folds of gilt gauze are at! ot wl th: th de sm art tir kit the lea fur por alec mal ol bla are is W hea bow a hi ten: RB are

Page 99

FASHIONS. attached to a band to be inside the neck Prettier than this are folds of worn ot black dresses. white crépe lisse against the neck, with two or gilt braid resting against — three rows of loops of the folds. The latest novelty in jewe Iry is a bow knot of dead gold for a brooch ; the effect they are long and short, small and large ; is very pretty. They are plain, encrusted with precious stones, or en- tirely made of them. all some of Feathers are very popular for trimming; s) kinds and colors are used, skirts; pon the bands are as deep as eight inches. Stamped leather is not only the very popular covering for furniture, but is used for card cases, portemon- naies, and picture frames; it is very handsome and very expensive Frau Marie Vieck’s, hibits this month for the first time in this city, we From Berlin, at who ex- notice a tea gown of pale blue cashmere, with an apron front of brownish red velvet, the sides of which are trimmed with zig-zag lines of white , ice A short dress of flam has n pointed Waist a i mucn over a plain skirt, covered with ro-red woolen Batiste looped drapery, six flounces of Waist white Spanish lace. Collar, sleeves and are trimmed with the same To make this lace heavier, and to bring out the pattern its design The red covering a deli- is worked over with a white silk cord. gives to this beautiful beneath cate pink tint, which lovely effect is further knots and bows of flaming red The tirm of “Hein ght red ser heightened by ribbon. in & Rose” send a singular costume of. bri e, the bril- liancy of which is softened by a multitude of tiny spots. A box plaiting surrounds the petticoat; over this falls a very deep kilting narrow of the stuff, edged with broad coarse ecru lace, aud trimmed with four rows of black velvet rib- bon, a rosette and long ends of the same fastend The waist is a blouse with pointed belt, collar and A hat of red cord with lace, matching this suit, is shown by the Firm of one side of the folded scarf like drapery. culls of the ecru lace, Gerstel:’’ and the whole is recommended for its youthful effect A mantle or postillion back, loose tab-like fronts and elbow pulfed high at the The horseshoes wrap for autumn is cut with a aieceves shoulders. material is heavy net, covered with of chénille, with jet and is lined with drops, black satin; both postillion and the square ends With this is worn a large hat, placed on the back of the are covered with plaited lace ruffles. head, and trimmed with a long feather and huge bow of velvet; under the rolling brim is placed a half wreath of grapes, with foliage, stalks and tendrils, the latter falling at the left side. Bégh and Miirthner send two bonnets, which are good studies of color. First. A tiny capow 481 of brown velevt, surrounded by a twist of large amber Roman pearls; on one side is an aigrette of feathers, in all the different shades of brown, and the brim is finished with a binding of olive velvet. Second. A hat of dul!, dark red velvet, whose flaring brim is decorated, both outside and inside with a boquet of lighter colored vel- vet verbena’s and bows of heavily repped ribbon of the same tint. From the Janin there is a capote of black silk tulle over a frame of gold thread, trimmed with a wreath of dark flowers and small gold pansies. Instead of placing the knot of narrow ribbon loops and ends at the thoat, as heretofore, it is laid on top of the left shoulder, close to the dress collar; but only on a pretty figure is this effective, In shoes, the first choice is cut high and wide, with a tiny bow on the toe, and a large one with ends at the ankle. Sometimes a small piece of embroidery replaces the first bow A low shoe has a large tongue, and a broad shining buckle; but, except on a slender foot, the effect is rather masculine, GENTLEMANS’ CORNER. From A. Raymond & Co., 254 and 256 Broad- way, New York, we learn that the correct fash- ions in gentlemen’s outer apparel for the present and appproaching season are as follows: Dress suits for evening wear made of very fine diagonal fancy coating faced with satin, and the Vest buttons, of same material. Pantaloons of same, with fine cord or braid at side. These suits are also made of black broadcloth, with the edges stitched raw. Semi dress suits, as they are called by some persons, (while in fact they are a morning coat) consist of double and breasted frocks, made of black, blue, dahlia, and lored edredon beavers, and fancy coatings, always to be bound with medium braid or narrow as the taste of the wearer my dictate. Vests of the same, and trousers uf striped cassimeres mostly in dark tints of mixture Five, four and single buttoned cutaway coats, both in the above materials and dark fancy suit- ings, are quite proper for occasions of informal- ity. The double breasted sack coat for out doot and exercise wear will ever be popular, made of dark chinchilla beaver, two button high and well shaped to figure. Fall overcoats of English top stockinets, and weight meltons will be worn not cut short, but to the knee, and faced with silk to match mater- ial, These garments are also to be well shaped to the wearer’s figure. Rough over coatings have again become popular, and sack-shape and surtout are the styles being made by the best customs tailors for winter wear. The Inverness coat to wear over dress suit for evening is a comfortable hangs so loosely that no | injury is done to the suit underneath — Fasuion, edges trimmed with narrow braid. three single Ww ine-« blue coatings, Slingie coat and

Page 100

482 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. RECIPES. OD Ot Owe © ty? tr ~w Frigp Oysters. Tagredients.—F ifty oysters, Two eggs. Salt and pepper, Cracker-dust, Lard, Strain the oysters through a sieve, and wipe them dry, have ready the eggs beaten up with seasoning on one dish, and cracker-dust in an- other, dip the oysters first in the egg, then in the other. Have a pan ready with boiling lard in it, put the oysters in and fry them a light brown, drain well before they are placed upon the dish. VENICE CAKE. Ingredients.—Half a pound of butter, Six eggs, The weight of eggs in flour, Half a pound of powdered sugar, A little of Colton’s extract of va- nilla or almond flavoring. Beat the butter and sugar together to a cream, add to it the eggs well beaten, the flour, and flavoring. Bake it in a flat shallow tin, and when done enough cut it out in graduated sizes with a biscuit cutter, pile it on a dish in the form of a tower with different colored jam be- - een each layer of cake. PuMmPKIN Pigs. Ingredients.—One pint of stewed pumpkin, Half a pint of warm milk, A quarter of a pound of butter, A quarter of a pound of sugar, Eight eggs, One wine glass of rose water, Two wine glasses of wine, One teaspoonful of mace and cin- namon, One nutmeg. Take one pint of pumpkin that has been stewed soft, and pressed through a colander. Melt the butter in the milk which should be warmed, also the sugar, stirring it all hard. Beat eight eggs very light, and add them gradually to the other ingredients alternately with the pumpkin. Then stir in a wine glass of rose water and two glasses of wine mixed together; a large tea- spoonful of powdered mace and cinnamon mixed and a grated nutmeg. Having stirred the whole very hard, put it into pie dishes lined with pie crust and bake three-quarters of an hour, ORANGE SponGe. Ingredients. —One ounce of isinglass, One pint of water, Six oranges, Sugar, One lemon. Dissolve the isinglass in the water, strain it through a sieve, and let it stand until cold. Then mix with it the juice of six oranges and one lemon, sweeten to taste, and beat the mix- ture with a whisk until it becomes white and looks like sponge; put into a mould and turn out when it is wanted, ornamenting it with slices of cut orange. | AprLe Snow, Ingredients. —Six apples, Whites of four eggs Powdered sugar, Cream. Bake six apples in a slow oven; when done enough take off the skin, beat up the pulp ina basin, add to it the white of four eggs, beat them together until the mixture becomes smooth and white, and throw in gradually a little powdered sugar that has been sifted; it must be served immediately and beaten until the last moment. Put a little cream beneath it on the dish. ANGEL CAKE. Ingredients.—One and one-half tumblers of sugar, Same of flour, One teaspoonful of cream of tartar, One teaspoonful of Colton’s Extract: of Vanilla, Whites of eleven eggs. Sift the flour four times, add the cream of tartar and sift again, beat the eggs to a stiff froth, add the sugar, beat lightly, then add the flour. Do not stop beating until you put in the pan. Bake moderately. Colton’s extracts will be found the best in use for flavoring. Pottrep Pie's Heap. I[ngredients.—One pig's head, One set of feet, One ounce of whole pepper, Salt, One ounce of whole allspice, One pint of vinegar. Wash the head and féet, set them on the fire in a boiler fully covered with water, and boil gently and constantly until the bones come out easily. Lift the meat out and separate it from the bones, and pour the stock through a hair sieve to cool. When quite cold, take all the fat carefully from the top, and the sediment from below, put some of the stock on the fire with the spices and vinegar to boil, and having cut the meat in various-sized pieces, return it to the stock, and then pour into moulds and turn out when wanted. This will keep for six weeks. To Poacn Eaas ARTISTICALLY. Ingredients. —Egegs, A little vinegar, Water, Bread. Put a little boiling water in a shallow frying- pan, and put a tablespoonful of vinegar in the middle, but do not stir it. Break each egg separately in a cup, and turn it out carefully into the pan, keeping the cup over it for a second to shape the white. Do the same with | each egg, adding a little more boiling water if necessary to cover the eggs. Take them out carefully with a slice. and place them on thin slices of buttered toast. I Be ing bu Ovi the In, Pic twi ing The Cow ing moi app lem wit eAac. ing and disk the oun cred

Page 101

in it in CHICKEN SANDWICHES, Ingredients.—Cold chicken, Cold ham, One tablespoonful of olive oil, Mustard, Vinegar, Thin slices of bread buttered. Chop the chicken (not too fine), also a little nice ham, then mix the yolks of the eggs (boiled very hard) with the oil; when smooth, add a little made mustard and vinegar, should it not be salt enough from the ham, add a little salt, stir this mixture well, and add the meat. Have ready some thin slices of bread, buttered, and put some of the mixture between two slices; this is very nice, BreaD-Crumsp OMELET. Ingredients.—One pint of bread crumbs, Two tablespoonfuls of parsley, A slice of onion, Two eggs, A teacupful of milk, Pepper and salt, Butter the size of an egg. Beat the eggs thoroughly; add the mil ing, onion chopped fine, bread crumbs, and butter. Beat all together, and bake in a slow oven until it is a light brown color; turn it from the dish, and send to the table at once. chopped c, Season- Sauce For BEEFSTEAK. Ingredients.—Two tablespoonfuls of French mus- tard, Two tablespoonfuls of sauce, One tablespoonful of butter, One wineglassful of wine. Worcester Mix all these ingredients well together, and make it all quite hot, serve with beefsteak. This proves a very great addition to a nicely cooked steak, and can be poured over the steak or served in a sauce-boat. Rick Dump.inas, Ingredients.—One pound of rice, Two quarts of water, Twelve apples, Lemon, Tear upful of Sugar, Four ounces of butter, Half a glass of sherry wine, Half a nutmeg. Pick and wash the rice, and boil it gently in two quarts of water until it becomes dry ; keep- ing the pot well covered and not stirring it. Then take it off the fire, and spread it out to cool on the bottom of an inverted sieve ; loosen- ing’ the grains lightly with a fork, that all the moisture may evaporate. Pare twelve large apples, core them, and fill up the cavity with lemon and sugar. Cover every apple all over with a thick coating of the boiled rice. Tie up efch in a separate cloth and put them into boil- ing water; they will require about an hour and a quarter to boil. Turn them out in a large dish, and be careful when doing so not to break the dumplings. Eat with sauce made of four ounces of butter, sugar, and nutmeg beaten to a cream with half a glass of sherry wine. RECIPES. 48: Roast Turkey. Ingredients.—One turkey, Sausage meat, Grated bread crumbs, Two onions, Pepper and salt, A quarter of a pound of butter, Two tablespoonfuls of rubbed thyme. Clean the turkey and wash and dry well, fill the craw with sausage meat, and prepare the dress- ing for the body of the turkey of the bread crumbs, onions chopped fine, seasoning, butter cut into small pieces, and two tablespoonfuls otf thyme rubbed fine, mix all well together and fill the body of the turkey, sew it up carefully and spit it. Place before a clear fire and roast from two to three hours according to the size keeping it constantly basted. If you bake the turkey it should be placed in a dripping pan and placed in a hot oven and kept well basted. A turkey cooked this way is not nearly as juicy as one roasted before the fire. The giblets should be boiled in water to make the gravy ; cut them up fine when cooked, and thicken with a little flour; add seasoning. Cranberry sauce should always be served with roast turkey. Fruit or Biack CAKE. Ingredients.—Two pounds of currants, Two pounds of raisins, Two tablespoonfuls of cinnamon, One tablespoonful of mace, Four nutmegs, Two glasses of sherry wine, One glass of brandy, One glass of rose water, One pound of citron, One pound of flour, One pound of sugar, Twelve eggs. Wash the currants and dry them the day before they are to be used, also stone the raisins, dredge them well with flour so as to prevent them from sinking to the bottom of the cake. Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, add the eggs well beaten, then the wine, spices, fruit, (the citron cut in thin slices) and flour and stir the whole very hard. Have the tin pans well buttered with straight or perpendicular sides; bake it in a moderate oven atleast four hours. When done let it remain in a cool oven all night. Ice it if desired the next morning, first dredging the out- side all over with flour and then wiping it with a towel; this will make the icing stick. Park Srreet Cake. Ingredients.—Two cups of sugar, One-half cup of butter, One cup sweet milk, Three cups of flour, One teaspoonful of Colton’s Extract of Lemon, Two cups of raisins, Four eggs, One teaspoonful cream of tartar, One-half teaspoonful of soda. Mix the butter and sugar together, flour the raisins, mix in, add milk, flour, eggs and other ingredients, and bake in a quick oven.

Page 102

484 THANKSGIVING DAY. The crisp, bracing atmosphere of November comes to us freighted with suggestions of cosy evenings at the fireside ;-also recalling the many pleasures incidental to the long evenings; such as the various bees, candy pullings and surprise parties in the rural sections; lectures, singing OUR ARM schools and sociables in villages, and operas, | But the crowning glory of the month, looked forward to Among theatres, and Germans in the cities. by one and all, is Thanksgiving Day. all our national holidays this is perhaps the most universally satisfactory, in that its principal feature is a bounteous repast. New Year and Christmas are signaled by the giving of many tokens expressive of love, but they are also the birthdays of many disappointments and envious | feelings. Washington’s Birthday is a day set aside without the promise of presents or a good dinner; while Decoration is fraught with sor- rowful remembrances to many North and South, Fourth of July is a red-letter day for the juveniles to be sure, but the anxieties of many a fond mother makes it anything but a joyful holiday. On the day of our national dinner, however, all of the forego- who have not yet forgotten the past. ing disquieting influences are absent. From North, South, East, and West, the absent ones journey to the old home roof-tree, and the re- union of parents, children, and grand-children become heart pictures—the recollection of which remain vivid long after the day has passed. Long live our Thanksgiving-Day, with its re- unions, its feasting, and thanksgiving; and, that each may bear a hand in its perpetuity, let us earefully consider the suggestions in our first poem in this Magazine—* A Thanksgiving Solil- oquy.” - 4 AmonG the changes of style we notice the in- troduction of the new wave by Mrs. C. Thomp- son, the proprietor and patentee of the celebrated Thompson wave; it is called the “Langtry” | wave, being the exact counterpart of the style worn by this celebrated English beauty. It is perticularly adapted for young ladies. Mrs. Thompson has also introduced this fall another “Baby Wave,” which gives a very sweet and in- nocent expression to the face of the wearer, and rumor has it that many a young man has been carried away by this wave. Horsrorp’s Acip PuospHate is a preparation of the phosphates of lime, magnesia, potash and iron in such form as to be readily assimilated by the system. Descriptive pamphlet sent free. Rumford Chemical Works, Providence, R. I. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. CHAIR. | GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK FOR 1884. In presenting you such a rich table of contents for the Magazine for 1884, we have acted on the conviction that each of our subscribers will use their personal influence to gain for us at least one new subscriber, so do not read this and the Magazine and forget that we are trusting to | your personal endeavours. We aspire by your assistance to make this book what it once was i. e., the most popular Magazine in America. It is fast becoming so, but your help is cordially solicited; and that you may bring it to the notice of your friends we have prepared as our prospec- tus for 1884 the following list of attractions: 12 beautiful steel-engravings, accom- panied by a story or poem, 12 excellent portraits of ex-presidents | of the United States, accompanied by a | short biographical sketch. 12 full-sized cut paper patterns. 12 illustrations of architectural designs, 12 pages illustrating a household de- partment, 12 pieces of nicely selected music. 25 pages illustrating the latest patterns of fancy work, with full descriptions. 50 illustrations of colored costumes in the latest prevaling styles. 200 choice recipes for the household. 250 illustrations of fashions in black and white, besides a rich variety of liter- ary matter contributed by eminent writers, embracing novels, novelettes, stories, poetry, charades, dialogues, art and fash- ion notes, both gnd together with current notes on news of the day. In order that all our subscri- bers may bring this magazine to pleasant notice, we have prepared a bijou edition of the magazine, and although it is but domestic foreign, | one-quarter size of the regular magazine, wave for Misses and young ladies known as the | it is a fac simile, except in the particular of the cut paper pattern, and to all our readers who desire the Lapy’s Book brought to the attention of personal friends, we will send a copy of the bijou edition as a sample in small form, to any address you may direct, providing you mention Arm Chair. We call your spe- cial attention also to our terms to club M m gt th oO!

Page 103

= ’ OUR ARM CHAIR. 485 raisers published elsewhere, and trust you will find time to serve a mutual interest by getting up a club. Wuart 1s BaveNo VELVETEEN ?—We answer, it is a new brand of velveteen introduced this sea- son, and it so closely resembles the celebrated Genoa faced velvets that is rapidly gaining pop- ularity with the fashionable world. It is espe- cially adaptable for fall cloaks and mantles. ~ THE CORCORAN GALLERY OF ART. AND IMPROVEMENTS—CURIOUS ITS WORKS. ITS RE-OPENING CRITICISMS UPON SOME OF The gallery was re-opened to the public on Monday, August for 20, after being closed for a month certain interior improvements—the greatest of which was the new color given to the walls of the picture galleries, being of a deeper red than formerly, but tempered so as to not impair the effect of the brilliant pictures. I The floors of | all the galleries have been darkened and varnished, which throws additional effect not only upon the pictures, but upon the statu- No « hange has bet ul but } Saie, ary in the Sculpture Hall made in the arrangement of the pictures, several new nt for exhibition and ones, s¢ imparted Interest to the rooms devoted Lo Though at this have them season the number of Visitors much diminished, stiil the re-opening hailed by the public with a justifiable pride and delight. The of such a collection is always frequent excursion parties from neighboring states often bring a crowd anyious to see its glories Already one large party from Virginia has appeared, and it is gratifying to see how Mr. these person Corcoran’s gift is appreciated by , representing often the humble classes of society. Generally they behave with marked propriety, though it is ng to see the effect aumius made upon some of the rural, unsophisticated portion, by the novelties not so much in pic- tures as in the casts of the greatest masterpieces of Greek and mediaeval s« ulpture, many of them of course representing the broken, mutilated originals—some without heads, legs, or arms. Some very laughable stories are told of the in- nocent comments made by the simple-minded The with Visitors on first contronting these casts. well-known cast of the colossal These us minus feet, cal!s forth “Why did not the Was the modern battered head, and legs such questions as these: artis finish » otat . nd give } » 9 artist finish th fatue, and give it feet: Theseus as big as this statue?” Here is the statue by Vela, of the Last Days of Napoleon, comment of a visitor upon noble represented as seated, propped up by pillows, with his wasted head bent down, looking with deep attention into futurity. After staring at it awhile, he turned away with an expression of disgust and vexation, and said to the keeper: “Why did that artist take that man’s likeness Why did he not wait until he As a companion to this sage com- while he was so sick? was well?” ment, here is a true story of the criticism made by another visitor from the interior, upon the well-known picture of “Charlotte Corday in Prison,” perhaps the most attractive painting in the gallery, and the photograph of which, issued from it, is in Said this critic, after looking at it attentively: “I want to Charlotte such great demand. know sumthing about that picter! Prison! Now I know a John Corday in York State, and his wife's name was Charlotte, Cor lay in and I swan she was never in a jail in all her life!’ ’ OuR Book VABLE. Moses Publisher, we have received a copy of a Dictionary From King, Cambridge, Mass., of Boston. It is « comprehensive work and valuable for general reference, many leading business houses are noticed, a condensed history of the city is given, its noteworthy institutions, its many or- ganizations, charitable, benevolent, literary, and social, its religious denominations and churches, and its varied and most interesting features, are all found in the one compact volume. As a guide book to the city it will be found of much service. An excellent map of the city is given, showing its streets, public buildings, etc. in paper for 50 cents, cloth $1.00. From Messrs. James R. Osgood & Co., Boston, by J. B. we have received a pretty little pamphlet (price, Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, for sale ten cents) containing Col. George E. Waring 3 famous horse story “ Vix,” reprinted from “* Whip and Spur.” It isa pathetic story of a favorite horse pur- chased by the owner when run down for a sad- dle horse, who after being carefully nursed and fed willing returned her master’s care with love and service, the deep affection on bot! 1 81acs gly depicted. The story is well written is feeling] and worthy of more than one perusal. J. B. Lippincott & Co., Phila.,have published a new novel “ The Price She Paid,’ by Frank Lee Benedict. It is decidedly the best of any of this popular books, bright, light and merry at the j start, which holds writer's the reader’s attention, until you become personally inte rested in the charac- ters, and then your interest increases with each page perused, unto the end. One of the female characters is beautiful, showing how entir ly self can be laid aside if the will only so deter-

Page 104

486 mines. and love, but at last the latter proves ant. We advise our readers to purchase the book and enjoy it as we did. There is a struggle between the world triumph- From the National Temperance Society, 58 teade St., New York, we have No. 9 of the Fife and Drum Series, entitled Jack’s Horseshoe, by James Ellis. This little volume is designed to show the evils of intemperance; it is the story of a young man led away by strong drink, subsequently re- claimed and again on the verge of ruin by fol- lowing a physician’s prescription of bitters. The story of his second rescue is ably told ; it is a story calculated todo much good placed in young hands. Lee and Shepard, Publishers, 47 Franklin Street, Boston, Mass., send us a pamphlet, en- titled, A College Fetich, containing an ad- dress delivered before The Harvard Chapter of the Fraternity of the Phi Beta Kappa, in Cam- bridge, by Charles Adams, Jr.—stating in forcible language many of the evil June 28, 1883, Francis s connected, as he thinks, with the generally followed-out rule of education. From T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, we have received a novel entitled Guy’s Mar- riage, by Henry Greville, translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. Like all French novels it is very thrilling, and calculated to please a certain class of readers, who delight in the doings of fashionable Paris. It is the last, and considered the best of the works of this author. From John B. Alden, 18 Vesey Street, New York, we are in receipt of No. 67 of The Elzevir Library, containing Seneca and St. Paul, by Canon F. W. Farrar, a bright little article show- ing by texts of scripture and writing how St. Paul taught all people by example, as well as precept. And that with all the faults of Seneca, he yet lived a nobler and better life than many professing Christians. The Recollections of a Naval Officer by Captain William H. Parker, is announced by Charles Scribner’s Sons. Captain Parker writes from a varied and full experience. In 1841 he entered the U. At the outbreak of the war he resigned his commission, and entered the Con- federate naval service. In these recollections he tells of the operations in the Gulf of Mexico dur- ing the Mexican War in which he participated, and gives some interesting incidents and facts Writing of the Civil War later, he describes the battle of Elizabeth City, the battle of Hampton Roads, the Merrimac and S. Navy. not generally known. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. Monitor fight, the attack by Dupont on Fort Sumter, and other memorable engagements in which he was present. Other new books reviewed next month. Music received: From W. H. Bonner & Co: Vocal. Flower Song. By Gustave Lange. Instrumental. L’Ingenue Gavotte. From Oliver Ditson & Co., New York: Vocal. Land of the Shamrock. By M. Hauser. By A .Rubinstein. By D. F. Hodges. Instrumental. By Auguste Van Biene. Slumber Song. Yearnings. At Last. Ada Polka. Pleasure Lancers, and A Jolly Picnic. | Adam Geibel. Greeting March. = By E. 8. Clarke. From Moisson & Spaulding, N. Y. Corinth Galop. * > WOMAN’S GLORY. QUOTATIONS AND ANNOTATIONS. Presumably ever since recorded time began— certainly since Poesie had birth—the hair has justly been regarded the chief, as it unquestiou- ably is the crowning. charm of beauty. So highly was it esteemed by the ancients that ApuLetvs declared : “Even Venus herself, if she was destitute of hair, though surrounded by the Graces and Loves, would not have charms to please het own husband Vulcan.” Not only to women but to men, the hair was deemed essentia!, and its loss was mourned as a real calamity. THEOCRITUS wrote: “My hair and my beard added charms to my face.” Gay ANACREON once sadly sang: ‘‘Oft with wanton smiles and jeers, Women tell me I’m in years; I, the mirror when I view, Find, alas! they tell me true; Find my wrinkled forehead bare, And regret my falling hoir.”’ Happy the age ih which we live! body need waste any regrets upon falling hair, for Aver’s Harr Vicor puts an immediate stop to the falling out of the hair, and so healthfully Now, no- stimulates the scalp as to cause the speedy re- placement of any portion of its natural covering that has been lost. Perronius, with satirical humor, addressed one who was bald: “Thou, late exulting in thy golden hair, As bright as Phoebus, or as Cynthia fair,

Page 105

Op lly ng OUR ARM CHAIR. 487 Now view’st, alas! thy forehead smooth and plain As the round fungus, daughter of the rain, Smooth as the surtace of well-polished brass, And fly'’st with fear each laughter-loving lass, Death hastes amain, thy wretched fate deplore ; fall'n ts thy hair, and beauty is no more.” But now, Aver’s Hair Vicor invigorates the hair roots, causes the growth of a new covering of hair upon bald heads, even those bare as the mushroom or brass of the poet’s tancy— where the roots are not absolutely destroyed, which is very rarely the case—and so restores beauty. That hair must be long, to be beautiful upon the heads of women, has ever been an axiom. The Apostle Paut evidently thought so when he informed the Corinthians that: “If a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her.” Ovip wrote: “They, who have seen her, own they ne‘er did trace More moving features in a sweeter face; Yet, above all, her length of hair they own In golden ringlets wav’d and graceful shown.” And CuHaccesr, with quaint precision of esti- mate : “Her yellow hair was braided in a tress, Behind her back, @ yard long, I guess.”’ And Drypen: “Fresh as the month and as the morning fair, Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair.” And Byron: “Down her white neck, dong, floating auburn curls, The least of which would set ten poets raving.” And BaliLey: “Long glorious lecks which drop upon thy cheek, Like gold-hued cloud-flakes on the rosy morn.” But those are few who naturally have and re- tain long hair. When it grows long, it is apt to become weak, brittle, and to fall out. Any lady, however, can have long hair that will be luxurious and strong, by the use of AyYER’s Hair Vicor, which strengthens its growth, keeps the scalp clean and healthful; and re- moves the pellicles which are the real cause of premature baldness. Hair requires to be not only long but abundant to be beautiful, like that of Mary Donnelly, of whom ALLINGHAM sang: ‘Her hair's the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so Jine, It’s rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine.” She might have had many rival brags of Ire- land if the girls of her day had possessed AYER’S Hair Vicor, which removes dandruff and causes the hair to grow with a rich luxuriant abund- ance, attainable by nothing else except the in- frequent and fickle favor of Nature. It is in reality such a remedy as would, in a little time, VoL. cxn.—32 have effected the improvement desired by Fair Annet, who is represented in an old Scottish ballad as directing: “My maids, gae to my dressing roome And dress to me my hair; Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, See ye lay ten times mair.” But not length and abundance both wou!« suffice to perfect beauty unless the charms ot glossiness and softness were also possessed. An expert’s taste was revealed in Byron’s lines: “Her glossy hair was cluster’d o’er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth.” And not less sympathetic was Mitton’s de- scriptive line in the Mask of Comus: “Sleeking her soft alluring locks.” And right here it is,well to observe that noth- ing else gives such softness and glossiness to the hair as Ayer’s Hair Vicor. It is a delightfully clean’ and fragrant dressing for the hair, that entirely takes away from it all harshness and dryness, makes it pliant and silky, and develops to the fullest extent all the beauty and brilliance of its color. Nature may be aided in enhancement of beauty, but her work cannot be successfully counterfeited. Dyes and wigs do not deceive, and the former are generally highly injurious. That was understood even so long ago as Ovip, who thus reproached his mistress: “Did I not tell you to leave off dyeing your hair? Now you have no hair left to dye. And yet nothing was handsomer than your locks. They came down to your knees, and were so fine that you were afraid to comb them. * * * Your own hand has been the cause of the loss you deplore: you poured the poison on your own head. Now Germany will send you slave’s hair.” But when age’s winter sheds its frosty rime among our tresses, we can easily restore them to the natural freshness and color of youth, by the application of Ayrr’s Harr Vicor, which is not a dye, and contains no coloring matter, but which has this marvelous effect by its stimulation of the hair roots and color glands—the practical restoration to them of youth. And, as for wigs, good was the spirit of the lass whom Brome represents as saying: “Though my hair’s little, ’ll not carry A wig for an auxiliary. If my locks can’t, another’s sha’n't invite you.” There is no need for a wig, when Ayer’s Hair Vigor will, in-a short time, grow a (ine head of one’s own hair. If ladies wish to attain—in the words of CRASHAW: “Tresses, that wear Jewels, but to declare How much themselves more precious are.” They have only to use Ayer’s Harr Vicor, prepared by Dr. J. Cy Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. For sale by all drug- gists.

Page 106

488 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ; ee rf ' od Omime Avent fated 1 fiRst-FLOOR-PLAN + Hoanas & pF Aeey gece — > a (4 “ had aaccovy Cyamasa SECOND: FLOOR-PLAN REAR VIEW OF A FRENCH CHATEAU. Drawn expressly for GODEY’s LADY’s Book, by Isaac Hobbs & Son, Architects, No. 520 Walnut Street, Philadelphia. This handsome residence was built under our su- , wood and tilé mantles, and hearth with ornamental perintendence for Charles D. Barney, Esq., Broker, Shoemakertown, Pa. It was erected by day and de- tail contract, for $34,000 complete. It has a very fine exterior of eut stone, and interlined with pressed | brick, with dressings of rubbed biue flag, roof of slat~, and galvanized iron trimmings. Finished in- side with lipped natural wood work first class, fine work above. Some of the floors are patent oil finish, roof floors solid and firm, Two years ovecupation and all fs perfect, no cracks or shrinkage, sliding doors runas if upon oil. It will be for a century, unless burnt down, an ornament of ski'l and design rarely exceeded, Hobbs’ Architecture, 123 designs, price $8.50.

Page 107

GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AYER'S | Cherry Pectoral. No other complaints are so insidious in their at- tack as those affecting the throat and luags: none so trifled with by the majority of sufferers. The ordinary cough or cold, resulting perhaps from a triding or uaconscious exposure, is often but the bevinning of a fatal sickness) AYER’S CHERRY PEc- TORAL has well proven its efficacy in a forty years’ fight with throat and lung diseases, and should be taken in all cases without delay. A Terrible Cough Cured. “Tu 1857 I took a severe cold, which affected my lungs. I had a terrible cough, and alter night without sleep. The doctors gave ire up. i tried AYER’s CHERRY PECTORAL, which relieved my lungs, iuduced sleep, and aiforded me the rest necessary for the recovery of my strength. By the continued use of the PECTORAL a permanent cure was effected. Lam uow62 yearsold, hale and hearty, and am satisiicd your CHERRY PECTORA™ saved me. HORACe FAIRBROTHER.” Rockingham, Vt., July 15, 1882. Croup.—A Mother's Tribate. “While in the country last winter my little boy three years old, was taken ili with creup; it seemed as if he would die from strangulation. One of the family suggested the use of AYER’8s CHERRY PECTO- RAL, a bottle of which was always kept in the house. ‘this was tried iu small and frequent doses, and to our delight iu less than half an hour the littl patient was breathing easily. The doctor said that the CHERRY PECTORAL |.id saved my dariling’s life. Can you wouder at vur gratitude? Sincerely yours, Mrs. EMMA GEDNBY.” 159 West 128th St., New York, May 16, 1882. “J have used AYER’Ss CHERRY PECTORAL in my family for several years, and do not hesitate to pro- nounce it the most effectual remedy for coughs and coids we have ever tried. A. J. CRANE.” Lake Crystal, Minn., March 13, 1882. “T suffered for eight years from bronchitis, and after trying many remedies with no suecess, | was cured by the use of AYER’S CHERRY PECTORAL. JOSEPH WALDEN.” Byhalia, Miss., April 5, 1882. “IT cannot say enough in praise of AYBR'’S CHERRY PECTORAL, believing as I do that but for its use should long since have died from lung troubles. BRAGDON.” Palestine, Texas, April 22, 1882. No case of an affection of the throat or lungs ex- ists Which cannot be greatly relieved by the use of AYER'S CHERRY PECTORAL, and it will always cure when the disease is not already beyond the control of medicine. PREPARED BY Dr, J.C. AYER & C0O., Lowell, Mass. Sold by all Druggists. THINK OF IT NOW! Although much fs said of the importance of a blood-purifying medicine, it may be possible that the subject has never seriously claim your atten- tion. Think of itnow! Almost every person has some form of serofuleus poison latent in his veins. When this develops in scrofulous -ores, Ulcers, or Eruptions, or in the form of Rheumatism, or Organic Diseases, the suffering that easues ts terrible. Hence the grat- _— of those who discover, as thousands yearly do, that Ayer’s Sarsaparilla will thorough !y eradicate this evil from the system. As well expe:t life without air as health without pure blood, Cietuse the blood with AYER’s Sarsa- PARILLA. PREPARED BY Dr. J. C. AYER & CO., Lowell, Mass Sold by all Druggists; price, $1, six bottles for $5. passed night | Estey OnGan. Sold everywhere. Illustrated Catalogue sent free. CASKET. No knowledge of Music nececs-ry. The latest and most perfict Instrument. Plays the most ACENTS can make $10 a day selling our ¢ *. Send for our Cata- exquisile music equal to a lonwe, and state yeu Parlor Organ. Enclosed ina wish to act as agent. | pequtiful gilt ornamental I | AUTOMATIC INSTRUMENTS, | case. Achild can play it. , with 4 tunes, 310. $5, $6,$7,$8 to $25. Send C. O. D., or P. 0. order. MUSIC BOXES PLAYING GNE TUNE, $1.00, - This heing the oldest and only reliable house devoted ex clusively to the manufacture of Mechanical Musical Instru ments, parties need not hesitate to forward their money, which will be refunded in every case if goods are not as represented. We refer to anv Bank or Express Office in N.Y MECHANICAL ORGUINETTE CO. 831 Broadway, bet. 12th and 13th Sis., ®. yY. WORKERS. THE ART INTERCHANGE, a fortnightly 16-page il- lustrated journal of all Art Work, Brass Hammering, Painting, Embroidery, Carving, Modelling. For 1854, EXTRA FULL-PAGE STUDIES IN COLOR, MONTH- LY ; also regular full-sized double-sheet working desigu supplements. Questions promptly answered in the paper, and suggestions given without arge. Established 1875 The only art pa vr giving colored supplements. 00 a year ; Fix and thres months subseriytions received. Send Se. in stamps for sample copy and catalogue of illustrated special handbooks on all branc of Art Work Mention tiie Magazine. WM. WHITLOCK, 140 Nassau St., N. Y. ers, 2 Wool, 2 Yarn, 1 Worsted. 1 Motto, 2 Ca cond 3 Button Needles, 1-2 doz new style Fringed Napkins, 1 Japanese Handkerchief. Fancy Work Patterns, ond

Page 108

490 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE.

TUOMAS B- HAGSTOZ. JAMES BURDICE.

Gast ee iasauinad M eT ee

ee a. é ji wr ~—" T. B. HAGSTOZ & CO. (Successors to Morean & HEADLYy,) IMPORTERS OF Diamonds, and dealers in Watches and Fcwelry, Mutual Life Insurance Building, 'Tenth and Chestnut Sts., PHILADELPHIA, PA.

A VALOABIs HOLIDAY or BIRTHDAY PRESENT Only, $1.00. These handsome SOLID RINGS are made of 18 KAKAT ROLLED GOLD, and either will make a BEAUTIFU. and VALUABLE gift to a Lady or Gentleman. In order to secure NEW CUSTOME for our old and reliable firm, we will forward post-paid to any address in the United States or Canada, one o our HEAVY 18 KARAT RO. LED GOLD RINGs, mounted with PRECIOUS STONES on receipt of hi ONLY 81.00 each, providin ‘ iT T AUVEtERLISEMENT OUT, an y erder ON OR BEFORE JANUARY Ist, 1884. We willengrave any INITIAL, NAM?t, MOTTO or SENTIMENT on the inside of ring without exi:u charge, We make these yinge in two different styles and have named them GO@O LwuoCckK ND JEWEL CcCiwusTEHR Each ring is set with one each of the following precious stones, set in the order named. You will notice, that by taking the first letter to spell each of the above stones, you ‘ make an ACROS IC, spelling the word RBGARDsBS., The stones we use LT. are so perfect that they will deceive any one but an expert and they will pronounce them ETHYST, genuine in many cases. We also mount the Good Luck and Jewel Cluster Rings with Y, seven of our justly celebrated Brazilian Diamonds, which are the best imitation of the MOND, DIAMONDS ever discovered. We thus offer you four of "PHIK gE. the handsomest rings ever made to choose from. Atthe same time we send your ring, we will mail you a bundle of our Catalogues. We feel sure that you will be so highly pleased with the i and that it will give such entire satisfaction, that you will become a regular customer of our house id will oblige us by distributing the Catalogues sent you among your friends, at the same time wing them the beautiful ring you have received from us. You can in this way assist us in selling f STANDARD QUALITY which we manufacture from new and original designs, gua: to give satisfaction. ON O'R FUIURE SALES WE MAKE OUR PROFIT. Remember the ring we send you will bb Me“ AVY 18 KARAT ROLLED ¢.OLD, and this unprecedented ffer is“made only to introduce our goods and catalogues in your neighborhood. Our m is OLD ESTASLISHED AND KELIABLE, manufacturing FIunST.CLASS GOODS from the PRECIOUS METALS, We can only send out a LIMITED NUMBER of rings at price named, and to protect ourselves from jewelers and deaie:s ordering in large quantities we wil! insert this advertisement but ONE TiME in this paper, hence require you to cut it out and send to us, that we may know you are ENTITLED TO THE BENEFITS OF THIS «© FFER. Under no circumstances will we send MORE THAN 1 WO RINGS to any person sending $1,00 for each, WITH THIS ADVEKTISEMENT, and should you order more than that number. all your money will be returned and we will hold the advertisement. But a ter you order, and other rings are desired, we will furnish 18 KARAT SOLID GOLD RIN G8 at prices given in our Illustrated Catalogue, ranging from $5 to $l5each. If you wish one ring send this advertisement and $1.00, ou wish two rings send this advertisement and $2.00. If more than two are desired you must pay prices. To ascertain the size ring you wear, cut a piece of paper so it will just meet around your finger and send the slip to us. State which ri is wan the GO D LUCK OR JEWEL®CLUSTER, and state whether you wish the AL:. DIAMONDS or ASSORTED STONE setting. Also write plain! what you wish engraved on inside of ring, and cut this advertisement out and send tu us on or before J AN’ Ist, 1884, Should you be in New York at any time we will be pleased to have you visit our metropolitan headquarters. It is sa:e to send sma!l smounts through the mails, or you can send by Money Order or Registered Letter. Address, E. P, TIFFANY & CO., Jewelers, 195 Fulton St., New York. ie aE a EP

mm ~— 4 5 6 T PrP

We will guarantee the “** LOVELI.»” WASHER to do better work and doit easier and in less time than any cther machine in the world. Warranted five years, and if it don’t wash the clothes clean. without rubbing, we will refund the money. ACENTS WANTED Week Snow PROOF thet Agents are making from $75 te $150 per month. Farmers make $200 to $500 during the winter. La dies have great success se!‘ing this Washer. letail pricecniy $5. Sample to those desiring anagency $2. Also the Cele. brated KEYSTONT WRINGERS at manufacturers’ lowest price. We invite the strictest investigation. Send your address on @ posial card for further particulars. LOVELL WASHER CO., ERIE, PA, oe mer - - .

Page 109

GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. 491 25 Cts fon Perfect Musial Outfit Almost every household in the Unit- @ ed States has some kind of Musical nstrument, from the plain Melodeon to the expensive Gran: jano. ‘ut one in @ thousand persons ever becomo adepts in the art of Music, which even Mendelsohn and Mozart could not become masters of technically. But Bucke ner’s Musical Chart dves away with the necessity of becoming proticients in the art. It is the result of years of intense application, bya Leading Professor, andisa thorough though simple, Self-Instructor for Melodeon, Piano, or el ae A child (without the aid of a teacher,) can learn jn @ few hours to play any of these instruments as easi as if it had gone through months of instruction aud hard a. t is 2 grand invention and saves hundreds of duilars to any person lucky enough to possess one. If you already have the ruui- ments of music, this will aid you in mastering the whole art;if not, you can go right ahead, and learn all, easily and perfectly. Have you no musical instrument on which to practice? A few minutes each day at some frienu's resideuce will make you perfect, so that you can play anywhere in response tocalls, The highest class of Professors of Music unite in saying that Buckner’s Music Chart leads anything ofits king, Heretofore the Chart has never been sold for less than $§,Q0, but now, that WE have secnred the sale of the genuine, We have resolved to send the Chart for Twenty-Five Cents and also, to send 34 Pieces of Beautiful Music, vocal and instrumenta!.— full music sheet size, Free to every purchaser, All the new opera gems of Mascot. Billee Taylor, Olivette, Waltzes, Songs, Mazourkas, Quadrilles, T words and music. Music lovers have never had such bargains offered, s OP AND 4 { N K ! 84 Complete Pieces of Music. in addition to Buck- 1 Chart, all for ONLY 25 CENTS, This penny ment. Our house is we the staunchest in New York City—having a well earned repu- tation to sustain. Our neighbors Inthe best part ofthe city, know us, for we have been among them for years. The leading Newspaper and the creat Co nmercial Agencies all know us, and speak in good terms of us. 25 cents Pieces of Will send Three Charts and Three Sets lustrated catalogue of Organettes, Vio- sent to us Will insure your receiving by return mail, postage free, One Buckner’s Chart, and 34 Popular Music, Ifyou are notentirely satisfied, we will return the money. of Music for Sixty ti lins, Accordeons, Magic Lanterns, Cents. 1 ct. and 3 ct. postage stamps taken. 428 page World Man &c. sent free, Address all orders to g@ Co. 122 Nassau Street, New York. \\\N\ NW | SAA OUR LITTLE GEM TIME-KEEPER CIVEN AWAY. Just what every one needs. A Perfect Time-keeper. It is no bumbeag, or a chea wy; but a thvuroughly reliable teller of the time of day, in Stiver Nickle Hunting e fully warranted. Cheap watches are poor time- keepers. The Little Gem can always be relied upon. For 40c, (or 20 two-cent stamps), we will send our Large Illustrated f_ paper en- titled Youth, for Three mos., and the Little Gem Time- keeper, in Handsome Piano “ a Polished Wooden Case, as r illustration. For 16 cts. exira will send an elegant Watch Shain with Whistle-Charm and Dog-Call attachment Money returned if not as described. Fora club of 3 and $!.00, will send 3 subscriptions and 3 Time-keepers. Write t yy. Pub’s of Youth, 27 Doane st., Boston,Mass. sent prepaid by mali free. Ad“ ANAKESIS” és 1) . ves PILE Anakesis ” Sixey. an infallible cure for ists, or kers. Box 2416 NewYork. $6 a week in your own town. Termsand $5 outfit free. H. HALLETT & CO., Portland, Maine. tnatant and is es. Price $1, at drugg mo da UPERFLUOUS HAIR. Madame Wambold's Spe- cifle permanently removes Superfluous hair with- vut injuring the skin. Send foracircular. Madame Wambold, 198'West Springfield St.. Boston, Mass. ALL-NIGHT INHALATION! . A Positive Revolution in the Treatment of Diseases of the Respitory Organs. ' THE PILLOW-INHALER! g It applies Medicated Air . to the mucous lining ofthe Nose, Throat and Lungs ALUNIGH T—eight hours Sout ef the twenty-four — whilst sleeping as usual. Itis a mechanical Pillow, containing reservoirs for volatile medicine and valves to controlits action. No pipes or tubes. The medicine and balms used in these reservoirs are the (Being CURED.) host healing and curative known to medical science. Verfectly safe, comfortable and pleasant. Sufferers from CATARRH. BRONCHITIS, ASTHMA, end WELL-ADVANCED CON- SUMPTION. can be CURED by the , -INHALER. Hanvan J, Baier, Winthrop, Me., says; “Having been cured of Catarrh by the Pittow-Innaren, I heartily recommend it.’’ Miss Mansons Manse ,231 North Twelfth St., Philada., says: “*{ have used the PILLow-InnaLes,and can speak positively of its merits as a cure for Catarrh.” Mas. M. J. Cuapwicx, Mullica Hill, N. J., says: “I hed Ca- tarrhfor fiiteen years, and was guing into Consumption. Tus Pittow-tIweater has wrought euch a care for me that I feel I cannot dotoo much to spread the knowledge of it to others."’ Bev. P. R. Russecc, Vineland, N. J., says: “f sincerely rec- ommend the Pittow-Inuaterm to my friends who have Lung, Throat or Catarrh tronble."” tory Circular and Pork of Testimonials sent free. Addrese, THE PILLOW INHALER CO., 120 Chestaut St, Philadelphia, Pa) When writing, mention this Magazine, -| CARD Epilepsy, Spasms, Convul- sions, Falling Sickness, St. Vitua Dance, Alcohol- ism, Opium Eat- ing, Syphillis, Scrofula, Kings vil, Ugly Blood BRITA RVINE OL THE GREAT) sia, Nervousness, ClO VIUIEIR O}R)s* Headache, Rheumatism, Jervous Weakness, Brain Worry, Blood Sores, Biliousness, Costiveness, Nervous Prostration, | Kidiey Troubles an®Irr rities. $1.50. Sample Téstimonials. _ “Samaritan Nervine is doing wonders.” Dr. §. O. McLemoin, Alexander City, Ala. “I feel it my duty to recommend it." Dr. D. F. lenenie, Cy, Kansas. ” sicians failed.” erento “aS. J. A. Edie, Beaver. Pa. aa Correspondence ireely answered.-¢8 THE DR. $. A. RICHMOND MED. CO., ST. JOSEPH, M0. | _At Draggists. C. N. Crittenton, Agent, N. ¥ COLLECTORS. 23,92¢ !mportes Cards incoiors. Ex- quisite designs, delicate finish for 12eta. Wa. M. Doxacpson & Co., 113 Main St.. Cincinnati. O THE BIGGEST THING OU (mew.) Sent Free. Finest Quality.—High Class Unequalled in Tone and Durability. Sold direct by the Manufacturers, without inter- jate profit. Su med ae iis aame, mm gy m nm ever brought country. Send 2 Cent Stamp for Price- List. C.Gautschi & Co.,Ste Croix, Switzerland. SALESROOMS: 1018 Chestnut St., Philadelphia, Pa. OPPOSITE THE OPERA HOUSE. SCIENCE OF A NEW LIFE. By Jonn Cowan, M..9. 400 pages; 200 illustrations. An invaluable guide for v= ~arried, or thore contemplating marriage. Valuable 16-pace descriptive circular sent free | by J. 8. OGILVIE & CO., 31 Rose St., New York. Mlustrated Book CO., 120 Fulton St., New York,

Page 110

ee 492 GODEY’S } LADY'S BOOK AND M AGAZINE E. A CABLE DISPATCH ANNOUNCES THAT THESE ORGARS A NEW ILLUSTRATED CATALOGUE ARB AGAIN AWARDED (40 pp. 4to) of the MASON & HAMLIN THE VERY HIGHEST HONORS ORGANS, forthe season of 1883-4, is ready, aren and will be sent free. It announces MANY WORLD'S INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITION | NEW sTYLEs: and the best assortment Now in session (1883) at of the best organs we have ever offered ; at AMSTERDAM, NETHERLANDS. lowest prices : $22 to $60Oand up. SIxTy STYLES from $78 to $200, for cash, easy terms, or rented. These organs have taken HIGHEST AWARDS at EVERY ONE of the GREAT WORLD'S INDUSTRIAL EXHIBITIONS for SIXTEEN YEARS, no other American organs having been found equal to them at any. MASON & HAMLIN ORGAN & PIANO CO., BOSTON, 154 Tremont St.; NEW YORK, 46 East 14th St.; CHICAGO, 149 Wabash Avenue, “I wouldn't be without them if they cost $1 a pill. | THIS They cured me of neuralgia of 9 years’ standing.” —Jusepl Snyder, Paxions, Pa., Jan. 30, °80. ELEGANT DACW.BENSON'S ! The publisher of the well-known and seven Literary and Family paper, The Cricket on the arth, wishing to CELERY & CHAMOMILE PILLS. 7 wanes 100,000 earthy win for the ARE PREPARED EXPRESSELY TO CURE Next three months, aud believing that ANO wis cur’ HEADACHE oF Au Kinos f (EURALGIA. NERVOUSNESS d cowed cass et panto tas Ga oni Sigg, SO 4"? DYSPEPSIA . thercatter reuew their subscriptions DG, fur the year to come, now makes the FACSIMILE SIGNATURE ON EVERY 80x. to every subscriber we will send Freeau Elegant Neavy IF You WA NT perfect satisfaction. Do not confound this ring with the oo worthless washed affairs advertised by trresponsible —_ >. Cents in postage stamps, we will send The Cricket on the Mearth for Three Montha, and d i to subecribers to our paper. They are drug, 3 and are highly recommended. wurrentsh genulee Retled Gold Tate, eonast be distinguished from solid gold rings, and are guaranteed to wear well aud give following uaprecedented offer: Upon receipt of only Twenty-Five Roelicd Geld Plate Band Ling, suituble for lucy or They contain no opium, quinine, or other harmful gentieman These riugs have been maoufactured expressly to member this ring is warranted just as represented, It is suitahie for lady or gentieman, would make a beautiful present for either, “The most popular and sat- isfactory Corset as regards Health, Comfort and Ele- ye of Form,” be sure and get MADAME FOY’S IMPROVED COoRsET SKIRT SUPPORTER. It pies proment tay! adapt- BS e present style of mclress. For sale by all leading dealers. Price by fj|mail $1.30. Manufactured only by FOY, HARMON & CO., New Haven Conn. — WHITE AND DECORATED French China aud Fine Porcclain at Low Prices. Fine White French China Dinner Scts, 149 pieces xg f° Fine White Frecch China Tea Sets, 44 pieces ° Fine Gold-band French China Tea Sets, 44 piece H Rich!y Decorated French China Tea Sets, 44 oe - 12 Chamber Sets, 11 pieces, $4.00; White. » 8 ¥ ne White Porcelain Dinner Sets, 100 pieces . e 1400 | Decorated Parlor Lamps, Brass mounted. complete . 50 ALSO ALL HOUSE FURNISHING GOODS. lilustrated Catalogue and Price List mailed free ow up- plication.’ Estimates furnished. Mladley’s, 1-17 Cooper Institute, New York City. Orders securely packed and placed on Car and Steamer, free of charge. Sent C.0. D. or P.O. Money Order. and is worth more than double the amount we ask for both it and @ three-months’ subscription to our paper. State size you wear according to the numbered circles here given. Do not send strings or ‘lips of paper. You can ascertain the number of your size by fitting another ringover the circles. Remember, we will send one of these beautiful, valuable and durable rings free to any one sending 25 cents for atiree months’ subscription to our aper. Yas Catccer on tus Heat is a mammoth 16-pace, -column tllustrated paper, filled with charming Serial and Short scories, Sketches, Poems, Useful Kuowledge, Puzzles, Games and Stories fur the Young, Wit aud Humor, and pea thing to amuse, entertain and iustruct the whole family. You will be delighted with it, as well ae with the valuable premium we offer. Five subscriptions and five Rings will be sent for $1.00; therefore, by getting four of your friends to send with you, you will secure your own paper and remium free, This great offer made solely to introduce our paper, and is the most liberal ever made by any reliable pub- lisher; take advantage of it at once. Satisfaction guaranteed or money refunded. As to our reliability, we refer to any publisher in New York. Address 8. H. MOORE, Publisher,No. 8 Perk Place,N ewYork. BEST QUALITY. New designs in Satin and 9.9 so) S Gold finish, with name, 10 cts. We offer $100 for a pack of cards > any nicer work, or prettier styles. ~ Samples free, azle Card Works, uew Haven, Ct. OPIUM Habit easily cured with CHLORIDE OF GOLD Lesuie E. KEELey, M.D., SuRceon Sc. & AR. R. DwiGHs®T, Tiinois. H#1STORY.1810 LEFT HOME PENNILESS.AN DI 2 i Peet a Eh gl pe ise ig taiveces tae bE E BERTRY, Wathlogion hen ores IN 188 3. PROPRIETOR OF THE LARGEST FACTORYINEXISTEN CE. it ou_are in need of an O 4 for a roe PARLOR, CHURCH or SABB. 00: oe for , HOLD ¥. BIRTHDAY or WEDDING PRES: ’ 27 Step Beethoven —emenag now ny Bench, Book, &c. $800. $10.000 Churct’ Pipe Organ.

Page 111

mre So Gece ~ ere @eeo3* &o GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND M AG AZINE. 493 $1.60 It furnishes a class of reading attainable through no other channel, and enables its 15 cts. readers to keep up with what is best in per copy. Foreign Literature, whether in Poetry, per Annum, Essays, Science, or High-class Fiction. THE MODERN AGE Has met with the highest commendation from press and public, and its publishers do not hesitate to make the statement (easily verified by examination), that it has given in its tirst volume more matter by writers of world-wide fume than any other publication has ever given in the same number of issues. SPHCIAL, NOTICE. Send us your address on a postal card and we will forward you free of cost, one of the artistic MODERN AGE CHRISTMAS CARDS. Thliese cards provide a charming way to make a Christmas present of a year’s subscription to an excellent periodical, Cau you think of anything which could give a friend or relative more pleasure for an entire year? 4a Sample copies of THE MODERN AGE will be sent to any address on receipt of fifteen 1-cent stamps or postal note. Address, THE MODERN AGE PUBLISHING CO., 150 Nassau St., New York City. Is not a STYLOGRAPH or point writer, BUT A TRUE PEN. Send for Circular. Sold by l THE ANTI-STYLOGRAPH PEN 1 THOS, DE LA RUE & CO., 8 Bond St., NEW YORK. ° all Stationers. INDIAN Relics, Agate Goods, Curt- 50 New Chrom> Cards for 1884, name on, 10c., or 40 all ositics, Specimens. Send stamp for Go'd and Silver, 10>. J B. HUSTED, Nassau, N.Y. Catalogue to H. H. Tammen & Co., RUPTURE No. 9 Windsor bIk , Denver, Colo, REVOLVERS ldre fielieved and cured without the injury trusses inflict by Dr. J. A. SHERMAN’S method. Office, 251 Rroad- way, Newt York. His book with va'uable intorma- iS U NS » , S. Catalogues free. Addreas. Great Western Gun Works, Pittsburgh, Pa. ion 10% the ruptured is mailed for luc. I SILKS ron GSE {n Endless Variety of Beautiful Styles. Send six 2c. __ stamps tor (or samples, ¥ ale Silk Works, New Havea, Ct PILLA-SOLVENE permanently dissol ves Superfiuous Hair! root an ranch, in 5 mi auten. without pain, dis. coloration, or injury. Sealed particulars, Gc WILCOX SPECIFIC DICINE CO. Philadelphia re FOR Ponte NTS SEE Banner Page OF THIS NUMBER. For a reduced size SAMPLE Se Te > 4 or: Se al o> & pet ok POPULARITY ie Bat Star Page 7 = A WEEK. $12 4 day athomeeasily made. Costly > Outfit free. Address Trace & Co., Augusta, Maine. E FRINGED i X-MAS & CARDS FRING D CHRIST AS CARDS. send etx Chrtstmas Cards, ed a colors, trimmed with silk = fringe, no two alike, by mail, post paid, for 50 cts. William M. eadincon & Co., Cincinnati, O. WANTE Male or female agents to sell Tur kish Rug Patterns. Address E. 8. Frost & Co., Biddeford, Me. FOR REASONS OF THIS NUMBER, $2 COPY send 2-cent stamp. j ft. fiAULENBEEK § fo., LOCK BOX H.H., PHILADELPHIA, Pa.

Page 112

olX REASONS WHY Codeys Ladys Book OLDEST IN AMERICA. Established 1830. LIBRARY AND PARLOR. Its beautiful 1 steel engravings and/ half-tone illustrations, its sto ries, charades and games, afford entertainment to the young and old. $2. 00 per year. 6 IS 50 FOPOULAR. Quarter reduced sample copies sent on receipt of 2 cents. Jj. H. Haulenbeek & Co., Lock Box HH, Philadelphia.

Page 113

GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. 495 “ ‘BOOKS? e26%: Fine Steel Engravings Portfolio, Scrap-Book, Framing, or for Illustration. Our List includes Historians, Poets, Artists, Warriors, Statesmen, Historic and Ideal Pictures, etc. etc. etc., COMPRISING OVER 300 SUBJECTS, Beautifally engraved on Steel, having appeared in the Eclectic Magazine during past years, and em. bracing portraits of nearly every distinguished man of the past and present century. The engravings are printed on fine paper, 10x12 inches, and are sent by mail or express, prepaid, on | receipt of price, We furnish neat cloth cases or port- folios, holding from ten to fifty engravings. PRICES. Engravings, 10 cents each, or $7.50 per 100. Portfolios, 50 cents each. Portfolio and 15 Engravings . $1.50 ve i ” R 2.25 ow it) 50 Li 4.00 Catalogues sent to any address. Send postage stamp for catalogue. E. R. PELTON, Publisher, 25 Bond St., New York. A NEW BOOK FOR LADIES. Plain rules for knitting wide laces, narrow laces, insertions, quilts, tidies, and many useful and fancy articles. Price 50 Cents. Two cent stamps taken. | Address, Mrs. E. M. NILES, 4 East Gloucester, Mass. * RiINnNTIN G REsSSES. From 75 ceuts to $150. A Circulars free. Book of package of 55 varieties of wpe, cuts, &c., 10 cent* blank cards, 10 cents. Printers’ JOSEPH WATSON, Instruction Book, 15 cents. 19 Murray 8t., New York, The New Departure: A Natural System of Learning Writing, Spelling, English Grammar, and Punctuation, at the same time. By J. D. SLOCUM. “ The New Departure” is a new application of an old idea: namely, that the way to learn todo a thing is to doit. sv its aid self-instruction is made Easy, and Edu- | cation in many valuable things made Free. IT IS LEARNING BY DOING. “The value of all Educational systems consists in what thev do to incite the pupil to help himself.” More of the subjects taught can be learned unaided with this system in a month, than in the best schools with the old system in a twelve-month. Mechanical school-work can give instruction, but it cannet develop faculty, because this depends upon self-exertion, Sent to any address, postpaid, on rec ipt of price, $1. Address, E. R. PELTON & CO., 25 Bond S8t., New York. STANDARD BOOKS pics" Gitalogurs | sent free. §. W.GRE=N’S SON 696 Broadway, N. Y. Mention this Magazine, By UNCLE LAWRENCE. i) NEW BOOKS. Mrs. A. L. Wister’s New Translation. BANNED AND BLESSFD, A Novel. After the German of E. WERNER, author of “* Bound by his Vows,” ete. Translated by Mrs. A. L. WISTER, translator of “The Second Wife,’’ an Hand to Hand,” ete. l.mo. Extra cloth. OBJECT LESSONS. The Handy Book of Object Lessons: from‘a Teach- er’s Note-Book. By J. WALKER. First and second series complete. 12mo. Extracloth. $1.25. WIT AND WISDOM OF PROVERBIAL PHILOSOPHY. ODDCOMPARISONS. By MARSHALL BROWN, author of “Wit and Humor,” etc. lzmo. Extracloth, $1.25. YOUNG FOLKS’ WHYS AND WHEREFORES. . Profusely illustrated. Royal octavo. Extracloth. $2.00. Contains a large amount of information and amuse- ment on simple scientific subjects, related in the form of a story, with numerous illustrations. OUR YOUNG FOLKS’ PLUTARCH. By ROsaLIgE KauFMAN. Square 8vo. With illustra- tions and maps. Exira cloth. $3.00. Especially adapted for boys and girls; being all of Plutarch, told in a simplified and very interesting way. *,* For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent by mail, postage prepaid, on receipt of the price, by J.B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Publishers, 715 and 717 Market St., Philadelphia. AGENTS WANTED in all parts of the Unite’ States to se-l the AmeRIcaN UniversaL CrcLopapia, §,W. Green's Son, 696 Broadway, N.Y, Mention this Magazine. FREE: SAMPLE COPIES OF THE “SOUTH and WEST.” The Leading Agricultural Paper of the MISSISSIPPI VALLEY. A Journal which should be in every family. ONLY FIFTY CENTS A YEAR, TO CLUB RAISERS. Send for our special offer to workers. The most liberal and satisfactory offer ever made for getting subscribers. Address “SOUTH & WEST,” St. Louis, Mo. ADIES! IT’S ALL THE RAGE to make TimpigEs 4 and LAMBREQUTNS With twine and ribbon. Our new book of CROCHET and KNITTED LACE contains 40 PATTERNS for TIDIES, LAMBRSQUINS, EDGINGS, etc., with Directions for Making. Price 30 cents. COLORED Cross-Stitch Patterns for 20 cts. ALL for 20 2-c. stamps. J. F. INGALLS, Lynn, Mass.

Page 114

496 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. ae cae $559 e %° 25e. ————— stand unrivalled. j——9 IVES RICHER EFFECT 8) a4 DEEPER COL TO THE VELVET ENDORSED BY a ae 8 THE LEADING MERCHANTS OF THE “UNITED STATES. | | ——__—___——_— am It comes in FAST BLUE BLACK in all the NEWEST AND MOST FASHIONABLE COLORS, i

FOR SALE BY ALL FIRST CLASS RETAIL ESTABLISHMENTS. JOBBERS ONLY Supplied by | WM. OPENHYM & SONS == SOLE ACENTS, 42, 44, 46, 48 & 50 Creene Street, New York.

Page 115

GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. 497

<= sRANCYMNDIBRYGOODS# <x

Mrs. C. THOMPSON’S (Also manulacturer of the celebrated Thompson Patent Wave.)

PARTICULARLY ADAPTED FOR YOUNC LADIES. you send your order, enclose a sample of your hair, give your address plainly, including Co. and State.

} Also, the most ELEGANT ASSORTMENT ot! | SWITCHES, from $5 to $350. GRAY HAIR A | SPECIALTY. 4a” Beware of parties endeavoring to sell ou Waves representing them to be thr hompson Wave, as I do not allow any other Dealer to sell my goods. Goods sent C. O. D. subject to examination on pay- ment of Express charges. Send for Catalogue to headquarters of MRS. C. THOMPSON, No. 32 Fast 14th Street. NEW YORK. | - s DO YOUR OWN STAMPING for Eusrorp- a es ERY, with our STAMPING PATTERNS for Kensington, Arasene, Outline, Braid Work, &c. Easily transferred to any fabric or material and can be used a hundred times over. 10 full sized working Patterus of Flowers, Corners, Borders, Bcollops, Brak Strips, outline figures &c., also your own initial letters for handker- chiefs, hat bands, éc., with Powder, Pad aud directions for working, all fur @O cents, post-paid. Book of 1O@ designs for Embroidery, Braiding &c, 250, Our Book, ** Manual of Needlework,” is a c mplete in- structor in sington, Arasene and allother branches of Embroidery, Xnitting Tattin, Crocheting, Lace Making, &c. 35 cents: Four for $§.00, All the above for $ on fine tinted paper, and contains

Ladies’ M's? Fancy Work. ANEW BOOK, giving plain directions for Artistic Bmbroidery, Lace Work, Knitting, Tatting, Crochet, Net Work, aud all kinds of fancy Needle work. Itis beautifully printed Over 400 illustrations, Comprising designs for Monograms, Initials, Edgings, Cross Stitch, Point Russe, Berlin and Shetland Wool, Applique, Kate Green- away designs for Doyleys, etc., Handkerchief borders, Macrame, Holbein Work, Java Can- vas, Fringes, Tarkish Rugs, Toilet Cushions, Foot Stools, Work Baskets, Lambrequins, Work Bags, Scrap Baskets, Tabletop pat- terns, Folding eens, Sofa Cusbi-ns, Slipper Patterns, Wall Pockets, Towel Backs, Tidies, Work Bags, Catch-all's, Chair Bol- sters, School Bags, Patch Work, Tricot and Burlaps, Wood Baskets, Bibs. Shoe Bags, Jewel Boxes, Knitted Jackets, Piliow Shams, and hundreds of other desigus in fancy work. Plain Directions wi.h each design, Jenny June in her preface to this beok, says: ‘The present volume does not pretend to furnish the theory or ractice of the highest Needle work art, but t does aim to supply within its compass a greater variety of excellent designs—every one of whieh is useful, for dress cr bouse- hold decoration—than have ever before been gathered within the leaves of one manual.” Every lady will find this book a useful compan- lon = ———a te, o8 we ove aes, wer a ice, pos on Jentas ve Books for $2.00. Get four friends to send with you, und thus qct our hook free. Agents wanted. . BURT, Publisher, 105 John 8t., New Yor:.

MOTHERS, PROTECT YOUR BABES Prices, $6 to $12 (Blond and Gray extra). When | FROM COLDS, COUGHS, aud CROUP, by dre-- ing them in the Merino Drawers for Infunts. They are made in sizes to fit children from 3 month- to3 years of age. Are neat. warm, cheap, and conveni- ent of adjustment. At- tached to waist or under si irt by buttons or safety pins, Quickly removed and replaced when necessary. ani not liable te become soiled. Physicians recon- mend them bighly. Sold by dealers in ladies’ and chil dren’s underwear ge r- ally. Manufactured by ; FLAVELL BROS., Patented Jure 20th, 1882, Germantown, I’a.

can secure . Lady A ents et onalemmant and good salary selling Queen City Skirt and Stocking Supperters, ete. Sample outfit Free. Address Queen City Suspender Co.,Cincinnati.O

Paiten Pub. Co, 47 Barclay Street, New orl:

HARPER'S BAZAR, «tne anaivert sins come in different qualities, beginning with the Orier.- tal brand, that has one-thread warp, as low as $1.25. Tho heavier Abyssinian and Norma brands, with two and three thread wurp and satin f; range from $1.50 to $4a yard, and are of rich qualities that are handsome enough to be made up in combination with brocades or velvet, or the entire dress may be of the silk with lace for trimmin,s." CACHEMIRE Oriental, | Abyssinien, | Norma, SINGLE WARP. DOUBLE WARP. TRIPLE WARP.

2 Are the best LYONS black silks for wear, i favor with the ladies, F le b Lit RSs “Dat IRST CL RETAIL DRY n A GOODS houses throughout the country.

= 4-1

Page 116

GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. af The PLAIN VELVETEEN pe We THE BROCHE IN ALL in all the FASHION- Vs FASHICNABLE ABLE SHADES. ee SHADES. The glossiness of the pile makes tt cqual in appear- ance to the best Silk Velvet. Lf it were not for the price, noone would suspect its not being made of silk. %) TRADE-MAhK Por LADIES’ COSTUMES. MEN'S SMOKING JACKETS. and CHILDREN'S SUITS, FPRE-HBMIN ENTLY The Only Real Substitute for Genoa Silk Velvet Baveno Velveteen has won the suffrages of all discrim- inating ladies, and won them on its intrinsic merits. It has a surface which ts simply perfect. Being woven from finer yarns than any other make, it #s softer and lighter to the touch, and much richer looking. TO BE HAD OF ALL FIRST CLASS RETAILERS. THE TRADE SUPPLIED BY MILLS & GIBB, NEW YORK. FALL, 1883. y -_—-— JOHN N. STEARNS & CO., 458 BROOME STREET, N. Y., MANUFACTURERS OF AMERICAN SILKS. OUR NEW SPECIALTIES IN BROCADES, SURAHS and MOSCOVITES Are now ready and for sale by the leading dry goods houses of the country. Do Rae a Foe Our goods are all guaranteed to give the wearer perfect satisfaction, ! and are as elegant and handsome in finish, coloring, design, etc., as any made, and a THIRD CHEAPER, throughout the ENTIRE LINE, than IM- PORTED GOODS OF EQUAL QUALITY. To test the fact, try our “REGULAR SURAH,” which is retailed everywhere at $1.00, and you will never buy any other plain silk of SIMILAR PRICE, either for COSTUME or TRIMMING. Sole manufacturers of “Newport Sashes” and “ Ties.” — ——$- ——— — BITS:

Page 117

Page 118

LADY'S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. RECIPES: | Frizep Oysters. Appts Snow. Tagredients —Fifty oysters, Ingredients.—Six apples, Eve eggs. Whites of four eggs, t por penser, Powdered sugar, ( cker-dust, Cream. D : Lard, . ‘ Bake six apples in a slow oven; when qd . Strain the oysters through a sieve, and wipe h take off the skin. beat up | one li them dry, have ready the eggs beaten up with | pace cer fapkcrapey Phy Awe b ary, ai 7 a ge seid P basin, add to it the white of four eggs, beat them seasoning op one dish, and cracker-dust in an- together until the mixture becomes smooth and \ other, dip the oysters first in the egg, then in the | white. and throw in gradually a little pow r other. Have.a pan ready with boiling lard in it, sugar that has been sifted; it must He dered P ° : 7 ’ served put the oysters in and fry them a light brown, immediately and beaten until the last moment, i drain well before they are placed upon the dish. | py a little cream beneath it on the dish, ] Venice Cake. : Ingredients. —Half a pound of butter, ANGEL CAKE. Six eggs Ingredients.—One and one- The weight of eggs in flour, val 7 Same of rely eves of sugar, Half a pound of powdered sugar, One teaspoonful of cream of tartar A little of Colton’s extract of va- One teaspoonful of Colton’s Extract nilla or almond flavoring. of Vanilla, _ the butter and sugar together to a cream, Whites of eleven eggs. B add to it the eggs well beaten, the flour, and ; : . : asides. thie tt imp fies shallow tin, and (ee, en tt Ser teen eee i : : : and sift again, beat the eggs to a stiff froth, add b when done enough cut it out in graduated sizes | 4, beat lightly. th . with a biscuit cutter, pile it on a dish in the the-angaty Daas sigaSy, Seen edd the flour. _ De e form of a tower with different colored jam be- ee rage, irom. y 2" a wil be fee pe tt , oderately. Colton’s extracts wi ‘ound the ween each lay os cake. - best in use for flavoring. I UMPKIN Pigs. Ingredients.—One pint of stewed pumpkin, Porrep Pie's Heap. Half a pint of warm milk . MSF A quarter of a pound of butter, ingr wre Be Pry A quarter of a pound of sugar, One rh ¢ hol Right eggs, oe ounce of whole pepper, One wine glass of rose water, ro t, f whole allspi y Two wine glasses of wine, ae rp ate ihe. 7 One teaspoonful of mace and cin- mcd peradiietion tei T namon, Wash the head and feet, set them on the fire in a One nutmeg. a boiler fully covered with water, and boil o Take one pint of pumpkin that has been stewed | gently and constantly until the bones come out soft, and pressed through a colander. Meltthe | easily. Lift the meat out and separate it from I butter in the milk which should be warmed, | the bones, and pour the stock through a hair also the sugar, stirring it all hard. Beat eight | sieve to cool. When quite cold, take all the fat eggs very light, and add them gradually to the | carefully from the top, and the sediment from other ingredients alternately with the pumpkin. | below, put some of the stock on the fire with Then stir in a wine glass of rose water and two | the spices and vinegar to boil, and having cut glasses of wine mixed together; a large tea- | the meat in various-sized pieces, return it to the spoonful of powdered mace and cinnamon mixed | stock, and then pour into moulds and turn out and a grated nutmeg. Havingstirred the whole | when wanted. This will keep for six weeks, , very hard, put it into pie dishes lined with pie ; crust and bake three-quarters of an hour. To Poacn Eaas ARTISTICALLY. in Ft Orance Sponee. Ingredients.—Eggs, T . Ingredients.—One ounce’ of isinglass, A little vinegar, ci ‘. One pint of water, Water, 0 iH Six oranges, Bread. m &- Sugar, Put a little boiling water in a shallow frying- t ; One lemon. _ | pan, and put a tablespoonful of vinegar in the = — the —— a” the water, strain it | middle, but do not stir it. Break each egg ‘ ; through a sieve, and let it stand until cold. | separately in a cup, and turn it out carefully D ; Then mix with it the juice of six oranges and a the. pan, keeping the cup over it for ‘a one lemon, sweeten to taste, and beat the mix- | second to shape the white. Do the same with rr ture with a whisk until it becomes white and | each egg, adding a little more boiling water th looks like sponge ; put into a mould and turn | if necessary to cover the eggs. Take them out é out when it is wanted, ornamenting it with | carefully with a slice. and place them on thin pe slices of cut orange. slices of buttered toast.

Page 119

done in a them 1 and dered erved nent, d the ire in 6 Out hair ne fat z cut 0 the n out ying- n the | egg fully for & with water 1 out . thin '. RECIPES. “Cuicxen SANDWICHES. : Ingredients.—Cold chicken, Cold ham, One tablespoonful of olive oil, Mustard, Vinegar, Thin slices of bread buttered. Chop the chicken (not too fine), also a little nice ham, then mix the yolks of the eggs (boiled very hard) with the oil; when smooth, add a little made mustard and vinegar, should it not be salt enough from the ham, add a little salt, stir this mixture well, and add the meat. Have ready some thin slices of bread, buttered, and put some of the mixture between two slices; this is very nice. Breap-Crums OMELET. Ingredients.—One pint of bread crumbs, Two tablespoonfuls of chopped parsley, A slice of onion, Two eggs, A teacupful of milk, Pepper and salt, Butter the size of an egg. Beat the eggs thoroughly ; add the milk, season- ing, onion chopped fine, bread crumbs, and putter. Beat all together, and bake in a slow oven until it is a light brown color; turn it from the dish, and send to the table at once. Sauce ror BEeErsTgeak. Ingredients. —Two ee of French mus- tard, Two tablespoonfuls of Worcester sauce, One tablespoonful of butter, One wineglassful of wine. Mix all these ingredients well together, and make it all quite hot, serve with beefsteak. This proves a very great addition to a nicely cooked steak, and can be poured over the steak or served in a sauce-boat. Rice Dumpuines. Ingredients. —One pound of rice, Two quarts of water, Twelve apples, Lemon, Teacupful of sugar, Four ounces of butter, Half a glass of sherry wine, Half a nutmeg. Pick and wash the rice, and boil it gently in two quarts of water until it becomes dry ; keep- ing the pot well covered and not stirring it. Then take it off the fire, and spread it out to cool on the bottom of an inverted sieve ; loosen- ing the grains lightly with a fork, that all,the moisture may evaporate. Pare twelve large apples, core them, and fill up the cavity with lemon and sugar. Cover every apple all over with a thick coating of the boiled rice. Tie up each in a separate cloth and put them into boil- ing water; they will require about an hour anda quarter to boil. Turn them out in a large dish, and be careful when doing so not to break the dumplings. Eat with sauce made of four ounces of butter, sugar, and nutmeg beaten to a cream with half a glass of sherry wine. Roast Turkey. Ingredients.—One turkey, Sausage meat, Grated bread crumbs, Two onions, Pepper and salt, A quarter of a pound of butter, Two tablespoonfuls of rubbed thyme. Clean the turkey and wash and dry well, fill the craw with sausage meat, and prepare the dress- ing for the body of the turkey of the bread crumbs, onions chopped fine, seasoning, butter cut into small pieces, and two tablespoonfuls of thyme rubbed fine, mix all well together and fill the body of the turkey, sew it up carefully and spit it. Place before a clear fire and roast from two to three hours according to the size keeping” it constantly basted. If you bake the turkey it should be placed in a dripping pan and placed in a hot oven and kept well basted. A turkey cooked this way is not nearly as juicy as one roasted before the fire. The giblets should be boiled in water to make the gravy ; cut them up fine when cooked, and thicken with a little flour ; add seasoning. Cranberry sauce should always be served with roast turkey. Fruit or Buack Cake. Ingredients.—Two pounds of currants, Two pounds of raisins, Two tablespoonfuls of cinnamon, One tablespoonful of mace, Four nutmegs, Two glasses of sherry wine, One glass of brandy, One glass of rose water, Une pound of citron, One pound of flour, One pound of sugar, Twelve eggs. Wash the currants and dry them the day before they are to be used, also stone the raisins, dredge them well with flour so as to prevent them from sinking to the bottom of the cake. Beat the butter and sugar to a cream, add the eggs well beaten, then the wine, spices, fruit, (the citron cut in thin slices) and flour and stir the whole very hard. Have the tin pans well buttered with straight or perpendicular sides; bake it in a moderate oven atleast four hours. When done let it remain in a cool oven all night. Ice it if desired the next morning, first dredging the out- side all over with flour and then wiping it with a towel; this will make the icing stick. Park Srreet Cake. Ingredients—Two cups of sugar, One-half cup of butter, One cup sweet milk, Three cups of flour, One ‘teaspoonful of Colton’s Extract of Lemon, Two cups of raisins, Four eggs, One teaspoonful cream of tartar, One-half teaspoonful of soda, Mix the butter and sugar together, flour the raisins, mix in, add milk, flour, eggs and other ingredients, and bake in a quick oven.

Page 120

ne gg? Lene ane ay ae hate eeneamemnea 484 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. THANKSGIVING DAY. The crisp, bracing atmosphere of November comes to us freighted with suggestions of cosy evenings at the fireside; also recalling the many pleasures incidental to’ the long evenings; such as the various bees, candy pullings and surprise parties in the rural sections; lectures, singing schools and sociables in villages, and operas, theatres, and Germans in the cities. But the crowning glory of the month, looked forward to by one and all, is Thanksgiving Day. Among all our national holidays this is perhaps the most universally satisfactory, in that its principal feature is a bounteous repast. New Year and Christmas are signaled by the giving of many tokens expressive of love, but they are also the birthdays of many disappointments and envious feelings. Washington’s Birthday is a day set aside without the promise of presents or a good dinner; while Decoration is fraught with sor- rowful remembrances to many North and South, who have not yet forgotten the past. Fourth of July is a red-letter day for the juveniles to be sure, but the anxieties of many a fond mother makes it anything but a joyful holiday. On the day of our national dinner, however, all of the forego- ing disquieting influences are absent. From North, South, East, and West, the absent ones journey to the old home roof-tree, and the re- union of parents, children, and grand-children become heart pictures—the recollection of which remain vivid long after the day has passed. Long live our Thanksgiving-Day, with its re- unions, its feasting, and thanksgiving; and, that each may bear a hand in its perpetuity, let us earefully consider the suggestions in our first poem in this Magazine—“ A Thanksgiving Solil- oquy.” Bienen ~~ Amone the changes of style we notice the in- troduction of the new wave by Mrs. C. Thomp- son, the proprietor and patentee of the celebrated Thompson wave; it is called the “Langtry” wave, being the exact counterpart of the style worn by this celebrated English beauty. It is perticularly adapted for young ladies. Mrs. Thompson has also introduced this fall another wave for Misses and young ladies known as the “Baby Wave,” which gives a very sweet and in- nocent expression to the face of the wearer, and rumor has it that many a young man has been carried away by this wave. Horsrorp’s Acip PuospHate is a preparation of the phosphates of lime, magnesia, potash and iron in such form as to be readily assimilated by the system. Descriptive pamphlet sent free. ’ Rumford Chemical Works, Providence, R. I. — OUR ARM CHAIR. GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK FOR 1884, In presenting you such a rich table of contents for the Magazine for 1884, we have acted on the conviction that each of our subscribers wil] use their personal influence to gain for us at least one new subscriber, so do not read this and the Magazine and forget that we are trusting to your personal endeavours. We aspire by your assistance to make this book what it once wag i. e., the most popular Magazine in America, It is fast becoming so, but your help is cordially solicited ; and that you may bring it to the notice of your friends we have prepared as our prospec. ius for 1884 the following list of attractions: 12 beautiful steel-engravings, accom. panied by a story or poem. 12 excellent portraits of ex-presidents of the United States, accompanied by g short biographical sketch. 12 full-sized cut paper patterns. 12 illustrations of architectural designs, 12 pages illustrating a household de partment. 12 pieces of nicely selected music. 25 pages illustrating the latest patterns of fancy work, with full descriptions. 50 illustrations of colored costumes in the latest prevaling styles. 200 choice recipes for the household. 250 illustrations of fashions in black and white, besides a rich variety of liter- ary matter contributed by eminent writers, ‘embracing novels, novelettes, stories, poetry, charades, dialogues, art and fash- ion notes, both domestic and foreign, together with current notes on news of the day. In order that all our subser- bers may bring this magazine to pleasant notice, we have prepared a bijou edition of the magazine, and although it is but one-quarter size of the regular magazine, it is a fac simile, except in the particular of the cut paper pattern, and to all our readers who desire the Lapy’s Book brought to the attention of personal friends, we wil! send a copy of the bijou edition as a sample in small form, to any address you may direct, providing you mention Arm Chair. We call your spe cial attention also to our terms to club ems, 28 Qe &

Page 121

tents n the il use least 1 the ig to your gns, de- erns s in lack iter- ters, ries, ‘ash- ign, : of scri- sant but rine, ular our OOK ynal jou any you spe lub OUR ARM CHAIR. 485 ee paisers published elsewhere, and trust you will find time to serve a mutual interest by getting up ~ ga club. Wuat 1s BavENO VELVETEEN ?—We answer, it is a new brand of velveteen introduced this sea- son, and it so closely resembles the celebrated Genoa faced velvets that is rapidly gaining pop- ularity with the fashionable world. It is espe- cially adaptable for fall cloaks and mantles. ee J THE CORCORAN GALLERY OF ART. ITS RE-OPENING AND IMPROVEMENTS—CURIOUS CRITICISMS UPON SOME OF ITS WORKS. The gallery was re-opened to the public on Monday, August 20, after being closed for a month for certain interior improvements—the test of which was the new color given to the walls of the picture galleries, being of a deeper red than formerly, but tempered so as to not impair the effect of the brilliant pictures. The floors of all the galleries have been darkened and varnished, which throws additional effect not only upon the pictures, but upon the statu- ary in the Sculpture Hall. No change has been made in the arrangement of the pictures, but several new ones, sent for exhibition and sale, have imparted interest to the rooms devoted to them. Though at this season the number of visitors is much diminished, still the re-opening of such a collection is always hailed by the public with a justifiable pride and delight. The frequent excursion parties from neighboring states often bring a crowd anxious to see its glories. Already one large party from Virginia has appeared, and it is gratifying to see how Mr. Corcoran’s gift is appreciated by these persons, representing often the humble classes of society. Generally they behave with marked propriety, though it is amusing to see the effect made upon some of the rural, unsophisticated portion, by the novelties—not so much in pic- tures as in the casts of the greatest masterpieces of Greek and medieval sculpture, many of them of course representing the broken, mutilated originals—some without heads, legs, or arms. Some very laughable stories are told of the in- nocent comments made by the simple-minded visitors on first confronting these casts. The well-known cast of the colossal Theseus with battered head, and legs minus feet, calls forth such questions as these: “Why did not the artist finish the statue, and give it feet? Was Theseus as big as this statue?” Here is the comment of a visitor upon the noble modern statue by Vela, of the Last Days of Napoleon, represented as seated, propped up by pillows, with his wasted head bent down, looking with deep attention into futurity. After staring at it awhile, he turned away with an expression of disgust and vexation, and said to the keeper: “Why did that artist take that man’s likeness while he was so sick? Why did he not wait until he was well?” As a companion to this sage com- ment, here is a true story of the criticism made by another visitor trom the interior, upon the well-known picture of “Charlotte Corday in Prison,” perhaps the most attractive painting in the gallery, and the photograph of which, issued from it, is in such great demand. Said this critic, after looking at it attentively: “I want to know sumthing about that picter! Charlotte Corday in Prison! Now I know a John Corday in York State, and his wife’s name was Charlotte, and I swan she was never in a jail in all her life!” — OUR Beek TABLE. From Moses King, Publisher, Cambridge, Mass., we have received a copy of a Dictionary of Boston. It is a comprehensive work and valuable for general reference, many leading business houses are noticed, a condensed history of the city is given, its noteworthy institutions, its many or- ganizations, charitable, benevolent, literary, and social, its religious denominations and churches, and its varied and most interesting features, are all found in the one compact volume. As a guide book to the city it will be found of much service. An excellent map of the city is given, showing its streets, public buildings, etc. Sold in paper for 50 cents, cloth $1.00. From Messrs. James R. Osgood & Co., Boston, for sale by J. B. Lippincott & Co., Philadelphia, we have received a pretty little pamphlet (price, ten cents) containing Col. George E. Waring’s famous horse story “ Vix,” reprinted from “ Whip and Spur.” It is a pathetic story of a favorite horse pur- chased by the owner when run down for a sad- dle horse, who after being carefully nursed and fed returned her master’s care with love and willing service, the deep affection on both sides is feelingly depicted. The story is well written and worthy of more than one perusal. J. B. Lippincott & Co., Phila.,have published a new novel “The Price She Paid,” by Frank Lee Benedict. It is decidedly the best of any of this popular writer’s books, bright, light and merry at the start, which holds the reader’s attention, until you become personally interested in the charac- ters, and then your interest increases with each page perused, unto the end. One of the female characters is beautiful, showing how entirely self can be laid aside if the will only so deter-

Page 122

486 GODEY’S LADY’S BOOK AND MAGAZINE. mines. There is a struggle between the world and love, but at last the latter proves triumph- ant. We advise our readers to purchase the book and-enjoy it as we did. From the National Temperance Society, 58 Reade St., New York, we have No. 9 of the Fife and Drum Series, entitled Jack’s Horseshoe, by James Ellis. This little volume is designed to show the evils of intemperance; it is the story of a young man led away by strong drink, subsequently re- claimed and again on the verge of ruin by fol- lowing a physician’s prescription of bitters. The story of his second rescue is ably told ; it is a story calculated todo much gvod placed in young hands. Lee and Shepard, Publishers, 47 Franklin Street, Boston, Mass., send us a pamphlet, en- titled, A College Fetich, containing an ad- dress delivered before The Harvard Chapter of the Fraternity of the Phi Beta Kappa, in Cam- bridge, June 28, 1883, by Charles Francis Adams, Jr.—stating in forcible language many of the evils connected, as he thinks, with the generally followed-out rule of education. From T. B. Peterson & Brothers, Philadelphia, we have received a novel entitled Guy’s Mar- riage, by Henry Gréville, translated by Mary Neal Sherwood. Like all French novels it is very thrilling, and calculated to please a certain class of readers, who delight in the doings of fashionable Paris. It is the last, and considered the best of the works of this author. From John B. Alden, 18 Vesey Street, New York, we are in receipt.of No. 67 of The Elzevir Library, containing Seneca and St. Paul, by Canon F. W. Farrar, a bright little article show- ing by texts of scripture and writing how St. Paul taught all people by example, as well ag precept. And that with all the faults of Seneca, he yet lived a nobler and better life than many professing Christians. The Recollections of a Naval Officer by Captain William H. Parker, is announced by Charles Scribner’s Sons. Captain Parker writes from a varied and full experience. In 1841 he entered the U.S. Navy. At the outbreak of the war he resigned his commission, and entered the Con- federate naval service. In these recollections he tells of the operations in the Gulf of Mexico dur- ing the Mexican War in which he participated, and gives some interesting incidents and facts not generally known. Writing of the Civil War later, he describes the battle of Elizabeth City, the battle of Hampton Roads, the Merrimac and Monitor fight, the attack by Dupont on Fort Sumter, and other memorable engagementg jp which he was present. Other new books reviewed next month. Music received: From W. H. Bonner & Co: Vocal. Flower Song. By Gustave Lange. Instrumental. L’Ingenue Gavotte. From Oliver Ditson & Co., New York: Vocal. Land of the Shamrock. Slumber Song. By M. Hauser. Yearnings. By A .Rubinstein. At Last. By D. F. Hodges. Instrumental. Ada Polka. By Auguste Van Biene. Pleasure Lancers, and A Jolly Picnic. By Adam Geibel. Greeting March. By E.S. Clarke. From Moisson & Spaulding, N. Y. Corinth Galop. & 7 WOMAN’S GLORY. QUOTATIONS AND ANNOTATIONS, Presumably ever since recorded time began— certainly since Poesie had birth—the hair has justly been regarded the chief, as it unquestion- ably is the crowning charm of beauty. §o highly was it esteemed by the ancients that Apu.etus declared : “Even Venus herself, if she was destitute of hair, though surrounded by the Graces and Loves, would not have charms to please her own husband Vulcan.” Not only to women but to men, the hair was deemed essential, and its loss was mourned asa real calamity. THEOCRITUS wrote: “My hair and my beard added charms to my face.”’ Gay ANACREON once sadly sang: ““Oft with wanton smiles and jeers, Women tell me I’m in years; I, the mirror when I view, Find, alas! they tell me true; Find my wrinkled forehead bare, And regret my falling hair.” Happy the age in which we live! Now, no- body need waste any regrets upon falling hair, for Ayer’s Harr Vicor puts an immediate stop to the falling out of the hair, and so healthfully stimulates the scalp as to cause the speedy re- placement of any portion of its natural covering that has been lost. Petronivs, with satirical humor, addressed one who was bald: “Thou, late exulting in thy golden hair, As bright as Phoebus, or as Cynthia fair, SD>P> By => ~-) &§ 2S £8,

Page 123

By zan— r has stion- . So 3 that ute of s and e her ir was d asa to my W, 10- y hair, e stop thfully ody re- vering OUR ARM CHAIR. 487 Now view’st, alas!, thy forehead smooth and As the aot fungus, daughter of the rain, Smooth as the surface of well-polished brass, And fly’st with fear each laughter-loving lass, Death hastes amain, thy wretched fate deplore; Fall’'n is thy hair, and beauty is no more.” But now, Ayer’s Hair Vicor invigorates the hair roots, causes the growth of a new covering of hair upon bald heads, even those bare as the mushroom or brass of the poet’s fancy— where the roots are not absolutely destroyed, which is very rarely the case—and so restores beauty. That hair must be long, to be beautiful upon the heads of women, has ever been an axiom. The Apostle Pau evidently thought so when he informed the Corinthians that: “If a woman have long hair, it is a glory to her.” Ovip wrote: “They, who have seen her, own they ne’er did trace More moving features in a sweeter face; Yet, above all, her length of hair they own In golden ringlets wav’d and graceful shown.” And Cuavucer, with quaint precision of esti- mate : “Her yellow hair was braided in a tress, Behind her back, @ yard long, I guess.” And Drypen: “Fresh as the month and as the morning fair, Adown her shoulders fell her length of hair.” And Byron: “Down her white neck, long, floating auburn curls, The least of which would set ten poets raving.” And Baltey: “Long glorious locks which drop upon thy cheek, Like gold-hued cloud-flakes on the rosy morn.” But those are few who naturally have and re- tain long hair. When it grows long, it is apt to become weak, brittle, and to fall out. Any lady, however, can have long hair that will be luxurious and strong, by the use of Ayer’s Hark Vicor, which strengthens its growth, keeps the scalp clean and healthful, and re- moves the pellicles which are the real cause of premature baldness. Hair requires to be not only long but abundant to be beautiful, like that of Mary Donnelly, of whom ALLINGHAM sang: “Her hair’s the brag of Ireland, so weighty and so ne It’s rolling down upon her neck, and gathered in a twine.” She might have had many rival brags of Ire- land if the girls of her day had possessed AYER’s Hair Vicor, which removes dandruff and causes the hair to grow with a rich luxuriant abund- ance, attainable by nothing else except the in- frequent and fickle favor of Nature. It is in reality such a remedy as would, in a little time, Vou. cx11.—32 have effected the improvement desired by Fair Annet, who is represented in an old Scottish ballad as directing : “My maids, gae to my dressing roome And dress to me my hair ; Whair-eir yee laid a plait before, See ye lay ten times mair.” But not length and abundance both would suffice to perfect beauty unless the charms of glossiness and softness were also possessed. An expert’s taste was revealed in Byron’s lines: “Her glossy hair was cluster’d o’er a brow Bright with intelligence, and fair and smooth.” And not less sympathetic was Mitton’s de- scriptive line in the Mask of Comus: “Sleeking her soft alluring locks.” And right here it is well to observe that noth- ing else gives such softness and glossiness to the hair as Aver’s Hair Vicor. It is a delightfully clean and fragrant dressing for the hair, that entirely takes away from it all harshness and dryness, makes it pliant and silky, and develops to the fullest extent all the beauty and brilliance of its color. Nature may be aided in enhancement of beauty, but her work cannot be successfully counterfeited. Dyes and wigs do not deceive, and the former are generally highly injurious. That was understood even so long ago as Ovip, who thus reproached his mistress: “Did I not tell you to leave off dyeing your hair? Now you have no hair left to dye. And yet nothing was handsomer than your locks. They came down to your knees, and were so fine that you were afraid to comb them. * * * Your own hand has been the cause of the loss you deplore: you poured the poison on your own head. Now Germany will send you slave’s hair.” But when age’s winter sheds its frosty rime among our tresses, we can easily restore them to the natural freshness and color of youth, by the application of Aver’s Harr Vicor, which is not a dye, and contains no coloring matter, but which has this marvelous effect by its stimulation of the hair roots and color glands—the practical restoration to them of youth. And, as for wigs, good was the spirit of the lass whom Brome represents as saying: “Though my hair’s little, I'll not carry A wig for an auxiliary. If my locks can’t, another’s sha’n’t invite you.” There is no need for a wig, when Ayer’s Hair Vicor will, in a short time, grow a fine head of one’s own hair. If ladies wish to attain—in the words of CrasHaw: “Tresses, that wear Jewels, but to declare How much themselves more precious are.” They have only to use Ayer’s Harr Vicor, prepared by Dr. J. C. Ayer & Co., Lowell, Mass. For sale by all drug- gists.

Page 124

; Firnst-FLOOR-PLAN Loe Gea 4 ' } aascenr } | | | remnant» || mo Be. chs conmoes, an D-eses Z Ceanreen ¢ spemess SO @0ho-o" ¢ ae @r.conwr S4COND-FLOOR-PLAN REAR VIEW OF A FRENCH CHATEAU. Drawn expressly for GoprY’s Lapy‘s Book, by Isaac Hobbs & Son, Architects, No. 520 Walnut Street, Philadelphia. This handseme residence was built under our 3u- perintendence for Charles D. Barney, Esq., Broker, Shoemakertown, Pa. It was erected by dayand de- tail contract, for $34,000 complete. It has a very fine exterior of cut stone, and interlined with pressed brick, with dressings of rubbed blue flag, roof of slate, and galvanized iron trimmings. Finished in. side with lipped natural wood work first class, fine wood and tile mantles, and hearth with ornamental work above. Some of the floors are patent oil finish, roof floors solid and firm, Two years occupation and all is perfect, no cracks or shrinkage, sliding doors run as if upon ofl. It will be for a century, unless burnt down, an ornament of ski‘l and design rarely exceeded. Hobbs’ Architecture, 123 designs, price $3.50,

Page 125

ntal ish, rely

Page 126

Page 127

Page 128

!

Page 129

Page 130

Page 131

fb [1 —_— CS cp) <x = -E cp) ——— RG ol ae WY <u tr] T |" A TY NT DORO n | A GREAT AU

Page 132

Page 133

Page 134

Page 135

ay BAS Fhe col af ‘ ‘ rl . a * — ie . ‘ i aw Bailes: 12nTy iat art i 4;

Page 136

Page 137

Page 138

Page 139

Page 140

Page 141

tar. OMAUNTER, LIT Pe TEEN-BROCHE DRAI FOR DESCRIPTION. SEE WORK DEPARTMENT. ’

Page 142

[wove

Page 143

Page 144

ae

Page 145

See page 570. 4 = a ~ e a = a ro) = = % _ a“ = ~ (2) ~ O tx] N Zz ° a ioe] Z t QO Zz

Page 146

Page 147

08 CAA LT ha) he 7% ZA 6 LM LULU A 4%, Ui. iA ZZ 6 QL, @ BZ 2 ———_ + 5 —— C44 ZB, x titty Ze a a i.e VoL CVI. Sig. 82. ep &§ ‘ 3 d

Page 148

Riny Te vw é Stab ay AM a. CaN, TUNA A Ca partment. descrip For

Page 149

“SSE aaUN F ig. 9. “Nonpareil Velveteen” and “Woven “ Cachemire Marguerite.” Broche” combined. For description, see Fashion Department. a RRHF on ae ee ST : } ' 4 | g + SS eS eT

Page 150

Pl ulin eh lh re (va tt SF ys o ~ bl : ° y * = oe < AF ¥ y) For description see Fashion Department.

Page 151

| — aa Fig. 18. : 2 gee Fig. 14, ta 3S Ss ee For description see Fashion Department.

Page 152

ae, waye™ : ‘ i

Page 153

Fig. 19. ri = ’ 2 ; rie) Ths » Ae Le adler” ” Fig. 21. Fig. 22. For description see Fashion Department.

Page 154

For description see Fashion Department.

Page 155

Pe 8 ‘ i 3 Ba Qo Fd 8 pe] i c 3 a

Page 156

CSN eee REQ \ a & § i A : 7 fs g g 8 “

Page 157

~ fH a . | i (CARLA ern. | “eg ft in Vy ocad | Mili 7 Ati ~~ ’ | | i) — Hi HN od 11! PAW A see For description see Work Department.

Page 158

yrclil7 > wey i : é i

Page 159

M4 = For description sce Work Department.

Page 160

REVE CHARMANT. BERCEUSE, v GASTON DE LILLE. Op. 120. Andante con moto. aie e . dolce. Il canto pronunciato. tranquillo. Published in sheet form, 30 cts.,by WM. H. BONER & CoO., agts. No. 1102 Chestnut Street, Phila.

Page 161

REVE CHARMANT.

Page 162

ARCADIA VEEVETEEN CHILDREN’S © COSTUMES * The great popularity of Arcadia Velveteen over all * other goods for children’s costumes is, that it combines, * ina greater degree than any other, the following quali- * fications, which are an absolute necessity in all goods * that are applied to the use of children for winter dress- * ing. First, Warmth—the texture being very fine and * closely woven. Second, Strength—the durability cf * the fabric being superior to any other known make of * velveteen. Third, Appearance—the finish of these * goods being so superior that when made into a gar- * ment, it requires an expert to detect them from Genoa * silk velvet. The above qualifications also make them * * * * * * * * * oa * equally desirable for ladies’ jackets, mantillas and full costumes, as well as being specially desirable for making up with old material, giving it a new, dressy and finished appearance. THE ARCADIA woven broche, in combination with plain Arcadia, produces a most stylish effect, and is the best goods of its kind made. Hence, modistes, dressmakers, and all persons who manufacture for children, as well as the press of the country, unite in recommending these goods as the most desirable for these purposes. ‘REMEMBER. pee For the protection of the| LADY’S BOOK THE consumer we stamp every eave: BAZAR yard with the below stamp. | -” See you get it. | “The ARcaptrA | Says: | VELVETEEN. It t is . . much eeomen| ARCADIA [ieee vg ree. jackets and ment upon or-| Mp Oh Bog Spay |e’ eats dinary velvet- REGISTERED) costumes and een that is sure ladies’ dinner tobe hg) OO dresses. Its ly appreciated, DEMOREST’S says: cost is also an not only during) «rhe newest triumph in vel-jelement in its the coming|veteen has been achieved by the su winter, but for|ARCADIA, a Manchester produc-| ‘atom a it many seasons.” |tion of exceeding fineness, depth can be purchas- * land richness of texture. Jts pilejed at the samc is soft, close and even, and eX-|price as ordi- So: rts fail to detect the difference | poonie” }between it and real velvet when|™@TY >rands. | mace up.” see eeeeeeeaeenevneneeaeeneneneaas :}SO : ‘Sold by all first-class DRY GOODS DEALER