The Project Gutenberg eBook of Godey's Lady's Book; Philadelphia, April, 1854. (2024)

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Godey's Lady's Book, Vol. 48, No. XVIII,April, 1854, by VariousThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and mostother parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms ofthe Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll haveto check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.Title: Godey's Lady's Book, Vol. 48, No. XVIII, April, 1854Author: VariousContributor: VariousEditor: L. GodeyRelease Date: December 19, 2018 [EBook #58494]Language: EnglishCharacter set encoding: UTF-8*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK, APRIL 1854 ***Produced by Jane Robins and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file wasproduced from images generously made available by TheInternet Archive)

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

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SEASONABLE PATTERNS.
DESIGNED, BY MRS. SUPLEE, EXPRESSLY FOR GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK.

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FOR the early portion of the season, we illustrate a mantilla of great beauty. It is made of black-green or ruby-colored,with a richly embroidered ornamental design. Should it prove desirable, the upper portion of the garmentmay be left off, and the lower alone worn. The mantilla is trimmed with a netted fringe, seven inches wide.

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FOR the close of this month and the early summer, we present a mantilla which shares largely the public favor.This garment has appeared elsewhere before, somewhat in advance of its time; but, as we desire to present accuratereports of what are actually the reigning modes, we publish it here for the benefit of our lady friends. It is in theberthe style, composed of white poult de soie, heavily embroidered. The collar is slashed upon the shoulder, andcross-laced with cords terminating in neat tassels. It is fringed with extraordinary richness.

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THIS bonnet, which is suited to a plain walking-dress, is made of straw, and trimmed with Leghorn-colored ribbon, disposed in asimple and tasteful style, with two long flowing ends on the left side. The bonnet is lined with white ærophane, laid in small neat folds;and the under-trimming consists of loops of black velvet ribbon. The second figure is the reverse side of the same bonnet.

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PHILADELPHIA, APRIL, 1854.

EVERYDAY ACTUALITIES.—NO. XVIII.

THE MANUFACTURE OF ARTIFICIALFLOWERS.

THE manufacture of artificial flowers, firstbrought to a high degree of excellence by theItalians, is one of no small importance, consideringthe amount of skill and labor which it bringsinto requisition. The first attempt at makingartificial flowers among civilized nations wasby twisting ribbons of different colors somewhatinto the shape of flowers, and fastening them towire stems. This yielded to the use of feathers,which were far more elegant, but could not alwaysbe made to imitate in color the flowerswhich they represented, there being considerabledifficulty in getting them to take the dyes.Where the plumage of birds is of great brilliancy,the natural colors admirably answer the purpose,and do not fade or lose their resplendenthues. Thus, in South America, the savageshave long known how to fabricate beautifulartificial flowers from such plumage. In Italy,the cocoons of silkworms are often used, andhave a soft and velvety appearance, while theytake a brilliant dye. In France, the finest cambricis the chief material, while wax is alsolargely employed. The arrangement of theworkshop, and the variety and use of tools,where flower-making is practised on a largescale, are as follows:—

A large and well-lighted room, which hasthe means of warmth in winter, is selected, andalong its whole extent is placed a table, similarto the writing-tables used in schools, where thework-people may have a good light as long aspossible. This table is fitted with drawers containingnumerous compartments, arranged so asto receive and keep separate the small parts offlowers, such as petals, stalks, minute blossomscatkins, buds, leaves not mounted on their stalksand all other parts not fit to be placed amongmore finished specimens. It is desirable thatthe table be covered with oil-cloth, so that itmay be frequently cleansed, by washing, fromthe stains of the different colors employed.Along the whole extent of this table are placedflower-holders, that is, light frames with horizontaliron wires, to which the flowers, whenattached to their stalks, are suspended by merelycrooking the end of the stalk, and hanging iton the wire. Sometimes tightly strained pack-threadis used instead of wire. Figs. 1 and 2represent two forms of flower-holder; in bothcases the frame is fixed to the table. Along thetables are also ranged bobbin-holders in considerablenumbers, not unlike those used by weavers.The bobbin-holder is a rod of iron, Fig. 3,about six inches high, fixed in a massive leadenor wooden base. On this rod is threaded a largebobbin, on which is wound a quantity of silk[296]or wool. On its summit may be fixed a nut, toprevent the bobbin, when in rapid motion, fromwhirling off the rod, but this is often omitted.Ladies who work for their pleasure frequentlyhave this bobbin-holder made in an ornamentalform, the base being covered with bas-reliefs,and the nut at the top taking the form of anarrow, a blossom, &c. But the more simpleand free from ornament, the better is the holderfor use, any unnecessary projections only actingas so many means of entangling the silk.

The flower-maker does not take up flowersor their parts with the fingers, but with pincersof the simplest description, Fig. 4, which areincessantly in use. With these, the smallestparts of the flower can be seized, and disposedin their proper places, raised, depressed, turnedabout and adjusted, according to the taste of theartist, and her appreciation of natural forms.It is with the pincers also that any little contortionsof the extremities of petals, and irregularitiesin their form and in the arrangementof stamens, are copied. The proper length ofthis tool is about five inches. Each workwomanbrings one for her own use, and keeps it closeat hand. Dressing-frames of various sizes formanother part of the furniture of the work-room.On these are stretched the materials, which aregummed and dyed. A dressing-frame, Fig. 5,consists of two uprights of hard wood, with twocross pieces of the same, capable of adjustment.The frame is fitted with crooks for the attachmentof the material, or with a band of coarsecanvas to which the material can be sewn.These frames have no feet, and are fitted sometimesagainst a wall, sometimes upon a chair.When covered with the material, they are hungup against the wall by one of the cross pieces,until it is time to dismount them.

There are also various useful implements,called by the work-people "irons," for cuttingout petals, calyxes, and bracts, and for giving toleaves those various serrated and other formswhich produce such wonderful variety in foliage.These cutting tools, two of which are shown inFigs. 6 and 7, are of iron, with a hollow handle,flat at its upper extremity, that the hammermay be readily applied. They are about fouror five inches long, and of numerous sizes andvarieties. That they may cut rapidly and clearly,the edges are occasionally rubbed with drysoap. When a leaf becomes attached to the interior,and cannot be shaken out, a little ringof wire, Fig. 8, is introduced in a hole j, Fig. 7,left for that purpose to disengage it. The materialis doubled several times under the cutter,so that several petals or leaves may be cut outat once. The block on which the leaves arecut out is rather a complicated affair. It isplaced near a window, and as far as possiblefrom the workers, that the blows of the hammermay not interfere with their employment.Sometimes it consists of a very stout frameworkof timber, on which is placed a mattress ofstraw to deaden the blows, and upon this mattressa thick smooth piece of lead, forming asquare table, Fig. 9. In some cases a solid blockof timber is used, a portion of the trunk of atree taken near the root, and on this the mattress[297]and the leaden table are placed. Thehammers used at this work are short and heavy;one is especially adapted for smoothing the surfaceof the lead when it becomes indented allover by the blows of the workman.

The cutting out of the leaves and petals isonly a preliminary operation to the more perfectimitation of nature; the leaves must nextbe gauffered to represent the veins, the fold,and the endless touches and indentations whichare found in the natural plant. Gauffering isexecuted in two ways, the first and simplestbeing that which merely gives the hollow formto the petals of roses, cherry-blossoms, peach,hawthorn, and numerous other flowers whichpreserve, until the period of decay, somewhatof the form of a bud, all the petals beautifullycurving inwards. To imitate these, the gaufferingtools are simple polished balls of iron fixedon iron rods, with a wooden handle attached,as shown in Fig. 10. The balls are of varioussizes, from a pin's head upwards, to adapt themto the minute blossoms of such flowers as theforget-me-not, which require only the slightestdegree of curvature, and to the large flowers ofcamelia, dahlia, mallow, &c., where the curvatureis of often very great. These balls aremade slightly warm, so as to fix the forms decidedly,without effacing the colors. The petalsare placed on a cushion, and the iron is pressedagainst them. But curvature alone is not sufficient;there is, in many petals, a decided foldor plait up the centre, springing from the pointwhere it is attached to the germen. This foldcan be obtained by the use of a prism-shapediron, Fig. 11. Conical, cylindrical, and hookedirons, Figs. 12, 13, are also useful to imitate thevarious minutiæ of the blossoms. A cushionnear each artist serves as a rest to the gaufferingirons, which must be preserved from the leasttaint of dust, seeing that they are applied tothe most delicately-beautiful portions of theflower. The veins and curves of leaves aregiven by gauffers composed of two distinct parts,on each of which is severally moulded in copperthe upper and under surface of the leafas shown in Fig. 14. Sometimes, one part isof iron, the other of copper. It is necessary tohave a very large assortment of these gauffers;in fact, they should correspond in number withthe cutting-irons by which the forms of leavesare punched out. The leaf or leaves being insertedin the gauffer, a powerful pressure isgiven to stamp the desired form. This is accomplishedeither by means of a heavy ironpressed on the lid, or by two or three smartblows of a hammer, or, better still, by the uniformaction of a press, such as is shown in Fig.15. Besides the above articles, the workshopis provided with an abundance of boxes, scissorslarge and small, for cutting wire, as well as textilefabrics, camel-hair pencils, sponges, canvas-bags,&c., that everything likely to be neededby the work-people may be immediately athand.

The material of which flowers are made is,first and best (as already stated), French cambric,but a great quantity of Scotch cambric,jaconet, and even fine calico, are also used.For some descriptions of flowers, clear muslin,[298]crape, and gauze, are wanted; and for somevery thick petals, satin and velvet are necessary.These materials are provided in various colors,as well as in white, but fresh tints have frequentlyto be given. These are laid on with asponge, or a camel-hair pencil, or the petal isdipped in color; a quantity of green taffetashould always be at hand for leaves. The coloringmatters used in dyeing the material for thepetals are as follows: For red, in its variousshades, Brazil wood is largely used, also carmine,lake, and carthamus. The best way oftreating Brazil wood is to macerate it cold inalcohol for several days; a little salt of tartar,potash, or soap, will make this color pass intopurple; a little alum gives it a fine crimson-red,and an acid will make it pass into yellow, ofwhich the shade is deeper according to the quantityemployed. Carmine is better in lumps thanin powder; diffused in pure water, it gives rose-color;a little salt of tartar brightens the tint.Carthamus is dissolved cold in alcohol; heat, aswell as the alkalies, causes it to pass to orange.The acids render it of a lively and pure red; avery delicate flesh-color is obtained by rinsingthe material, colored with carthamus, in slightlysoapy water. Blue colors are prepared bymeans of indigo, or Prussian blue. Sometimesballs of common blue are used, steeped in water.Indigo is first dissolved in sulphuric acid. Thisis then diluted with water, and powdered chalkor whiting is added until effervescence ceases.The liquor is afterwards decanted off, and the sediment,when washed, gives a paler color. Greaterintensity is given to indigo by adding a littlepotash. Yellow colors are given by turmericdissolved in spirits of wine, by saffron, chrome-yellow,&c. Green colors are obtained by mixturesof blue and yellow; violets, by mixturesof red and blue, and by archil and a blue bath;lilacs, by archil only.

The method of making a rose will give a goodidea of the manufacture in general. First ofall, the petals are cut out from the finest andmost beautiful cambric. The pattern-shapesmust be of different sizes, because, in the samerose, the petals are never equal; a good assortmentof patterns enables the artist the better toimitate the variety of nature. When the petalsare thus prepared, they have to be dyed in abath of carmine in alkaline water. For thispurpose, they are held separately by means ofpincers, and dipped first in the bath, and theninto pure water, to give them that delicacy oftint which is characteristic of the rose. But asthe color of the petal usually deepens towardsthe centre, a tint is there laid on with the pencil,while a drop of water is laid on the pointof insertion of the petal, to make the color therefade off, as it does in nature, to white. If theright tint is not given at first, the processes arerepeated; any slight imperfection, such as isseen in the petals of most living flowers, beingalso accurately imitated with the pencil. Thetaffeta employed in making leaves is dyed ofthe proper green in the piece before cutting out.It is then stretched out to dry, and afterwardsfurther prepared with gum-arabic on one side,to represent the glossy upper surface of leaves,and with starch on the other, to give the velvetyappearance of the under side. This preparation,colored to suit the exact shade to be given tothe leaf, must be just of the proper consistence,making the leaf neither too stiff nor too limp,while it gives the proper kind of under surface.Where the leaf requires a marked degree of thisvelvet texture, it is given by the nap of clothreduced to fine powder, and properly tinted. Alittle gum is lightly passed over the surface, andwhen partly dry, this powder is dusted over it,the superfluous portion being shaken off. Thesepreparations having been completed, it yet remainsto give to the leaves, after they are cut out,the appearance of nature, by representing theveins and indentations which they always exhibit.For this purpose various gauffering-toolsare made use of.

The material for the leaflets of the calyx inroses, is subjected to another process immediatelyon coming out of the dye, in order to preservethe firmness which it is necessary the calyxshould have. To this end, the taffeta, whilestill damp, is impregnated with colored starchon both sides, and stretched on the drying-frame:when perfectly dry, the leaflets are cut out accordingto pattern. Buds are made also of taffeta,or, if partially open, they are made ofwhite kid tinted of a suitable color, stuffed withcotton, or of bread, and tied firmly withsilk to slender wires. The stamens are preparedby attaching to a little knot of worsted a sufficientquantity of ends of silk to form the heart ofthe flower. These ends of silk, cut to the properlength, are then stiffened in kid jelly, and,when dry, the extremities are slightly moistenedwith gum-arabic and dipped in a preparationof wheaten flour, colored yellow, to representthe pollen. Each thread takes up its separategrain, and is left to dry. The heart of the flowerbeing thus prepared, and fixed to a stem of wire,the smaller petals are arranged round it, andfixed by paste at their points. The larger petalssucceed, some of which are hollowed or wrinkled,while constant care is taken to give them[299]a natural appearance in disposing them aroundthe centre. The calyx comes next, and inclosesthe ends of all the petals. It is fixed with paste,and surrounded with more or less of cottonthread, which also generally incloses one ormore wires attached to that which bears theheart of the flower, and forming the germ. Thewhole is covered with silver-paper tinted green.The leaves are mounted on copper wire, andare arranged on the stem in the order whichnature teaches, the covering of cotton and tissue-paperhiding the joints.

In addition to the manufacture of flowers intendedas closely as possible to represent theirliving models, there is a large branch of the artin which the aim seems to be to depart fromnature as far as possible. These fancy flowersare the fruit of the artist's peculiar taste, andare therefore as impossible to describe as wesincerely wish they were impossible to execute.There are also flowers of natural forms, but ofunnatural colors, being made to assume mournfulhues to suit the circ*mstances of their wearers.There are also gold and silver flowers,more resplendent, but equally unnatural. Ofthese, sometimes the stamens and pistils aloneare metallic; sometimes the petals are gilded, andsometimes the leaves and fruit glitter in the sameprecious metal. An easy method of applying thegilt in any device or form, is to prepare a cementwhich shall fix it to the cambric, paper, or othermaterial (this cement may be honey and gum-arabicboiled in beer), and then to moisten with itthe surface, placing thereon rather more gold-leafthan is necessary to cover it, pressing it down witha cotton rubber, and, when it is dry, rubbing offthe superfluous gilding with the same.

Flowers are also made in chenille, but do notpretend to an accurate imitation of nature.There are two or three methods of makingthem, the simplest being to represent merelythe shapes of flowers; for instance, apple-blossoms,represented by small loops of pink chenillearranged round a centre. Another methodis, to make out the distinct petals, by rows ofchenille placed close together. A third andprettier method, is that of uniting chenille withordinary flower-making. Flowers made of feathersmay be extremely rich and brilliant intheir effect. Yet ordinarily feather-flowers aremore difficult than satisfactory, and there arevery few of our own familiar flowers that canbe successfully copied by them. One of the bestimitations is that of the wild clematis whenadorned, as it is in autumn, with its plumedseeds. These can be admirably imitated inwhite marabout feathers. Some of the mostavailable feathers for flower-making are thosefound under the wings of young pigeons.

The manufacture of wax-flowers is carried onby using the purest virgin wax, entirely freedfrom all extraneous matters. Wax that is eithergranular or friable must be rejected. It is generallymelted in vessels of tinned iron, copper,or earthenware. To render it ductile, fine Veniceturpentine, white, pure, and of an agreeableodor, is added. The mixture is constantlystirred with a glass or wooden spatula. Allcontact with iron must be avoided, and if thevessels are of that material, they must be welland carefully tinned. When stiff leaves are tobe executed, two parts of spermaceti are addedto eight parts of wax, to give transparency.Much care and tact are needed in coloring thewax. The colors being in fine powder, are madeinto a paste by adding little by little of essenceof citron or lavender. When the trituration isperfect, this paste is mixed with melted wax,stirring rapidly all the while; and while themass is still liquid, it is poured into moulds ofpasteboard, or tinned iron, of the shape of tablets,and is then ready for use. Sometimes it ispassed through fine muslin as it flows into themoulds. Another method is, to tie up the colorin a muslin bag, and wave it about amongst themolten wax until the desired tint is obtained.To combine colors, it is only necessary to havetwo or three bags containing different colors,and to employ as much of each as shall have thedesired effect. These bags, far from being spoiledby dipping in wax already containing othershades, have only to be rinsed in pure water tofit them for coloring other wax. The colorsmost in use in wax flower-making, are pureforms of white-lead, vermilion, lake, and carmine,ultramarine, cobalt, indigo, and Prussianblue, chrome, Naples yellow, and yellow ochre.Greens and violets are chiefly made from mixturesof the above.

The wax being prepared, the manufacture offlowers is carried on in two ways. The firstconsists in steeping in liquid wax little woodenmoulds rinsed with water, around which thewax forms in a thin layer, so as to take the formof the mould, and thus to present, when detachedfrom it, the appearance of the whole orpart of a flower. In this way lilac and othersimple blossoms are obtained with much rapidity.The branches are also executed with waxsoftened by heat, and moulded with the fingersround a thread of wire. As for leaves andpetals, they are cut out of sheets of colored waxof the proper thickness. These sheets are glossyon one side, and velvety on the other. To express[300]the veining of leaves, they are placed in moistenedmoulds, and pressed with the thumb sufficientlyto get the impression, which is accuratelycopied from nature. The petals are made toadhere simply by pressure; the leaves are placedon a little footstalk, and the latter fastened tothe stem. The manner of procuring mouldsfor the accurate imitation of leaves, is as follows:A natural leaf of the plant it is wished to imitateis spread out on a flat surface of marble, forexample. It is lightly but equally greased witholive oil, and surrounded with a wall of wax,which must not touch it. Then, in a smallvessel containing a few spoonfuls of water, a fewpinches of plaster of Paris are to be thrown,and briskly stirred till the liquid has the consistenceof thick cream. This is poured overthe leaf, and left till it is well hardened. It isthen lifted up and the leaf detached, when itwill be seen that the plaster has taken a perfectimpression of every vein and indentation. Suchmoulds are rendered far more durable if theyare impregnated while warm with drying oil.This gives them greater solidity, and preventstheir crumbling from frequent immersion inwater. It is necessary to impress strongly onall amateur wax flower-makers the necessityfor having all tools and moulds completelymoistened with water, otherwise the wax willbe constantly adhering, and preventing neatnessof workmanship.

The variety of the materials used in artificialflower-making was displayed to an amusing extentin the World's Fair. In addition to thereally beautiful and artistic productions alreadynoticed, and to the elegant flowers constructedof palm-leaves, of straw, and of shells, as well asof all the materials named in this paper, therewere flowers fabricated in human hair, in chocolate,in soap, in wood, marble, porcelain, commonearthenware, and other unpromising materials.

ZANOTTI: A ROMANTIC TALE OF ITALY AND SPAIN.

BY PERCY.

CHAPTER I.

COUNT CARLO ZANOTTI was a son of oneof the noblest families in Venice—the heir ofits titles, its wealth, its hereditary renown, andhis prospects in the spring of life were goldenas the trees in autumn. An incident in hisfather's history, which tinged the old man's decliningyears with a gloomy shadow, had alsoits effect upon the son, and, unmindful of thebrilliant future, he brooded in sadness on thepast. His mother, who was the beauty of herday, had yielded to the fascinations of a youngand handsome Englishman, and in an unguardedmoment left her home and her husband, tothrow herself upon the poor protection of aprofligate, and to meet the cold sneers and savageslights of a selfish and unforgiving world.How much the character, in its gradual development,is biased by a mother's influence, itis difficult to estimate; but we all know that"the thought which mirrors Eden in the face ofhome" has saved even the best of us from manyan error and many a sin, and generated, evenin the worst, some softening emotions, and causedsome kindly acts. This holy influence, linkedwith a mother's memory, makes each thoughtof her, as the German beautifully expresses it,"a prayer to God," and we rise from musingupon her gentle love—kinder, better, wiser."The wild sea of our hearts lies mute, and o'erthe waves the Saviour walks." How terrible thento have that sanctuary defiled, to be taught thatpurity has fled, even from Dian's temple—to bebrought up an atheist in the religion of the heart!

Calm, gentle, passionless in outward aspect,the count became noted as an earnest scholar,and yet his heart contained many a hiddenstratum of volcanic passion, which burnedscathingly at the thought of his mother's shame!From an intense consciousness that the conductof his parent entailed its measure of reproachupon himself, he shrank from the society ofmen, and sought sources of relaxation in tracingto their sequences those great thoughts which[301]the thinkers of all time, in their debasem*ntand their exaltation, have written down and immortalized—some,on the undying page; some,on the living canvas; some, on the ever-movingfirmament of ceaseless action! The shadow ofthe wing of time fell upon him as a man, at anage when most of us are immature, unthinkingboys. The epochs of strong natures are dialedupon the mind not by the sunshine but by thedarkness of the heart! Our sorrows are theevil genii who transform in a moment boyhoodto manhood, and manhood to age!

Every day, every hour, this young man acquiredsomething from ancient or from modernlore; at twenty-four he was versed in a learningbeyond that of many a lifelong scholar.His studies, within a year of the period at whichwe introduce him to the reader, had taken aform different from any he had before pursued;the old disciples of a gorgeous mythology beingneglected for the mystical and alluring spiritualismof the exponents of modern Germanphilosophy. The English philosophy is entirelydestructive of the grand, the lofty, the divine!It lowers and debases by its precepts, and chillsby its explanations. The French, on the otherhand, attempts no explanations; but the systemis an elaborate sneer at all that is good, andtrue, and high, and noble. The aim of the German"is at least the nobler one, and elevates,not dwarfs, the souls of men." "There is a Godlikewithin us that feels itself akin to the God;and if we are told that both the 'Godlike andthe God are dreams,' we can but answer that soto dream is better than to wake and find ourselvesnothing!"

Who among us—but worms of the dust, lowthings, fit only for the mire in which they wallow—buthas at one time or another demandedinitiation into the secret order of the "searchersafter truth?" Who among us but, unsatisfiedwith the knowledge that may be achieved, graspswildly after heaven's thunderbolts, and wouldembrace the unattainable, feeling, as we so terriblydo, the restlessness and the might of theDeity in our burning veins? Who among us buthas tried to look deep into the future, and readthe fate, not of the next year or moment, butof the undying spirit in that other world, ofwhich we dream so much, and know so little?

And who among us who has had the heroismhonestly to make the attempt, and to pursue totheir sequences the terrible thoughts to whichsuch reflection gives rise, but has gone downheadlong to the pit? If no actual phantoms hauntthe waking dreams of such unsuccessful neophytes,yet a more terrible thing is that accursedskepticism—that coldness that does not brook tobe questioned, and that cannot be understood—thatfills his soul. It does not come over his hoursof mirth, when the wine-cup passes and the jestgoes round; but, like the fabled fiend of theromancers, comes only over the lost one's soul,when his intellect would aspire and his geniusdare. Comes it, with its eternal sneer, that seesnothing so high that it does not make it appearutterly despicable! When his genius woulddare, comes it with its evil eyes, and he losesfaith in his genius and doubts his power; losesfaith when he knows that faith only can bearhim through life's tempests; doubts while hefeels doubt to be the unpardonable sin.[1]

Count Zanotti had passed through each of thestages of which I speak—first, an unquenchableyearning for forbidden knowledge; next, therapture that glows when the lip touches thesparkle on the brim of the cup—and then theflatness and the weariness that follow! But forhim, there was yet a hope. His heart had neverbeat with the quick pulse of love! Its youthfulvigor was unimpaired, and in a contest withthe intellect there was strong hope of it provingvictorious. The struggle came soon enough.

CHAPTER II.

AT the end of the long, gloomy day followingthe conclusion of the carnival, Zanotti accompaniedhis father to a midnight mass, and therefor the first time saw Leonora D'Alvarez, thedaughter of Spain's ambassador to the court ofthe winged Lion of St. Mark's. She was oneof those beautiful creations that we so oftendream of, and sigh for, and sometimes, but veryseldom, see. Soul there shed its spiritual attributesover one from whose features even thebloom of youth seemed to catch a brighter hue.Like all Italians, Zanotti had dreamed of love—thelove of the poet and the dreamer; and nowhe felt it in its strength—the love of a pure,unselfish, yet deep and ardent nature!

To shorten a long story (for we must leavemuch to be divined in this history), he felt theinspiration growing out of love impelling him togive him his feelings to the world in immortalsong. He wrote, and he became famous! Then,[302]when a nation bowed before his genius—whena world re-echoed his name with reverence—hesought the woman who had roused his soul toexertion; he told her that he loved her; he toldher that all the bright thoughts and sparklingfancies the universe had claimed as its own werehers—all hers; that she, and she alone, had madehis name as deathless as the ethereal essence theAlmighty had endowed his body with—and thatunless she gave still another gift—her heart—fame,fortune, name, genius—were but empty,and hollow, and useless!

The whispered reply was no denying one, andhe seemed to have attained all of happiness theworld can offer. Months flew by—months inwhich life seemed born, like Venus, "of a rosysea and a drop from heaven;" months wheneach to-morrow hung an "arch of promise," aladder of sunlight, each round of which seemedmade to lead the feet through Ivan gardens—up—uptowards the sky! The glorious sun, warminglike a lover's glance the beautiful bosom ofthe "Doge's bride"—the swelling "Adriatic"—thechurches, the palaces, the prisons, whosegloom was hallowed by romantic memories, thelegends attached to the palatial home of hisown proud sires—these were subjects upon which,all the livelong day, he could expatiate, and shedelightedly listen; and when night stole like adream through the soft atmosphere, the stars,with their Chaldaic interpretations, furnisheda new page from whence he could cull propheciesof their fate! Then would he weave oldsuperstitions with the fancies of the poet andthe lover, till he grew amazed at his own strangeeloquence!

She, too, on her part, had an exhaustless themein telling how, by degrees, his soul had, as itwere, become a part of hers; how every emotionin his own mind, by an imperceptible and view-lessmagnetism, awakened hers to action. Thesimplest speech had a charm for him; there wasmusic in her voice; her thoughts were dimlessmirrors reflecting the spirituality of her soul; touse his own language, "each word was the sprayof her heart, which mirrored in its sparklingglobule all the beauty and none of the defectsof the world around it!" The days glided byupon the swift pinions lent by unclouded happiness.

They lived in an atmosphere where all wasof the past, save their love and their hopes; themultitude of traffickers and idlers that crossedtheir daily path were as unheeded shadows;they mingled only with beings of other times.Their friends—for the friends of the scholar becamethose of the maiden—were Homer andVirgil, Tasso and Marino, the graceful Catullus,and the rough, but noble-tongued Lucretius!They strolled in imagination through Ilion'sScæn gate, along the luxuriant banks of herwinding rivers, and lay down to repose beneathher wild and broad-leaved fig-tree. And then,when they had gathered around them the heroesand the poets of past and buried ages, unlikeAlaric, they would weigh the myrtle crownagainst the laurel wreath, and see glory kickthe beam!

Could year after year of their lives haverolled away with such feelings and amid suchemployments, they would have indeed beenblessed! But no! Alas! that could not be!Love, and youth, and hope, are but the sun-fringeof the cloud of life, the flame that gildsthe bark it consumes, the lightning flashes thatforetell a rent and shattered heart! For love,if no outward influences assail (or assailing, areconquered and driven back), there is custom,that slow, insidious lullaby, singing in Morpheantones unceasingly, till, wearied and overcome,that passion, that would have repelled avisible foe, sinks at his post in quietness—asleep!

It came! It burst upon them without a warning!Fate had suspended a sword above theirheads; but, unlike the tyrant's envious favorite,they saw it not ere it fell! It came—crushingand blighting the flowers that had blossomed forthem, and, tearing their young hearts from thebeautiful dream-world in which they revelled,brought them back to the harsh and dull andcold realities of this! The father of the loverwas suddenly arrested by the myrmidons of theterrible Council of Ten. It was discovered hewas the head of a wide-spread conspiracy againstthe state, and the expiration of the month of hisarrest saw the noble and powerful family ofZanotti exiles—its lord sent forth with the boonof life, but with ruined fortunes and a tarnishedname—its heir an outcast, though spotless of asingle crime.

The parting of the lovers was brief and terrible.She swore to him that death only shouldtake the bloom from her love, that, ruined inname and fortune as he was, he was, as ever,the high priest of her heart's temple, and thatno other could ever its altar. He offeredno vows, but said to her, that if five years spedby without his presence, to deem him dead, andknow he had died in striving to win laurelsworthy to lay before her father's daughter!

[303]

CHAPTER III.

YEARS passed, and in a foreign land Alfierisought to win wealth and a new name to offer theidol of his heart. He succeeded beyond hiswildest hopes, and with an impatience that wouldhave been unsatisfied with the swiftness of thelightning, sped over the waters, in a richlyfreighted argosy of his own, back to his nativecity of the "Siren Sea."

Trusty adherents of his house had, in themean time, procured the reversion of the attainderas far as it touched him, and, as his fatherwas no longer alive, there was a strong prospectof his estate being restored to him.

Arrived at Venice, he learned that the DukeD'Alvarez had been recalled, and in the courseof conversation the new ambassador mentionedthat there was talk in Madrid of a projectednuptial between the Donna Leonora and thePrince Carlos of the blood royal of Spain.

Zanotti's lip quivered, and his eye flashedfiercely as he heard the rumor, but not a wordescaped to betray the hot feelings that werepressing at his heart. Ere the sun sank into hisbed of rosy clouds that night, his gallant ship,with straining masts and every stitch of canvasset, was speeding, like a gull, over the waters,and Zanotti paced the deck through that nightand the next with a stride that betokened troubledthoughts. He reached Madrid in safety, andlost no time in finding the residence of the ambassador.There were bright lights flitting fromwindow to window, and the sound of musicwas borne upon the night-wind, betokening revelrywithin. He stopped to question a lackeywho was lounging at the entrance.

"The Donna Leonora was married this nightthree weeks ago, and Monseignor gives a feastto-night to his son-in-law, the prince!"

Zanotti clutched one of the pillars that supportedthe massive doorway, and kept his holdfor a moment convulsively, for he felt his limbsfailing him. This movement brought his facebeneath the jet of a lighted chandelier, and theservant shrank with affright—it was like thecountenance of the dead! Terrible as was thestruggle in his breast; fearful as was the suddencontest of passion and despair; lost as he was toaught but a blighting sense of the wreck anddesolation of his hopes, he still could not be obliviousto the significantly curious glance of theaffrighted servant. By an almost superhumaneffort he repressed further show of feeling, and hisvoice was without a particle of tremulousness,although very hollow, as he told the menial toannounce "General di Romano." Such was hisnew rank and name! Many a fair dame startedas that tall, majestic figure, with its proud headand features, pale and rigid as if hewn from thequarries of Pentelicus, passed her, as straight heproceeded to the extremity of the apartment,where, in a group conversing with smiling looks,stood the Duke de la Darca, his daughter, andthe Prince Carlos of Spain. The count (or, aswe should now call him, the general), unobservedby the group, placed himself near one of the largeGothic windows, opposite to which was a groupof statuary that effectually concealed him fromview. Here he paused to gaze upon the womanwho had wrecked his happiness! Four yearshad passed without robbing her of a single grace,and she stood there sparkling with diamonds,radiant with beauty, and with a regality of bearingthat well became her new and princely station.

An hour had elapsed, and he had watched herthrough many a stately measure in the pompousdances of her country, and heard her light jestand her gay laugh, and saw the same haughtyfire in her magnificent black eyes, through all!Jealousy has often been described, and the burningwords of the poet have wrought out an appallingpicture; but if, during that hour, eachwild throb of his bursting heart, if each shootingfire of his seething brain, if the madness and theagony and the fierce black promptings that fashionedeach thought into shape, and called itmurder! could have been conveyed in words orupon canvas to the minds of less volcanic natures,they would have laughed to scorn the artist orthe author, and accused him of conjuring up theTitan agonies of hell to confine them in thecontracted space afforded by the heart of a meremortal man!

He turned from the revellers, sick and dizzy,and gazed out upon the night. The scene wasas fair a one as God's smile ever lighted intobeauty. The moon—floating in a sea of blue,cloudless, with the exception of one fleecy-lookingmass of vapor that covered a small space likea veil of silver tissue—poured a flood of radianceupon a garden (surrounding the house on threesides) filled with rare exotics, and in the distancethe steeples of the city rose up towards the sky,as if formed of luminous mist. The stars, too,were scattered round night's queen in rich profusion,and the air was fragrant with the breathof orange-blossoms. The Venetian, even in thatland of sunshine and of flowers—his nativeItaly—had never looked upon as beautiful ascene. But it suggested no soothing fancies!It only revived the memory of hours of which itwas now madness to think! Hours that were[304]freighted with dreams and aspirations as lovelyas itself! Hours that were passed—and forever;and aspirations that were coffined and dead!His brain seemed bursting with the heat of theroom, and, as the window was a casem*nt buta few feet from the ground, he sprang out, andwalked with a hasty step in a direction in which,from a plashing sound that smote his ear, hehoped to find a spring or fountain. He foundhis conjecture a correct one, and, stooping down,laved his fevered temples in the liquid, whichwas as cold as ice, but seemed ineffectual whenapplied to the terrible fever that consumed him!He threw himself upon a richly sculptured seatthat was supported by two marble Dryads on theedge of the fountain, and, in spite of every restrainingeffort, groaned aloud. He had remainedthus for some time, regardless of time, place,everything but a dull leaden weight of misery,when a light footfall on the hard gravel rousedhim, and, springing from his recumbent position,he was about to conceal himself amid the foliageof the adjoining shrubbery, for he was in nomood for society just then. He also had beenheard, however, and a rich, musical voice exclaimed—

"Dear father, are you there?"

Good heaven! it was her voice! He stoodspell-bound—volition was suspended. The nextmoment they were face to face! With a lowthrilling cry, she cast herself upon his breast.There was a gleam half of terror—partly of surpriseand partly of joy—within her eyes. Therewere the two again! ay, even as of yore! Leonoraand Carlo! The ruined noble and his betrothedbride—the princess and the soldier!

CHAPTER IV.

AN instant, but a single instant, the lady remainedupon his breast, and then Zanotti, removingher clinging arms, placed her upon theseat which he had himself just occupied. Shelooked upon him, her full dark eyes flowingwith tears, and seemed struggling for utterance,but no words came! At length, with an avertedface, he spoke—

"Your highness forgets our relative positions,and"—

"Forgets!" said she wildly, interrupting him;"forgets! Ay! I did indeed for a moment forgetall but you; and you, Oh Carlo, is yours thevoice to bring back reality? Is it for you towhom every pulsation of my heart has beendedicated; for whom in the long hours of nightI have wept tears that seemed of blood—is it foryou to restore me to a reality which contains noelements but those of despair, those that breakhearts, those that frenzy the exhausted brain?"

Alfieri's voice was sepulchrally hollow whenhe replied, and the quivering of his manly frameshowed the violence of the emotion within.

"Leonora," said he, "Leonora, four yearsago we parted in Venice. I vowed never to seeyou more till I had won a name you could notshame to wear; and you swore never to betraymy deep devotion. I was then unacquaintedwith life; I was young and trusting; I lookedupon the flower and inhaled its perfume, norsought to analyze what hidden poisons lurkedwithin it; I looked not for a serpent or a viperin its folded leaves! I gazed upon the diamond-sheetedwaters, nor thought upon the noxiouselements that, uniting in malaria, might rise fromtheir bosom to desolate many a neighboringhome. I turned my eyes upon the moonlit skywithout a thought of a possible hour when thesame azure face of heaven would frown and thelive thunder launch its bolts to ruin and destroy!Ay! I then looked but at the fair outside of allcreated things, and heeded not the motive or thesoul within! Leonora, I looked on you, and Ibelieved you! I went forth cheerfully to thehard fight I had before me; I kept my vow—Iam a field-marshal of Austria. Have you keptyours?"

She cast upon him an imploring, a piteousglance. The moon was beaming through an intersticein the foliage and shone full upon hisfeatures, making their paleness ghastly, butshowing no violent emotion—nothing but ahushed, cold, haughty sorrow.

She trembled perceptibly as she replied to hisconcluding question.

"Yes, as truly as I have my faith in God;Alfieri, they told me you were dead. Circ*mstancestoo complicated to explain placed my fatherin a position with the government that involvedhis life. Prince Carlos saved him, and,for the priceless service, asked but the poor repaymentof my hand. I told him my heart couldnot accompany the gift. He still urged his suit.Could I refuse?"

"Ay, madam, the tale sounds well," was thebitter reply; "but your grief seemed of astrangely merry sort; but now your laugh was aslight as any in the room, your jest as gay!"

"Zanotti!" said the lady, and there was something[305]of indignation in her tone, "I am not whatthe world in its cold carelessness deems me, andyou judge me as the greatest stranger of them allwould do! The face may be wreathed in smiles,the lips may be musical with laughing jests, andyet, in its unrevealed depths, the heart maywrithe in anguish, the soul sink with despair!But this recrimination is vain, all vain!"

She clasped her forehead as if in pain, andhot tears forced themselves through the tightlypressed fingers. Her lover maintained a coldand scornful silence. All the pride of his racehad combined with a deep sense of injury in atrusting and betrayed nature to make him sternand apparently heartless in his resentment.Suddenly Leonora started to her feet, the woman'spride within her revolted at what seemedthe silent sarcasm of his look. Her eyes, withthe tears checked suddenly within them, emitteda wild, singular, startling light; there was somethingof the Medusa in her aspect. She gazedat him with a strange mingling of supplicationand haughtiness in her look; her glance penetratedhis soul and softened it; he heard thepanting throb of her heart, and knew there couldbe no acting in that. Her breath came warmupon his cheek; he trembled at the recollectionsthat were crowding upon him. And then, too,she spoke—

"You use me too cruelly," she said; "I do notdeserve this silent scorn! I have wronged myselfby giving way to emotions for which youbut mock and despise me!"

He started—were not her words true? Hadhe not been unjust in his grief?

"Leonora," said he, abruptly, "hear me!From my earliest youth—ever since remembranceavails me to recall events—rash, impetuous feeling(my inheritance from a long line of hot-headedancestors) made me in every feelingextreme and violent. I rushed to my studies asto a conflict with a foe, and rested not till Ihad conquered every difficulty. The same inpleasure, obstacles were but the stones that madethe stream of life sparkle brightly in its sun,and I leaped over them, or cast them aside withan exulting sense of power. My love for youconcentrated all this vagrant impetuosity intoone earnest and undying passion. It subduedand soothed the sinuosities of my outward nature;it checked the headlong restlessness thatwas before apparent in all I did, and turned allthe various bubbling springs within me into onenoiseless, but deep, resistless stream. It madean ocean of the rivers of my being; that oceanrose and fell, tinted with the sun's glorious beamsfor a brief space! Oh! how brief! and then stormsarose; and now, when I know the tempest is tolast forever, is it strange if I am indignant whenI look on her who wrought all this misery, thisfearful misery?"

He had spoken without looking up at her.He now raised his eyes, and found her againweeping bitterly.

"And do I not share that misery, with all theaggravation of a fruitless remorse? Oh, youknow not," she added, her voice assuming a toneof beseeching earnestness, "the days and nightsof intense anguish that dragged their slow lengthalong, when thinking you lay beneath the deepsea (for they said your grave was there). Whentears would flow, I wept for you, and mournedin silent anguish when they were refused me!You know not how stronger than a woman'sthat heart must be that can resist the appeal,continued day after day, when it comes from thelips of 'all, whom we believe to be in the wideworld, whom we would bless.' Words may bemet and combated; but the mute lip and imploringeye—they cannot be resisted; the tendernessthat veils its dearest wish for fear ofgrieving us; the grief unspoken, and the morebitter from concealment! Who can see this, andin a father, every day, every hour, every minute,and nerve their hearts to deny the relief theycan bestow? But all this avails nothing; thetie is irrevocable that binds me to misery andsevers us forever. For you, Zanotti, you willgo forth into the world; excitement is an antidoteprovided for the grief of man. You will winadmiration and applause; your fame as a scholarand a poet, your renown as a soldier, will secureyou a high position among men, higher thanyour rank alone would give. You will be loved,you will love again, and our hours of rapturewill linger in your mind but as the recollectionof a dream! I ask but a kindly remembranceand forgiveness of my unintentional sin. Farewell!"

"And is it thus we part!" There was a proudrepelling sorrow in the lover's tone as he thusreplied: "Is this, then, the end of our goldendream!" He paused, and, suddenly advancing,bent his head close to her ear, "Leonora, do youlove me still?" The question was in a whisper.She started, a singular, a terrified expressionmounting into her face. She was about to speak,but even as the words seemed on the eve ofutterance, a crashing sound, as of some oneforcing his way through the thickly intertwinedbranches of the neighboring vines, caught theattention of both herself and her companion, and,with a stifled shriek, she looked round as if seekingan opposite path by which to escape. Her[306]intention was frustrated, however, for in an instantafter the intruder made his appearance.

"My husband!"

Leonora said but these two simple words, butthere was a desperate impassibility in the tonein which they were spoken, that told of a heartwhose terror was frozen into despair.

Zanotti, whose face had flushed crimson onthe first appearance of the prince, was again aspale as death. The moon looked calmly downupon all, and God knows she had seldom shoneon three persons whose hearts, in their agony,came nearer epitomes of hell than the groupassembled there. Leonora seemed rooted to thespot, bound by a spell, a charm. Her small,beautiful hands were clenched convulsively together;her breath came with quick and laboredgasps; her form seemed convulsed with a terribleand racking agony! She looked from herlover to her husband—a look beseeching theirmutual forbearance—made a step forward,seemed struggling to articulate, and fell heavilyto the earth.

CHAPTER V.

SHE fell at the very feet of her husband, andhe looked down with a smile that was sardonicin its bitterness. Zanotti, under an impulse thatpaused not to reflect that under the circ*mstancesthe action was an insult to the man who deemedhimself already foully wronged, advanced withthe intention of raising her, but Prince Carloswaved him back. Not a syllable had either ofthese men uttered. Their glances were sufficientlyintelligible without speech. They seemedmutually fascinated; a kind of magnetism seemedto draw upon each the other's eyes. At length,the terrible silence was broken. It was theprince that spoke, and, as he did so, his lookwas terribly significant.

"Come, senor! You wear a sword!"

"What would your highness have?" said Zanotti,in the low, hoarse tone of a man strugglingto subdue irrepressible emotion.

"I have said it. Draw!" was the short reply.

"What, here?" The remark escaped Zanottiunconsciously, as his eye sought the extendedbody of the insensible Leonora.

"Ay, sir!" said the prince. "She'll heed itnot. In these little plays, you know, a tragicscene is indispensable to keep up the interest.Why should not the heroine witness it?"

Zanotti shuddered beneath the maniac lookthat accompanied this affected jocularity.

"As you will, sir," said he, sternly, repressingall show of feeling. "But," he ventured toadd, "the lady, prince. It were unnecessarycruelty to leave her thus."

"Rather say kindness," said the other, solemnly."It were a mercy if she never recovered."

The prince drew his sword as he spoke, andmotioned to Zanotti to do the same. He did so,and, even in the momentary period occupied bythe action, what a world of thoughts throngedupon him! He thought of his old cloister life,when books were at once his mistresses and hisfriends; he thought of his first meeting withLeonora d'Alvarez; of their parting, mitigatedby a hope of reunion under happier auspices;of the miserable disappointment of that hope;and of the fearful future that was before Leonora,whether he lived or died, unless—and howweak the chance!—her husband could be convincedof her innocence.

"Prince Carlos," said he, abruptly, as theother placed himself on guard, "before we enterupon a struggle beside that inanimate body—astruggle in which death may seal my lips forever—Imust crave a moment's attention. Yourwife"—the word seemed almost to choke him—"isinnocent of any wrong at which your suspicionswould point."

The prince smiled—a smile of bitter, disdainfulincredulity.

"It is true, and it were useless to deny it, Ilove her."

The prince started as if stung by an adder, thefirst departure he had made from his courtly immobility.Zanotti observed the gesture, and itgave him confidence; it showed this icy statuehad human passions. He added, in a firmer tonethan he had been capable of using before—

"Yes, Prince Carlos, the only being my heartworships lies there at your feet; but that love isof an earlier birth than her knowledge of yourhighness, and therefore the acknowledgmentcannot be insulting. To-night I met her forthe first time in the space of four years, and themeeting was accidental. With scarcely the hopeof its finding faith, I make this asseveration. Itis necessary for the reputation of that much injuredlady. Her virtue—her purity is as untarnishedas yonder sky!"

"Of her reputation," said the other, haughtily,"I know how to guard it. For her VIRTUE".A cold, venomous look of unbelief said the rest.

"Prince," said Zanotti, and his face showed[307]some indignation, mixed with a haughty assumptionof calmness—"prince, my words are probablythose of a man about to solve the mightysecret of futurity, and I swear to you she is innocent!I pledge you all my hopes of eternalsalvation, and trust that God may spurn me fromhis throne of mercy if my words contain an elementof falsehood!"

"Oaths, on such an occasion," said the other,coldly, "are worthless. This is a superfluouswaste of words. Leave her defence to herself.The question is now between you and me. Yourpresence here, with the avowal of passion youhave made, is in itself an insult demanding reparation.I consent to forget the difference ofrank between a hireling soldier and a prince ofSpain, and you can hardly refuse to meet myvengeance."

"Enough, sir!" said Zanotti; "that slightwas unnecessary. I am ready."

Their blades crossed, and, at first, every movementwas studied and cautious, as if each soughtto measure the other's skill, and hesitated torisk consequences that, in the situation in whichthey were placed, involved life or death. Manya feint passed between them, and each found inthe other a much more formidable antagonistthan he had anticipated. The Italian, the momenthis sword touched that of his adversary,regained at once the calm, resolute bearing ofone accustomed to rely upon those qualities forexistence; and the Spaniard, at first, exhibitedan equal degree of coolness. Gradually, however,he grew more excited, and made one ortwo lunges, which were quickly parried, but noeffort made to return them. This indicated, onthe part of Zanotti, an intention either to confinehis action to defence, or murderously waitan opportunity of ending the struggle by a single,fatal stroke. Either supposition, as be-speakinga consciousness of superiority, wassufficiently galling to add to his excitement, andhis thrusts increased in number, leaving him ateach more and more exposed. But, suddenly,Zanotti altered his tactics. He brought his"forte" in contact with his opponent's "foible,"and the next instant the prince's weapon, twirledfrom his grasp, was spinning through the air andfell upon the ground at some distance fromwhere they stood.

For one moment, one single moment, theSpaniard glared upon him, his face bearing alook of concentrated venomous hate, then,snatching from its jewelled sheath a short stiletto,he sprang with the bound of an enraged pantherupon his foe. Taken unprepared—for, themoment his adversary was disarmed, he haddropped the point of his own weapon—Zanottistaggered and fell, and the next instant the daggerwas, as it seemed, plunged up to the veryhilt in his heart.

Drawing the weapon from its still palpitatingsheath, he wiped the blade, and then, withhands wet with her lover's blood, took the formof Leonora, yet happily insensible, and bore itto the palazzo. There was still revelry andmirth within.

Years have passed; it is night, and the starsare scattered over the broad, clear face of heaven,an archipelago of worlds. There has been athunder storm during the afternoon, and largerain-drops still burden the foliage and the grass,sparkling like a maiden's bridal tears. The skyhangs, as it were, in quiet fondness over theearth, and the night-wind is sighing love tales tothe flowers.

In a garden, situated a few miles from Cordova,which incloses within its high walls alightly, but tastefully built edifice of considerablesize, are assembled some six or eight personsof both sexes. Their attitudes and occupationsare various. One young girl reclinesnegligently, but gracefully, on the still dampgrass, and touches the chords of a guitar with nounskilful hand; a fine-looking man, in theprime of life, paces up and down a long avenue,and seems to be absorbed in meditation; and another,a lady, is weaving flowers into garlands.She is a splendid-looking woman, of perhapsfive-and-thirty years of age, with those large,liquid black eyes that seem to absorb and reflectback to you a portion of your own soul. Herlook, however, is sad and hopeless, even hersmile giving but a pale, wintry gleam. Everand anon she sighs, too, and talks to herself ina tone unintelligible to the ear, but breathing asad, Æolian strain to the heart. Her eye wandersin bewilderment, seeking imagined forms.Her emotions seem to be all mute, expressionless,without a language, and translatable only bysigns. It is Leonora; she is crazed!

CHAPTER VI.

AGAIN 'twas night; but this time deepeninginto morn. In a spacious chamber, furnished[308]with all the appliances of opulent luxury, sat aman, upon whose massive brow forty wintershad traced many a deep and rugged line. Heseemed one who had not been slighted by fortune,for the insignia of several illustrious ordershung upon his breast. A small cabinet table,upon which were strewed gorgeously boundbooks and written papers of various kinds, wasdrawn up beside him. The materials for writingwere also there; but he heeded them not,but sat with his head leaning upon his handsapparently in abstracted meditation.

He remained in this position for full an hour,not moving a single muscle, and more like adead than a living thing. Then he arose suddenly,and paced the apartment with a vigorousand hasty step. His limbs were firm and hisform athletic; it was his head only that lookedold. This also lasted some time, and then hesat down once more, and, unlocking a concealeddrawer, drew forth a letter and a miniature.Upon the letter he gazed long and earnestly, hislook assuming an expression of mingled terrorand dejection piteous to behold. Laying downthe picture with a sigh, he then opened the billetand began to read, his countenance becomingeach moment more careworn and haggard. Andit was not strange it should be so; for it is amournful thing to look upon the letters thatonce told of the throbbing affection of somefriend or loved one, when the friendship is deador merged in a deeper feeling for another, or thelove is banished forever from its chosen temple.To recall the words that dropped on the page;archangels proclaiming with trumpet notes thatwe were the idol of one beating heart at least;to bring up again our old smile, and find itgleams, and with no Promethean power, uponaffection's corse. Ah me, 'tis sad, indeed! Thereader muttered to himself ever and anon, buthis words were disjointed and unintelligible.He sighed, too, frequently and deeply, and evengroaned aloud as he read the following passage:—

"Oh, believe me, your highness, it is fate, andnot my own will, that makes me seem ungrateful!The gratitude your priceless favor has engenderedin my breast is so warm, so fervid, thatmy life would be cheerfully given in requital;but when you ask my heart, alas! I can onlysay, I have it not to give. Years ago, ere I hadseen your highness, or dreamed of the possibilityof our ever meeting, Love had in my heart aMinerva birth, and, though the object of it liesin a bloody grave in a stranger's land, it will livein my own weary soul while it remains on earth,and accompany it when it flees to join him.You say, 'Perhaps I have not yet been fortunateenough to win your love or attract your regardbut let me beseech you at least to receive andweigh the depth, the purity, the strength of mydevotion against that of other men ere you decide.'Monseignor, you compel, even were Inot willing to accord, my 'esteem;' my worthless'regard,' and all the love my father and thedead do not claim, you also have; but were I toconsent to your request, and become your wife,at his own altar should I send up a perjuredvow to God."

Carefully, he placed both letter and picture inthe drawer from whence he had taken them;but, instead of locking it, drew forth another"billet." It was much shorter, a mere note, infact, but seemed to contain matter as pregnantwith agitation as its predecessor. He pausedsome time over the following postscript:—

"You tell me that the grave, in closing overthe object of my love, severed the tie betweenhim and me forever—that death pronounced adivorce which gave me liberty to form anotherattachment. You know not woman's love tosay so. It is impossible, when once ignited, toquench it entirely. It may be unseen, the ashesmay be cold; but a spark certainly slumbers beneaththem, and will never, never die! Oh,your highness, let me entreat you to select someworthier object than myself upon which tolavish your affections! I can never be yours!"

The man read this to the end. When he hadfinished, there was a smile of mockery upon hisface; but a spasmodic shudder which convulsedhis frame evinced the pain which it was meantto hide. How we learn to cheat ourselves byplaying the hypocrite to others! The letter fellfrom his grasp to the floor. His head assumedits old position on his hand, and he gazed onvacancy. He remained in this posture so longthat the candles one by one flickered and wentout, not even perceiving, so great was his abstraction,the glare they gave just before theyexpired. The large gothic window immediatelyopposite to where he sat was open, and the airgrew cooler and cooler each moment. It seemed,however, as if there were no stars in the sky—allwas darkness. Suddenly, a terrific flash oflightning illumined earth and heaven, and cast astrong ruddy glare upon every object in theapartment. A tremendous peal of thunder followed,and the man started to his feet and advancedto the window. The rain was now comingdown in large drops, and flash after flash oflightning, and peal after peal of thunder followedeach other with astounding rapidity. The wind,which had lain motionless and dead previous tothe beginning of the storm, now at one moment[309]went rushing by with extreme violence, and thenext sank into a low moan that was awfulenough to blanch the cheek and palsy the heartof the stoutest. It was like the wailing voiceof a God sorrowing over the sins of man, or thespirit of earth singing a dirge over vanishedtime.

The tenant of the chamber stood with foldedarms, regardless of the fierce gusts that ever andanon dashed the heavy rain-drops in his face,and the ghastly blue tint cast upon his countenanceby the lightning made him look unearthlyenough to be the arbiter of the dreadful contestthen raging between the shrieking stormfiends. His eye grew brighter and more glistening.There seemed a sympathy between theunchained elements in their rage and his ownproud spirit. His form dilated, and he seemedto look with a strange delight upon the swayingtrees bending beneath the terrific blasts of wind,and to list to the crashing thunder with a fiercejoy. A magnificent oak, which had resistedevery attempt of the tempest to more than shakeits smaller limbs, was suddenly torn up by thevery roots, and, with a rushing noise, fell to theground. The very earth seemed to groan as itfell.

"Thus would I die," exclaimed the looker on,exultingly—"thus would I die! Amid a world'sagonizing throes, when the mountains seem tobend their scathed tops, and the ocean roars itssubmission to the storm."

As he spoke, he advanced, heedless of theelements, through the casem*nt, and stood uponthe extreme edge of the battlemented parapet.A shrill, mocking laugh greeted his concludingwords, and a voice, that seemed to his excitedimagination preternaturally hollow, exclaimed—

"And die thus you shall!"

For a moment he stood perfectly paralyzed;but a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder,and he turned to meet the glare of two eyes thatshone as if lit with fire from hell. The personfrom whom the glance proceeded held in athreatening position a long, keen-looking dagger,and the blade gleamed brightly in the electriclight with which a sudden flash of lightningillumined the scene. The man who had a momentbefore looked defiantly upon the wrathyheavens shrank from the danger which nowthreatened him from a human foe. It was, however,but for a moment. He saw in the implacablecountenance of the man who had sostrangely come upon him, sufficient evidence ofsome dark and evil purpose to make him lookfor mischief. He suspected the existence of adanger that would tax his every energy. Heturned upon the intruder a look of inquiry, firmand proud, and somewhat rebuking in its aspect.The next moment, however, recollecting that,in the intervals between the flashes, all was invisible,he put the question audibly, which beforehe had mutely expressed. A tremendouspeal of thunder drowned the words in its frightfulreverberations, and the lightning that followedshowed him the arm of his foe raised tostrike. Even as the blade touched his breast hecaught his adversary's wrist and threw himselfupon him. Powerful he found him beyond allexpectations, and his cheek turned ghastly pale,for he felt hope deserting him.

The struggle was terrible; a look of vengefuldespair sat on the beaded brow of one, and deep,dark, unmitigable hate gleamed in the strainedeyeballs of the other. The assailed man chafedlike a maimed lion in the hunter's toils, and hisefforts bore that character of ruthless savagenesswhich is the consequence of hopeless fear—ofrayless despair. The other, in the proud consciousnessof tried strength, dashed his daggerinto the bosom of the clouded chaos that formedthe atmosphere in which they fought, and, bythe exertion of resistless bodily power, bore hisvictim back towards the verge of the parapet.Too pale to seem human, like the animated statuesof two contending gladiators, they rockedto and fro on its extremity. A momentary strifeensued, in which the muscles of each seemedcracking with the might of their exertions. Fora single instant, the assailant seemed to giveway, and the heart of his victim beat with ahope that intensity made an agony; but the relaxationwas but the prelude to a more violenteffort. Again they were upon the verge of thebattlement—they balanced upon the edge—andthen sank into the darkness. A wild, sardoniclaugh, and a cry of agony that seemed to freezethe very elements and hush their destructivehowl into silence, went up to heaven, succeededby a dull, heavy sound that announced the departureof two souls to judgment.

The next day the patrol discovered, beneaththe postern that opened upon the castle fosse,two mangled bodies, quite dead. The one wasthe Prince Carlos, Regent of Spain, and theother the Count Carlo Zanotti.

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THE ORPHAN'S DEPARTURE.

BY MARGARET FLOYD.

(See Plate.)

THE early years of few have been so carefullyguarded and protected as were those of EdithFrazier. Her father was the rector of a churchin a beautiful but secluded country village in thesouth of England. In addition to his sincerepiety and high-toned moral character, Mr. Frazierpossessed a well-cultivated mind. His wifewas also a superior woman, and as Edith wastheir only child, her early training was the objectof their most careful attention. In a lovelyand sequestered home, surrounded not only bythe comforts and luxuries, but the elegances oflife, and in close association with persons of highrefinement and elevated goodness, the younggirl grew slowly up to womanhood. There wasno undue excitement of vanity or the passionsto force her, like some hothouse plant, into anearly maturity; and no unseasonable call uponher for self-reliance or exertion, which entirelyblots out of some lives the sweet carelessnessof girlhood. At sixteen, she was still almost achild, when the death of her mother, her firstgreat sorrow, made her sensible for the first timethat this world is not the place for that uninterruptedhappiness which had, until then, beenher portion.

Edith was almost heart-broken at the loss ofher mother. They had been constant companions,and she missed her every moment moreand more. Mr. Frazier tried to supply to hisdaughter the place both of father and mother,but he was a studious, reserved man, and himselfsuffering deeply from his bereavement, sothat they did little else but remind each otherconstantly of their great sorrow.

About a year after Mrs. Frazier's death, findingthat his daughter did not rally from the depressionso foreign to her nature, Mr. Frazierproposed a tour through the northern part ofEngland and Scotland. It was just at the beginningof the pleasant summer weather, and,arranging matters in his parish so that his absencefor two or three months would not be felt, hedecided to leave immediately.

On the Sunday before his departure, a strangerwas seen in the little parish church. He was aman who would have been noticed in any place,and who, in a quiet country village, was an objectof general attention. Tall, handsome, andwith a strikingly high-bred and gentlemanlikeappearance, he would have been singled outanywhere as one of nature's nobility. Edithwas struck and gratified by the stranger's evidentinterest in the sermon her father preached thatday. It was one with which he had taken especialpains, and the daughter, proud as well asfond of her father, was glad to see that he hadat least one appreciative listener.

A few days after, Mr. Frazier and Edith setout on their journey. London was their firststopping-place, and several very busy days werespent there, while Edith, with the vivid interestof one to whom almost everything in that vastand crowded city was strange and new, visitedthe many places of interest and note within it.While they were standing in St. Paul's, thestranger who had attracted their attention inHillcomb, their own village, a few days before,passed them with a look of evident recognition.They met again while going over WestminsterAbbey; and it so happened that they were atthe same time paying to the genius of Shakspearethe homage of a visit to his grave at Stratford,and that they passed each other again whilestrolling over the grounds around Newstead Abbey.

By this time they had advanced so far on theway to acquaintanceship, that, when they againencountered each other near the lakes in Westmoreland,the home of so many of the poets ofEngland, a bow was the almost involuntarymark of recognition. English reserve and shynessmight have prevented any more intimateintercourse, but for an accident that happened toEdith in Scotland.

Mr. Frazier, finding that the cool and bracingair of that country had as favorable an effect onhis daughter's health as the wild and romanticscenery had on her mind, and being pleased witha quiet country inn which he had found, proposedthat they should make it their home fortwo or three weeks. They could not have founda pleasanter resting-place, for Lock Lomondwas spread out in its calm serenity at their feet,and Ben Lomond towered in savage grandeurabove their heads.

[311]

The first person whom they recognized ontaking their seats at the table of the inn was thestranger whom they had met so frequently.Edith could not repress a smile as she shyly returnedthe stranger's salutation, at the chancethat seemed to take such a whimsical pleasurein thus bringing them together. A few daysafter, while walking with her father in the rudepaths on the side of the mountain, she strayed alittle way from him when he stopped to admirethe scene from some particularly favorable pointof view; and when she attempted to return, shefound herself, to her dismay, so perplexed by theintricate windings of the paths that she was at aloss which to take. She called to her father andheard his voice in reply, but it grew fainter andfainter, until, at last, it could no longer be discerned.Becoming aware that every step shetook only led her farther from home, she stoppedto see if she could not in some way distinguishthe right path. But she was so utterly bewilderedthat she found it to be impossible. Shethought that the only thing that was left for herto do was to remain stationary; in that way shewould, at least, avoid the danger of falling intothe mountain streams around, or down any of theprecipices.

Night closed around Edith as she sat aloneunder the shelter of a gray rock that jutted outfrom the side of the mountain. She had aroundher only the light shawl she had thrown on foran afternoon's walk, and it was but a slight protectionfrom the chilling night-air. In her hurriedand toilsome search after her father, she hadbruised her feet and wearied herself so that shecould no longer stand. She called at intervals,in the faint hope that some wanderer might hearher and come to her assistance; but her voicedied away from exhaustion, and she was stillalone.

It was not so much a feeling of fear thatweighed upon her, for the perfect trust in herall-seeing Father, which her mother had taughther from her childhood, was a tower of strengthto her in this her hour of need; and the physicaldiscomfort she could bear; but the thoughtof her father's anxiety and distress on her accountalmost overcame her.

The stars were going out one by one, whenEdith heard in the distance a faint shout. Shecould not answer it, but, almost as if led by someunseen spirit, it came nearer and nearer. At lastshe gathered voice to reply, and she had evidentlybeen heard. She could distinguish thesound of footsteps, and at last dimly discern aman's figure as it stopped before her.

"Is this Miss Frazier?" said the man in avoice that revealed its owner to be a person ofrefinement and tenderness.

"Yes," said Edith, rising with difficulty.

"I am Mr. Hildreth, the gentleman whomyou have met so frequently lately. I heard ofyour disappearance from your father, and havebeen seeking for some hours. Could you walka little way with me? He is not far from here;we can soon find him."

Edith tried to walk, but found it impossible.Taking her in his arms, Mr. Hildreth carried hera little way; then meeting her father, he resignedher to him while he went before to act as a guide.With some difficulty they reached the bottom ofthe mountain, and obtaining a rude vehicle fromsome of the country people near, conveyed Edithto the inn.

The acquaintance thus begun soon ripenedinto a friendship. Mr. Frazier and Edith learnedthat Mr. Hildreth was an American from thecity of New York. The letters of introductionthat he had with him proved that he had a rightto the best society in England, for which hispolished manners and uncommon conversationalpowers showed that he was well fitted. He hadbeen taking an invalid aunt to the south ofFrance for the benefit of the climate, he toldthem, and after seeing her comfortably establishedthere, he had taken advantage of a few months'leisure to travel wherever his fancy led him.He readily accepted Mr. Frazier's invitation tojoin him and his daughter in their tour. Thesimilarity of taste they had shown so singularlywas a sufficient evidence, he said, that any coursethey might take would be equally agreeable toboth parties.

The next six weeks, Edith thought, were themost delightful she had ever spent. Nowheredoes the society of an agreeable and intellectualperson add more to the enjoyment of the companythan in travelling. Although grave andquiet, Mr. Hildreth was full of thoughtfulnessand observant care for the comfort of his fellow-travellers.Whenever he spoke to Edith, therewas a gentle deference in his manner that, fromone of his superior abilities, was irresistibly attractive.

On his side, Mr. Hildreth was no less charmedby those with whom he had been so strangelythrown. On the Sunday in which he had firstseen them, he had been pleased and impressedby Mr. Frazier's sermon, and thought that hehad never seen a face of more artless and attractiveloveliness than Edith Frazier's. She remindedhim of Chaucer's beauties, of a rose halfopened and still wet with the morning dews,and of all that was most fresh and delicate in[312]nature. Her mind answered to the promise ofher countenance. Ignorant of the world anduncontaminated by it, she walked in almost unconsciousinnocence the simple path of duty.Her disposition, naturally cheerful and bright,had already begun to recover its buoyancy, andher happiness reacted on her graver companions,who seemed to vie with each other as to whichshould add most to her pleasure.

Seasons of unshaded happiness are generallyas brief as bright. By the end of the six weeks,Mr. Hildreth received a letter from his aunt,who wrote urgently for his immediate presence.He took a reluctant leave of his companions, butnot before he had had a long conversation withMr. Frazier, in which he asked his permissionto reveal to Edith the love that had already becomea strong feeling in his heart.

Heretofore he had been thrown, he said, amonga set of worldly and fashionable women, and hadcome to look upon simplicity and unworldlinessas traits no longer to be met with among theeducated and polished members of society, andEdith Frazier exhibited a character as new asattractive to him. She was the only womanthat he had ever met, whose society and conversationnever wearied or lost their interest tohim.

Mr. Frazier's paternal pride was gratified atthe tribute thus paid to Edith by a man like Mr.Hildreth, but he could not bear to think ofgiving up the only object of affection left to him,nor contemplate without pain the idea that hisdaughter's home might be in a distant land. Hedid all that he felt justified in doing to avert theday of separation, and pleading Edith's youth,requested Mr. Hildreth to postpone for a yearhis declaration. To this delay Mr. Hildreth wasunwilling to consent; but at last was obligedunwillingly to yield to a probation of six months.

He left Edith, in accordance with the promisehe had made Mr. Frazier, entirely unconsciousof his feelings towards her, and for some timealmost equally unaware of her own. She knewthat the loss of his society had deprived her ofthe greater part of the pleasure she had taken inthe new scenes through which she was journeying,but it was not until she was again settled inher own home at Hillcomb that she began to feelthat Mr. Hildreth had been far more to her thana mere agreeable casual acquaintance.

This discovery mortified her extremely. Shefelt as though it was both wrong and humiliating,that one whom she had known so short a time,and who had shown no proof of regarding her asanything but a very young and rather pleasinggirl, should engross so much of her thoughts.She resolved to use every means to crush thefeelings that, new as they were, seemed to havestruck their roots so deeply in her heart. Butfirst she could not resist asking her father onequestion.

"Do you think we shall ever see Mr. Hildrethagain, father?" said she one day, with affectedindifference.

"Perhaps so," said he, quietly; "we can nevertell what may happen."

"He can never have spoken to my fatherabout coming here," thought Edith, "or hewould not have seemed so uncertain about it;"and, with true feminine pride, the young girlforbore any farther mention of the one whomyet she found it impossible to forget.

Two months of the six had passed away, whenEdith was called to bear another heavy trial.Her father died suddenly, leaving her unprovidedfor and alone in the world. Such an eventwas apparently the last in the world to be expected,as Mr. Frazier had always seemed to bea man in vigorous health, and with a fair prospectof long life. To a long life he had evidentlylooked forward, for he had made no arrangementsfor his cherished daughter, and hadleft no directions by which she might guide herfuture course.

In her desolation, Edith could think of but oneperson from whom she might expect protection;a half-sister of her father's, who resided in London.She had seen her aunt, Mrs. Burnleigh,but seldom, but knew that she was a widow ineasy circ*mstances, with a large family of children.To her she accordingly applied, and receivedin return an invitation to come to heruntil she had decided on her future course.

With a sorrowful heart, Edith left the homewhere so many bright and happy years had beenpassed. As she sat alone waiting for the coachto pass that was to convey her to London, withno attendant but the gardener's boy, and nocompanion but her canary, a parting gift fromMr. Hildreth, sent to Hillcomb by him fromDover just before he embarked for France, thecontrast between her present desolation and thewarm, sheltering love in which she had so longlived, almost overcame her. But the lonely soonacquire the power of self-control, and Edith hadalready begun to learn the hard lesson of self-reliance.With an outward composure that hidthe painful throbbings of her heart from hertravelling companions, she took her seat in thecoach, and in a few hours arrived safely at Mrs.Burnleigh's.

Edith found her aunt an apparently well-meaning,proper kind of a woman, kind and[313]sympathizing in her manners, but who evidentlyhad not the slightest intention of denying herselfor her children the smallest luxury for thesake of her brother's orphaned daughter. For afew weeks Edith was left to the quiet indulgenceof her grief, and then Mrs. Burnleigh, thinkingthat she had done all that society could possiblydemand of her in the way of respect to her brother'smemory or kindness to his child, began tosound Edith as to her intentions for the future.

The young girl, thrown so suddenly upon herown resources, had not yet begun to think forherself, and the idea of seeking a home amongstrangers made her heart sink within her. Shebegged her aunt to take upon herself the task offinding for her some position that she could fillcreditably, but she hoped, she said, timidly, thatit might be somewhere near her aunt, her onlyremaining relative.

This did not suit Mrs. Burnleigh exactly, who,being of that turn of mind that always foreseesthe possible evil in all cases, was not pleasedwith the idea that she might at any time be calledupon to offer a home to her friendless relative.Like a prudent woman, however, she forboresaying anything that might reveal her true feelings,but was none the less resolved that, if twoequally favorable situations offered themselves,it would be wiser for her to advise Edith toaccept the one at the greatest distance.

She succeeded beyond her hopes. Coming inone day, she said to Edith, with unusual animation—

"My dear, I have found a most delightfulsituation for you. Two hundred pounds a yearfor teaching one little girl. You can speakFrench, can you not?"

"Yes, I have spent a year in France."

"And you play unusually well, and draw andpaint beautifully, so that I think the parents ofthe child may consider themselves quite fortunate."

"Who are they?" asked Edith

"They are Americans—a Mr. and Mrs. Blake,from South Carolina."

Edith's heart had bounded at the mention ofthe country, but it sank when the state wasnamed to which Mrs. Burnleigh wished to sendher. Unlike most English girls, she knewenough of the geography of the United States toremember that a wide distance separated SouthCarolina from New York, so that, even if Mr.Hildreth had returned to his own country, whichwas unlikely, she would be almost as distantfrom him there as if she remained in England.The idea of going so far away from all on whomher relationship or early association gave her anyclaim, was exceedingly painful to her.

"Don't you think, dear aunt," said she, hesitatingly,"that I might find something to donearer home?"

"It would be impossible for me to find youanother situation so advantageous in every respect;but, if you think you could succeed, youhad better make the attempt," replied Mrs.Burnleigh, coldly, while a displeased expressionsettled upon her face.

There were a few moments' silence, and thenEdith said—

"How soon will Mr. and Mrs. Blake expectme?"

"They are now here. I have just met themat one of my friends, who had been speaking tothem about you. They told me that they intendedto sail for America in about two weeks,and that, if you were ready by that time, theywould like you to accompany them."

"Very well," said Edith; "you can tell themthat I shall be ready to go with them."

"They are charming people," said her aunt,caressingly; "I am sure, my dear, you will likethem very much, and be very happy with them.Of course, I would not wish my brother's childto go where she would not be with those whoare likely to take some interest in her."

Edith could not help perceiving that her auntwas relieved by the prospect of her departure;and this thought, while it strengthened her inher resolve, made her feel her isolation still moredeeply.

On board the same steamer with Mr. and Mrs.Blake and Edith was a little girl, an invalid,who interested the young English girl extremely.Edith had brought her bird with her. It wasthe only thing she had to remind her of happierdays, and she could not bear to part with it.At little Ellen's earnest request, she hung thecage in her state-room, and, before the end ofthe voyage, the little sick girl had become soattached to the pretty bird, whose sweet songwas almost the only cheering sound she heardduring the long and weary days at sea, that shecould not speak of parting with it without showingby her tearful eyes the pain it gave her.Edith felt that she ought not to deprive the littlesufferer of so great a pleasure, and, concealingher reluctance to give up a souvenir she hadcherished so long, she told little Ellen that thebird was to be hers. The child's evident delightwas some compensation to Edith for her self-denial,yet it was with a sharp pang that shewatched the cage as it was put in the carriage,[314]after the arrival of the steamer at New York, tobe conveyed to the upper part of the city, whileEdith, with her new friends, went on board anothersteamer about to sail for Charleston.

Mr. Blake's residence was among the pineforests of the State; a region healthful, it is true,but peculiarly desolate, especially to one accustomedto the soft verdure and smiling landscapeof England. The tall dark trees; unceasinglysighing forth their low and mournful murmurs,seemed to Edith a fit emblem of the griefs thatwere henceforward to darken her life.

There was but little in her new home to callher thoughts from the sad recollections to whichthey were constantly recurring. Mr. Blake andhis wife were very kind to her, treating herrather as a guest than one to whose services theywere entitled; but they lived in a part of thecountry very thinly settled, their nearest neighborbeing at a distance of seven or eight miles,and there was a wearying monotony in Edith'sdaily life that weighed upon her spirits. Gratitudefor the unvarying and thoughtful kindnessshown to her by Mrs. Blake induced Edith tomake every exertion to regain her accustomedcheerfulness, and she had, in some measure,succeeded, when the Christmas holidays cameto remind her, by the contrast between her ownposition and that of the persons by whom shewas surrounded, more painfully of her isolation.The little family gatherings, from which shecould hardly absent herself without appearingunmindful of Mrs. Blake's gentle yet urgent requests,and yet where she felt herself amongthem, but not of them, recalled to her so forciblythe former seasons, when her happiness andpleasure were to all around her the one thing ofthe greatest importance, that, for the first timesince her departure from England, Edith yieldedto her feelings of loneliness, and every night wether pillow with her tears. The reply of theShunamite woman to the prophet's inquiry abouther wants, "I dwell among mine own people,"came with a new and touching significance toher mind, now that she began to feel that neveragain would she feel the sweet security and protectionimplied in such a position.

On New Year's eve, Edith slipped away fromthe merry group assembled in Mr. Blake's parlorsto indulge her sad meditations for a littlewhile without interruption. As she stood onthe porch listening to the mournful music of thepines, whose aromatic incense filled the air withits healthful fragrance, and watching the moonas it slowly waded through the clouded sky,now shining out in full brilliancy, and then almostentirely darkened as it passed behind thethick masses of vapor that were hanging in thevast concave, she thought that just such suddenalternations of darkness and light had been herlot in this life.

"The clouds hang heavily over me now,"thought she; "but there will be brightnesssoon."

Almost at the same moment there came thesound of an approaching arrival, and Edithhastily retreated to the house. She had hardlytime to mingle with the gay family party, when,hearing her name called, she turned suddenly,while a thrill of amazed delight passed over herat the familiar tone, and saw before her Mr.Hildreth, whose smile shed a light and warmthupon her heart to which it had long been astranger.

The clouds were at once lifted off from hersoul, and she was once more the light-heartedgirl she had been in her English home. In themidst of her happiness there was a feeling ofinsecurity, a doubt as to its continuance. Butthat Edith would not allow herself to dwellupon. It was happiness enough for the presentto think that one whom she so highly esteemedstill cared enough for her to seek her out in hersecluded home.

But before the last hours of the old year hadpassed away, walking in the serene moonlightunder those pine-trees to whose mournful murmurher thoughts had been so long attuned,Edith listened with a beating heart to the avowalof the same feelings which Mr. Hildreth hadconfessed to her father more than a year before.What had become of all the sadness that hadbrooded over Edith's heart so many months? Itwas gone like the clouds from the sky, but notto return, like them, in a few short hours.

"How did you find me out?" asked Edith,after many more important questions had beenasked and answered.

"Ah, a little bird told me where I should findthe runaway."

"A bird?" said Edith, wonderingly.

"Perhaps it was the cage rather than thebird," replied Mr. Hildreth. "I had been forsome two or three months in search of you, orrather your aunt, with whom I was told youwere staying. But she seemed to be possessedby some perverse and wandering spirit; for,when I went to London to find her, she hadjust left with her family on a tour through Germany,and, when I followed her there, I learnedshe had gone into Italy. Into Italy I went posthaste, and reached Naples just in time to learnthat Mrs. Burnleigh had left the week before forEgypt and the Pyramids. No whit daunted, I[315]was about to seek you, even if I had to go to theheart of Ethiopia, when the sudden illness ofmy aunt recalled me to Marseilles. Her deathobliged me to return to New York; but I arrangedmy business there as soon as possible,and had already engaged my passage in the nextsteamer to Liverpool, when, walking throughFifth Avenue, my eye was attracted by a cagethat I recognized instantly, by certain peculiarities,as one that I had sent you just before I leftEngland after our pleasant tour. A sudden hopeseized me that some happy impulse had led yourtravel-loving aunt to my very hearthstone, andI lost no time in making inquiries of the ladyof the house, from whom I learned all about thelittle Edith for whom I had been seeking in suchfar away places.

"And now, dearest," he continued, after apause, "have you any objection to a tour throughEurope? I went in such haste before that, farfrom satisfying my curiosity, I only increasedthe desire to see everything more at my leisure."

"None at all," said Edith, with a smile andblush.

"Well, then, I will see how soon Mrs. Blakecan spare you, and we will set off on our travels.I hope she will be very obliging about it."

She was very obliging, and gave Edith, towhom she had become strongly attached, a grandwedding in the southern fashion, which lastedtwo days, and she hung the pine grove with coloredlamps, so that the dark woods took, forthat occasion only, quite a festal appearance.

CELESTIAL PHENOMENA.—APRIL.

BY D. W. BELISLE.

LEO.—This is one of the most clearly definedand brilliant constellations in the winter hemisphere,containing an unusual number of verybright stars. It is situated east of Cancer, andcomes to the meridian the sixth of this month.This constellation contains ninety-five starsvisible to the naked eye.

Five very bright stars in this constellation aregrouped in the form of a sickle. Regulus, in theshoulder of Leo, is the lowest of this group, andforms the end of the handle in the sickle. It isthe brightest star in the cluster, and is of greatuse to nautical men in determining their longitudeat sea. Eta, a small glittering star, marksthe other end of the handle, while Al GiebaAdhafera, Ras al Asad, and Lambda form theblade. Two small stars, at an equal distancefrom Lambda, form a small right-angled triangle.Denebola, in the brush of the tail, is a star ofthe first magnitude, and, with Zozma in theback, and Theta in the thigh, form a trianglewhose vertex is Denebola.

According to Greek mythology, the Lion wasone of the formidable animals killed by Herculesin the forests of Nemæa, and was placedby Jupiter in the heavens to commemorate theevent. Egyptian mythologists claim the honorof having placed it there, asserting it was placedin the heavens to commemorate the haunting ofthe banks of the Nile during the heat of summerby these monsters, the river then being at itshighest elevation.

LEO MINOR.—This constellation is of modernorigin, occupying the space between UrsaMajor and Leo Major. The stars in the clusterare of the third and fourth magnitude, with noparticular interest attached to them. It comesto the meridian the 6th of April.

SEXTANT.—This is a small constellationsouth of Leo, and contains forty-one stars, allvery small and unimportant, and comes to themeridian the 6th of April. This constellationis sometimes called Urania's Sextant, in honorof one of the muses who presided over Astronomy.Urania was daughter of Jupiter and Mnemosyne.

HYDRA.—This is an extraordinary constellation,winding through a vast space from eastto west for more than one hundred degrees. Itlies south of Cancer, Leo, and Virgo, and reachesfrom Canis Minor to Libra. It contains sixtystars, principally of the second, third, and fourthmagnitudes. The head of Hydra may readily bedistinguished by four bright stars south of Acubens,in the Crab. They form a rhomboidalfigure. The three upper stars form a beautifulcurve, and are too distinct and conspicuous tobe forgotten when once seen. Alphard, twenty-threedegrees south south-west of Regulus, is avery brilliant star of the second magnitude, and[316]is in the heart of Hydra, and comes to the meridiantwenty minutes before nine o'clock on the1st of April. When the head of the Hydra ison the meridian, its other extremity is many degreesbelow the horizon, so that its whole lengthcannot be traced out in the heavens until itscentre is on the meridian.

According to mythology, the Hydra was a terriblemonster that infested the Lake of Lerna,in the Peloponnesus. It was reported to havehad a hundred heads, and, as soon as one ofthese was cut off, two grew in its place, unlessthe wound was stopped by fire.

The formidable monster was at last destroyed byHercules, with the assistance of Iolaus, and whoafterwards, dipping his arrows in the gall of theHydra, rendered every wound inflicted by themincurable and mortal.

THE CUP.—This small constellation liessouth of the Lion, and rests upon the Hydra.Six of the principal stars form a crescent or semi-circle,opening to the west. The crescent of theCup is so striking and clearly defined, when themoon is absent, that no description is necessaryto point it out, as it is the only one of the kindin that part of the heavens.

COMETS.—These objects of extraordinaryinterest form a part in the economy of the solarsystem. Since the time when the presence of acomet was considered by nations to be the sureprecursor of war, famine, and pestilence, up tothe present period, these visitors have createdmuch speculation and excitement; and, nolonger ago than the fall of 1853, it was predictedby an eminent "professor" that one of thesewaifs in the heavens would come in collisionwith the earth, and destroy a portion of China.This, however, like many other pieces of mischiefwhich had been predicted it would accomplish,failed, and the professor has retiredfrom observation covered with the laurels wonby his research.

A comet, so brilliant that it could be seen atnoonday, made its appearance seventy-threeyears before the birth of our Saviour. This datewas just after the death of Julius Cæsar, and bythe Romans the comet was believed to be hismetamorphosed soul, armed with fire and vengeance.This comet appeared again in 1106,and then resembled the sun in brightness, beingof great size, and having an immense trail.

In 1456, a large comet made its appearance.The terror it created extended through all classes,and the belief was universal that the day ofjudgment was at hand. At this time, the Turks,with their victorious armies, seemed destined tooverrun all Europe. This added to the gloomand terror. The people became regardless of thepresent, and anxious only for the future. Toprepare the world for its expected doom, PopeCallixtus III. ordered the Ave Maria to be repeatedthree times instead of twice a day, andto it was added, "Lord, save us from the Devil,the Turk, and the Comet!" and thrice each daythese obnoxious personages suffered excommunication.At length, the comet began to retirefrom eyes in which it found no favor, and theTurks retired to their own dominions.

The comet of 1680 was of the largest size,having a trail ninety-six millions of miles inlength. Dawning science, however, robbed itof its terrors, assisted by the signal failure of itsillustrious predecessor.

Such are many of the fantasies which thesepeculiar visitors have called up. The beautifulcomet of 1811, the most splendid of moderntimes, was considered, even by many intelligentpersons, as the harbinger of the war which wasdeclared the spring following; and the remembrancewill be fresh in the minds of many of anindefinite apprehension of some dreadful catastrophe,which pervaded both continents, inanticipation of Bela's comet in 1832.

Comets, unlike the planets, observe no onedirection in their orbits, but approach to and recedefrom their great centre of attraction inevery possible direction. Some seem to comeup from immeasurable depths below the ecliptic,and, having doubled the heaven's mighty cape,again plunged downward with their fiery trains,

"On the long travel of a thousand years."

Again, they seem to come from the zenith ofthe universe, and, after doubling their perihelionabout the sun, reascend far above human vision.Others, again, seem to be dashing through thesolar system in every conceivable direction, apparentlyin an undisturbed path; others areknown, however, to obey laws like those which[317]regulate planets. Nothing is known with certaintyas to the composition of these bodies, althoughit is certain they contain very little matter,for they produce little or no effect on themotions of planets when passing near thosebodies. Upon what errands they come, whatregions they visit when they pass from view,what is the difference between them, the sun,and planets, and what is their mission in theeconomy of the universe, are questions oftenpondered over, but the solution of which is beyondthe limited powers of human understanding.

MRS. MURDEN'S TWO DOLLAR SILK.

BY THE AUTHOR OF "MISS BREMER'S VISIT TO COOPER'S LANDING," "GETTING INTO SOCIETY," "MUSTARD TO MIX," ETC. ETC.

"ISN'T it perfect?" said young Mrs. Murden,drawing her husband towards a shop window asshe herself made a halt in front of it. "I thinkit is the loveliest shade I ever saw, and thatsatin stripe gives it such an air so perfectlygenteel!"

"What?" asked Mr. Murden, simply, rousedfrom his calculation of percentage on certainarticles just consigned to him. "It" was certainlyan indefinite pronoun, with all that displayof elegant silks, ribbons, laces, and embroideries,so skilfully arranged to attract thepromenaders of Chestnut Street.

"Why, that silk. I've stopped to look at ittwice this week."

"That blue and red plaid? Yes, it is veryhandsome; just the pattern of your woollenshawl, isn't it?"

"Plaids!" exclaimed Mrs. Murden, contemptuously."Why, that's only a dollar silk; besides,everybody wears plaids—they're so common!"

"Then a thing is not pretty when it's common?"

"Why, of course not. I heard Mrs. GeorgeBarker say yesterday that no real lady woresuch gay colors on the street; that, in Paris,plain colors are all the rage. I mean that richpurple, with the thick satin stripe. It's perfect."

Young Mrs. Murden had thought the plaidsthe very height of fashion, until she overheardthis conversation between Mrs. George Barkerand her mother. Who should know what wasstylish, if Mrs. George Barker did not, whenshe lived in a house with a marble front, had acoachman in livery, and the family arms, donein the best manner, on the panel of her crimsonlined carriage?

People said she had made a mistake in thelast, however; that the stately swan of the crestshould have been a tailor's goose. But, then,these were people who had no carriage of theirown, and were obliged to patronize omnibuses.No doubt, if they could have afforded it, thepaternal awl and lapstone would have beentransposed into a dagger and shield, in a similarmanner; so their opinion is no manner of consequence.

Mrs. Murden had gone into Evans & Gilman'sto "price," as she called it, the very plaid shenow scorned—for her best silk was giving way—whenshe overheard its sentence pronounced bythose red lips, with a shrug of the sable-capedshoulders of the fashionable lady. Mrs. Barkerpronounced the purple "exceedingly stylish;"Mrs. Murden "caught the verdict as it fell;"and, from that moment, her affections were centredupon it.

Not that she had any claims to being stylishherself; on the contrary, her little home, in afar away cross street, was exceedingly plain;but the young wife had undeveloped aspirationstowards a less humble sphere, shown by being,in some sort, a leader of the circle in which shevisited. It was not large, or very select, butthere were some well-educated, well-bred people,some very warm, true hearts, and, as thecase will always be, others as empty-minded,selfish, and frivolous as if they were really infashionable life. Mrs. Murden, as her husbandsometimes noticed, had rather an inclination tocourt the latter party, as they dressed and furnishedthe most showily, and, in fact, to outviethem—a disposition which the far-sighted Mr.Murden dreaded not a little.

He was decidedly a domestic man, and, besides,as his wife often said, so her dress was puton properly, with a clean collar and undersleeves,he did not know half the time whether it wassilk or calico. Indeed, he had brought quite aserious attack of pouting upon himself, by callinghis wife's new green foulard a calico. Youmay be sure, he had entirely forgotten that pur[318]plesilks were ever manufactured by the nextday at dinner, when he was reminded of it byMrs. Murden abruptly terminating a long fit ofmusing by the exclamation—

"I should be perfectly happy, if I had it."

Mr. Murden, foolish man, supposed at firstthat she meant a picture of the children, whowere marvellously near of an age—two of them.

"Well, dear, when shall we take them downto Root's? Say the word." For Mr. Murdenhimself thought it a great pity that such remarkablebeauty should be lost to the world. Nodoubt, Root would insist on a duplicate for hisshow-case.

"Root's! I was talking about that silk, Mr.Murden. What has Root got to do with it, I'dlike to know?" Mrs. Murden seemed inclinedto help to tarts before the dessert was served.

"Oh!" And Mr. Murden resumed his carver,helping himself to a second cut of beef. "Blessmy soul, how much women do think of dress!Who's going to have a new one?"

"It's high time I had, dear. Only think,we've been married three years next month,and I've only had one silk in that while."

"Why, you had one in the summer—thatstriped frock and cape."

"That's an India; we don't call these thinthings anything. I mean a good, heavy poult desoie, like my mazarine blue I had when we weremarried. It's fairly gone now, careful as I havebeen. It's been turned and cleaned, and nowit's so shabby I hate to put it on."

"I'm sure, you never look better in any dressyou've got," insisted Mr. Murden, who hadvery pleasant associations connected with theirearly married life and the dress in question.

"Why, it's a perfect fringe around the bottom,and has two great stains on the skirt. Whatare you thinking of, John?"

"Well, well, I'll give it up. I like it, that'sall. How much will a new one cost?"

Mrs. Murden, slightly diplomatic, could notpresent an estimate. Her husband had told herof a business loss when he came in; it was nota very favorable moment.

Wonderful as it seemed to her, the purple silkwas still unsold when a week had passed; but,then, it is a color very few dare to try their complexionsby, which Mrs. Murden did not reflectupon. The celebrated "Purple Jar" was notmore attractive to "Rosamond," as chronicledby Miss Edgeworth, than was the dress to itsconstant worshipper, who made an errand intoChestnut Street daily that she might pause for amoment before it. Mr. Murden said she remindedhim of his father's old pony, who alwayshalted of his own accord at the houses of thedoctor's principal patients. Mrs. Murden "didnot thank him" for any such comparisons.

That same evening there was a perceptiblerise of spirits observable in the father of thefamily. He tossed the baby, accordingly, so farthat its anxious mother was sure its poor littlehead would be dashed against the ceiling; hegave George Washington, the eldest hope, threeseveral rides on his boot, and carried him up tobed in a fashion best known to nurses as "pig-a-back."Mrs. Murden wondered what hadhappened; she little knew the good fortune instore for her.

"Well, Barney"—Mr. Murden always calledhis wife Barney when in particularly good humor,though her name was a very romantic one,Adelaide Matilda—"how about that dress?Tell us, out and out, how much it would cost.Let's see if it would break a fellow."

"It's a splendid piece," began Mrs. Murden.

"So I have been told every day for twoweeks."

"You know I'm not very extravagant; and,once in a while, dear, I do take a fancy forsomething handsome."

Mr. Murden thought the proposition wouldhave been stated correctly, if she had said,"every little while;" but Mrs. Murden waswarming his slippers for him, and looking verypretty in the bright firelight, so he made no ungraciouscomment; he only said—

"Come, Barney, out with it. What's theentire figure?"

"Well, it's a two dollar silk, I find"—Mrs.Murden made a desperate attempt to look unconcerned—"andit will take ten yards."

"Whew!" Mr. Murden had thought a tendollar gold piece would have been all-sufficient,and was turning one over in his pocket at themoment. "Why, as much as an overcoat almost."

"And will last twice as long, dear; just rememberthat."

"Well, well, for once in my life—there's anice piece of extravagance; but, as you've setyour heart upon it, you shall be indulged, Barney.Take them both." And he dropped thetwo eagles, received that afternoon for what hehad considered a bad debt, into her outstretchedhand.

It was thus that Mrs. Murden came into possessionof her two dollar silk, the envy of hernext door neighbor, Mrs. Keyser, her intimatefriends, Mrs. Hopkins and Miss Lippincott, towhom it was shown in the piece.

"How are you going to have it made?" asked[319]Mrs. Keyser. "I'd have a basque, by all means,and have it open." Mrs. Keyser was one ofthose ladies who accomplish so much on a committeeof foreign affairs, and so little in thehome department.

"Oh, so would I," said Miss Lippincott, whoalways assented to everything that was said.

"I don't believe a basque would be becoming,"enviously interposed Mrs. Hopkins, whowas herself remarkably stout and dumpy infigure.

"Perhaps not," said Miss Lippincott; "verylikely not."

"I don't believe Miss Johns could fit a basqueeither," pursued Mrs. Hopkins, who had no intentionof being outdone by her neighbor; herdresses were all made for the winter.

"Nor I," added Miss Lippincott.

"I wouldn't trust Miss Johns to put scissorsinto that silk anyhow," Mrs. Keyser said; for,having relations living in Spruce Street, she wasconsidered to have unusual claims to knowingnessin matters of fashion, and was not slow toput them forth.

"Surely," thought Mrs. Murden, "it neverwould do. Miss Johns was well enough for aplain dress; but a two dollar silk!"

"How I wish you could afford to have it madeat Miss Stringer's now," continued Mrs. Keyser."Emma Louisa always has everything donethere, and so does Mrs. Coleman, she's so intimatewith, and Mrs. George Barker. You neversaw such splendid fits."

It is presumed that Mrs. Keyser did not alludeto convulsions; but Mrs. Hopkins always elevatedher little flat nez on a mention of theseSpruce Street relatives; for every one knowsshe said to Miss Lippincott, as they walkeddown the street together—

"Every one knows that she never is invitedthere when any one else is expected, not evento the wedding. I wouldn't own such relations,if I had shoals of them; would you, Miss Lippincott?"

"No, indeed," returned that lady, with unusualanimation for her, for she was rather wornout with allusions to the Spruce Street relationsherself, in an intimacy of some months' standing.

It was a very daring thing, but young Mrs.Murden, revolving all these things in her mind,the basque, the open front, Miss Johns's lack ofstyle, and that she was employed by all her acquaintances,came to the conclusion that herdress should be made at a Chestnut Street shop,although she had never had anything made outof the house before. "But it's once in a lifetime,"as she said to Mr. Murden, walking downwith him after dinner; and he, who had neverseen a fashionable mantuamaker's bill, thoughtit of very little consequence to whom the importantcommission was intrusted.

The little woman felt rather nervous, it istrue, on entering such awful precincts as theshop of Miss Stringer, which was by no meansdiminished by the manner of the lady in waiting,who pursued, at the same time, her gossipwith another damsel seated in the window witha "dummy" on her knee, shaping a cap on itsunconscious head, not less empty, perhaps, thanthe one it was destined to grace.

"I should like a dress made, if you could doit," stammered forth Mrs. Murden as the girlleisurely surveyed her from head to foot, takingan exact inventory of her dress, and knowing toa fraction the cost of every article.

"Certainly, madam." And then over hershoulder to the cap-maker at the window: "Isit possible that she has white feathers on a bluebonnet? I wouldn't wear such a thing myself.Who's with her?"

"Young Rushton," returned the street surveyor,turning dummy's blank face for anotherfold of lace. "He's devoted, they say."

"I beg your pardon, madam." It was not apardon asked for inattention, but a suggestion toMrs. Murden to finish her business.

"A dress," continued Mrs. Murden, falteringly."When could you make it?"

"Next week, or week after, perhaps, or earlynext month. You can call on Wednesday, andMiss Stringer will make an appointment to fityou," vouchsafed the attendant with the JennyLind silk apron. "You can send round thematerial in the mean time. Street or evening-dress?"

Strictly speaking, Mrs. Murden never had hadan evening-dress; her silks were worn to theparties she usually attended. She had the preciouspurchase with her, and she considered itquite handsome enough for any ball that everwas given; but she would not have offered it tothe young woman then on any consideration.She felt convicted of carrying her own bundles,and consequently carried this one home again,to be left next day by Mr. Murden on his wayto the store.

Wednesday, and Mrs. Murden, dressed in herbest, waited again upon Miss Stringer. Thistime, the lady herself appeared, and proved notto be quite so withering as her assistant—principalsseldom are. There were several fashionableladies in waiting, all on the most gossippingand familiar terms with Miss Stringer, who wasbesieged with petitions for impossible work to[320]be done in incredible haste, enforced by "Youkind, good creature," and other terms of endearmentwritten in the wheedling vocabulary.According to their piteous statements, not oneof these splendidly attired women had a dress tocover them, or a cloak to shield them from thecold. Mrs. Murden had a fine opportunity ofseeing and hearing while she waited exactly onehour for Miss Stringer. She had never been insuch close contact with fashionable women before.Like many others of her own position inlife, they had always been her envy and heradmiration from a distance, as they swept acrossthe pavement from their carriages, or brushedpast her at the entrance of Bailey's or Levy's,at whose fascinating windows she was spell-bound.They could not have a wish ungratified,she was sure; their lives must pass like a fairytale, all flowers and music. But, now that shesaw them nearer, the wan and restless eyes, thehalf hidden wrinkles painfully distended in theglare of a bright winter's morning, and thequerulous, fretful tones, told another story.

"They were tired to death"—they whose feetscarcely touched the pavement, and who hadservants at every call. "The party of lastnight was so stupid!" "The ball of Thursdaywouldn't be worth the trouble of dressing for.""What should they wear? Miss Stringer musttell them." "Did she know Rushton's engagementwas broken with Bell Hamilton? Her illhealth, it was said; but every one knew, becausehe had been flirting so all winter with Mrs.McCord. But then she had such a brute of ahusband, Coleman McCord, who could blameher? He was devoted to the southern beauty,Miss Legree." "Was lemon color quite out ofdate? and should they get crimson fuchsias withgold tips for the wreath?"

Mrs. Murden was so deep in moral reflectionssuggested by this style of conversation, that shedid not perceive Miss Stringer was ready for herat first. She was almost sorry when the momentarrived, for she dreaded an interview withthis maker of fine ladies, who dictated to themso coolly, and was so besieged, and coaxed, andpetted by them. The lady's distant, preoccupiedmanner added to her embarrassment, when,finding she had an unoccupied half hour, sheproposed to fit her forthwith, and asked Mrs.Murden into the inner apartment, with its curtainsand lounges, its cheval glass reflecting thelittle woman's figure from head to foot, and remindingher that the dress she wore was at leasttwo inches shorter than the flowing robes of thebirds of paradise who had just taken their departure.Silly little body, she felt so awkwardand old-fashioned, and wished in her heart shewas in her own back parlor, with Miss Johnsand her heart-shaped pin-cushion. She wasquite a mirror of fashion to Miss Johns, whowas indebted to Mrs. Murden for half her newsleeves and trimmings, caught by those observingblack eyes, and shaped out at home with theaid of old newspapers. But here it was themantuamaker's place to dictate.

"A basque, of course, or is it an evening-dress?What name?"

"Murden—Mrs. Murden." And she knewperfectly well it was one entirely foreign to theears that caught it, low as was her tone. Butwhen Miss Stringer came to see that silk heropinion might change. Mrs. Murden longed tohave it brought forth and note the effect.

"A silk; for the street, I suppose? Basque,of course. We only make bodices in full dress.Open body?" And Miss Stringer's rapid fingersmeasured the shoulders, the waist, the arms,presented to her, mechanically. Customers werebut lay figures to the fashionable modiste, to bemade up at pleasure. "Miss Elbert, Mrs. Murden'ssilk."

But Miss Elbert feigned entire ignorance ofits reception. "Mrs. Murden—she could notremember the name." And a bustle of searchensued, while the forewoman from the work-roommade her appearance for orders, bringingskirts and waists of such rich and dazzling materialsas Mrs. Murden had never dreamed of,while she trembled for the fate of her own preciouspurple. Two errand girls, charity childrenthey looked like, with their little sharp, thinfaces and faded shawls, were dispatched to matchbuttons, and gimps, and galloons, with handsfulof patterns, and heads full of instructions, whichlast did not stay where they were put, whichaccounted for Miss Lawrence appearing at theThursday ball with yellow fringe on a lemon-coloreddress, and Mrs. Johnson Rogers findingher gray silk—she was in half mourning for thelate lamented Mr. Johnson Rogers—decoratedby brown velvet acorn buttons. However, bothpassed for Parisian novelties, and were greatlyadmired; so Miss Stringer, and not the stupiderrand girls, who came back too late to admit ofa change, received the credit of these noveldecorations.

Much to Mrs. Murden's relief, the silk was atlast forthcoming, from an out-of-the-way drawer,and she awaited with inward satisfaction MissStringer's inspection. But two-dollar silks wereeveryday bread and butter to that lady, who[321]merely glanced at it, and tossed the packageupon a neighboring sofa, as if it had been somany yards of crash towelling.

"Very good quality," she remarked. "Yougot it at Evans & Gilman's. Trying to mostcomplexions. What now, Miss Elbert? No, Ishall not touch Mrs. Cadwalader's dress beforeMonday. Tell her she can wear her whitemoire d'antique; she's only worn it twice thisseason to my knowledge. Tell her to wear herHoniton scarf, and no one will know what kindof a dress she has on. That will do, Mrs.—Ibeg your pardon—Mudon. You can come againon Thursday week. How will you have ittrimmed?"

Mrs. Murder did not venture to suggest atrimming, and prudently left the whole matterto Miss Stringer's abler hands. Prudently, inone sense; she had never seen a bill from afashionable shop, recollect. She had been justabout to inquire what Miss Stringer wouldcharge. Fortunate escape! The question wouldhave been met with paralyzing coldness. It is arisk to procure your own trimming; but to seekto place a limit as to ultimate expense—unpardonablein the eyes of an autocrat of fashion.

So Mrs. Murden departed very much castdown, and very insignificant in her cashmeredress and the fur she had thought so handsome—soit was in her own set; but her eyes had beendwelling upon velvet cloaks and sable victorinesthe past two hours. Alas! for her lastyear's mantle, pretty as it had been; embroideredmerinos looked so common—fatal word.

Miss Stringer had entirely forgotten the appointmentwhen she presented herself again onThursday week. Meantime, it had been verydifficult to parry the inquiries of her trio of intimatesas to when and how the dress was to bemade, without betraying her all-important secret.But she succeeded to admiration. It was invain for Mrs. Hopkins to remark that MissJohns was engaged for nearly all the week, toher certain knowledge, or for Mrs. Keyser toallude to Emma Louisa's green poplin, the"sweetest" thing she had ever seen; Mrs. Murdendid not give out a clue. She saw the identicalgreen poplin at Miss Stringer's, on her secondaudience, and heard Miss Elbert remark,with her accustomed freedom, upon its possessor,who was set down by Miss Stringer's young womanas decidedly vulgar and over-dressed. Mrs.Keyser never would have survived overhearingthis assault upon her kinswoman. Mrs. Murdentreasured it up for future remembrance.

"It does make me sick," remarked Miss Elbert,"to see people load on such things. Thankmy stars, I'm not a rich woman! Poor things,I pity them! in a fever from morning till nightabout a dress or a cloak. Half of them murderthe king's English. Don't you say so, MissReplier?"

Miss Replier, who still fitted "dummy" toone unending round of caps, assented with anod.

"Then they're so afraid some one else willhave something," continued this free-spoken,candid young person. "Did you see Mrs. JamesThomas, the day of our opening, take up thatgarnet hat Miss Stringer had ordered out forMrs. McCord? Mrs. McCord wouldn't have it,after all, when she heard there was one madefrom it. And there's Miss Thornton thinksshe's got the only Eugenie robe in the country.Levy imported three to my certain knowledge.For my part, it makes me sick as the head boyat a confectioner's. If I was as rich as Mrs.Rush, I wouldn't have a thing better than I havenow." And here she condescended to see ifMiss Stringer was disengaged, and ushered thepossessor of the purple silk into the fitting-room.

It was quite a picture as Mrs. Murden enteredit. The lounges spread with dresses that surpassedher imagination. Two bonnets, all laceand flowers, the frame seeming only intended tosupport them, were on stands in one corner, andwreaths, gloves, ribbons, and embroideries madeup the graceful confusion. Miss Stringer wason her knees before a large deal box, folding andpacking these wonderful creations.

"A bridal order," she said, "for the South.Look around, if you would like to."

Mrs. Murden would not have touched any ofthem for a kingdom; it seemed as if a breathwould soil the gossamer-like evening-dresses,with their light garlands of flowers. A velvetrobe fit for a queen, destined for the mother ofthe bride; a morning-dress of French cambricembroidery, over a violet-colored silk; flounceddresses, with borders of woven embroidery, inthe most delicate contrasting shade; glove-knots,shoulder-knots, breast-knots, of ribbon and goldlace, were some of the items of this costly trousseau.

The cherished purple silk faded, as if it hadbeen exposed to a summer sun, in Mrs. Murden'seyes. It looked so very "common"—tothink of a two dollar silk being common—besidethose brocades and flounced taffetas, when itcame to be tried on; and then the prices dealtout in the most amiable manner by Miss Stringerconscious that she had made a good thing of it.

The velvet had cost a hundred dollars "beforescissors had touched it." The lace on the skirt[322]of the bridal-dress was seventy-five dollars ayard; the morning-dress was a robe imported, ofcourse, at sixty dollars; and so on to the ermine-borderedmantle, at four hundred and fifty.

Mrs. Murden asked when her dress would besent home, as she resumed her bonnet and cloak.She had lost nearly all interest in it, as MissStringer pulled and puckered, let out, and let in,the nicely fitting basque. It was not lost, perhaps,but swallowed up for the time in the contemplationof so much elegance, which, comewhat would, she could never hope to attain.And she colored, we grieve to record it, as shegave the lynx-eyed Miss Elbert her address, sofar away from the fashionable quarter. Perhapsshe saw the glance exchanged with Miss Replieras it was named.

Mrs. Murden anticipated the arrival of thepurple silk with dread forebodings. She hopedher husband would not be at home if the billcame with it. "Making up" was a trifle whenshe sewed with Miss Johns, and found her owntrimmings. She knew that Mr. Murden hadnot calculated on any extra demands, the dressonce purchased. Besides, he had been losingmoney all the week, and besides, she had anticipatedthe last dollar of her month's allowance.She was more abstracted than ever as the timedrew near.

But it came, and there was no help for it—onSaturday evening, the night of all others whenMr. Murden was sure to be at home. It wasvery, very stylish; the trimming, a broad embossedvelvet ribbon, matched the shade to perfection.Mr. Murden wanted to have it tried onat once, and did not think the absence of achemisette detracted at all from the tout ensemble.

He felt very much pleased with himself forhaving allowed his pretty wife to have her ownway, and gave her a kiss by way of approval toher taste, which chaste matrimonial salute wasinterrupted by the reappearance of their oneservant, to say that the girl was waiting in thehall, as the bill was receipted.

"Ah, the bill!" There it was, pinned conspicuouslyon the flap of the basque. Mr. Murdendetached it, and read the amount: "$13 29cts. Received payment, Ann Stringer."

"Good gracious, my dear, what a mistake!More than half as much as the dress cost!"

Mrs. Murden caught at the straw. Perhaps itwas a mistake, and the wrong bill had been sentto her. But there was no such good fortune;there it was, in Miss Elbert's own hard, angularhandwriting, item by item. And Mr. Murdenpaid it on the spot, for he never allowed a billto be presented twice; but he went out withoutreturning to the parlor, and shut the front doorwith a bang, to countermand the new overcoatwhich he had been measured for that afternoon,and which he needed badly.

It was weeks before the purple silk was againalluded to by him, and spring before Mrs. Murdencould afford to purchase undersleeves and achemisette to wear with it. She walked tochurch in the mazarine blue beside the shabbyovercoat, with its threadbare sleeves and rustycollar, a humbler and a better woman. It wasonly when Mr. Murden discovered what a curethe surfeit of finery in Mrs. Stringer's fitting-roomhad wrought, that he quite pardoned thefolly and extravagance of the purple silk. "For,"as Mrs. Murden said, "there must always be agreat many people better dressed, spend whatshe would, so where was the use? And, afterall, comfort was the thing, not show."

The purple silk became quite a favoriteeventually, for Mr. Murden did not considerthe lesson dearly bought at thirty-three dollarsand twenty-nine cents, since it was to last alifetime.

MANAGEMENT OF CANARY BIRDS.

BY request of a correspondent, we publish thefollowing from Mrs. Hale's "New HouseholdReceipt-Book:"—

"Canary birds that are kept tame will breedthree or four times in the year. Towards themiddle of March begin to match your birds, puttingone co*ck and hen into the breeding-cage,which should be large, so that the birds mayhave room to fly and exercise themselves. Placetwo boxes or little basket-nests in the cage, forthe hen to lay her eggs in, because she willsometimes have a second brood before the firstare fit to fly, leaving the care of them to thefather bird, who feeds and brings them up withmuch care, while she is sitting on her secondnest of eggs. Whilst your birds are pairing feedthem, besides the usual seeds, with the yolks ofhard-boiled eggs, bread that has been moistened,or, if hard, grated fine, and pounded almond-meat.When the young birds are to be fed, givethe same soft food, and be sure have it freshevery day; also furnish the old birds with freshgreens, such as cabbage-lettuce, chickweed,groundsel, &c. Give fresh water every day, anda clean bath every morning. The hen lays,commonly, four or five eggs, and sits fourteendays. When the young are hatched, leave themto the care of the old birds to nurse and bring uptill they can fly and feed themselves, which is,usually, in about twenty days."

[323]

GODEY'S COURSE OF LESSONS IN DRAWING.

LESSON IV.

Fig. 36 shows the position of the two ellipsesa and b, which form the bases of the ornamentalsketch shown in Fig. 37. In like manner, thehalf-ellipse, formed on the horizontal line inFig. 38, is the foundation of the sketch shownin Fig. 39. So also is the foundation of a flower-petal,shown in Fig. 40, made clear by the analyticalsketch in Fig. 41, where the preliminaryforms are shown drawn. Again, the ornamentalscroll in Fig. 42 is drawn bysketching a half-ellipse on the horizontalline.

The convolvulus flower and stem inFig. 43 are also drawn by previouslysketching an ellipse to form the flower.

In sketching the flower in Fig. 44, thepupil must first draw an outline which will takein the whole figure, making it as near the shapeof the sketch as the eye dictates. After the correctoutline is formed, the details must be drawn.

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The flower, stem, and leaves of the sketch inFig. 45 must be drawn in, the form being estimatedchiefly by the eye; the stem ought to beput in first, thereafter the distances between theleaves, and then filling in the details. The ivy-leafin Fig. 46 is to be drawn in the same wayas the last. The ivy-stem and leaves shown inFig. 47 should be drawn by first sketching outthe length, form, and direction of the stem, thenascertaining and marking the distances betweenthe leaves, and filling in the details as before.The leaf in Fig. 48, and the leaves in Fig. 49,[325]should next be copied. Fig. 50 is the leaf of thecommon "dock." It is to be copied by firstdrawing an ellipse, thereafter filling in the details.Fig. 51 is the stem and leaves of the"burdock." The sketch may be put in at onceby the assistance of the eye; it may be better,however, to draw a circle for the part a, and anellipse for that of b.

The scroll in Fig. 52 may be sketched bydrawing an outline which would touch all theparts of the design, thereafter filling up the details.

In drawing the sketch shown in Fig. 53, thepupil will have to trust greatly to the eye. Thestem should be drawn first, its length and directionbeing carefully noted; the distances of theextremities of the leaves from the stem shouldnext be marked off; next, their general outline,and thereafter the details. The proportions theparts bear to one another must be attended to.

[326]

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLEWOMAN.[2]

BY T. S. ARTHUR.

(Continued from page 227.)

CHAPTER VI.

THE efforts made by Perkins to find the residenceof the stranger proved unavailing. Halfsuspecting that Michael had deceived him, hereturned to the shop of Mr. Berlaps, and askedthe direction anew. It was repeated preciselyas at first given.

"But I have been there."

"Well, wasn't she at that number?"

"No."

"I don't know anything about her, then. Itoften happens that these sewing-girls deceive usas to their whereabouts."

Perkins turned away disappointed, but withhis interest in the stranger more than ever excited.

"Who and what can she be? and why do Ifeel so deep an interest in a perfect stranger,who cannot possibly be anything to me?" wereinvoluntary questions which the young man endeavored,but in vain, to answer.

That night, as he sat alone in his room, hisfriend Milford came in and found him withthe miniature before alluded to in his hand.

"Whose sweet face is that? Bless me! Butshe is a lovely creature!" said Milford, as his eyecaught a glimpse of the picture which Perkinsmade a movement to conceal. "Aha! Mr.Sobersides! have I found you out at last?"

But seeing that his remarks had the effect todisturb, even agitate his friend, he said, in achanged tone—

"Forgive me if I have thoughtlessly jarreda string that vibrates painfully! I knew notthat you carried in your heart an unhealedwound."

"And yet I do, my friend. A wound that, Ifear, will never cicatrize. Five years havepassed since I parted with the living original ofthis picture. The parting was to be only for afew months. We have never met since, andnever will, in this world! The sea gives notup its dead!"

There was a solemn earnestness in the voiceof Perkins that showed how deeply the loss stillaffected him.

"To me," said his companion, after a pause,"it seems strange that you should never havealluded to this subject, even to your nearestfriend."

"I could not, Milford. The effort to keepmy feelings under control has been severe enough,without permitting myself to speak of the matterat all. But now that it has been alluded to, Ifeel inclined to talk upon the subject, if youhave any desire to hear."

"I certainly have an anxious desire to hear,"replied Milford.

Perkins shaded his face for a few momentswith his hand, and sat silent and thoughtful.He then gave, in a calm voice, the followingnarration:—

"You are aware that, when I came to this cityto reside, a few years since, I removed from Troy,New York. That is my native place—or, atleast, I had lived there from boyhood up, whenI removed to Boston. It is now about ten yearssince a man named Ballantine, who seemed topossess considerable wealth, made his appearancein the place, accompanied by his daughter, ayoung girl about thirteen years of age. He camefrom New Orleans, where his wife had died, andwhere he was still engaged in business. Hisobject in coming north with his child was tosecure for her the advantages of a good seminary.He seemed to prefer Troy, and after remainingthere for some months, concluded to place hischild in the family of a newly-married man,whose wife, somewhat matronly in age and inhabits, happened to please his fancy, as a maternalguardian for his child. After makingevery requisite arrangement in regard to hereducation, he returned to New Orleans, fromwhich city money to defray her expenses wasregularly transmitted. Once a year he camenorth to visit her, and remained in our town fora few weeks.

"I happened to know the family in whichEugenia Ballantine was placed, and became acquaintedwith her immediately. I was then buta boy, though some four years her senior, yetold enough to feel for her, from the beginning,[327]something more than a mere fraternal regard.And this sentiment was reciprocal. No placewas so pleasant to me as that which was cheeredby her presence—no smile warmed my heart likeher smile; and I could always see her countenancebrighten the moment I came where shewas.

"Gradually, as year after year passed, andshe still remained among us, our early preferencefor each other, or rather our early affection, assumeda more serious character. We loved eachother; she was just seventeen, and I twenty-one,when I ventured to tell her how deeply, fervently,and purely I loved her. The formalannouncement did not seem to create surprise,or agitate her in the least.

"'I never doubted it,' was her innocent reply,looking me tenderly in the face.

"'And do you love me as truly as I love you,Eugenia?' I asked.

"'Have you ever doubted it?' was her quietresponse to this, also.

"From that moment I was bewilderinglyhappy. My family was one of wealth andstanding, and I immediately wrote to Mr. Ballantine,who, after sufficient time to make inquiryin regard to the character and position ofhis daughter's lover, returned a cordial assentto my proposal for her hand. Thus far everythinghad gone on as smoothly as a summer sea.We smiled sometimes together at the carpingadage, 'The course of true love never did runsmooth,' and referred to our own case as a signalinstance of its falsity.

"During the summer succeeding our engagement,Mr. Ballantine did not come on to thenorth. In the ensuing spring, Eugenia's termof instruction closed at the seminary, after havingbeen in Troy nearly five years. She was a tall,beautiful woman, with a mind highly cultivated,and externally accomplished in every respect.I was proud of her beauty and acquirements, atthe same time that I loved her with fervent devotion.Spring passed away and summer came;with the advancing season her father arrivedfrom the south. He had not seen his child fortwo years, during which time she had grown upinto a mature and lovely woman. I could forgivethe jealous pride with which he would lookinto her face, and the constant tenderness of hisallusions to her when she was away from hisside.

"'I do not think, Mr. Perkins,' he would sayto me, sometimes, 'that I can let you have myEugenia, unless you will go south. I am sure Icannot part with her again.'

"'Why not come north, Mr. Ballantine?' Iwould suggest.

"But he would shake his head as he madesome disparaging remark in regard to the north,and playfully insist that I must go with him tothe sunny south. It was about the first of Septemberthat I asked that our marriage might takeplace at an early day. But the father shook hishead.

"'Be content that the flower is to be yours.Do not become too eager to pluck it from itsparent stem. I must have my dear girl with mefor at least one winter. In the spring she shallbe yours.'

"'Oh, no! Mr. Ballantine,' I said, in alarm,'you are not going to rob me of her for so longa time?' I spoke with warmth.

"'Rob you of her!' ejacul*ted the father, inseeming half indignation. 'You are unreasonableand very selfish, my dear boy! Here youhave had her for five years, and after a littlewhile are to have her for life, and yet are unwillingto give me even the boon of a few shortmonths with my own child. You are not generous!'

"I felt the rebuke, and confessed that I hadbeen moved by too selfish feelings.

"'If you think the time long,' he added, 'allyou have to do is to take a packet and comeround—we shall welcome you with joy.'

"'That I shall no doubt be compelled to do,for I will not be able to exist for five or six longmonths away from Eugenia.'

"'So I should suppose. Well, come along,and after I get you there, I will see if I can'tinoculate you with a love of Southern people,Southern habits, and Southern manners. I amsanguine that you will like us.'

"'Well, perhaps so,' I said. 'But we willsee.'

"The time for the departure of Mr. Ballantineand his daughter was set for the first ofOctober. The few remaining days passed onfleet wings, and then, after completing the necessaryarrangements, Eugenia left Troy withher father for New York, thence to go by seato her native city. I accompanied them downthe river, and spent two days with them in thecity, previous to the sailing of the ship Empress,in which they were to embark. Our partingwas tender, yet full of hope for a speedy meeting.I had already made up my mind to visit NewOrleans about January, and remain there duringthe winter. Our marriage was then to be solemnized.

"After the sailing of the Empress, I returned[328]to Troy, to await the news of her safe arrival atNew Orleans. I felt gloomy and desolate, andfor my uncompanionable humor received sundryplayful jibes or open rebukes from my friends.In about a week I began to examine the shippinglists of the New York papers, in the hope ofseeing some notice of the good ship that containedmy heart's best treasure. But no record of herhaving been spoken at sea met my eyes as Iscanned the newspapers day after day with aneager and increasing hope, until four, five, andsix weeks had passed away. So much troubledhad I now become, that I went down to NewYork to see the owners of the ship.

"'Has the Empress arrived out yet?' I asked,on entering their counting-room.

"'Not at the latest dates,' was the reply, madein a voice expressive of concern.

"'Is not her passage a very long one?'

"'We should have had news of her arrivalten days ago.'

"'Has she been spoken on the passage?'

"'Never but once, and that after she wasthree days out.'

"'Is she a good ship?' I next inquired.

"'None better out of this port,' was theprompt answer.

"For ten days I remained in New York,eagerly examining each morning the shippinglists, and referring to all the southern papers towhich I could get access. I met during that timebut one reference to the Empress, and that wascontained in a paragraph alluding to her longpassage, and expressing great fears for her safety.This thrilled my heart with a more palpable andterrible fear. On the next day but one, I met ina New Orleans paper a farther allusion to her,coupled with the remark that a suspicious-lookingvessel, clipper-built, with a black hull, had beenseen several times during the past few weekscruising in the Gulf, and expressing a fear lestshe had come across the Empress. I thoughtthis would have driven me beside myself. Butwhy prolong this painful narration by attemptingto describe my feelings, as day after day, weekafter week, and month after month passed, andno tidings came of the missing ship? From theday I parted with Eugenia, I have neither seenher nor heard from her. The noble vessel thatbore her proudly away neither reached her destination,nor returned back with her preciousfreight. All—all found a grave in the darkdepths of the ocean.

"It is a terrible thing, my friend, to be thusreft of all you hold dearest in life. If I had seenher touched by the hand of disease, and watchedthe rose fading from her cheek, leaf after leaffalling away, until death claimed at last hisvictim, I could have borne the severe afflictionwith some degree of fortitude. Even if she hadbeen struck down suddenly at my side, therewould have been something for the bruised heartto rest upon. But to be taken from me thus!her fate shrouded in a most fearful mystery!Oh! it is terrible!"

And the young man set his teeth firmly, andclenched his hands, in a powerful struggle withhis still o'ermastering feelings. At length heresumed, in a calmer voice—

"No matter what terrors or violence attendedher death—no matter how deep she lies in theunfathomable sea, her spirit is with the blessedangels, for she was pure and good. This oughtto be enough for me. The agonies of a fearfuldeparture are long since over. And why shouldI recall them, and break up afresh the tenderwounds that bleed at the slightest touch? HenceforthI will strive to look away from the past,and onward, in pleasing hope, to that futuretime when we shall meet where there will beno more parting."

"She must have been a lovely creature, indeed,"said Milford, some minutes after hisfriend had ceased, holding, as he spoke, theminiature in his hand, and looking at it attentively.

"She was lovely as innocence itself," was thehalf abstracted reply.

"Although I never saw her, yet there is anexpression in her face that is familiar"—Milfordwent on to say—"very familiar; but it awakens,I cannot tell why, a feeling of pain. This faceis a happy face; and yet it seems every momentas if it would change into a look of sadness—yea,of deep sorrow and suffering."

"This may arise, and no doubt does, from themelancholy history connected with her, that Ihave just related."

"Perhaps that is the reason," Milford returned,thoughtfully. "And yet I know nothow to account for the strangely familiar expressionof her face."

"Did you ever see a picture in your life thathad not in it some feature that was familiar?"asked Perkins.

"Perhaps not," the friend replied, and thensat in mental abstraction for some moments. Hewas not satisfied with this explanation, and wassearching his memory for the original of thatpeculiar expression which had struck him soforcibly. He was sure that it did exist, and thathe had looked upon it no very long time before.But he tried in vain to fix it. The impressionfloated still in his mind only as a vague idea.

[329]

"There! I have it!" he at length exclaimed,but with something of disappointment in histones. "I remember that the young seamstresswe were speaking of a few days ago, a singleglimpse of whose face I obtained, had that verylook which strikes me as familiar in this picture.I thought I had seen it somewhere else."

Perkins started, and looked surprised and agitated.But this was only momentary.

"Now you speak of her," he said, calmly,"I remember that I always thought of Eugeniawhen I saw her, which is no doubt the reasonwhy I have felt strongly interested for the youngstranger, who has doubtless seen better days. Irelated to you, I believe, the adventure I hadnear the bridge, in which she was concerned?"

"You did. I wonder what in the world takesher over to Charleston so often? She goes, Ibelieve, almost every day, and usually late inthe afternoon. Several persons have spoken ofher to me; but none seemed to know her errandthere, or to have any knowledge of her whatever."

"There is some mystery connected with her,certainly. This afternoon I went in to makesome inquiries in regard to her of Berlaps. Iwas just in time to hear Michael, his salesman,give her some insulting language, for which Irebuked the fellow sharply."

"Indeed! How did she take it?" said Milford.

"She did not seem to notice him, but glidedquickly past, as he bent over the counter towardsher, and left the store."

"Did you see her face?"

"No. Her veil was closely drawn, as usual,"answered Perkins.

"I don't know why it is, but there is somethingabout this young female that interests mevery much. Have you yet learned her name?"

"It is Lizzy Glenn—so I was told at theclothing store for which she works."

"Lizzy Glenn? An assumed name, in allprobability."

"Very likely. It sounds as if it might be,"said Perkins.

"If I were you," remarked the friend, "Iwould learn something certain about this stranger;if for no other reason, on account of thesingular association of her, in your involuntarythought, with Miss Ballantine. She may be arelative; and, if so, it would afford a melancholypleasure to relieve her from her present unhappycondition, for the sake of the one in heaven."

"I have already tried to find her; but she wasnot at the number where Michael said she resided."

"She may not have given him the right direction,"said Milford.

"So he pretends to infer. But I would ratherbelieve that Michael has purposely deceived methan that she would be guilty of falsehood."

"If I see her again," said Milford, "I willendeavor, by all means, to discover her place ofresidence."

"Do, if you would oblige me. It is my purposenot to lose sight of her at our next meeting,be it where it may. Our present conversationhas awakened a deeper interest, and stimulateda more active curiosity. I am no blind believerin chance, Milford. I do not regard this meetingwith the stranger as something only fortuitous.There is a Providence in all the events oflife, and I am now firmly assured that these encounterswith the seamstress are not merelyaccidental, as the world regards accidents, butevents in a chain of circ*mstances that, whencomplete, will result in positive good. Of thenature of that good—as to who will be blessedor benefited—I do not pretend to divine. Ionly feel ready to act my part in the drama oflife. I must and will know more about thisstranger."

CHAPTER VII.

AS little Henry, after parting with his mother,hurried on by the side of Mr. Sharp, who tookhis way directly across the bridge leading overto Charleston, where he had left the chaise inwhich he had ridden from Lexington, a handsomecarriage, containing a mother and threehappy children, about the age of himself, Emma,and the sister who had just died, drove rapidlyby. The children were full of spirits, and, intheir thoughtless glee, called out gayly, but withwords of ridicule, to the poor, meanly clad child,who was hurrying on at almost a run beside theman who had become his master. Their words,however, were heeded not by the full-heartedboy. His thoughts were going back to his home,and to his much-loved mother.

This incident is mentioned here, as a strikingillustration of the practical working of that systemof grinding the poor, especially poor females,by which many men make fortunes, or at leastacquire far more than a simple competence forlife. That carriage belonged to Berlaps, andthose happy children were his. But how couldhe buy a carriage and horses, and build finehouses, and yet not be able to pay more than themeagre pittance for his work that the reader has[330]seen doled out to his half-starving workwomen?How could his children be fed and clothed sumptuouslyevery day, and the widow, who workedfor him from early dawn until the silent watchesof midnight, not be able to get wholesome breadand warm garments for her little ones, unless hetook more than his just share of the profits uponhis goods? If he could only afford to pay sevencents for coarse shirts, and so on, in proportion,up through the entire list of articles made, howcame it that the profits on these very articlesenabled him to live in elegance, build houses,and keep his own carriage and horses?

Such questions apply not alone to the singleinstance of Berlaps, here introduced. They arepertinent in their application to all who add totheir profits for the purpose of a grand aggregate,at the expense of reducing the pay, even afew cents, upon the hard toiling workwomanwhose slender income, at best, is barely sufficientto procure the absolute necessaries of life.This cutting down of women's wages, until theyare reduced to an incompetent pittance, is a systemof oppression too extensive, alas! in this,as well as many other countries. It is one ofthe quiet and safe means by which the strongoppress the weak—by which the selfish buildthemselves up, cruelly indifferent to the sufferingsof those who are robbed of a just compensationfor their labor. The record of a conversationoverheard between two of the class alludedto will illustrate this matter. They were tailors—or,rather, what are sometimes called slop-shopor clothing men. Let it not be supposed thattailors alone are the oppressors of workwomen.In most of the employments at which femalesengage, especially such as admit of a competitionin labor, advantage is taken of the eager demandsfor work, and prices reduced to the lowest possiblestandard. In the eager scramble for monopolizingmore than a just share of custom, orto increase the amount of sales by the temptationof extremely moderate rates, the prices of goodsare put down to the lowest scale they will bear.If, in doing this, the dealer was content with aprofit reduced in some proportion to the increaseof his sales, no one would have a right to complain.He would be free to sell his goods atcost, or even below cost, if that suited his fancy.Instead of this, however, the profits on his articlesare often the same that they were whenprices were ten or fifteen per cent. higher, andhe reaps the advantage of a greatly increasedsale, consequent upon the more moderate ratesat which he can sell. The evil lies in his cuttingdown his operatives' wages; in taking offof them, while they make no party to his voluntaryreduction of prices, the precise amount thathe throws in to his customer as a temptation tobuy more freely. But to the promised dialogue:—

"Money don't come in hand-over-fist, as itought to come," remarked Grasp, of the flourishingfirm of Grasp & Co., Merchant Tailors, ofBoston, to the junior partner of the establishment."The nimble sixpence is better than theslow shilling, you know. We must make ourshears eat up cloth a little faster, or we sha'n'tclear ten thousand dollars this year by one-thirdof the sum."

"Although that would be a pretty decentbusiness these times."

"I don't call any business a decent one thatcan be bettered," replied Grasp, contemptuously.

"But can ours be bettered?"

"Certainly!"

"How?"

"By selling more goods."

"How are we to do that?"

"By putting down the prices, and then makinga confounded noise about it. Do you understand?"

"I do. But our prices are very low now."

"True. But we may reduce them still further,and, by so doing, increase our sales to anextent that will make our business net us beyondthe present income quite handsomely.But, to do this, we must cut down the pricesnow paid for making up our clothes. In thisway, we shall be able to greatly increase oursales, with but a slight reduction upon our presentrates of profit."

"But will our workmen stand it? Our needle-women,particularly, work very low now."

"They'll have to stand it!" replied Grasp;"most of them are glad to get work at any price.Women, with half a dozen hungry mouthsaround them, don't stand long to higgle about afew cents in a garment, when there are so manywilling to step in and take their places. Besides,what are three or four cents to them on avest, or pair of pants, or jacket? The differencein a week is small and will not be missed—or,at the worst, will only require them to economizewith a little steadier hand; while upon thethousands of garments we dispose of here, andsend away to other markets, it will make a mostimportant aggregate on the right side of profitand loss."

"There is no doubt of that," replied the partner,the idea of the aggregate of three or fourcents on each garment occupying his mind, andobscuring completely, for a time, every otheridea. "Well, I'm with you," he said, after a[331]little while, "in any scheme for increasing profits.Getting along at the rate of only some twoor three thousand a year is rather slow work.Why, there's Tights, Screw, & Co., see howthey're cutting into the trade, and carryingeverything before them. Tights told me thatthey cleared twenty thousand dollars last year."

"No doubt of it. And I'll make our housedo the same before three years roll over, or I'mno prophet."

"If we are going to play this cutting downgame, we had better begin at once."

"Oh, certainly. The sooner the better. Butfirst, we must arrange a reduced scale of prices,and then bring our whole tribe of workwomenand others down to it at once. It will not do tohold any parley with them. If we do, our earswill be dinned to death with trumped-up talesof poverty and distress, and all that sort of thing,with which we have no kind of concern in theworld. These are matters personal to these individualsthemselves, and have nothing to dowith our business. No matter what prices wepaid, we would have nothing but grumbling andcomplaint, if we allowed an open door on thatsubject."

"Yes, there is no doubt of that. But, to tellthe truth, it is a mystery to me how some ofthese women get along. Very few make overtwo dollars a week, and some never go beyonda dollar. Many of them are mothers, and mostof them have some one or more dependent uponthem. Food, rent, clothes, and fuel, all have tocome out of these small earnings. By whathocus-pocus it is done, I must confess, puzzlesme to determine."

"Oh, as to that," returned Grasp, "it is, nodoubt, managed well enough. Provisions, andeverything that poor people stand in need of,are very cheap. The actual necessaries of lifecost but little, you know. How far above thecondition of the starving Irish, or the pooroperatives in the manufacturing portions of England,is that of the people who work for us!Think of that for a moment."

"True—very true," replied the partner."Well," he continued, "I think we had betterput the screws on to our workwomen and journeymenat once. I am tired of plodding on atthis rate."

"So am I. To-night, then, after we close thestore, we will arrange our new bill of prices, andnext week bring all hands down to it."

And they were just as good as their word.And it happened just as they said—the poorworkmen had to submit.

But we must return from our digression.

The child who, under the practical operationof a system of which the above dialogue givessome faint idea, had to go out from his home atthe tender age of ten years, because his mother,with all her hard toil early and late, at the pricesshe obtained for her labor, could not earn enoughto provide a sufficiency of food and clothes forher children—that child passed on, unheeding,and, indeed, unhearing the jibes of the happierchildren of his mother's oppressor, and endeavored,sad and sorrowful as he felt, to nervehimself with something of a manly feeling. AtCharlestown, Mr. Sharp got into his chaise, and,with the lad he had taken to raise, drove home.

"Well, here is the youngster, Mrs. Sharp,"he said, on alighting from his vehicle. "He israther smaller and punier than I like, but I haveno doubt that he will prove willing and obedient."

"What is his name?" asked Mrs. S., who hada sharp chin, sharp nose, and sharp featuresthroughout; and, with all, rather a sharp voice.She had no children of her own—those tenderpledges being denied her, perhaps on account ofthe peculiar sharpness of her temper.

"His name is Henry," replied her husband.

"Henry what?"

"Henry Gaston, I believe. Isn't that it, myboy?"

Henry replied in the affirmative. Mr. Sharpthen said—

"You can go in with Mrs. Sharp, Henry.She will tell you what she wants you to do."

"Yes, come along." And Mrs. Sharp turnedaway as she spoke, and retired into the more interiorportion of the house, followed by the boy.

"Mrs. Sharp will tell you what she wantsyou to do!" Yes, that tells the story. Fromthis hour the child is to become the drudge—thehewer of wood and drawer of water—for an unfeelingwoman, whose cupidity and that of herhusband have prompted them to get a little boyas a matter of saving—one who could do theerrands for the shop and the drudgery for thehouse. There was no thought for, and regardtowards, the child to be exercised. He was tobe to them only an economical little machine,very useful, though somewhat troublesome attimes.

"I don't see that your mother has killed youwith clothes," said Mrs. Sharp to him, after takinghis bundle and examining it, and then surveyinghim from head to foot. "But I supposeshe thinks they will do well enough; and I supposethey will. There, do you see that woodenpail there? Well, I want you to take it and go[332]to the pump across the street, down in the nextsquare, and bring it full of water."

Henry took the pail, as directed, and wentand got the water. This was the beginning ofhis service, and was all well enough, as far as itwent. But from that time he had few momentsof relaxation, except what the night gave him,or the quiet Sabbath. All through the first dayhe was kept busy either in the house or shop,and, before night, had received two or threereprimands from Mrs. Sharp, administered in novery affectionate tones.

When night came, at last—it had seemed avery long day to him—and he was sent to bedalone, in the dark, he put off his clothes andlaid himself down, unable, as he did so, to restrainthe tears and sobs. Poor child! Howsadly and yearningly did his heart go back to thenarrow apartment, every nook and corner ofwhich were dear to him, because his mother'spresence made all sunshine there! And howearnestly did he long to be with her again! Buthe soon sank away to sleep, from which he didnot awaken until the half angry voice of Mrs.Sharp chided him loudly for "lazing it away"in bed until after sunrise. Quickly getting upand dressing himself, he went down and commencedupon a new day of toil. First he hadto bring in wood, then to grind the coffee, afterwardsto bring water from the pump, and thento scour the knives for breakfast. When thesewere done, he was sent into the shop to see ifMr. Sharp didn't want him, where he foundplenty to occupy his attention. The shop wasto be sprinkled and swept out, the counter to bedusted, and various other little matters to be attendedto, which occupied him until breakfast-time.After he had finished this meal, Mrs.Sharp managed to find him plenty to do for somehours, and then her husband laid out work forhim, at which he devoted himself all the rest ofthe day, except when he was wanted in thekitchen for some purpose or other. And so itcontinued, day after day, from morning untilnight. Not an hour's relaxation was allowedthe child; and if, from weariness or disheartenedfeeling, he sometimes lingered over a piece ofwork, a severe scolding or some punishmentfrom Mrs. Sharp was sure to follow.

Thus things went on, every day adding to thecold of a rapidly advancing northern winter.But Mrs. Sharp still thought, according to herfirst conclusions in regard to Henry's clothes,that "they would do." They were not verywarm, it is true—that she could not help admitting."But then he is used to wearing thinnerclothes than other children," she reasoned, "orelse his mother would have put warmer ones onhim. And, any how, I see no use in lettinghim come right down as a dead expense uponour hands. He hasn't earned his salt yet, muchless a suit of winter clothes."

But the poor little fellow was no more usedto bearing exposure to the chilling winds ofwinter than she had been when a child. Hetherefore shrunk shiveringly in the penetratingair whenever forced to go beyond the door.This did not fail to meet the eye of Mrs. Sharp—indeed,her eye was rarely off of him when hewas within the circle of its vision—and it alwaysirritated her. And why? It reproved herfor not providing warmer clothes for the child;and hurt her penurious spirits with the toopalpable conviction that before many weeks hadpassed they would be compelled to lay out somemoney for "the brat," as she had begun frequentlyto designate him to her husband, especiallywhen she felt called upon to complain ofhim for idleness, carelessness, dulness, stupidity,wastefulness, uncleanliness, hoggishness, or someother one of the score of faults she found in achild of ten years old, whom she put down towork as steadily as a grown person.

A single month made a great change in hisexternal appearance; such a change as wouldhave made him unfamiliar even to his mother'seye. While under her care, his clothes, thoughpoor, had always been whole and clean—hisskin well washed, and his hair combed smoothly.Now, the color of his thin jacket and trowserscould scarcely have been told for the dust andgrease which had become imbedded in theirtexture. His skin was begrimed until it wasmany shades darker, and his hair stood stifflyabout his head, in matted portions, looking as ifa comb had not touched it for weeks. Onewould hardly have imagined that so great achange could have passed upon a boy in a fewweeks as had passed over him. When he lefthis mother's humble abode, there was somethingabout him that instantly attracted the eye of almostany one who looked at him attentively,and won for him favorable impressions. Hisskin was pure and white, and his mild blue eyes,with their expression of innocent confidence,looked every one in the face openly. Nowthere was something repulsive to almost everyone about the dirty boy, who went moping aboutwith soiled face and hands, a cowed look, andshrinking gait. Scarcely any one seemed to feela particle of sympathy for him, either in or outof the house where he dwelt.

Time passed on, and New Year's day rapidlyapproached, that anxiously longed-for time, to[333]which Henry had never ceased to look forwardsince he left his mother's presence. Every passingday seemed to render his condition more andmore uncomfortable. The air grew colder andcolder, and the snow lay all around to the depthof many inches. A suit of cloth clothes hadbeen "cooked up" for him out of an old coatand trowsers that had long since been wornthreadbare by Mr. Sharp. Thin though theywere, they yet afforded a most comfortable substitutefor those their welcome appearance hadcaused him to throw aside. But the pair ofshoes he had worn when he left Boston werestill considered good enough, if thought of at all,notwithstanding they gaped largely at the toes,and had been worn so thin in the soles thatscarcely the thickness of a knife-blade lay betweenhis feet and the snow-covered ground.In regard to sleeping, he was not much betteroff. His bed was of straw, upon the floor, in alarge, unplastered garret, and but scantily suppliedwith covering. Here he would creep awayalone and in the dark every night, on beingdriven away to bed from crouching beside thewarm kitchen fire after his daily toil was done,and get under the thin covering with all hisclothes on. There he would lie, all drawn upinto a heap to keep warm, and think of his mother,and long for New Year's day to come, untilsleep would lock up his senses in unconsciousness.

At last it was New Year's eve, but the poorchild had heard no word about going home. Hecould sleep but little through that night forthinking about the promised return to his motheron the next day, and for the dread he felt lestMr. Sharp had forgotten, or would disregard hispromise. The bright morning of another newyear at length arose, clear and piercingly cold,and Henry crept early from his bed, and wentdown stairs to make the fires as usual. WhenMr. Sharp at length made his appearance, helooked wishfully and inquiringly into his face,but no notice whatever was taken of him, exceptto give him some order, in the usual short, roughtone in which he always addressed him.

"Ain't I going home to see my mother to-day,sir?" was on his tongue, but he feared to utterit.

After breakfast he watched every movementof Mr. Sharp, expecting each moment to see himgo out and get the chaise ready to take him toBoston. But no such idea was in the mind ofthe thoughtless, unfeeling master. Nine, ten,and eleven o'clock came and went, and the poorchild's anxious heart began to fail him. Severaltimes he was on the point of recalling to themind of Mr. Sharp his promise to his motherthat he should be sent home at New Year's, butas often his timid heart caused him to shrinkback. At last dinner-time came, and yet nothingwas said, nor were there any indicationsthat the boy was to go home. The meal passed,and then Henry was directed to go on some errandabout a mile away.

"But ain't I going home to-day, Mr. Sharp?"said he, with a sudden, despairing resolution,looking up with tearful eyes, as he spoke.

"What's that?" eagerly asked Mrs. Sharp,coming forward. "What's that, ha?"

The frightened boy slunk back, and stood withhis eyes upon the floor.

"Go where, did he say, Mr. Sharp?"

"Go to see his mammy, to be sure!" repliedthe hatter, in a half-sneering tone of surprise.

"His mammy, indeed! And pray what putthat into his head, I should like to know?"

"Mr. Sharp told mother he would send mehome to see her on New Year's day," the childventured to say, in explanation.

"Clear out! Off with you, Mr. Assurance!"exclaimed Sharp, in an angry voice, at this, halfraising his hand to strike the lad. "How dareyou!"

Henry started back trembling, at once consciousthat all hope of seeing her he had so pinedto meet for many long and weary days of sufferingand privation, was at an end. Slowly heleft the house, shrinking in the cold blast, andwent on his errand through the hard frozensnow.

"Did any one ever hear such impudence!"ejacul*ted Mrs. Sharp, in breathless surprise."Sent home on New Year's day to his mammy!A pretty how-do-you-do, upon my word! thedirty little ill-conditioned brat!"

"I believe, now I come to think of it," saidSharp, "that I did say something of the kindto his mother, just to pacify her, though I hadno thought of doing it; and, indeed, I don'tsuppose she cares any great deal about seeinghim. She didn't look as if she could keep souland body together long."

"If she wanted to see him so dreadful bad,why didn't she keep him at home with her, tiedall the while to her apron-string?" said the unfeelingwoman.

"She would have had to work a little harderto have done that. No doubt she was gladenough to get rid of the burden of supportinghim."

"Well, all that I can say is, that any motherwho is not willing to work to take care of herchildren, don't deserve to see them."

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"So say I," returned the husband.

"And as to Henry's going home, I wouldn'thear to any such thing. He'd not be a bit toogood to trump up any kind of stories about notbeing treated well, so as to prevail upon her notto let him come back. I know just how boyslike him talk when they get a chance to runhome. Even when they do come back, they'renever worth a cent afterwards."

"Oh, no! As to his going home, that is outof the question this winter," replied Sharp."If his mother cares about seeing him, she'llfind her way out here."

With a sadder heart than ever did poor Henrygrope his way up into the cold garret that night,with but one thought and one image in his mind,the thought of home and the image of his mother.He dreamed of her all night. He was athome. Her tender voice was in his ear, and hishead rested on her bosom. She clothed him inwarmer garments, and set him beside her at thetable, upon which was tempting food. Butmorning came at last, and he was awakenedfrom visions of delight to a more painful consciousnessof his miserable condition by thesharp, chiding voice of his cruel mistress.Slowly, with stiffened limbs and a reluctantheart, did he arise, and enter upon the repulsiveand hard duties of another day.

As he had not been permitted to go home, hisnext consolatory thought was that his motherwould come out at once to see him. This hopehe clung to day after day, but he clung to it invain. It mattered not that, every time the shopdoor opened when he was in it, he turned witha quickened pulse to see if it were not his mother,or that he would pause and listen, whenback in the house, to hear if the strange voicethat came suddenly from the shop, were not thevoice of her he so longed to see. She came not;nor was any word from her brought to him.

And thus passed the whole of the severemonth of January, the long and cold winteradding greatly to his other causes of suffering.

(To be continued.)

LETTERS LEFT AT THE PASTRY-COOK'S:

BEING THE CLANDESTINE CORRESPONDENCE BETWEEN KITTY CLOVER AT SCHOOL, AND HER "DEAR,DEAR FRIEND" IN TOWN.

EDITED BY HORACE MAYHEW.

THE FOURTH LETTER LEFT.

(Dated March 9th.)

SHOWING WHAT KITTY THOUGHT OF SOMEMORE OF HER SCHOOLFELLOWS.

IN my last letter, I forgot to tell you aboutthe two Miss Suetts, Emilia and Julia. Theyare fat, and round, and heavy, like (Meggy says)a couple of yeast dumplings. Their parents arein India, and they never go home. No onecares much about that, however; for they aregreat teazers, and the most dreadful tell-tales.But they are never without preserves and picklesof some kind, and have such delicious pomegranatesand guava jelly sent to them, in suchlarge blue jars, that, after all, I doubt if anytwo girls would be more missed from the schoolthan the two Suetts—disagreeable things as theyare. You should only taste their tamarinds,Nell!

There is also Ada Steele, the poetess, whowrites verses, some of which have actually appearedin print (in the "Family Page," I think),and you cannot imagine how conceited she isabout it. I am told she knows every line ofpoetry that ever was written. She is such adreadful plague, that I never go near her if Ican avoid it. You cannot ask her what's theday of the month, but she'll give you a hundredlines of poetry right off from some poet or other.Meggy calls her "a tap of poetry," which onceturned on, will go on running till you stop it.Byron is her especial favorite, and she alwayscalls him "dear." His works are not allowedin the college; but Ada Steele has got a copyof them, and she puts it under her pillow everynight.

But the girl I dislike most is Susan Carney.Fancy a tall, thin creature, with hair the colorof blotting-paper, and with eyes like an owl's,that cannot look at you, and you have her standingbefore you. She is the "sneak" of theschool; and moves about like a cat. When weare talking secrets, and turn round, there she is—pretendingto look for something, but in realitylistening. Or, if a girl has comfortably gotone of James's delicious novels inside her grammar,and looks up to see that it is all right and[335]snug, there is Carney's cold, fishy eye sure tobe fixed sideways upon her. Meggy says hereye is so sharp, she's confident that, like aneedle's, it would cut thread. We cannot havea bit of fun but Miss Carney is sure to spoil it.We cannot read or write a letter in class withouther knowing it. We cannot talk to themasters, or have a comfortable bit of gossipabout the filthy dinners and the lady principal,without our being requested, before the day ishalf over, "to step to Mrs. R.'s boudoir," afterwhich you will see the girls coming back withred eyes and burning cheeks.

The oddest thing is, no one is sure that it isCarney who tells, though every one is convincedthat she does. She manages it so cleverly thatshe is never found out. We tease her as muchas we dare, calling her "policeman," "spy,""tell-tit," and everything we can think of; butit takes no effect upon her. She turns a littlepale, talks morality in a whining tone, andleaves it to Mrs. Rodwell to redress her wrongs.

Another curious thing is the way in whichshe wheedles a secret out of you. Though onyour guard, she flatters and fawns, and coaxesand lectures till you have parted with your secretlong before you are aware of it. You wouldimagine she was chloroform, so cleverly doesshe extract it, without the smallest consciousnesson your part. The fact is, she crawls over you,Nelly; and as for talking, it is my firm beliefshe would talk a letter out of a letter-box. Sheis exceedingly neat and clean, with not a singlehair out of bounds; and, somehow, her dressesdo not rustle, nor her shoes creak, as other persons'do. She is down upon you, like a showerat the horticultural fête, before you have timeto run for it. What with her crawling, and hersleek appearance, and her gliding so noiselesslyabout the room, she looks like a big lizard, orsome slippery serpent, that was advancing towardsyou; and I always feel inclined to scream,or to put up my parasol, when she comes nearme, to frighten her away.

Nor is she much a favorite with the remainderof the school. The little girls bribe her withoranges and cakes, and lend her small sums ofmoney, to prevent her telling. But the big girlsknow it's no use, and waste nothing upon her;they know well enough she will take the bribeone minute, and go and blab the next. Thegovernesses are even afraid of her, and begintalking of the weather whenever she approaches.

But what shocks me the most, Nelly, is thatshe is righteous. She moans and groans, andturns up the whites (or the yellows, rather) ofher eyes, and is so pious at church, and is alwaysinveighing against "the shameful wickedness"of the school. Then she reads hymns, and isembroidering a prie-dieu for her godpapa, whois something in the church, and exceedinglyrich; and she writes such insufferably long sermons,twice the length of anybody else's; andafter service she begs to see Mrs. Rodwell, pourconfier son cœur as she calls it, but we all knowwhat that means, for as sure as plum-pudding onSunday, some one is sure to be punished thatsame afternoon! I only wish we could find herout in anything. I really believe the entireschool would rush up to the lady principal, andtell of her. But Miss Carney is far too cautiousto be caught tripping! They tell me she evensleeps with her eyes open.

Let us turn from this hateful creature (I can'thelp hating her, Nelly) to some more agreeablesubject. I will not tire you with descriptionsof Miss Smiffel, the butcher's daughter, or MissEmbden, the baker's daughter, except to tellyou that they have a sad time of it, and arecalled rare ugly names, because their papas happento be butchers and bakers, just as if theycould help it. I need not tell you, either, aboutLizzy Spree, a little, merry, fidgety, laughingthing, with black eyes, who is the romp—the"bad girl" of the school. She is always playingtricks, making apple-pie beds, or sewing up thetops of our stockings, or hiding the dancing-master'sshoes, or tying the cat's tail to the parrot'sleg, or filling Miss Blight's bed with bread-crumbsand co*ckchafers, or breaking a window, or tearingher dress every day. The consequence is,she is always in punishment; but she cares nomore for it than a duck cares for an umbrella.She spends all her pocket-money on crackersand detonating balls and valentines, and is alwaysgoing to be expelled; only Mrs. Rodwellrelents, and gives her "one chance more." Themaid fell down stairs with the soup-tureen yesterday,from the fact of her strewing the kitchen-stepswith marbles and orange-peel. It wastoo bad. We had to go without soup in consequence.

But, Nelly, you would quite love little JessieJoy; she is the wee'st little thing you ever saw.You might hang her to your châtelaine. Youwould declare that she was not more than ten,and yet she was sixteen last birthday. She hasa rosy round face, and little flaxen curls, exactlylike a pretty doll, if you could only keep herstill for a moment to look at her. She playsabout the room like the sun on a looking-glass,and her whole body seems to quiver with light.I defy you to catch her, unless, perhaps, it wasin the dark. We call her "pet" and "tiny."

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I don't know how it is Jessie cannot betaught; and yet she is far from being an idiot,for the little thing understands; nor is shestupid, for she is quick enough to outwit us all.Still, they have never been able to teach heranything. Her eyes (I don't know what colorthey are) fly away like butterflies directly youattempt to catch them, and settle on all placesbut on her book. We think she can read, butno one is sure of it. If told to learn, she poutsher lips like cherries, until you feel inclinedto bite them; and her little head swings to andfro, Nelly, like the bells on a fuchsia when set adancing by the wind. The lady principal cannotscold her. The utmost she can do is to call herto her in an angry tone, when she takes up herlittle head in her two hands as if it were a bowlof milk, and kisses her gently on the forehead.This is all her punishment; and the little culpritruns back into her place as quick as a rabbit.

But if she can't read, or spell, or learn, youshould only hear her sing, Nell! It is like awild bird. She warbles every air she hears.Music seems to gush from her like water froma fountain. Once she was caught playing, andthey say it sounded like the rejoicing of goodspirits; but she cried when they wanted her todo it again, and has never touched the instrumentsince. She dances more like a fairy thana human being. And yet when Monsieur Viaulon(the French dancing-master) attempted toteach her the polka, she ran away and hid herselfbehind the great globe in the music-room.The truth is, her dancing has nothing of theball-room in it. She flits about so restlessly,it makes your eyes wink to look at her. Herfeet never seem happy on the ground, and I alwayshave a curious fear when the window isopened that Jessie will fly out of it.

The girls are rather frightened at her restlessways and her strange beauty, which seem tobelong more to the air than to the earth. Theydeclare that she is a fairy changeling; and thatthe tale which is told of her father being shotin a duel, and of her mother dying when Jessiewas born, is all a story. Jessie rarely goes home.The only person who comes to see her is an agedaunt, with a face all over lines, like a railwaymap. She brings her plenty of toys and plentyof sweeties; but Jessie, apparently, does notcare the least about her. The only person herflighty disposition stops in its giddy career toalight upon is Amy Darling. She listens to noone else without impatience—she will play withno one else, except it is a young kitten that belongsto the cook—she will obey no one else. Butthen I believe, if Amy spoke to the lightning,that she would stop it.

I am so tired of scribbling, dear Nelly, thatI can't write any more to-day, though I couldfill a whole band-box with particulars about thisplace. So no more at present from your dearaffectionate.

KITTY.

SOME THOUGHTS ON TRAINING FEMALE TEACHERS.

BY MISS M. S. G.

IN a former communication, we sought toawaken the more lively and practising interestof ladies generally (especially those possessed oflarge means and influence), in the subject ofteacher-training to an extent and thoroughnessof method which have hitherto been scarcelydeemed requisite, especially in those portions ofthe country where education has been conductedtoo much, if we may say so, at hap-hazard.Such of our readers as have traversed varioussections of our wide-spread land will realizewhat we mean, as they recall juvenile groups,collected or bustled together, because somethingmust be done with them, to be coaxed, awed, ordriven by a leader who occupied the post as apis aller, or as a mere half-way house to someless wearisome or more lucrative avocation. Weare not fearful here of wounding the self-love orbetter feelings of any truly estimable or conscientiousteacher, for such we have ever foundthe most prompt to welcome improvement, themost open to suggestions of amendment. Butperceiving, as we do, throughout the community,marked signs of a willingness, a desire to assignto instructors a more elevated position, a post ofhonor among the benefactors of the race, andknowing, by experience, the readiness of manyto meet the requisite claims of expenditure, it isto teachers themselves, to young teachers especially,and to those aspiring to that high and responsibleoffice, that we would now offer a fewearnest, and we trust heart-stirring questionsand remarks.

We would ask on whom and on what must[337]mainly rest the position they are to hold, thecharacter of the work to be effected? Surely, inthemselves and in the disinterested and docilespirit with which it is entered on and pursued.Short of high aims and pure motives, no coursecan leave its valuable impress, and it is an acknowledged,even if too little credited, maxim,that they who best learn to obey and submit tolawful rule, best know how to govern. Let ustherefore be permitted to persuade the youngand high-spirited to remember that their timewill come to take the lead, and that no prematureassumption of authority or airs of control willavail for half the benefit to be derived from ateachable spirit, and quiet observing and waitingfor opportunity. We know full well and practicallythat this simple method is capable ofeliciting the most harmonious and beautiful results,and that between teachers of experienceand those seeking preparation for the work, afriendship will grow of a character the most extendedand the most varied in its points of interest.We will not pause to enlarge on the sadcontrast to this state of things, its multiformevils—for we do not like looking on the darkside of subjects which should bring out everylatent grace and virtue of the soul. Moreover,we are fully persuaded of better things, so far atleast as intention and desire are concerned, yeta friendly hand may offer some warning hintsof evils which are wont to creep in and mar thebenefit and beauty of fulfilment.

A trite motto tells us that "manners makethe man!" It is, at least, by all conceded thatthey are the outward garb and indication of thatwhich is within, and that to a degree of whichthe actor is often unaware and unconscious.Can the young teacher then deem unimportantany measure of care in deportment, or regard astoo severe a self-sacrifice the gentle and habitualcontrol of those ebullitions of spirits, those out-of-placefamiliarities which we have oftentimesseen sweeping away the outguards of reverenceby action, word, or look? If these are in anisolated individual annoying or unseemly, howgreat are their effect and potency when a sympatheticinfluence pervades a number met for thesame purpose, and that avowedly one of thehighest improvement and culture! A little truereflection on this point would, we are assured,convert many a well-meaning, but unpolished,and therefore ill-prepared young woman intothe well-mannered lady, the true helper of herpresiding teacher, and, in time, the consistentlydignified instructress of others.

Again, we know that simplicity is ever theexpression of the highest truth, of elegance, andof purity. We need not rake up classical authority,or quote the poets, to prove what makesits own way to every unsophisticated mind andheart. But would indeed that the "daughters ofthe land" might consider this, and reflect on St.Paul's caution, "Not the outward adorning ofplaiting the hair, or of wearing of gold, or ofputting on of apparel," ere they present themselvesas examples to the young, so especially, onthis point, prone to imitation and emulation.Far higher, we feel assured, would they thenrise in the true esteem of their juniors, far moresecure would they be of reaching and maintainingthat position to which every teacher shouldaspire, that of feeling that in a real superioritynone has the claim or the power to surpass them.

Our time and space are limited, and we do notdesire to crowd on our readers too much of ourown practical experience, and "notes taken fromlife by the way." If welcomed, however, withthe sincere good-will with which they are offered,other "thoughts" may yet find utterance, and,we would fondly trust, find their counterpart inthe efficient action of many an unknown youngteacher, and their reflection in many a childishscholar.

DON'T OVERTASK THE YOUNG BRAIN.

THE minds of children ought to be little, ifat all, tasked, till the brain's development isnearly completed, or until the age of six orseven years. And will those years be wasted?or will the future man be more likely to be deficientin mental power and capability, than onewho is differently treated? Those years willnot be wasted. The great book of nature isopen to the infant's and the child's prying investigation;and from nature's page may belearned more useful information than is containedin all the children's books that have everbeen published. But even supposing those yearsto have been absolutely lost, which is anythingbut the case, will the child be eventually a loserthereby? We contend, with our author, thathe will not. Task the mind during the earlieryears, and you not only expose the child to agreater risk of a disordered brain—not only, itmay be, lay the foundation for a morbid excitabilityof brain, that may one day end in insanity—butyou debilitate its bodily powers, andby so doing, to all intents and purposes, the mindwill eventually be a loser in its powers and capabilities.—Dr.Robertson.

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THE SOUVENIR; OR, THE ARRIVAL OF THE "LADY'S BOOK."

A SKETCH OF SOUTHERN LIFE.

BY PAULINE FORSYTH.

(See Plate.)

A SOUTHERN plantation lying, as so many ofthem do, at some distance from any town or village,presents a phase of life peculiar to itself,and very singular to one unaccustomed to itfrom childhood. It has not the loneliness ofisolation, for each planter's house is in its waya sort of a palace, the residence of the superiorauthority, while at a little distance are clusteredtogether the cabins of his retainers, sometimesin such numbers as to form almost a little villageof their own. Yet the members of the familyare often separated for weeks or months from allcongenial companionship, excepting what theycan find in each other; for, besides the distance,the state of the roads is often an insuperableobstacle to all intercourse with their far-offneighbors. Eminently social as Southernersusually are, this is no slight drawback to theirenjoyment, and the arrival of the post is lookedforward to as the one great weekly event to relievethe monotony of "the leaden-footedhours."

Bessie Egerton was in this respect more fortunatethan many of her companions, her father'splantation being but about five miles from thevillage of Oxford, in South Carolina. This wasonly a pleasant ride when the roads were good;but there were weeks during the winter andearly spring when even Bessie Egerton, generalbelle and favorite as she was throughout thesurrounding country, had nothing but the mailsto remind her that there were other interests andmore stirring events in the world than those ofwhich her home was the centre.

Mr. Egerton was not one of those wealthyplanters whose income rivals that of the merchantprinces of the North, and would be a prettyfortune for a person of moderate wants; but hewas in comfortable circ*mstances, and Bessie'shome was a very pleasant one. The housestood on a gentle slope, and with its wide verandascovered with roses, jessamine, and honeysuckles, and overhung by live-oak trees, fromwhose gnarled branches hung drooping longfringes of the gray moss, giving them the venerableappearance of age, it suggested ideas ofcoolness and shade, the peculiar comforts of thatpart of the country.

It was in the latter part of February; the earlyspring was already coming on with the laggardsteps of one sure of its dominion, and thereforein no haste to assert it. The rose-bushes, thathad but a few weeks before shaken off theirsummer's burden of leaves and flowers, gavetokens that they were about to take it up oncemore, and the yellow jessamine in the woods,with those many beautiful, but as yet unnamedvines and flowers that adorn the swamps andmarshes of the South, had already begun toawaken from their winter's slumber.

Bessie had been busy all the morning. Hermother was a confirmed invalid, and upon theeldest daughter of the house were devolved allthe active duties that belong to the mistress of aplantation—much heavier and more arduousthan those of a Northern housekeeper, requiringthe exercise of more thought and discretion.After breakfast, with her basket of keys, thatinvariable accompaniment of a Southern housekeeper,she went to the store-room to give outthe dinner for the family. There, after havingmeasured out the flour and spices, and countedthe eggs, and portioned off the vegetables required,she stood to see that everything was replacedin its proper order. Her next visit wasto the smoke-house for the meat, and there shewas often required to superintend the distributionof certain portions of it, both to the houseand field-servants on her father's place. Thengiving a scrutinizing glance at the poultry-yardas she passed, she sought the spring-house,which was a dairy also, and remained there foran hour overlooking the operations of the dairy-woman.From thence she bent her steps to thenegro-quarter, where there were two or three[339]sick servants, of whose condition her motherwished to have a particular account. To obtainan idea of their ailments and their needs was thework of no little time, for to be sparing of wordsis not a characteristic of either the ignorant orthe suffering. She ended her duties here by avisit to her nurse, now a bedridden old woman,and, after talking with her for a little while, andreading to her, as was Bessie's daily practice, shereturned to what was called, par excellence, "thehouse."

When she entered her mother's room to givea detailed account of all that she had done, shewas greeted with—

"Bessie, dear, I want you to cut out directlya shirt and a pair of trowsers for Peter. He hasjust been in to say that his old ones are not fitto wear to church, and, if he don't have somenew ones, he cannot go next Sunday; and, as itis communion-day, I do not like to have himcompelled to stay away by any neglect of mine."

"But he ought to have given us a little moretime, I think," said Bessie. "To-day is Friday."

"Yes, dear; but Dinah can make the shirt,and you can have Elsie, your little maid, to helpyou with the trowsers. She is quite a neatseamstress."

"But I told Elsie to sew on my new dress to-day.I intended to wear it next Sunday."

"You have plenty of old ones that you canwear, my dear. Peter must be attended to firstin this case, I think."

Bessie was so accustomed to be the hands todo the bidding of her mother's thoughtful andconsiderate head and heart, that she made nofarther objection to complying with Mrs. Egerton'ssuggestion. Since she was fifteen, she hadbeen in the habit of cutting out, under her mother'ssupervision, not only nearly all her ownclothing, including her dresses, that very abstruseand difficult portion of female attire, butalso the clothing for all the servants, men, women,and children, on her father's place; so thatthe particular portion of the work assigned herwas quickly and skilfully performed. But,pressed for time as they were, she had also toassist in the sewing, and she was busily employedwith her needle, preparing for Peter hisSunday habiliments, when the noise of a carriagedriving up to the door attracted her attention.

"It is Nannie and Virginia Lanning," saidBessie to her mother, after a glance from thewindow, and she ran to welcome her guests.

"Now, I hope you have come to stay with metwo or three days," said Bessie, after the firstgreetings were over, with the hospitable warmthcommon to the class to which she belonged; aninvitation to pass the night at their houses beingusually the shortest time to which a Southernplanter restricts his invitations, equivalent tothe "Stay and take tea with us," of the Northerners.

"Yes," replied Nannie, "we have come topass Sunday with you, and the idea of going tochurch once more is quite a treat; it is threemonths since we have been off our place. Theroads have been so bad, and Prince got lame,and pa, who thinks almost as much of his horsesas he does of us, would neither sell him and buyanother, nor allow him to be used till he wasquite well; so that we have really been prisoners.It is a great favor that he allowed us todrive with him so far, but we promised to comevery slowly. We have been nearly six hourscoming these ten or eleven miles."

"Don't you often feel very lonely?" askedBessie.

"Yes, indeed. Sometimes for two or threeweeks we do not see a human being out of ourown family; and it comes very hard at first,after we have been travelling about all summer;but it is astonishing how soon we get accustomedto it. We have occasional visitors, though, thatbreak in on the monotony, if they do nothingelse. You know we have no tavern withintwelve or fifteen miles of us, and, as father hasthe largest house in the neighborhood, travellersare often directed there to pass the night, andsometimes they prove to be very agreeable people."

"Yes," said Virginia, "there was a lawyerfrom Philadelphia travelling through the countryon business, that Nannie declares she fell inlove with; and then there was a Yankee quackdoctor that stayed with us nearly a week, andamused us very much. He took our house fora tavern, and ordered the servants about, andmade himself quite at home. He told fatherthat he thought that he had rather a tumble-downsort of a place, but, if he would just spryup a little and go to work, he might fix up considerable."

"And," continued Nannie, "when he wasgoing away, he pulled out an old pocket-bookand said, 'Wall, Squire, what's the damage?'And when pa told him, 'Nothing, that it was aprivate house, but that he was very happy toafford travellers the shelter they could procurenowhere else,' the man looked quite confounded.'Wall, really,' said he, 'ef I ain't beat out. Ihadn't the least idea that this wasn't a publichouse; but I thought you had a dreadful shift[340]lessway of doin' business. Why, there wasenough on your table at dinner to last our folksto hum for a hull week. But, I must say, you'vetreated me fust rate; and, of you ever get up asfar as old Connecticut, and will come to Peterboro',just ask for Isa Jeffries, and I will do asmuch for you.' And he went to see if his horsewas ready; but he soon came back with a bottlein his hand. 'Here, Squire,' said he, 'thatyoungest darter of your'n has a very peakedsort of look. Ef she will take some of my Electronhere, it will do her a sight of good.' Andso he left the bottle for Virginia. Poor Virginia!It was quite a shock to her to hear herselfcalled peaked-looking, especially since Mr.Chapman has persuaded her that she was sylph-like."

"It only shows with what different eyes differentpeople look on the same thing," said Virginia,with philosophic composure. "And nowlet us go to your mother."

"You seem to be very busy, Bessie," saidNannie, after they were seated in Mrs. Egerton'sroom. "What are you doing?"

"Making some clothes for Peter, our waiter.He is something of a dandy, and made the discoverythis morning that he had nothing fit towear to church next Sunday, so we have been alittle hurried about it."

"Oh, we can help you after dinner; and, together,we can soon finish them," said Virginia.

At dinner, Bessie asked her father if he couldnot send Peter to the post-office that afternoon.

"Why, Bessie," said her father, "I sent himfor you yesterday, and I cannot convenientlyspare him to go every day. You seem to havea post-office mania lately, coming on at regularintervals."

"Yes, father," said Agnes, Bessie's youngersister; "ever since the 'Lady's Book' began tocome so mysteriously, Bessie is never easy tillshe gets it; and I want it quite as much. Do,please, send for it."

Of course, Mr. Egerton could not resist hischildren's entreaties, and Bessie had the satisfactionof seeing Peter set out for Oxford soonafter dinner.

Towards the close of the afternoon, Bessieproposed that the work now nearly completedshould be left to Elsie to finish, while they wentout to enjoy the fresh, soft air, full of the sunshineand life of the early spring.

"Don't you think the other side of the houseis less sunny?" suggested Nannie, as Bessieseated herself on the green bank by the house,with Agnes standing at her side.

"This is much pleasanter, I think, and thesun will soon be away. But take my parasol,dear; I have a bonnet, and do not need it."

"Oh no, thank you; I am going to finish thisstory, and could not trouble myself to hold it.Virginia and I pride ourselves on complexionsthat neither sun nor wind can affect."

And, in truth, their clear, dark, colorless, yethealthful complexions gave to their features thefirm, unimpressible look of finely polishedmarble.

"I will tell you," said Agnes, "why sisteralways chooses this seat. We can see Peterfrom here long before he reaches the gate."

"Then," said Nannie, "I quite agree withher in thinking it decidedly the pleasantest. Iam as impatient as she can be to see the 'Book;'but I candidly confess that the fashions are itschief attraction to me. It is a great thing toknow exactly how other people dress, so as tobe sure, when you come out of your winter'sshell, that you are not making a fright of yourself."

"Pa and I like the stories," said Agnes.

"So do I," said Virginia.

"But ma likes the serious part of it," continuedAgnes, "and Bessie the poetry, especiallyif it is marked. I see her crying over it sometimes."

"Oh, Agnes!" said Bessie, while her faceflushed suddenly.

"I would like to know what all those blushesmean," said Nannie; "whenever we mentionthe 'Lady's Book,' I see Bessie's cheeks growingred. What can be the association of ideasthat produces such a remarkable effect?"

"You know Wallace Cuthbert?" said Agnes.

"Agnes, hush; you do not know anythingabout it," interrupted Bessie.

"Yes, dear, I know Wallace Cuthbert. Goon," said Nannie, encouragingly.

"Do, just let me tell this," said Agnes, tooeager to impart what she considered her wonderfullyacute conjecture to show her usual deferenceto her elder sister. "You know, WallaceCuthbert asked pa if he might not writeoccasionally to Bessie when he went away, andpa would not consent to it. But ever since hefirst went to Philadelphia the 'Lady's Book' hasbeen coming regularly, and I have no doubt hesends it, and marks the poetry, too."

"Now, Agnes, I hope you have finished yourrevelations," said Bessie, a little impatiently."Of course," continued she, turning to Nannie,"this is a mere conjecture of Agnes's, and avery childish one."

"On the contrary, I think it a very shrewdone; it is putting cause and effect together in a[341]wise and discreet way that is entirely satisfactoryto me. For one, I feel myself under great obligationsto Wallace Cuthbert, and intend to tellhim, when I see him, that he could not havechosen a more judicious means if he wished 'tokeep his memory green,' and connect pleasantassociations with thoughts of himself. Pa haspromised me that, when I am eighteen, I maytake the 'Lady's Book' for myself, and I amquite impatient for my next birthday to come."

"See, there is Peter!" said Virginia, who had,with her usual quiet sagacity, seated herself sothat she could catch the first glimpse of him."He seems to be waving something."

"Oh, he has brought it!" said Agnes, springingup joyfully. "I am so glad! I was afraidit would not come before Monday, because,when you wait and watch so for anything, youare almost sure to be disappointed."

"Peter seems to understand what we are expecting,and to be as delighted as any of us,"said Nannie.

"Oh, yes," replied Agnes; "he knows howglad we are to get it; besides, he feels sure thatit comes from Wallace Cuthbert, and he has alwaysbeen very fond of him. He said to me oneday, after the 'Book' first began to come regularly,and when we were all wondering about it,I am certain sure, Miss Agnes, Mas'r Wallacehas a finger in dat pie.' That gave me my firstsuspicions about Mr. Cuthbert; and I asked paabout it, and he said, 'Very likely.' Peter says,too, that if 'Miss Bessie will only marry Mas'rWallace, and take him for her head waiter, hisearthly hopes will be suspended.'"

"Agnes, how can you repeat such nonsense?"said Bessie, in a state of desperate confusion.

"I like to hear little people talk," said Nannie;"a great deal of useful information can beobtained from them. You seem to have a wonderfulfaculty, Agnes, for putting this and thattogether; but I have a little sister at home thatis almost equal to you."

"Give it to me, Peter," said Virginia, springingforward to take the offered prize; "theothers seem to be absorbed in such an interestingdiscussion that they will not care about it."

But, notwithstanding this assertion, the coverwas no sooner torn off, which Bessie took anopportunity, when unobserved, to slip into herpocket, than the four heads were crowded togetherover the engravings and fashion platewith an eagerness and delight that it would bedifficult to express. For the first few minutesthey all talked at once, exclaiming, "Isn't thispretty?" "Isn't it lovely?" "I wonder whatit means!" "Let's read the story about it."

"Do look, what an odd fashion! It is pretty,though. I mean to make my new dress so."

"See here, girls," said Mr. Egerton, leaningover the veranda, "if you go on in that way Ishall have to make the same rule the Scotchlaird did with his thirteen daughters—that notmore than seven of them should speak at a time.What has caused this outburst of enthusiasm?"

"The 'Lady's Book,' pa," said Bessie. "Lookat that picture; isn't it beautiful?"

"It is, indeed," replied he, taking the "Book.""How much they have improved lately in theart of engravings! Why, when I was a boy, apicture like that would have been consideredwonderfully fine, and would have been carefullylaid away and preserved as a rare treasure; andnow they are flying about on the wings of thepost-office department into the most distantparts and by-places of the country. They mustbe of no small advantage in cultivating the tasteof the community, coming as they do to manypersons who see but few other books during theyear. Here, Bessie, you had better take the'Book' to your mother; she is always pleased tosee it, and this evening we will have a familyreading party."

Excusing herself to her companions, Bessiehastened to comply with her father's suggestion,but returned with the welcome arrival after afew minutes, when an animated discussion washeld over the fashion-plates and the descriptionsof them. The conversation was serious andearnest. No assembly of divines ever debated aknotty point in theology with more intent gravitythan these young girls wasted over thequestions as to whether bodices, which wereevidently going out, were not in the main superiorto round waists, which were coming in;whether basques were likely to be a permanentfashion, or a mere fleeting freak of fancy, wasalso warmly discussed; and the question of trailingskirts, or those just long enough to touchthe ground, might have caused a schism, if Bessie,with great presence of mind, had not changedthe conversation to the arrangement of the hair.Here all differences were swept away by theunanimous agreement that bandeaux of curls, àla Jenny Lind, was a much prettier and easierway of dressing the head than any other.

A summons to tea interrupted all farther discussion.After tea, the whole family assembled,as was their custom, in Mrs. Egerton's room.Mr. Egerton, without his hat, which manySoutherners seem to think as useful in the houseas out of it, was seated in the large arm-chair bythe side of a blazing fire, which the chilliness ofthe evenings still rendered necessary; Nannie[342]heaped up the cushions on the lounge, a home-made,chintz-covered affair, and made herselfperfectly comfortable; the other two girls, constitutingthemselves the readers for the rest,seated themselves by the centre-table; whileAgnes sometimes sat on the bed by her mother,and sometimes hung over the reader, to makesure with her own eyes that they were scrupulouslygiving each word—skipping was, in hereyes, a most unjustifiable and unpardonable act.

"There is still enough to occupy us to-morrowevening," said Bessie, as she closed the "Book;""but it is time now for mother to go to sleep."

As she bent over to kiss her mother for good-night,Mrs. Egerton whispered—

"That was a very cunning plan Wallace hitupon, dear, to evade your father's prohibitionabout letters. He gives us all so much pleasurethat we do not think of objecting to it. Don'tyou think he must be a very designing sort of aman?"

"We don't know at all that it is Wallace,"said Bessie, stoutly.

"We shall see what we shall see. Has hemarked anything?"

"There are a few foolish verses marked; butI do not know who did it," replied Bessie.

"Well, leave the 'Book' with me; I wouldlike to read them."

That was very hard. Bessie had only hadtime to glance hastily over some lines signedW. C., and speaking in woful strains of thepangs of absence and hope deferred, but breathingthe most devoted constancy and love. Theseverses which, in her reckless confusion, she hadstigmatized as foolish, she was longing to readover and over in the silence of her own room.But she would not, for the whole of Carolina,have expressed her wish. She quietly laid the"Book" on her mother's bed, placed the candlesnear her, and retired with her companions.

"Did you hear, my dear," said Mrs. Egertonto her husband, when they were left alone,"what Mr. Littleton, who has just returnedfrom Philadelphia, says of Wallace Cuthbert—aboutthe high estimation in which the professorsof the university hold him? One of themtold Mr. Littleton that he regarded Mr. Cuthbertas one of their most promising students, andthat he bid fair to become one of the first physiciansin the country."

"No, I have not heard it before; but I alwayshad a good opinion of him. I refused toallow him to write to Bessie when he wentaway, three years ago, because they were bothtoo young, I thought, to entangle themselves inany way. Bessie was hardly sixteen, and hebut four or five years older. And he had notonly his profession to acquire, but also to establishhimself; for he has little else than his owntalents to depend upon. Besides, I did not thinkBessie cared much about him; she did not appearto."

"I think she always preferred him; but herpreference was not a very decided one when hewent away," said Mrs. Egerton. "Indeed, shewas too young to know herself exactly whethershe loved him or not; but it has happened thatin each one of these monthly souvenirs that Mr.Cuthbert has been sending, there has been somepathetic story or touching little poem, by markingwhich he has contrived to indicate his ownfeelings, and not only preserve, but deepenBessie's interest in him. I can perceive, I think,that her liking for him has grown stronger almostday by day. It is very clear that she caresfor no one else. Here were George Musgraveand Robert Linn, two of the richest and finestyoung men about, whom Bessie dismissed withouta moment's hesitation."

"Well," said Mr. Egerton, "I am perfectlywilling to trust Bessie to make her own choice,now that she is old enough to judge for herself.We will leave the matter to time to settle."

Time justified Mrs. Egerton's previsions.Wallace Cuthbert did not disappoint the highexpectations that had been formed of him, andwas soon able to claim Bessie's hand as a rewardfor his assiduity and devotion to his profession.

"I think you may thank the 'Lady's Book'for Bessie's constancy," said Mrs. Egerton oneday to Mr. Cuthbert. "If it had not been forsome such suggestive memorial, I am afraid shewould hardly have resisted all the attacks madeupon her."

"Very likely," said Mr. Cuthbert, smiling.But, though his words expressed such properhumility, in his inmost heart, with that generousself-appreciation so unusual perhaps in his modestsex, he attributed the love and the patientwaiting of Bessie Egerton entirely to his ownpeculiar merits.

Peter's "earthly hopes were suspended."

[343]

THE WILD FLOWERS OF EARLY SPRING-TIME.

THOSE accustomed to the gay and busy life ofa city know little of the ennui that generallyattends a rural life. Those who live in thebosom of nature, as it were—in the very midstof God's beautiful works—ought not to feelwearisome; and they would not if their eyeswere open to the interesting phenomena thatcontinually go on around them. Every seasonof the year, every day, nay every hour, bringsabout some instructive change on the face ofNature; and there is no more interesting andimproving pursuit than the observation ofnatural phenomena. To watch the opening ofthe buds, the leafing of the trees, the bloomingof the flowers, the ripening of the fruit, and thedecay and death which autumn brings, is ofitself an interesting occupation; but when weconnect these various events with their proximatecauses, and endeavor to trace those generallaws by whose operation they are regulated,then the study becomes a truly philosophical aswell as a pleasant one. We may also gatherspiritual wisdom from such contemplations. Ourbeloved Saviour sought to illustrate his teachingsby a reference to the phenomena of plants; weare directed to "Consider the lilies how theygrow; they toil not, neither do they spin; yet Isay unto you that Solomon in all his glory wasnot arrayed like one of these." Every readerof this page may have "considered" the liliesand admired the beauty of their various parts;but in the passage which has been quoted thereis, perhaps, a deeper meaning than many haveguessed at. Consider the lilies how they grow;examine their structure, and their beautiful modeof development; see how the fair form of thisbeauteous flower rises, "like a resurrection fromthe dead," out of its scaly, withered-like bulbousroot, perfects its fruit, and then decays. To knowhow the lily grows is to know the most importantprinciples of vegetable physiology. It is agratifying fact that the physical sciences are nowbecoming important branches of general education,and no department is more popular thanbotany. It is a science peculiarly adapted forladies; the objects whose purpose it is to investigateare beautiful, and esteemed by every one—astriking contrast to the forbidding directionsand dirty experiments which are necessary inthe prosecution of many other departments ofnatural science; even Entomology—the studyof insects—requires the bottling of poor beetlesin spirituous solutions, the pinning of innocentmoths and gay butterflies, and other cruel operations,at which every kind-hearted womanought to shudder.

In pursuing botanical investigations, even veryslightly, it is necessary to form a herbarium, orcollection of dried specimens of plants. In thesecollections much taste may be displayed in thearrangement, as well as in the careful drying ofthe specimens; and the writer of these observations—apublic teacher of botany to extensiveclasses of both ladies and gentlemen—can testifyto the fact that the herbaria formed by ladiesare, as a general rule, pre-eminent for neatnessand artistic beauty in the arrangement of thespecimens. It is difficult, however, for ladieswho have not the benefit of a teacher, nor friendsdevoted to botanical pursuits, to get an acquaintancewith the method of preserving plants properly;and it is therefore deemed advisable tooffer a few observations on this subject on thepresent occasion, before going on to consider thecharacteristics of the Spring Flora.

The process of preparing botanical specimensmay be shortly described to be, the pressure ofplants between sheets of soft absorbent paper forthe purpose of extracting their moisture withoutdestroying their beauty, and thus enabling themto be kept for an indefinite period in an arrangedform, for future reference and study. Whenwell dried, plants may be kept for hundreds ofyears; they are almost as indestructible as books,if properly cared for.

[344]

German botanists excel in the beauty, andwell-preserved specific characters, of their specimens;as is well evidenced by the beautifulspecimens which they send to this country.One reason of their success is no doubt to beattributed to the very soft paper (made fromwoollen rags) which they use in the process;but it is no doubt due, in a larger measure, tothe great care which they take, and the time andpatience which they bestow upon their specimens.

Plants ought, in all cases where practicable, tobe gathered when dry; or, if moist with rain ordew when gathered, they ought to be exposedto the atmosphere of a dry room for an hour ortwo previous to being put into papers. For theconveyance of specimens a tin box, called avasculum, is used, which prevents the plantswithering during a long journey, and otherwiseprotects them. Some of our readers may notthink the japanned tin vasculum a very elegantaccoutrement, but it is quite usual for ladies tocarry such along the streets of Modern Athens,where, through the labors of Professor Balfourand others, botany has, of late years, become ofhigh repute as a feminine accomplishment.

In proceeding to dry the plants, procure aquantity of soft blotting-paper. Four or fivesheets are to be laid down on the table (eachfolded within the other, as in a ream), and onthe uppermost one the specimen is to be laid.Spread it out carefully, separating the branchesand leaves so that they do not overlap; andafter this is done, a slip of paper or "label" putbeside the specimen, indicating its botanicalname, the locality where collected, and the datewhen; then another four or five sheets, foldedas before, are to be laid over the plant. On thesurface of this latter layer of paper, another specimenor specimens may be spread—an additionallayer of four or five sheets being placed overthem—and so on until all the specimens collectedare spread out. A board of the same size as thepaper is to be placed above the uppermost sheet,and on the top of that a heavy weight, fifty orsixty pounds. A bundle of large volumes willserve the purpose of a weight, if no better is athand. Some recommend a screw-press for pressingthe plants, instead of a weight; but pressesof all kinds are objectionable, as the shrinkingof the plants renders the pressure unequal fromthe want of elasticity, which is so easily attainedby means of an ordinary weight. After thespecimens have been allowed to stand in thismanner twenty-four hours or so, they shouldbe taken carefully out; such leaves as are disarrangedshould be spread out properly, and thewhole put into dry paper, in the same way as inthe previous operation. The moist paper fromwhich they are taken should be spread beforethe fire to dry; it will be ready for use anothertime. The plants are to be supplied with drypaper, in this manner, once every twenty-fourhours, until they have become quite dry, whenthey may be taken out and put apart in singlesheets of gray paper.

The operation of drying the specimens hasbeen here described, but that of mounting themon white paper is equally important. GumArabic is generally used for this purpose, but itis very bad; does not adhere sufficiently, andthus allows the specimens to spring off from thesheets. Fine glue, prepared in a very thin state,is the best material for fixing the plants. Themelted glue should, when very hot, be spreadover the specimen carefully with a brush, asheet of dirty absorbent paper lying beneath thespecimen to prevent the glue soiling anything,and then the specimen is to be put down uponthe sheet of white paper previously laid out forits reception. A towel is then taken to press thedifferent branches or leaves gently down uponthe surface of the paper. After this is done, a fewsheets of drying paper are to be laid over thespecimen, and on the top of this another sheetof white paper for the reception of another gluedspecimen, and so on until all are completed. Aboard is then to be placed over the whole, and aweight, in order to press all parts of the plantsequally to the sheets of paper, until they aremade firm by the drying of the glue. After thespecimens have stood in this manner a few hours,they are to be taken out, their names, localities,and dates written at the bottom of the sheet, andthe whole arranged in such manner as the possessormay think proper. Any refractory stemsor branches that have sprung up from the paperin spite of the glue, may be fastened down byslips of gummed paper. The marginal portionof postage-stamp sheets supplies these to thosewho can obtain them in sufficient quantity.

The plants of each genus are to be put togetherinside of a double sheet of paper, with theirgeneric name written at the bottom of the sheetupon the outside at the left hand corner; forinstance, the pansy, the sweet violet, the dogviolet, the yellow mountain violet, &c., are allto be put inside of one double sheet, the genericname "VIOLA" being written upon the cornerof it. This is to facilitate references.

We now proceed to point out what springflowers are likely to reward the exertions ofthose who go in search of them among the woodsand fields. And first of all the primrose andthe cowslip demand attention as general favorites.[345]The wild plant, with its modest flower of paleyellow hue (which has given rise to the nameof a tint known as primrose yellow), is probablyfamiliar to every one, but it may not be so wellknown that the gay polyanthus of our florists,and the rich double-flowered primroses of everyhue which decorate our gardens, all owe theirexistence to the wild plant as their originalstock. The cowslip, although local in its geographicaldistribution, is abundant in many localities,and is associated right pleasantly withcowslip wine. Beneath the hedges in earlyspring-time there is a pretty little plant whichseldom catches the eye of the passer-by; it isaptly styled the "gloryless," for its little flowersare of greenish-yellow hue, and so small as tobe inconspicuous to any one save the botanicalexplorer. When examined, however, it is anobject of great, though simple beauty. It sendsup a delicate stem, which bears a little rosetteof divided leaves, and from amidst this rises theflower-stalk, pale and slender, bearing on itssummit a compact head of a few tiny showlessflowers. Its botanical name is Adoxa Moschatellina.

It is summer time before the buttercups begemthe pastures; but one member of the familyalready welcomes us by hedge-rows; it is theLesser Celandine of Wordsworth, which receiveda special favor from his pen in the dedicationof a pretty little poem. The Lesser Celandine(Ranunculus Ficaria) grows abundantlyon wet shady banks, and produces a profusionof its bright glossy golden flowers, which, infading, assume a pure white hue. This ranks asone of the economical plants of Britain; andhumble as it is, it has been brought forward as asubstitute for that unfortunate vegetable, the potato.Plants of the Lesser Celandine, raised fromroots which had been gathered in Silesia by theRev. Mr. Wade in 1848, were grown in the EdinburghBotanic Garden, and exhibited by Mr.M'Nab, the curator of the garden, to the BotanicalSociety. These roots had been exposed over alarge extent of country in Austria by heavyrains, and the common people gathered themand used them as an article of food. Their suddenappearance gave rise to various conjecturesas to their nature and origin, and in the Austrianjournals they were spoken of as if they hadfallen from the sky. The "small bodies" (roots)were used as peas by the inhabitants. Eitherin a dried state, or when fresh, they are found,on boiling, to be very amylaceous; that is, theycontain much starchy matter. There is noacridity in the roots even in a fresh state, whichis a remarkable fact when we take into considerationthe acrid and poisonous nature of theentire race of plants allied to it in structure,viz., the Ranunculaceæ, to which order it belongs.For instance, one of these plants, the IndianAconite, is thus spoken of by Professor Balfour:—

"The root of the plant possesses extreme acrimony,and very marked narcotic properties.It is said to be the most poisonous of the genus,and as such has been employed in India. Wallichsays that in the Turraye, or low forest-landswhich skirt the approach to Nipal, and amongthe lower range of hills, especially at a placecalled Hetounra, quantities of the bruised rootwere thrown into wells and reservoirs, for thepurpose of poisoning our men and cattle. Bythe vigilant precaution of our troops, however,these nefarious designs were providentially frustrated.In the northern parts of Hindoostan,arrows poisoned with the root are used for destroyingtigers. The root, according to Rayle,is sent down into the plains, and used in thecure of chronic rheumatism, under the name ofMetha tellia. Roots, apparently of this plant,were sent by Dr. Christison from Madras underthe name of Nabee. Pereira made a series ofexperiments on the roots which had been keptfor ten years, and still retained their poisonousproperties. The roots were administered toanimals in the form of a powder, and spirituousand watery extract. The spirituous extract wasthe most energetic, the effects produced beingdifficulty of breathing, weakness, and subsequentparalysis, which generally showed itself first inthe posterior extremities, vertigo, convulsions,dilatation of the pupil, and death apparently fromasphyxia."

One grain of the alcoholic extract killed arabbit in nine and a half minutes, and two grainsintroduced into the jugular vein of a strong dogcaused death in three minutes.

This is the general character of the crowfoots,and they are indeed the most destructive cattlepoisons that infect our pastures; it is a curiousfact, therefore, that one of them should be soharmless and so nutritious as we have seen theLesser Celandine to be; and a still more curiousfact that Linnæus, the father of naturalists,should have thought that agriculturists shouldendeavor to extirpate this pretty flower, not onlyas acrid and poisonous, but as injurious to allplants growing near it.

[346]

BEAUTY.

BY MISS M. H. BUTT.

YES, there is beauty in this world of ours.In looking throughout Nature, we see its impresseverywhere. At early morn, wander forthto the verdant fields, mark the flowers of everytint, and inhale their perfume. When Springdawns, see the trees laden with delicate blossoms,foretelling a plentiful harvest; watch thetall grass waving so gracefully as the zephyrssport there. Surely such a sight is beautiful.

Stop for a moment and list to the murmuring ofthe streams as they skip on joyfully; watch thepearly bells which dance upon their brow allsparkling and bright. Look above, and view thethousand birds on gay wing, singing so merrily,welcoming the dawn of Spring, and chanting alay as a requiem to the departure of Winter.Look around still, and view the myriads ofinsects sporting in the sunlight or sipping nectarfrom flowers. Oh, is not beauty there?

When Night comes forth with spangled robesand diadem of gems upon her brow, while eachplanet and star with tiny harps welcome hercoming, touching those gentle chords, the echoof which glides like a bright meteor to earth,charming the very soul—is this not beautiful?Or, when spirits from dream-land watch by ourcouch during the hours of repose, painting scenesto enchant us—are they not beautiful?

Nor are all these scenes alone lovely. Thereis that which hath greater beauty: it is woman.She stands forth, like some brilliant star, toguide man through the path of life and cheer hisway. Whether she be in the lofty or lowlywalks of life, if she possess certain mental qualificationsand traits of character, she is beautiful.Her beauty does not consist alone in the brightflashing eye, which seems to speak the sentimentsof her heart; it depends not upon thegraceful form or gorgeous equipage; it is hermind, well cultivated and endowed with all thoseintellectual qualifications, which will make hera brilliant star, and which will enable her to enlightenthose with whom she may become conversant.It may be found, also, in her heart,one which possesses all those fine and exquisitefeelings whereby she can sympathize with thesufferings of others and minister to their wants.Woman holds a dignified position in life, andshe should cultivate all those traits which willcause her to be the very pillar of the society inwhich she moves. Yes, woman is truly beautiful;she is earth's greatest ornament; of her toomuch cannot be said. In whatever light weview her, she is lovely.

Although Nature possesses so much beauty,Art has also her share, for she endeavors to copyher works and invest them with beauty, as onehas said of man—

Look at the artist, who toils day after day upona painting which he has copied from Nature;he endeavors to paint the flowers with accuracy,give that exquisite emerald hue to the leaves ofthe trees, the same tints to the horizon, and thatgorgeous light to the sun. Why? He sawbeauty in Nature, and desired to imitate it. Thesculptor works with all his skill upon the bustof some celebrated person, all his power is employed;he wishes to delineate every featurewith accuracy, and determines, if possible, toaccomplish it. Soon he has the gratification ofseeing the soulless and once rugged block ofmarble transformed into an image of symmetryand beauty.

Is there not great pleasure to be felt whilebeholding works of art? We can but admireand love the fruits of genius. It is very truethat there are many who can look upon theworks of art, still no effect will be produced;yet a person of nice perception and correct tastecould gaze for hours upon them, and see eachtime something to admire. It is so in Natureeven. Many might walk forth on a lovelymorning when Spring first smiles, yet see nobeauty whatever, but merely cast a carelesseye upon all around. One may see much to admirein the storm-cloud which rises darkly o'erthe sea, while streaks of lightning dive 'neaththe briny waves, and the peals of thunder rattlefuriously; we may have feelings of awe, yet, atthe same time, see sublimity, and in our heartswe exclaim, "How beautiful!"

Yes, beauty dwelleth everywhere; from thetiny flower which blooms, to the stupendousheavens at night lighted with innumerable stars,being the impress of the One who created allthings.

[347]

DRESS—AS A FINE ART.

BY MRS. MERRIFIELD.

ORNAMENT—ECONOMY.

ORNAMENT, although not an integral part ofdress, is so intimately connected with it that wemust devote a few words to the subject.

Under the general term of ornament, we shallinclude bows of ribbon, artificial flowers, feathers,jewels, lace, fringes, and trimming of allkinds. Some of these articles appear to be suitedto one period of life, some to another. Jewels,for instance, though suitable to middle age,seem misplaced on youth, which should alwaysbe characterized by simplicity of apparel; whileflowers, which are so peculiarly adapted to youth,are unbecoming to those advanced in years: inthe latter case, there is contrast without harmony—itis like uniting May with December.

The great principle to be observed with regardto ornament is that it should be appropriate, andappear designed to answer some useful purpose.A brooch, or a bow of ribbon, for instance,should fasten some part of the dress; a goldchain should support a watch or an eye-glass.Trimmings are useful to mark the borders oredges of the different parts of the dress, and inthis light they add to the variety, while by theirrepetition they conduce to the regularity of theornamentation.

The subject of economy in dress, an essentialobject with many persons, now claims our attention.We venture to offer a few remarks onthis head. Our first recommendation is to havebut few dresses at a time, and those extremelygood. If we have but few dresses, we wearthem, and wear them out while they are in fashion;but, if we have many dresses at once, someof them become quite old-fashioned before wehave done with them. If we are rich enough toafford the sacrifice, the old-fashioned dress is gotrid of; if not, we must be content to appear in afashion that has long been superseded, and welook as if we had come out of the tombs, or asif one of our ancestors had stepped out of herpicture-frame and again walked the earth.

As to the economy of selecting the best materialfor dresses, we argue thus: Every dressmust be lined and made up, and we pay as muchfor making and lining an inferior article as wedo for one of the best quality. Now, a good silkor merino will wear out two bad ones, thereforeone good dress, lining and making, will cost lessthan two inferior ones, with the expenses of liningand making them. In point of appearance,also, there is no comparison between the two;the good dress will look well to the last, whileone of inferior quality will soon look shabby.When a good silk dress has become too shabbyto be worn longer as a dress, it becomes, whencut up, useful for a variety of purposes, whereasan inferior silk, or one purely ornamental, is,when left off, good for nothing.

Plain dresses, that is to say, those of a singlecolor, and without a pattern, are more economical,as well as more quiet in their appearance,than those of various colors. They are alsogenerally less expensive, because something isalways paid for the novelty of the fashion; besides,colored and figured dresses bear the dateon the face of them as plainly as if it was therein printed characters; the ages of dress fabricsare known by the pattern, therefore dresses ofthis description should be put on as soon as purchased,and worn out at once, or they will appearold-fashioned. There is another reasonwhy dresses of various colors are less economicalthan others. Where there are several colors,they may not all be equally fast, and, if only oneof them fades, the dress will lose its beauty.Trimmings are not economical; besides theircost in the first instance, they become shabbybefore the dress, and, if removed, they generallyleave a mark where they have been, and so spoilthe appearance of the dress.

Dresses made of one kind of material only aremore durable than those composed of two, as, forinstance, of cotton and silk, of cotton and worsted,or of silk and worsted. When the silk ismerely thrown on the face of the material, itsoon wears off. This is also the case in thosewoollen or cotton goods which have a silkenstripe.

The question of economy also extends to colors,some of which are much more durable thanothers. For this we can give no rule, exceptthat drabs and other "quaker colors," as theyare frequently called, are amongst the most permanentof all colors. For other colors, we musttake the word of the draper. There is no doubt,[348]however, that the most durable colors are thecheapest in the end. In the selection of colors,the expense is not always a criterion; somethingmust be paid for fashion and novelty, andperhaps for the cost of the dye. The newestand most expensive colors are not always thosewhich last the longest.

It is not economical to have the dresses madein the extremity of the fashion, because suchsoon become remarkable; but the fashionsshould be followed at such a distance that thewearer may not attract the epithet of old-fashioned.

We conclude this part of our subject with afew suggestions relative to the selection of differentstyles and materials of dress.

The style of dress should be adapted to theage of the wearer. As a general rule, we shouldsay that in youth the dress should be simple andelegant, the ornaments being flowers. In middleage, the dress may be of rich materials, andmore splendid in its character; jewels are theappropriate ornaments. In the decline of life,the materials of which the dress is composedmay be equally rich, but with less vivaciouscolors; the tertiaries and broken colors are particularlysuitable, and the character of the wholecostume should be quiet, simple, and dignified.The French, whose taste in dress is so far in advanceof our own, say that ladies who are fiftyyears old should neither wear gay colors nordresses of slight materials, flowers, feathers, ormuch jewelry; that they should cover theirhair, wear high dresses, and long sleeves.

Tall ladies may wear flounces and tucks, butthey are less appropriate for short persons. Asa general rule, vertical stripes make persons appeartaller than they really are, but horizontalstripes have a contrary effect. The latter arenot admissible in garment fabrics, "since, crossingthe person, the pattern quarrels with all themotions of the human figure, as well as withthe form of the long folds in the skirts of thegarment. For this reason, large and pronouncedchecks, however fashionable, are often in badtaste, and interfere with the graceful arrangementof drapery." Is it to show their entirecontempt for the principles of design that ourmanufacturers introduced last year not only horizontalstripes of conspicuous colors, but checksand plaids of immense size, as autumnal fashionsfor dress fabrics? We had hoped that the ladieswould show the correctness of their taste bytheir disapproval of these unbecoming designs,but the prevalence of the fashion at the presenttime is another evidence of the triumph of fashionover good taste.

A white and light-colored dress makes thewearers appear larger, while a black or darkdress causes them to appear smaller than theyactually are. A judicious person will thereforeavail herself of these known effects, by adoptingthe style of dress most suitable to her stature.

To sum up in a few words our impressions onthis subject, we should say that the best style ofdress is that which, being exactly adapted to theclimate and the individual, is at once modest,quiet, and retiring, harmonious in color and decoration,and of good materials.

We conclude with the following admirable extractfrom Tobin's "Honeymoon," which weearnestly recommend to the attention of our fairreaders:—

THE TURKISH COSTUME.

"I REMEMBER," says Mr. St. John, "onceseeing a Falstaff fasten his Kashmire, six or sevenyards long, to a door-handle, and having gone withthe other extremity to the opposite side of hiscourt-yard, began to wind his huge form into itwith as much gravity and decorum as if he wereperforming a pious mystery. He had a peculiartheory as to the position of every fold, and if hefailed in arranging them exactly, would unwindhimself again with a rapid rotary motion, hishands raised in the air. The operation, withall its vicissitudes, generally lasted about halfan hour; and I have rarely seen a magnificentEffendi, without thinking of how he must havelooked whilst putting on his shawl."

[349]

DAIRY-HOUSE AND PIGGERY.

WE do not present our readers the followingas model cottages; but we give them a model"Dairy Building" and a model "Piggery."They are from C. M. Saxton's work on "RuralArchitecture."

CHEESE DAIRY-HOUSE.

This building is one and a half stories high,with a broad, spreading roof of 45° pitch; theground plan is 10 feet between joists, and theposts 16 feet high. An ice-house is at one end,and a wood-shed at the opposite end, of the samesize. This building is supposed to be erectednear the milking-sheds of the farm, and in contiguityto the feeding-troughs of the cows, or thepiggery, and adapted to the convenience of feedingthe whey to whichever of these animals thedairyman may select, as both, or either are requiredto consume it; and to which it may beconveyed in spouts from the dairy-room.

Interior Arrangement.—The front door is protectedby a light porch a, entering by a door b,the main dairy-room. The cheese-presses c, c,occupy the left end of the room, between which[350]a passage leads through a door l, into the wood-shedh, open on all sides, with its roof resting onfour posts set in the ground. The large cheese-tabled stands on the opposite end, and is threefeet wide. In the centre of the room is a chimneye, with a whey and water boiler, and vatson each side. A flight of stairs f, leading intothe storage-room above, is in the rear. A doorb, on the extreme right, leads into the ice-houseg. There are four windows to the room—twoon each side, front and rear. In the loft areplaced the shelves for storing the cheese, as soonas sufficiently prepared on the temporary tablebelow. This loft is thoroughly ventilated bywindows, and the heat of the sun upon it ripensthe cheese rapidly for market. A trapdoor,through the floors, over which is hung a tackle,admits the cheese from below, or passes it downwhen prepared for market.

The cheese-house should, if possible, be placedon a sloping bank, when it is designed to feedthe whey to pigs; and even when it is fed tocows, it is more convenient to pass it to themon a lower level than to carry it out in buckets.It may, however, if on level ground, be dischargedinto vats, in a cellar below, and pumpedout as wanted. A cellar is convenient—indeed,almost indispensable—under the cheese dairy;and water should be so near as to be easilypumped or drawn into the vats and kettles usedin running up the curd, or for washing theutensils used in the work. When the milk iskept over night for the next morning's curd,temporary tables may be placed near the ice-room,to hold the pans or tubs in which it maybe set, and the ice used to temper the milk tothe proper degree for raising the cream. If thedairy be of such extent as to require larger accommodationsthan the plan here suggested, aroom or two may be partitioned off from themain milk and pressing-room for washing thevessels and other articles employed, and for settingthe milk. Every facility should be madefor neatness in all the operations connected withthe work.

Different accommodations are required formaking the different kinds of cheese which ourvaried markets demand, and in the fitting up ofthe dairy-house, no positive plan of arrangementcan be laid down, suited alike to all the workwhich may be demanded. The dairyman, therefore,will best arrange all these for the particularconvenience which he requires. The main planand style of building, however, we think will begenerally approved, as being in an agreeablearchitectural style, and of convenient constructionand shape for the objects intended.

PIGGERY.

THE design here given is for a building 36 feetlong and 24 feet wide, with twelve-feet posts;the lower, or living-room for the swine, 9 feethigh, and a storage chamber above for the grainand other food required for his keeping. Theroof has a pitch of 40° from a horizontal line,spreading over the sides and gables at least 20inches, and coarsely bracketed. The entrancefront projects 6 feet from the main building, by12 feet in length. Over its main door, in thegable, is a door with a hoisting beam and tackleabove it, to take in the grain, and a floor overthe whole area receives it. A window is ineach gable end. A ventilator passes up throughthis chamber and the roof, to let off the steamfrom the cooking vats below, and the foul airemitted by the swine, by the side of which isthe furnace-chimney, giving it, on the whole, asrespectable an appearance as a pigsty need pretendto.

Interior Arrangement.—At the left of the entranceis a flight of stairs b, leading to the chamberabove. On the right is a small area a, witha window to light it. A door from this leadsinto the main room c, where stands a chimney d,with a furnace to receive the fuel for cookingthe food, for which are two kettles, or boilers,with wooden vats on the top, if the extent offood demands them; these are secured withbroad wooden covers, to keep in the steam whencooking. An iron valve is placed in the backflue of the furnace, which may fall upon eitherside, to shut off the fire from either of the kettles,around which the fire may revolve; or thevalve may stand in a perpendicular position, atwill, if both kettles be heated at the same time.But, as the most economical mode is to cook onekettle while the other is in process of feedingout, and vice versa, scarcely more than one at atime will be required in use. Over each kettleis a sliding door, with a short spout to slide thefood into them when wanted. If necessary, andit can be conveniently done, a well may be sunkunder this room, and a pump inserted at a convenientplace; or, if equally convenient, a pipemay bring the water in from a neighboringstream or spring. On three sides of this roomare feeding pens e, and sleeping partitions f, forthe swine. These several apartments are accommodatedwith doors, which open into separateyards on the sides and in rear, or a largeone for the entire family, as may be desired.

Construction.—The frame of this building isof strong timber, and stout for its size. The sillsshould be eight inches square, the corner posts[351]of the same size, and the intermediate posts 8by 6 inches in diameter. In the centre of theseposts, grooves should be made, two inches wide,and deep, to receive the plank sides, whichshould be two inches thick, and let in from thelevel of the chamber by a flush cutting for thatpurpose, out of the grooves inside, thus using nonails or spikes, and holding the planks tight intheir place that they may not be rooted out orrubbed off by the hogs, and the inner projectionof the main posts left to serve as rubbing postsfor them. Above the chamber floor thinnerplanks may be used. The centre post in thefloor plan of the engraving is omitted, by mistake,but it should stand there, like the others.Inside posts at the corners, and in the sides ofthe partitions, like the outside ones, should bealso placed and grooved to receive the planking,four and a half feet high, and their upper endsbe secured by tenons into mortices in the beamsoverhead. The troughs should be made of cast-iron,or the hardest white oak plank, stronglyspiked on to the floor and sides.

[352]

THE INTERVIEW.

BY T. HEMPSTEAD.

SONNET.—CLOUDS.

BY WM. ALEXANDER.

[353]

WILLIE MAYLIE.

BY CORNELIA M. DOWLING.

ELLIE MAYLIE.

BY JENNIE DOWLING DE WITT.

THERE'S MUSIC.

BY HORACE G. BOUGHMAN.

DREAM PICTURE.
AN IMPROMPTU.

BY MRS. A. F. LAW.

[354]

I WAS ROBBED OF MY SPIRIT'S LOVE.

BY JARONETTE.

THE ELIXIR OF LIFE.

BY CHARLES ALBERT JANVIER.

The following lines were suggested by a remark in WashingtonIrving's "Student of Salamanca," that the old alchymistdied just as he was on the point of discovering thephilosopher's stone.

[355]

THE SONG-BIRDS OF SPRING.

BY NORMAN W. BRIDGE.

A MOTHER'S LOVE.
TO A YOUNG FRIEND.

BY MARY NEAL.

TO AN ABSENT DEAR ONE.

BY FANNIE M. C.

[356]

TO IDA.

BY HORACE PHELPS, M. D.

THE WAS AND THE IS.

BY O. EVERTS, M. D.

THE LAST MOMENTS.

BY R. GRIFFIN STAPLES.

[357]

OUR PRACTICAL DRESS INSTRUCTOR.

LADY'S SCARF MANTELET.

THE newest style of mantle is the Scarf Mantelet.Its graceful shape, lightness, and elegancehave made it a great favorite. This mantle ismade of muslin or silk, and trimmed with laceas fancy dictates.

DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS OF LADY'SSCARF MANTELET.

Fig. 1.—Front.

Fig. 2.—Back. Join a to a and b to b.

We also add the diagrams of a very prettyjacket.

DESCRIPTION OF DIAGRAMS OF LADY'SJACKET.

Fig. 3.—Front.

Fig. 4.—Back.

Fig. 5.—Side-piece. Join a, a, a.

Fig. 6.—Sleeve in full. (This shape is verymuch worn for morning and evening dress.) AShoulder.

[358]

CROCHET TASSEL COVER.

Material.—Crochet thread, No. 1; Penelope needle, No. 3.

COMMENCE with 12 chain, make it round byworking a single stitch in the first chain stitch.

1st round.—(4 chain and 2 plain in the foundationchain, 7 times.)

2d.—1 chain (2 treble, 3 chain and 2 treble,all in the 4 chain of the first round), then 1chain, 1 plain on the 2 plain. Repeat 6 timesmore.

3d.—Miss 1, 1 plain in the 1 chain, 3 chain,miss 2 (3 treble, 3 chain and 3 treble, in the 3chain of the last round), then 3 chain, miss 2, 1plain in the next 1 chain. Repeat 6 times more.

4th.—5 chain, keep this chain at the back ofthe last round, and work 1 plain between the 2plain stitches of the last round. Repeat 6 timesmore, leaving the points formed in the last roundin front.

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5th.—(2 chain and 1 plain, 3 times, in eachof the 5 chains of the last round.)

6th, 7th, 8th, and 9th.—(2 chain and 1 plain,in the 2 chain, 21 times.)

10th.—(1 chain and 1 plain, in the 2 chain,21 times.)

11th.—42 plain.

12th.—41 plain, 1 single.

13th.—(6 chain, miss 4, and 2 plain, on thelower edge of the stitches of the last round, 7times), the upper edge of the stitches of the 12thround are left at the back to form the foundationof the inner part of the tassel.

14th.—2 chain (3 treble, 3 chain, and 3 treble,all in the 6 chain); then 2 chain and 1 plain,on the 2 plain of the 13th round. Repeat 6times more.

15th.—1 chain, miss 2, 1 plain in the 2 chain;then 2 chain, miss 2 (3 treble, 3 chain and 3treble, in the 3 chain), 2 chain, miss 2, 1 plainin the 2 chain. Repeat 6 times more; then 1plain in the 1st chain stitch.

16th.—4 chain, miss 6, 3 treble in the 3 chain;then 5 chain, turn, miss 4, 1 single on the 1ststitch of these 5 chain to form a round loop;turn, and work (5 chain and 1 plain, in theround loop, 5 times), then 3 treble in the same3 chain of the 15th round as before, 4 chain, miss6, 1 plain in the 1 chain. Repeat 6 times more,and fasten off, which finishes the outside.

To form the under part of the tassel, returnto the 12th round, the upper edge of the stitcheshaving been left on the inside of the tassel, andcommencing on the first stitch, work for the

1st round.—42 plain, 1 single on the 1st stitchof the round.

2d.—(5 chain, miss 2, and 1 plain, 14 times.)

3d.—(5 chain, miss 4, and 1 plain, in the 5chain, 14 times.)

4th.—1 chain, miss 4, 1 plain in the 5 chain,then 9 chain, 1 plain in the same 5 chain, then1 chain, 6 treble in the next 5 chain. Repeat 6times more.

5th.—1 chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the 9 chain(then 3 chain and 1 treble in the same 9 chain,3 times); 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in the 3dstitch of the 6 treble, then 3 treble in the nextstitch. Repeat 6 times more.

6th.—1 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the 3 chain,then 3 chain, miss 3 (2 long, 5 chain and 2 long,all in the next 3 chain), 3 chain, miss 3, 1 plainin the next 3 chain, 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble inthe 3d treble stitch, and 3 treble in the nextstitch. Repeat 6 times more.

[360]

7th.—1 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the 3 chain,then 2 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the 5 chain, then(5 chain and 1 plain, in the same 5 chain, 5times) 2 chain, miss 3, 1 plain in the 3 chain,then 1 chain, miss 5, 3 treble in the 3d treblestitch, and 3 treble in the next stitch. Repeat6 times more.

8th.—3 chain, miss 9, 1 plain in the 5 chain,3 chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the next 5 chain, 3chain, miss 5, 1 treble in the next 5 chain, 3chain, 1 treble in the same 5 chain as before, 3chain, miss 5, and 1 treble in the next 5 chain,3 chain, miss 5, 1 plain in the next 5 chain, 3chain, miss 9, 1 plain on the centre of the 6treble. Repeat 6 times more; then 3 chain,miss 3, 1 plain in the first 3 chain.

9th.—3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble in the next 3chain, then 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble in the next3 chain, 3 chain, miss 3 (1 long, 3 chain, 1 long,both in the 3 chain), 3 chain, miss 3, 1 treble, 3chain, miss 3, 1 treble, 3 chain, miss 3, 1 plainin the 3 chain, miss 1, 1 plain in the next 3chain. Repeat 6 times more.

10th.—Miss 2, 3 plain in the 3 chain, *, miss1, 1 plain, 1 treble, 3 chain, 1 treble, and 1plain, all in the next 3 chain. Repeat from * 4times more; then miss 1, 3 plain in the 3 chain.Repeat from the commencement of the round,6 times more, and fasten off.

NETTED CAP, FOR MORNING WEAR.

Materials.—Crochet thread, No. 4; and, to embroider thepattern, a skein of pink or blue Shetland wool, or embroiderycotton, No. 16; steel mesh, No. 14, and a flat ivorymesh, one quarter of an inch in width—this will make anordinary cap; but, if any other size is required, the meshesand thread must be coarser or finer.

COMMENCE with the crochet thread, and No.14 mesh, on a foundation of 20 stitches; work40 rows of 20 stitches each. This piece formsthe centre of the crown, cut it off the foundation,and run a string along the four sides, aboutfour or five stitches from the edges, so as to workall round the square.

1st round.—Work down the first side thus:net a stitch plain, then net 2 stitches in onestitch, 15 plain, 2 stitches in one, 2 plain, andalong the other side, *, net 2 stitches in one, 15plain, 2 stitches in one, and 2 plain. Repeatfrom * twice more.

2d.—Net 3 plain then (2 stitches in one, and10 plain, 8 times).

3d.—Plain.

4th.—(Net 11 plain, and 2 stitches in one, 8times.)

It will now be advisable to take out the string,and run it into the 1st round to keep the workeven. Net 15 rounds plain.

20th.—Net 2 stitches in one, then 20 plain, 2stitches in one, 79 plain. Net 4 rounds morethe same as last, working 2 stitches more at theend of each round, so that the 20 plain stitchesare always over those of the preceding round;when finished, turn back. Net to within 20stitches of the end of the round, turn back again,and leaving the 20 stitches to form the back ofthe cap, work for the front, 8 rows plain, nettingtwo stitches in the last stitch of each row.Then 12 rows plain without increasing; and forthe foundation of the border double the cottonand work 6 rows plain.

Embroider the cap with the pink wool indarning stitch, passing the needle about 6 timesin each square of the netting.

THE BORDER.—With the thread, and No. 14mesh, net 6 stitches plain, and continue workingbackwards and forwards for about 9 yards;then to form.

THE EDGE.—Run a string in the loops which[361]form the selvedge, so as to work on the otherselvedge.

1st row.—With flat mesh, net 4 stitches inevery other stitch of the selvedge.

2d.—With 14 mesh, plain netting, working astitch in every stitch of the first row. Then,with the pink wool, embroider the plain netting.

To make up the cap, sew a row of the borderto the last thick row of the cap, fulling it at theears, plain across the front to the centre, thendraw 5 loops close together to make it ratherpointed, plain again, and full at the other ear,and across the back, sew on another row of theborder the same, attaching it to the first thickrow; then sew on a third border, very full, andin a zigzag form on the ears, but the same asbefore across the front.

THE STRINGS.—With the thread and No. 14mesh, net 12 stitches, and continue workingbackwards and forwards for 5 inches, then net 2stitches in one at the end of every third row, untilit is increased to 28 stitches; then net 8 rows,leaving 3 stitches unworked at the end of eachrow; and for

THE EDGE.—With the flat mesh, commencein the last stitch of the side, and net 4 stitchesin every other stitch across the uneven rows;then one row plain, with No. 14 mesh. Workanother string the same, and embroider them asthe cap.

BORDER AND CORNER FOR POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF.

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CHEMISETTES, UNDERSLEEVES, AND CAPS.

OUR readers can scarcely imagine the difficultywe meet with in presenting novelties in this department.The shades of fashion are so various,and yet so slight, that, in giving new designsfrom month to month, those not accustomed toscrutinize closely may not notice the peculiaritiesthey are intended to present, or that eachmonth has its peculiar and seasonable adaptation.For instance—

Fig. 1, a wrought lace chemisette and stomacher,[363]is intended for the mild opening season,when cambric embroideries would be too heavyfor the style of dress. The prevailing form ofthe opening of the basque corsage is also denotedby it—low, square, or a broad oval on thebust. The construction of the chemisette ofbroad scalloped lace, is simple enough, on afoundation of Grecian net or coach blonde.

Fig. 2 is an undersleeve to correspond, madesufficiently loose at the wrist for the hand topass through. The box plaiting or quilling ofsatin ribbon, which heads the lace in both Figs.1 and 2, is fastened in the sleeve by a rosette.This is of course only caught on, and is easilyremoved when the lace is to be done up; it maybe of any shade, and is very stylish in eveningdress.

Fig. 3 is a rather close morning cap for a ladyof middle age, made of alternate rows of cleanmuslin puffs and fine Valenciennes insertion. Ithas a crown, front piece, and frill. The borderis a medium Valenciennes edge sewn in the insertion,two rows slightly frilled. Bows andstrings of violet-colored satin ribbon.

Fig. 4.—Breakfast cap for a young marriedlady, consisting of a crown piece, and two rowsof edging, of Maltese lace. Bows and ends ofrich ribbon, medium width between the rows, aknot of broader ribbon behind, a little to theright. For description of Maltese lace, see fashionarticle.

APRON IN BRODERIE EN LACET.

(See Blue Plate in front of Book.)

Materials.—Seven-eighths of a yard of wide black glacesilk, two knots of cerise Russia silk braid, one knot of palevert-islay ditto, and a dozen skeins of sewing-silk to matcheach braid.

BRODERIE EN LACET signifies a design out-linedas if merely for braiding, but with theflowers and other parts filled in with point lacestitches, so as to make a solid piece of embroideringon the silk. For no article is this novel styleof work more suitable than for aprons, which itrenders exceedingly ornamental, at a very smallexpenditure of time and trouble, the very simplestof the point lace stitches only being usedin this work. Of course, the size of our pageprecludes our giving even the half of the apronthe full size. The design must be enlarged accordingto the size required, the pattern procured,and the silk marked in the same way asordinary braiding or embroidery.

Braiding should always be done with a strandof the silk of which the braid is made. Beforebeginning, cut off a yard of the braid and drawout the threads for sewing with. Thread theend of the braid on a large darning-needle, anddraw it through the silk to the wrong side forthe commencement, and do the same at everynecessary break, sending the ends down. Runthe braid on very smoothly, taking the stitchesacross it slanting and cut along the centre, as isusually done. The braid should lie perfectlyflat, and the edges be smooth and even.

The knots at the side suspending the wreathare done in the green braid, the two parallellines of which are connected by close herring-bonestitch, or point d'Alençon, as it is calledin lace-work. All the fancy stitches are donewith the common sewing-silk, not with thestrands of the braid. The leaves need havemerely the veinings worked in Venetian bars;those, however, who do not mind the trouble,will do well to fill them first with Brussels lace,and work the fibres over that; the improvedeffect will quite repay the extra work. Theroses are filled up closely in the Brussels andVenetian lace, the narrow parts being connectedwith English bars. The lower part of each budhas a rosette in it, the remainder is filled withVenetian lace.

LADY'S SLIPPER.

Gold braid on velvet or cloth.

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JACKET FOR A RIDING-DRESS.

THE material is merino, or very fine lady'scloth; the color a light shade of cinnamonbrown. The basque, or skirt, at the waist israther long, and the jacket is edged all roundwith a Greek border in soutache. It is maderather open in front, so as to show a waistcoatof plain blue cashmere fastened with gold buttons.The collar to be worn with this jacket isof cambric, and may be either worked or plain.The undersleeves, also of cambric, are full, andthe fulness gathered at the wrists on bands ofneedlework. Necktie of black velvet. Our illustrationshows only the jacket of this riding-dress;but we may mention that the skirt of thehabit should be of the same material, and thatthe hat worn with it should be of gray felt, ornamentedwith a feather of the same color, and thecrown encircled by a band of blue ribbon fastenedin a rosette on one side.

COTTAGE FURNITURE.

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PATTERNS FOR EMBROIDERY.

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WE put aside, for this month, a number of short articles,in order to give our readers the pleasure of an introductionto the celebrated singing-master, to whose instructions theSwedish Nightingale owes, in a great measure, the restorationof her wonderful voice, and her unequalled power inusing it. Very important lessons are contained in this interestingsketch, translated from the German of ElisePolko.

Rue Chabannais, No. 6.—In one of the most insignificantstreets of splendid Paris, the narrow little Rue Chabannais,there stands a tall, dark-looking house known as No. 6.Ugly, rambling, old-fashioned buildings stand on each side,and have posted themselves opposite to it also, like oldduennas mounting guard, squinting down incessantly withtheir dim eyes, their unwashed windows, upon the grayhouse with its broad doorway. The inhabitants of the littlestreet, on the contrary, regard it with a certain pride mingledwith a tender friendliness of feeling, and rejoice likechildren over each brilliant equipage that stays its rapidcourse before No. 6, as well as over every unpretendingfiacre that there deposits its light burden.

At all hours of the day, graceful female figures glide overthe threshold of the large dark house, and the modiste ofthe Rue Chabannais, who arranges her fluttering caps,ribbons, and veils so invitingly in the corner window,might make valuable studies for costume from the manyand divers figures, great and small, who so heedlessly passby her well-displayed treasures. One may see rich heavysilks, and simple black woollen robes, superb velvet mantillasand delicate light shawls, the careless and yet strikingcostume, the carefully-chosen and usually brilliant garb ofslender German women, the elegant and coquettish Frenchbonnet, and the great roof-like straw hat which shelters thefair brow of the English lady. One might be tempted tothink some skilful gardener must have his abode here, andall the flowers were flocking to him for advice about theirtender lives, from the glorious exotic of the greenhouse tothe humblest field flower that needs only its drop of dew.

But men too, young and old, whose figures and faces remindus neither of flowers nor spring, enter mysteriousNo. 6 with rapid steps, and strangely do their countenancesdiffer in expression as they come out again. Sometimesthere is a bright smile and a beaming eye, but most ofthem have a deep and earnest look, and a brow furrowedwith anxious thought—traces which vanish soon enoughin the Place Louvois or the gay and brilliant Rue Richelieu.

"Perhaps a second Lenormand has fixed her residencein the large house, disclosing strange secrets to the curious,and uttering dark oracles!" Ah, no! such magicians aresought only under cover of twilight and the dark shadowsof night—never in bright day.

Now, shall I solve the riddle of the gray house? Willyou follow me up the broad stone stairway? Forward,then! Many a light foot has lingered anxiously on thesesteps, doubtful whether to go further; this iron railing hasbeen touched by many a trembling hand, and these whitewalls have echoed many a sigh. At last we have mountedthe third flight; let us take breath! Many a young hearthas beat audibly before this closed door, believe me! for weare standing before the dwelling of

MANUEL GARCIA,

the greatest singing-master of our time.

One of the most charming of fairies (and I tell you foryour comfort there are still many of them who, to escapethe roar and tumult of our mad world, hide themselves fardown in the flower-cups), at my earnest request, has lentme her fragrant veil for an hour or two; we wrap it aroundus and are invisible, and now we can boldly enter therooms of the artist. Passing through a small antechamber,we carefully open a folding door on the right, and enter asimple apartment, partially darkened, and tastefully andcomfortably furnished. Two beautiful busts arrest ourattention; one bears the inscription "Eugenie Garcia," theother the immortal name "Marie Malibran." Two familiarportraits adorn the walls: the pleasant kindly face of theSwedish Nightingale, and the earnest countenance of PaulineViardot.

Silvery sounds, full and powerful, reach our ear fromthe adjoining room; they attract us irresistibly; we followthem, gently open a side door and find ourselves in thevery sanctum of the master, in the atelier of the artist.The long folds of the red silk curtains are partially drawn,so that a rosy light falls upon every object; a fine pianostands in the middle of the room; arm-chairs by the fireplace;a luxurious divan on one side covered with scatteredmusic; the elegant marble table loaded with books, portfolios,music-books, papers of all kinds; music-stands inevery direction, on one of which, beside the singer, we seean open volume of exercises. "L'école de Garcia, l'art duchant." A breath of poetry seems to pervade the apartment.Garcia sits at the piano, his scholar stands at somedistance before him.

The maestro is very tall, unusually slender, and of atruly feverish vivacity. His face is small and deadly pale;his dark, slightly curled hair falls over a high forehead.His eyes are dark, restless, flashing, and inspired. Nowhe listens with fixed attention to the full, swelling notesthat flow from the lips of the songstress; the next hethrows back his head impatiently; a word of warning orof blame is rapidly addressed to the pupil; sometimes akindly smile, a slight sarcasm, a pleasant jest, all strangelyintermingled with sudden starts, angry stamping of thefeet, and stern frowns of displeasure. How rarely a wordof praise! But one single warm word of commendationfrom such a master is a sunbeam that has power to penetrateand unfold every fast closed bud of zeal and earnesteffort.

How cautiously Garcia handles the precious possessionintrusted to his care, the human voice! How tenderly heprotects it! how carefully he watches it! how anxiouslyhe strives to preserve that pure, brilliant freshness of youthwhich is the greatest charm a voice can possess.

It is really impossible to lose this flower-like bloom underGarcia's guidance; whatever may be said or has alreadybeen said to the contrary, such a reproach can never comehome to a master whose whole method is so entirely according[367]to nature. And how strenuously does he insistupon resting pauses in his hours of instruction! Hearwhat he says to that listening pupil who looks up to himwith such eager expectation:—

"Freshness and spontaneousness are the most preciousqualities of the voice, but they are also the most fragile.The voice which loses them never regains them; its toneis gone, never to return."

"During the first days of practising, the pupils should notdevote themselves to their exercises more than five minutesconsecutively; but studies thus regulated may be resumedfour or five times a day, provided they be separated by longintervals. Afterwards, the time devoted to practice, by increasingit five minutes at a time, may be extended to halfan hour, a limit which should never be exceeded. At theend of five or six months, you may increase the number ofhalf hours of exercise to four, but be careful in going beyondit, remembering always that these periods be separatedby long rests."

The singer begins again. Her own figure stands beforeher in the large mirror that hangs behind the master'sback; no movement of her face can escape her; everycontraction of her eyebrows, every slight wrinkle in herforehead, every ungraceful movement of her mouth is trulyreflected there. And no trick passes unreproved, for Garcia'spiercing eye watches with fixed attention every featureof the singer. But he does not arrange and prescribe howthe cheekbones are to move, or the lips to open; he doesnot confuse the ideas of his pupils by incomprehensible,wordy descriptions of the position of the mouth and theposture of the head; he simply repeats the teaching of thefamous old Italian singing-masters, Tosi and Mancini:"Every singer should hold his mouth as he is in the habitof doing when he smiles naturally, that is, so that the upperteeth may be moderately and perpendicularly separatedfrom the lower ones." Without directing the postureof the body like a drill-sergeant, Garcia says briefly, butdecidedly: "Keep the body erect, tranquil, well-balancedon the two limbs, and at a distance from any other pointof support." The arms must be held a little back, "so asnot to interfere with the play of the chest." The lesson isfinished. The maestro kindly dismisses his pupil, againrepeats, with condensed brevity, the main point of to-day'sinstruction, appoints the task for home practice, and encouragesthe timid departing scholar with heart-cheeringwords of courage and hope.

But look! scarcely has the door closed when it is againopened. A pale young man, accompanied by some sober-looking,elderly gentlemen, bows in an awkward and yetassuming manner, and, with a smile of conscious self-satisfaction,presents different letters of recommendation, amongwhich such names as Meyerbeer, Auber, Spontini, shineout. It is a singer from one of the provinces; enchantedwith the praises of his table-companions, he is about todevote himself to the stage. His rich father and richeruncle have come with him to Paris; Cousin Meyerbeersends him to Garcia, as he has already sent him from PontiusAuber to Pilate Spontini. With what indifferenceGarcia throws aside these great letters, but how carefullyhe begins to test the young man's abilities! The aspiringdevotee to art has brought with him his favorite air, hisshow-piece; Verdi is his idol among composers! The recitationbegins; Garcia accompanies him. The voice isweak and yet sharp, already half-cracked; the flow of itunnatural and cramped; the most terrible effort is apparentat every note; false respiration too, and indistinct pronunciation.The master grows more and more impatient;his feet begin to jerk as if seized with sudden cramps; heplays faster and faster; with feverish haste, his slenderhands run over the keys, his face changing with everysound; his eyes flash more and more restlessly; his teethare pressed against his lips; suddenly, he springs from hisseat, with the half-smothered exclamation, "Assez, Monsieur,assez, je vous prie!" He sinks exhausted into achair; an awful pause ensues. At last the master quietlyand decidedly explains to the singer the grounds uponwhich he is obliged to refuse his request, in spite of all therecommendations of Meyerbeer and Spontini. His candorand calmness towards the offended amateur are worthy ofadmiration. He concludes by kindly advising the astonishedaspirant, if he has not implicit faith in his words, to seekanother teacher, and dismisses the deluded worshipper ofVerdi with the most refined courtesy.

How frequently does he reject lady pupils who, withgreat assumption and half-ruined voices, come to him thathis hand may scatter a few flowers over their remains!How impatient he is of all musical narrowness, want oftalent, and laziness! His severity in such cases has givenhim a bad reputation, his violence has forced tears frommany eyes; but his justice remains unimpeachable. Hewill not for a moment feign for a scholar an interest he doesnot feel, or that has been forfeited by any of the defects Ihave mentioned; he is unsparing in making them feelhow little he cares for such pupils. Holding a book in onehand, with the other he carelessly strikes an accompaniment,and as he diligently reads on, only the monotonous"encore" at the end of a solfeggia proves that the ear ofthe master has been attending.

The more untrained and untutored the voice that isbrought to him, the more thankfully he receives it. Howjoyfully does he then devote himself to his arduous task!how unwearied is his attention! how carefully and conscientiouslydoes he watch over the treasure intrusted tohim! On the other hand, he is most unwilling to under-take"repairs" and "final embellishments," which, artist-like,he confesses without disguise; and singers who, withthis in view, seek the master's studio, will have but littlesatisfaction in his lessons. * * * * * *

But hush! hush! My gracious protectress gives me agentle warning, and touches the magic veil we had wrappedabout us. Let us obey her timely hint, nor provokeone kind spirit to anger! Farewell, good master Garcia!Heartily do we rejoice that we have listened to thee; believeme, we shall often wing our way back to thee withoutfairy help, even in the spirit, that we may look on theewith gratitude and admiration. And the golden and silverysounds which thy magic power draws from youngrosy lips will again flow forth and bear us on in their clearstream; the bright, pearly drops of brilliant roulades willrefresh and quicken us into new life; and oh, joy! the poortroubled heart will hear no more the sharp, cutting, irreconcilablediscords of the everyday world.

AN AMERICAN ARTISTE ABROAD.—Miss Adelaide Phillips,of Boston, has lately made a very successful débût at Brescia(Italy), in the character of Arsace in Rossini's Semiramide."The public were lavish of well-merited applause,"says the Italian critic. Miss Phillips first sang, as a child,at the Boston Museum. She went, about two years since,to Italy, to complete her musical education. Biscacciantisang for her benefit, and Jenny Lind, though she refusedto sing for her, it is understood, gave her $1,000, and lettersof recommendation to her old teacher, Garcia. Miss Phillipsis the fifth American who has, within the last fewyears, succeeded on the Italian stage.

TRUE HAPPINESS IN A PALACE.—Frederick William III.,King of Prussia, married, in 1793, Louisa, daughter of the[368]Duke of Mecklenburg-Strelitz. The union was one of elevatedlove and perfect confidence, the character of the wifepresenting a combination of excellencies that dignify hersex and ennoble humanity. Among her graces, that ofdoing good to the poor was always in exercise. The kingallowed her a certain sum for her charities, which sheoften exceeded, and when the treasurer informed the kingof this, he had a way of gradually replenishing the drawerin her desk.

She would say, "What angel has filled that drawer forme again?" To which the king—that the angels werelegion, although he knew only one; and then repeated thebeautiful verse—

"He gives his favors to his favorites while sleeping."

This high and tender appreciation of the queen's gracesand virtues appeared at all times. Himself grave, oftenmorose, silent, and somewhat sarcastic, he knew well howto make use of and shelter himself behind the serenesmiles and ever-genial, gracious demeanor of the queen, towhom he used to say, when assailed by the plaudits oftheir subjects: "Now, Louisa, you must salute them forme; you can do it better than I; but how you can holdout so long, I cannot think."

Much is said of her sly playfulness and ready repartee,one anecdote of which we cannot resist giving. The king,who was extremely careful and judicious in his expenditure,and whose maxim it was that the secret of dollarslies in groschen—exactly similar to our saying about penniesand pounds—on entering the queen's apartments onemorning, espied a pretty new headdress, of which he jestinglyinquired the price.

The queen replied in the same tone: "It is not alwaysright that men should know the price of women's dress;they don't understand it, and think everything too dear."

"Well, but do tell me the price for this cap, for I shouldlike to know."

"Oh, certainly I will! I bought it a great bargain; Ionly gave four dollars for it."

"Only! an enormous price for such a thing. What alarge sum of money!" and running on in the same vein,he saw from the window an old invalid veteran of theguard, whom he beckoned to come in, saying to him as heentered: "The lady who is sitting on that sofa has a greatdeal of money; now, what ought she pay for that little capon the table? You must not be dazzled by the beautifulpink ribbons, but say what you think it is worth."

The old soldier shrugged his shoulders, and said, after apause: "Why, I suppose it would cost some groschen"(pence).

"There, now!" said the king; "do you hear that?Groschen, indeed! That thing cost four dollars. Now goand ask that pretty lady for four dollars. She can wellafford to give you as much as she can afford to pay for that."

The queen smilingly opened her purse, and presented thefour dollars to the old man. "And now," continued thequeen, archly imitating the king's tone, "you see thatnoble gentleman standing at the window; he has muchmore money than I have. All I have is from him, and hegives very freely. Now go and ask for double of what youhave got from me: he can afford to give you eight dollars."

The king saw at once that he was caught in his own trap,and laughingly gave the old man the sum she had socharmingly forced from him.

Such domestic happiness is seldom found in a palace;when it is, we see how it adds to the glory of royalty. Everymarried pair are royal in their own home, and if everyhusband and wife would study to make each other happy,like Frederick and Louisa of Prussia, there would be noquestion about the "rights" of either. Both would find theirbest happiness in their respective duties.

A MISTAKE.—The following paragraph we are sorry tosee ascribed to the lady editor of the "Book":—

"Mrs. Hale says there is more talent and general informationdisplayed by the press of the United States, takencollectively, than can be found in Congress and all theLegislatures taken collectively."

Mrs. Hale never presumed thus to criticize or comparethe merits of editors and statesmen. The opinion belongsto Mr. Godey—he can answer for himself.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.—The following articles are accepted:"Mrs. Clark's Experience as a Servant," "The SchottischPartner," "Stanzas," "Autumn Dying," "The ThriceWedded," "Memory's Retrospect," "The Mother's Lesson,""My blighted Rose-buds," "Come unto me," "To MissLaura," "Lines," "Two Mothers," "I Pray for the Lovedat Home," "The Smiling Boy," "A loving Heart," "Legendof Long Pond, or Lake of the Golden Cross," "DeaconDownright."

The following articles are declined: "Valuable Copyrights,""The Grave;" "The Sabbath of the Soul." (Poeticalin idea, and evinces genius as well as taste; but unequal,and the closing lines poor. The writer may feel sure ofsuccess if energy does not fail.) "Turkish Battle Song,"and the translation of the "Forty-seventh Ode of Anacreon,"are both declined. Neither war nor wine is a fittingtheme for our "Book," nor do we need poetry of any kind."To Belle Irene." The following, the first and best stanza,is all we have room for. (There is power in the writer, andhe does not lack imagination, but he dashes off his lines insuch hot haste, that he often leaves metre and measure farbehind. A little more care in the versification would be agreat improvement.)

"Lines about Tec*mseh," "To Mary," "I Would;" "Tears."We give below an extract, the poem being too extended forits one idea; the writer is capable of better things:—

"Mrs. Penelope Pennington's Disappointments." (Thearticle is well written, the subject commonplace. "A Leaffrom the Life of an Old Maid" was declined; the acceptancenoted in September was by mistake; the "Book" is sent,nevertheless, as the author will undoubtedly succeed, andwe can wait. Many articles on hand are not yet examined.

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BOOKS BY MAIL.—Now that the postage on printed matteris so low, we offer our services to procure for our subscribersor others any of the books that we notice. Informationtouching books will be cheerfully given by inclosing astamp to pay return postage.

From LIPPINCOTT, GRAMBO, & CO. (successors to Grigg &Elliot), No. 14 North Fourth Street, Philadelphia:—

A NEW AND COMPLETE GAZETTEER OF THEUNITED STATES. Giving a full and comprehensive reviewof the present condition, industry, and resources ofthe American confederacy; embracing, also, importanttopographical, statistical, and historical information, fromrecent and original sources; together with the results ofthe census of 1850, and population and statistics in manycases to 1853. By Thomas Baldwin and J. Thomas, M. D.The enterprising publishers of this valuable and importantwork may very justly feel gratified in being able to presentit to the public, and with equal truth do they claim it tobe the most elaborate, comprehensive, and perfect "Gazetteer"of the United States that has ever issued from thepress. Instead of 800 pages, to which the work was originallyrestricted, it has swelled to 1,400 pages, embracing atleast 10,000 names of places not to be found in any other"Gazetteer," together with the appropriate statistics andinformation. Neither the hope of profit, nor the pressureof competition has induced the publishers to present theirwork before it was complete, or before all the ample materialsfurnished by the census of 1850, and other statisticsand important facts in the hands of editors, were "fullydigested and arranged." The expense incurred in the productionof this unequalled "Gazetteer," in which, besidesthe editors and their assistants, several thousand correspondentsin all parts of the United States were engaged,has consequently been very great, amounting, as we learn,to more than $30,000.

But, if the publishers have reason to feel gratified in theresult of their labors, we think the American public shouldbe congratulated in having within command and ready foruse a volume which presents so faithfully the present conditionof the country, in all the ramifications of population,trade, commerce, wealth, etc., and which foreshadows thefuture as unerringly as it records the history of the past.The great public, therefore, always alive to its own interests,will lose no time in discovering the propriety, as wellas the justice of rewarding the spirited publishers of the"New and Complete Gazetteer," by purchasing the volumesas fast as they can be got ready. And this, we think,will be the result as soon as its merits are generally known.As a book of reference, it will be indispensable to editors,authors, merchants, and men of enterprise in all the departmentsof business. In families, it will also be foundto furnish the readiest means in impressing the young inquirerswith an amount of history in relation to the extent,climate, soil, productions, and general statistics oftheir country, which they might search in vain for in thevarious histories prepared for their exclusive benefit.

From A. HART (late Carey & Hart), corner of Fourth andChestnut Streets, Philadelphia:—

HEROIC WOMEN OF THE WEST: containing ThrillingExamples of Courage, Fortitude, Devotedness, and Self-Sacrifice,among the Pioneer Mothers of the Western Country. ByJohn Frost. LL.D., author of "Pictorial History of theWorld," "History of the United States," etc. etc. This is ahandsome and interesting volume, in which are graphicallynarrated the heroic deeds of forty of the pioneer womenof the West. It has many beautiful illustrations.

From TICKNOR, REED, & FIELDS, Boston, through C. G.Henderson, Philadelphia:—

HAPS AND MISHAPS OF A TOUR IN EUROPE. ByGrace Greenwood. This is a very clever and readable book,its style fluent, flashy, and flowery. Every sentence ishighly wrought and carefully polished, and every sentiment,good, bad, and indifferent, is expressed in the highestpitch the English language will bear; and, when itwould bear no more, the climax has sometimes been givenin words borrowed from softer, sweeter, or stronger andmore thrilling vocabularies than our coarse mongrel Saxon.We know Grace Greenwood to be a graceful and polishedwriter; but in this volume she has evidently labored tooardently to dignify and garnish poetically common incidentsand common sayings, which would have appeared tomuch better advantage in commonplace prose. But allthis, we presume, proceeds from her determination to lether feelings have their full sweep; and thus, as they havedirected her, and as she has been differently impressed bysimilar sights and images, we find her at one time subduedand almost in tears before a painting of the Madonna, andat another hurling impassioned imprecations upon theheads of those who foster a worse than pagan superstition.We do not wonder, therefore, after reading her book, that,near the close of her tour, the over-excited author felt aninexpressible longing for rest "in a comfortable home amongher dear English friends."

From R. T. YOUNG, New York, through J. L. GIHON, Philadelphia:—

HISTORY OF NEW AMSTERDAM; or, New York as itwas in the Days of the Dutch Governors. Together with Paperson Events connected with the American Revolution, andon Philadelphia in the Times of William Penn. By ProfessorA. Davis, Corresponding Member of the N. Y. Hist. Society,Hon. Member of the N. Y. S. of Letters, and formerly Chaplainto the New York Senate. Six fine illustrations. Theyounger classes of historical readers will find this a veryattractive and very instructive volume.

From TICKNOR, REED, & FIELDS, Boston, through W. P.HAZARD, Philadelphia:—

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF AN ACTRESS; or, Eight Yearson the Stage. By Anna Cora Mowatt. These simple andunaffected memoirs will greatly interest the many warmand ardent friends of the authoress. They will, at thesame time, endear her to a numerous class of readerswho have hitherto had no opportunities to form just judgmentsof her character, her talents, and her noble strugglesthrough a professional life, such as is generally supposedto be more dangerous to those who enter upon itthan almost any other they could make choice of. We see,however, in this instance, as in many that have passed before,that where the virtues of the heart and the energiesof the mind are combined in motive and effort, the professionitself is elevated, and the professor triumphs.

From PHILLIPS, SAMPSON, & CO., Boston, through R. H. SEE& Co., Philadelphia:—

OUTLINES OF THE GEOLOGY OF THE GLOBE, ANDOF THE UNITED STATES IN PARTICULAR: with twoGeological Maps, and Sketches of Characteristic AmericanFossils. By Edward Hitchco*ck, D.D., LL.D.: President ofAmherst College, and Professor of Natural Theology andGeology. This work has been prepared as a sequel to"Elementary Geology," published by the author in 1847.[370]It forms a most valuable addition to the original work, aswill be seen by a single glance at the maps.

From M. W. DODD, opposite the City Hall, New York,through C. G. HENDERSON, Philadelphia:—

THE LECTURES COMPLETE OF FATHER GAVAZZI,as Delivered in New York. Reported by an eminent Stenographer,and revised and corrected by Gavazzi himself.Including translations of his Italian addresses with whichthe greater part of the lectures were prefaced. To whichare prefixed, under his authority and revision, the life ofGavazzi, continued to the time of his visit to America. ByG. B. Nicolini, his friend and fellow-exile, author of the"History of the late Roman Republic." The fulness of thetitle, and the great celebrity acquired by the author in thedelivery of his lectures, release us from any obligation wemight otherwise be under of explaining the controversialcharacter of this work.

ORIENTAL AND SACRED SCENES, from Notes of Travelin Greece, Turkey, and Palestine. By Fisher Howe. Thisis a very beautiful volume, with maps and colored illustrations.The incidents narrated, the descriptions of thecities and monuments visited, and the just and appropriatereflections of the author, are calculated not only to gratifythe curiosity, but to leave deep and salutary impressionsupon the mind of the reader. The Christian public will bethe more interested in the sale of this handsome volume,when informed that the profits are specifically devoted tothe cause of promoting the Gospel in the East under theAmerican Board of Commissions for Foreign Missions.

From J. S. REDFIELD, 110 and 112 Nassau Street, NewYork, through W. B. ZIEBER, Philadelphia:—

SKETCHES OF THE IRISH BAR. By the Rt. Hon.Richard Lalor Shiel, M. P. With Memoir and Notes, by R.Shelton Mackenzie, D.C.L. In two volumes. These volumeswill greatly interest such readers as may desire toinvestigate the Irish character, as displayed under thehigher influences of education, talents, and patriotism, andwhen aroused into action by motives of rivalry or ambitionfor place and power. Independent of these personal characteristics,the volume contains a great deal of informationconnected with the actual history of Ireland not yet embodiedin any other work that has come under our notice.

THE PARTISAN. A Romance of the Revolution. ByW. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of "The Yemassee,""Guy Rivers," "Martin Faber," etc. etc. A new and revisededition. The first edition of this work was so favorablyreceived by the critics, and was so generally read, itwould seem unnecessary for us to call particular attentionto its merits as a history or a romance. We may say, however,with great justice, that in his revision of the work theauthor has availed himself of all the new facts brought tobear upon his subject by the critical observations of friends,and that the volume now presents a complete history ofall the leading events in the war of the Revolution inSouth Carolina, dating from the fall of the city of Charleston,in 1780.

From J. P. JEWETT & CO., Boston:—

DRESS AS A FINE ART. By Mrs. Merrifield. Thepublisher, in his preface, says: "This work of Mrs. Merrifield'shas been circulated among the forty thousand subscribersof the 'London Art Journal.'" He might haveadded, "and also among the hundred thousand subscribersof the 'Lady's Book;'" for we have published nearly everyword of it. Still, the book before us is beautifully got up,and, the articles being gathered together and placed beforethe reader upon beautiful type and paper, it must commanda great sale, as it is an admirable work. That maybe taken for granted, or it never would have appeared in"Godey." The book is a splendid specimen of typography.

NOVELS, SERIALS, PAMPHLETS, &c.

From Garrett & Co., 18 Ann Street, New York, throughT. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia: "Dashesof American Humor." By Howard Paul. Illustrated byJohn Leech. This is a collection of amusing stories.

From Bunce & Brothers, New York, through T. B. Peterson,Philadelphia: "Annie Vincent; a Domestic Story."By the author of the "Twin Sisters."

From D. Appleton & Co., 200 Broadway, New York,through C. G. Henderson & Co., Philadelphia: "An AtticPhilosopher in Paris; or, a Peep at the World from a Garret."From the French of Emilie Souvestre. There aremany excellent thoughts and worthy examples within theunpretending paper cover of this little volume.—"LinnyLockwood: a Novel." By Catharine Crowe, author of "SusanHopley," etc.

From T. B. Peterson, 102 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:"The Young Duke; or, the Younger Days of George theFourth." By B. D'Israeli, M. P., P. C., author of "HenriettaTemple," etc. etc. With a beautiful portrait of theauthor. Complete. Price 37 cents.—"Memoirs and Correspondenceof Thomas Moore." Edited by the Rt. Hon.Lord John Russell, M. P. Part 6. Price 25 cents.—"ContariniFleming: an Autobiography." By B. D'Israeli, M. P.,P. C., author of "The Young Duke," etc. With a portraitof the author.

From J. S. Redfield, New York, through W. B. Zieber,Philadelphia: "The Partisan: a Romance of the Revolution."By W. Gilmore Simms, Esq., author of "The Yemassee,""Guy Rivers," etc. etc. This is a new and revisededition of one of the author's most popular works.—"Poems,Descriptive, Dramatic, Legendary, and Contemplative." ByWilliam Gilmore Simms, Esq. In two volumes. The firstof these volumes contains "Norman Maurice: a Tragedy;""Atlantis: a Tale of the Sea;" "Tales and Traditions ofthe South;" "The City of the Silent." The second volumeembraces "Southern Passages and Pictures;" "Historicaland Dramatic Sketches;" "Scripture Legends;" "Francescada Rimini." These, and the prose writings of Mr.Simms, have established his fame as a chaste and brilliantwriter. We hope he will receive from the publication ofhis prose and poetical writings, in their present completeand uniform editions, the pecuniary reward to which hisincessant literary labors so justly entitle him.

From Ticknor, Reed, & Fields, Boston, through W. P.Hazard, Philadelphia: "Poems and Parodies." By PhœbeCarey. The name of this author and the character of herpoetry are familiar in every town and country in theUnited States that can boast a newspaper. This is a handsomecollection, and will be sought after by her numerousfriends.—"The Young Voyagers; or, the Boy Hunters inthe North." By Captain Mayne Reid, author of the "BoyHunters," "The Desert Home," etc. With twelve illustrationsby W. Harvey. Captain Reid has been a great traveller,and he describes men, and birds, and beasts, andstrange and startling incidents with wonderful minuteness.

From Herman J. Meyer, New York: "The United StatesIllustrated; in Views of City and Country." With descriptiveand historical articles. Edited by Charles A. Dana.We have received Parts 8, 9, and 10, East and West, of thefirst volume of this beautiful and truly national work.All connected with this work deserve great credit for theliterary and artistic excellence exhibited in every number.

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OUR APRIL NUMBER.—We do not perceive any falling offin the "Lady's Book." As we commenced, so we go on.We have, at a very considerable expense, procured the verylatest style for bonnets, dresses, and mantillas, for springwear. These may be depended upon, as they are not merereprints taken from other publications, but designed andengraved expressly for Godey. We will furnish patternsof the dresses for $1 50, and of the mantillas for $1.

THE Dairy House and Piggery in this number are from theexcellent work on Rural Architecture published by C. M.Saxton, New York. We can furnish the work complete,postage free, on receipt of $1 25.

"THE Trials of a Needlewoman" continues to increase ininterest. Our exchanges and private letters pronouncethis Mr. Arthur's best story.

BY the way, for the last ten or fifteen years, we haveconsidered Godey's Fashions unrivalled. No other magazineequals him in this particular. So says the "IllinoisUnion," and so says almost every one of our exchanges. Itis useless to enlarge upon this subject. It is conceded.

THE "Germantown Telegraph," whose editor was alsocaught with the imported story—"Marrying through PrudentialMotives"—comes out like an honorable gentleman,as he is, and thus speaks he:—

"JUSTICE, THOUGH THE HEAVENS FALL!—Some two or threeweeks ago, we found in one of our respectable New Yorkexchange papers an excellent story, purporting to havebeen taken from 'La Belle Assemblée;' entitled 'Marryingthrough Prudential Motives,' which was no doubt muchadmired by our readers; but the paternity of which belongsto 'Godey's Lady's Book,' instead of the Parisian journal,which, it appears, had unhandsomely appropriated the productionwithout any acknowledgment of the originalownership. Coming back to us with a French godfather,of course, it was a thousand times better than the domesticarticle, and therefore it 'took' surprisingly. Our ownapology is, not that we ever deny our friend Godey any ofthe merit that belongs to his elegant and popular magazine,but simply that the story in question was overlookedat the time of its publication, in the multiplicity of goodthings always filling its pages, and that when it was publishedin our own columns, it came under our eye for thefirst time at the opportune moment. Our desire is at alltimes to do 'justice though the heavens fall;' and to nonewould we yield it more promptly than the gentlemanlyproprietor of the 'Lady's Book.'"

BACK numbers from January can be supplied throughoutthe year, as the work is stereotyped.

WHITE'S BONNET ESTABLISHMENT IN SECOND ABOVE CHESTNUTSTREET.—Mr. White has got into his new building, and weunhesitatingly pronounce it one of the handsomest frontsin the city. It is of brown stone of the finest quality, andis now the palace of the longest business street probably inthe world. Second Street is about five miles long, and ifone side of the street was placed at the end of the other, itwould make a straight line of ten miles of stores.

THE "Georgia Times" has caught us. We certainly mustplead guilty to his charge:—

"Godey is up to the highest notch, and seems determinedthat none shall outstrip him. Our junior has just givenus an idea. Oh, we've got you, Uncle Louis—caught youin a mistake one time! You said there should be no'difference between your January and February numbers:'and there is, for the February number is the better! Nowthen, sir, ain't you caught?"

A PROPER ACKNOWLEDGMENT.—We find in the New Yorkjournals copies of a correspondence between W. C. Bryant,Gulian C. Verplank, Jonathan Sturges, F. W. Edmonds,A. B. Durand, and other eminent citizens, as a committee,and Abraham M. Cozzens, Esq., President of the AmericanArt Union, on the occasion of presenting a service of plateto the latter, as a testimony on the part of the donors oftheir "appreciation of his long and faithful services to thecause of Art in the United States." We can add our ownassurance to that of the committee—for circ*mstances havemade us familiar with the fact—that, "for a series of years,"Mr. Cozzens has "devoted both time and labor, at a greatsacrifice of his personal interests, to the promotion of ataste for the Fine Arts among his countrymen, and to theencouragement of native artists," and we cordially agreewith them that his "distinguished services render himworthy of this tribute"—the tribute being a complete andcostly dinner set of massive silver. We may add, moreover,that besides his special merits as a patron and promoterof Art, Mr. Cozzens is a fine, frank, generous, right-minded,true-hearted gentleman, who wins his honorsfairly, and knows how to wear them gracefully.

BURTON has produced "Shakspeare's Midsummer's NightDream" in most splendid style at his theatre in New York,and Marshall has brought it out at the Bowery. Opinionsseem to differ among the New York press as to which househas produced it in the best manner.

A HAPPY HIT.—"The Three Bells," gratefully dedicatedto the noble Captain Crighton. A very pretty piece of music,which everybody ought to purchase. It will keep beforethem the memory of "the greatest captain of the age."

THE Sewing-Machine published in our February numberis Messrs. Grover, Baker, & Co.'s patent, whose advertisem*ntwill be found on our cover.

THAT "Republican" man of McArthur is hard to please.We have not a. little "Godey" to spare. There are five ofthem, and we wish there were a dozen.

FRENCH FURNITURE.—The furniture which is now madein the ateliers of Paris is unparalleled in magnificence andextravagance. Bedroom, as well as drawing-room furniture,is laden with sculpturing and ornaments. Gilt furnitureis much in vogue for drawing-rooms; the rich brocatellesand damasks produce a beautiful effect in the gilt frames.The superb furniture of the state-rooms of the Tuileries isof gilt; when illuminated by a thousand wax lights, theeffect is gorgeous. This style of furniture is only suitablefor large reception-rooms.

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THE following is dreadfully touching, and what is more,it is pointed. It cannot possibly affect any of our subscribers,however, for there is not one of them but wouldscorn the implication of being a delinquent to the "Lady'sBook." We need hardly say that it is an imitation ofHood's "Song of the Shirt":—

THE INSTRUCTIVE CHARACTER OF THE LADY'S BOOK.—This isthe point that we wish to urge upon the public; that everynumber is full of instruction as well as amusem*nt.Several of our exchanges have commented upon this matter.Our title would seem to mislead—and why it should,it is hard to tell. We would not publish a book for a lady,and pay so poor a compliment to her understanding as tofill it with mere trifling matter. We aim at nobler purposes,and we challenge an investigation and a comparisonwith any magazine, as to which contains the most instructivematter, either to a lady or gentleman. Look at ourdescriptions of Factories of various kinds; our Model Cottages;our receipts upon every subject; our essays; ourpractical instructions to every lady how to cut and makeher own dresses; the various kinds of needlework forladies; our accounts of the several gold regions, Nineveh,Babylon, &c. The editor of the "Ithaca Chronicle" says:"We have just received the January No., for 1854, and cantruly say it is more welcome to our table than any othermagazine we now receive. The present number containsone hundred pages of reading matter—not flimsy trash—butof such as is instructive to any person who will read itwith a desire to gain knowledge."

YOUNG HYSON AND POTATOES.—The "Stroudsburg Jeffersonian"says: "Our wife would rather go without herYoung Hyson at any time (and she is passionately fond ofit too), than miss the smiles of Godey; or a new dress,rather than to be without his patterns for making it."The "Christian Advocate" of Missouri expresses his astonishmentthat we are acquainted with the virtue of thepotato:—

"Mr. Godey, at the back of his ARM-CHAIR, gives a list ofexcellent receipts for cooking potatoes. From the nice andsuperb manner in which he has always gotten out his bookfor the ladies, we had no certain evidence that he had muchacquaintance with that invaluable esculent, the potato. Itseems, however, we were mistaken. Success to him."

Not acquainted with potatoes! Why, my dear sir, it isthe A B C of cooking, and is the first thing to be learned;besides, as a caterer for the ladies, we are bound to know alittle of everything.

THE NEW MANTEAU DE LA COUR, required to be worn bythe ladies at the French court, is even more unpopular thanwas anticipated. Husbands don't like it on account of theexpense, and wives shrink from the dancing-master's drill,without which, the wearers of the costume cannot hope toavoid appearing ridiculous. The Empress alone has train-bearers;but other ladies must concentrate all the powersof their mind upon their trains to escape a catastrophe.At the last reception-night there were not more than twohundred ladies present out of eight hundred invited.Under these circ*mstances it is thought impossible to enforcethe regulation announced, that ladies not availingthemselves of invitations on January the first, would notbe again asked to court during the year.

VERY neat and pretty compliment from the "NorthCarolina Whig and Advocate":—

"Godey is always prompt, always welcome, and alwaysinteresting. If we were asked to point out the best numberof the 'Lady's Book,' we should reply in the languageof Dr. Johnson when asked which of Shakspeare's plays hemost admired? 'The last I read,' the Doctor answered."

THERE has been some pleasantry on the part of the presstouching that unfortunate milkmaid in our Februarynumber being on the wrong side of the cow. Our answeris very plain, and gentlemen should make inquiry beforethey criticize. The girl was left-handed, and the cow wouldnot be milked on the other side. She was—that is the cow—aqueer creature.

DEDICATORY ADDRESS, delivered before the members ofHesperian Lodge, upon the opening of their new hall, byAnson G. Chester, of the "Morning Express." In as shorta notice as our space will permit us to give, we cannot dojustice to the merits of this beautiful address. We couldonly do so by publishing the whole of it. Mr. Chester iswell known as one of the best poets in this country. Hisprose is poetic, and worthy of its distinguished author. Wewish also to pay a compliment to the handsome dress inwhich the pamphlet is presented to the public. Messrs.A. M. Clapp & Co. may well be proud of it. The cover isthe prettiest piece of type-work we have seen in a longtime.

FRANKLIN INSTITUTE REPORT of the twenty-third exhibition.The address, by George Harding, Esq., that is givenin this number, is an able production, and worthy of itsauthor. There is perhaps no similar case on record of ayoung man, who has hardly been at the bar for two years,who has taken so high a stand as Mr. Harding. He is engagedin almost every patent case that is brought beforeour courts.

THE "Charleston Weekly News" says of Mrs. Hale's"New Book of Cookery," and the "New Household ReceiptBook":—

"These two works will prove invaluable to housekeepers.Mrs. Hale has absolutely exhausted her subject. There isnothing in the wide world, we believe, appertaining to the'cuisine,' from the homeliest to the most recherché dishes,receipts for the preparation of which cannot be found inthese volumes. We think that all the ladies who have thedirection of 'a home department,' should send a vote ofthanks to the author of this Encyclopædia of what shouldcertainly be ranked among the fine arts."

We can furnish one or both.

WE enter our protest against those children's sayingsthat are now going the rounds of the press. They are horriblyblasphemous; and the whole wit in them seems tobe in making a familiar use of God's holy name.

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THE "Boston Olive Branch" comes to us in a new dress,and looks very handsome. It is an excellent paper, andwell conducted. Its circulation is very large. Mr. Norris,the publisher, has authority from us to club his paper withthe "Lady's Book." We wish also to say a word of anotherexcellent paper published in another part of our Union,the "Georgia Citizen," L. F. W. Andrews, editor and publisher.There is no paper we open with more satisfaction.It is sprightly and solid. Mr. Andrews, its editor, is a manof sterling sense and honesty. We know him well, andesteem him highly. Our merchants would do well toselect it for their advertising patronage. The price is $2 50a year.

"DORSEY'S DISPATCH," at Wetumpka, Ala., is another ofour excellent exchanges. Mr. D. formerly edited the"State Guard," which is now the "Dispatch." Dorsey isas well known in Alabama as we are in Pennsylvania, andthe reason is that he publishes an excellent paper.

RAPP'S PENS.—If those persons ordering these pens willplease say whether the order is their own writing, we shallbe the better able to tell what kind of a pen will best suitthem.

MUCH obliged to "A. T. T.," and publish her acrostic:—

ACROSTIC.

BEDCHAMBER OF THE EMPRESS EUGENIE OF FRANCE.—Theupholsterers have furnished it a magnificent sky-blue silktenture along the walls, which is fixed by gold frames, inthe style of Louis XV. The arm-chairs, chairs, sofas, andlounges are of the same style and like silk. As for the bed,all made with gilt carved wood, it is covered with a couvrepieds of Maline lace, and the curtains, of blue silk and lace,are hung down all around it, in the same manner as theold beds of our grandmothers. The carpet is also of a bluecolor, and so thick that one would take it for a bear skin.It was made at Aubusson, expressly for the place in whichit lays. The ceiling of the room was painted by Mr. Bresson,and it represents a group of geniuses throwing flowersfrom rich baskets. The painting is so well done that noone could believe that the figures are not alive. In short,this magnificent bedroom is the ne plus ultra of riches andelegance.

Well, this is all well enough in its way; but who wouldnot prefer being plain Mrs. Smith or Mrs. Godey, or anyother Mrs.—never being certain, for a moment, when yourhusband goes out, that he is not to be shot at. Even if youwant to go and pay a friendly visit only one or two squaresoff, you must wait until six horses are harnessed up, a bodyof cavalry dressed and mounted, the streets cleared of thecrowd, and a host of other little etceteras. Dear me, weshould soon be tired of royalty!

FEMALE SHOEMAKERS.—It is stated that in Washingtonsome of the most respectable women, married and single,engage in the shoemaking business as an agreeable pastime,as well as from motives of economy. "The gaiters whichcost us three dollars at the stores," writes a female, "costus one day's labor and sixty cents for the best materialbought at retail. One of us has made five pair of ladies'gaiters in a week. Many of us make shoes for ourselvesand children, without neglecting other household duties.On Capitol Hill, alone, there are thirty ladies thus employed,and about two hundred in the city. We find it very easyto make two pair of children's shoes in a day, and they costhere one dollar and twenty-five cents a pair."

We understand that many ladies in this city stitch andprepare their own gaiter boots, and have them made up bythe shoemaker. Others again find out the journeymen andemploy them. We understand that at least one to one anda half dollars are thus saved on one pair of boots.

PUNCH—than whom there is no greater satirist upon women—says:—

A LIVING SUPERIORITY.—Woman has this great advantageover man—she proves her will in her lifetime, whilst manis obliged to wait till he is dead.

"NEW YORK SPIRIT OF THE TIMES."—This excellent paper,under the editorial supervision of W. T. Porter, Esq., continuesto flourish and take the lead as a paper of genius,wit, and humor. It is one of the most successful andpopular publications of the day.

A COMPLIMENT TO TWO.—"I inclose you the amount necessaryto pay for 'Godey's Lady's Book' and 'Arthur'sHome Gazette,' which I have taken and paid for since thefirst number was issued. The 'Lady's Book' I have takenfor fourteen years. I would not be without either of themfor twice the amount of the subscription. S. A. M."

It is a pleasure to record such instances as the above.This is one of our long-continued subscribers.

PRECOCITY.—A young lady, twelve years of age, has sentus a club of subscribers to the "Lady's Book." She willmake a good wife some day for one of the unfortunatebachelor editors who loan their "Lady's Books."

TEARS AND LAUGHTER.—God made both tears and laughter,and both for kind purposes; for as laughter enablesmirth and surprise to breathe freely, so tears enable sorrowto vent itself patiently. Tears hinder sorrow from becomingdespair and madness, and laughter is one of the veryprivileges of reason, being confined to the human species.

AN old maid, who confesses to thirty-five, says "shedoesn't believe—not a bit of it—in the nonsense that mentalk about breaking their hearts!" It's her firm beliefthat there never was a man yet who broke his heart, or,if there was, that he broke it as a lobster breaks one ofhis claws, another one shooting up very gradually in itsplace.

LITTLE CHILDREN.—"No man can tell," wrote JeremyTaylor, "but he who loves his children, how many deliciousaccents make a man's heart dance in the prettyconversation of those dear pledges. Their childishness,their stammering, their little anger, their innocence, theirimperfections, their necessities, are so many little emanationsof joy and comfort, to him that delights in their personsand society."

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WE are receiving repeated applications from our subscribersto publish in some number this year the celebratedengraving of "CHRIST HEALING THE SICK," from BenjaminWest's great picture. If we thought it would be agreeableto the mass of our subscribers, we would do so with pleasure,but we don't like the idea of publishing one engravingtwice, it looks as if we were short of engravings. Shall werepublish it for the benefit of the new subscribers this year?What say you?

THE spring patterns in this number, from the establishmentof Mrs. Suplee, must command general attention.They are the style for the present season.

"RAILROAD POLKA" and the "Reading Polka," the firstdedicated to R. L. Stevens, President of the Camden andAmboy Railroad, and the other to the Rev. W. A. Good,A. M. "The Grave of my Mother," and "Mary's Beauty,"two songs. These last have the prettiest colored vignetteswe have ever seen printed on music sheets. J. W. Gougler,of Reading, is the publisher of the above, and our city musicpublishers must look to their laurels, for such attractivemusic is seldom found. J. G. Gould, Swaim's Buildings,has all the above for sale.

THE "Keeseville Gazette" is responsible for the following:—

"When is 'Godey's Lady's Book' as great a source ofself-abnegation as a certain observance in the CatholicChurch? When it is Lent."

"HOW TO MAKE A DRESS."—By the time this numberreaches our subscribers, the second edition of this workwill be ready. We have been obliged to delay numerousorders: but we shall now be ready with a very large editionto supply all who may order the work.

THE editor of "Moore's Western Lady's Book" says:—

"We have heard it said that Godey is a bachelor, but WEdon't believe it, for we cannot see how he can remain suchin his present business. How is it, Godey? Suppose you'let the cat out.' The Western ladies are very CURIOUS toknow."

Yes, my dear madam, we are married. Sorry to disappointthe Western ladies; but we have a son fast growingup to man's estate. He will be in the market soon, and isalmost as good-looking as his father. It was to him thatthe following lines were addressed:—

VERY brief, expressive, and complimentary:—

"P. S. When ——'s subscription runs out, don't stopher 'Book.' Next to myself and her sister, loves she 'Godey'sLady's Book.'"

WORTHY OF BEING IMITATED.—A subscriber in Maryland,who was in arrears, sent on his subscription at the fullprice, $4 a year, and added the interest. Another, a lady,sent us $4 a year for three years, and paid her subscriptionto 1855. Another, a gentleman, remitted his subscriptionin full up to 1860. We fancy that there are few other publicationscan give such instances as these.

SOMETHING ABOUT COOKS.—We heard an anecdote about"the new cook" that is worth telling. "Betty," says themistress, "I want those shells warmed for dinner"—meaningthe pastry shells. "Yis, ma'am." And, sureenough, Betty brought up the shells after dinner—a largetray full of them. "Why, what have you there, Betty?""The shells, ma'am; and they are quite hot." "Shells!"exclaimed the indignant mistress. "Why, those are oystershells!" "Sure they are, ma'am; and, as you had oysterslast night, and I didn't see any other shells, I thought itwas these you wanted warmed."

WE extract the following from Mrs. Partington's "CarpetBag of Fun":—

A STRING OF EPITAPHS.

MRS. PARTINGTON ON FUNNY-GRAPHY.—And Ike read, "Mr.Wightman submitted a detailed report on the subjectof introducing phonotopy, as a study, into the primaryschools." "Stop, Isaac," said Mrs. Partington, threateninglyholding up her finger, and slightly frowning, "don'tmake light of anything serious that you are reading—itisn't pretty." "But it's so in the paper, aunt," said Ike;and he again read the sentence, emphasizing the word"phonotopy" prodigiously. Mrs. Partington adjusted herspecs, and looked at it, letter by letter, to be assured."Well, if ever!" said she, holding up her hands; "I declareI don't know what they're gwine to do next. They'realways organizing or piano-fortin the schools, and now thisfunny topy comes along to make 'em laugh, I s'pose, whenthey ought to be getting their lessons. Sich levity is offal.They do have sich queer notions, nowadays! I can't makehead nor tail of 'em, I'm shore."

CONCERT HALL, PHILADELPHIA.—We beg leave to recommendthis splendid room to all who wish to occupy it forexhibitions of any kind, concerts, balls, lectures, &c. Mr.Andrews, the lessee, is very attentive, and he is ably secondedby his right-hand man, Mr. Hood. In fact, politenessto visitors by all concerned seems to be the rulingfeature.

THE EYELASHES AND EYEBROWS.—In Circassia, Georgia,Persia, and India, one of the mother's earliest cares is topromote the growth of her children's eyelashes by tippingand removing the fine gossamer-like points with a pairof scissors, when they are asleep. By repeating this everymonth or six weeks, they become, in time, long, close,finely curved, and of a gloss. The practice neverfails to produce the desired effect, and it is particularlyuseful when, owing to inflammation of the eyes, the lasheshave been thinned or stunted.

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LA PIERRE HOUSE.—The Boston "Olive Branch" says ofthis magnificent hotel:—

"'La Pierre House.' Such is the name of a new hoteljust opened in Philadelphia, of the most magnificent character.As described in the 'Inquirer,' we should deem itto surpass, in finish and in splendor of furnishment, theregal glory of a palace. Hear how it describes one of thesuite of rooms: 'It consists of a parlor and chamber, is extremelybeautiful, and furnished in the very richest possiblemanner, yet with a quietness and repose of taste thatare very pleasing and striking. The rooms are separatedby a rose-colored and white brocatelle curtain, intertwinedwith a graceful drapery of lace, suspended from a goldenarch. The bedstead is of the richest carving in rosewood,exquisitely adorned with rose and lace drapery, pendentfrom an ornamental canopy above.'"

A CIRc*msTANCE of this kind could only happen in Paris,and we somewhat doubt that it ever occurred there:—

On Thursday, a beautiful equipage was seen in theChamps Elysées, containing an elderly gentleman and alady; the latter, though her face was covered with a thickveil, appeared to be young and handsome. The gentleman,an Englishman, Sir Edward ——, is said to be oneof the oddest and most eccentric fellows ever produced byprolific Albion. A talented pianist was lately summonedto his house. His services were required for an eveningparty, and a generous recompense was promised. Themusician came early, and he was introduced into a spaciousdrawing-room, where many persons were already assembled.This apartment, which was magnificently furnished,was but dimly lighted by two lamps, and scarcelyheated at all—the splendid fireplace, adorned with costlybronzes, containing only a wretched fire, which cast asepulchral glare over the rich furniture. The host wentto meet the musician as soon as the footman had announcedhim, and received him in a most flattering manner. Alady, most sumptuously and elegantly dressed, was seatedon a sofa. "Allow me to introduce you to Lady ——, mywife!" said Sir Edward. The musician made a profoundobeisance, which the lady, nevertheless, took no noticeof; she sat straight and immovable, and fixed an unearthlygaze on the new-comer. There was another lady in anarm-chair, leaning with her elbow on a round table, andapparently reading a book with the greatest attention."My sister, Miss Emily," said Sir Edward. "Mademoiselle,"said the pianist, with a bow; but in vain did herepeat the word and the salutation to call the attentionof the young lady; she neither moved nor raised her eyesfrom the book. "She has always loved reading verymuch," said Sir Edward. "Rather more than politenesswould warrant!" thought the artiste to himself. The remainderof the company consisted of five or six gentlemen.The artiste observed, with astonishment, that allthese persons affected a strange immobility, just like thelady and sister of Sir Edward. "Will you take a seat atthe piano?" said Sir Edward. "What do you wish meto play?" asked the musician. "Shall I select the pieces,or will madam have the kindness to point out some favoritemorceau?" Miladi did not reply, and Sir Edward,answering for her, said, "My wife and I have the sametaste in music, so play a piece of Mozart or Listz, and oneof your own compositions." "I will begin my own, therefore;for after those masters mine would not be acceptable!"modestly replied the artiste. The sofa on whichMiladi was seated was very near the piano, and placed insuch a manner that the artiste had the lady oppositehim. He looked at her while he was playing, in order toread in her countenance the impression which the musicmight produce on her. The handkerchief which Miladiheld in her hand, having, after a while, fallen to theground, the musician rushed forward to pick it up: and,in doing so, could not refrain from uttering an exclamationof surprise. "What is the matter with you?" saidSir Edward. "Oh, sir, the lady—the pretended lady!""Alas!" interrupted Sir Edward, "I only possess the imageof an adored wife!" And it was then explained that theworthy baronet, being inconsolable for the loss of certainfriends, always travelled about with their image in wax!A party of living friends afterwards assembled, and theevening was spent very agreeably.

HOUSEKEEPERS, look at this; and, before you engage acook, inquire if she has a husband. This is an illustrationof that that said husband going to the paternal abode, withsomething to feed the young ravens, after having paid avisit to his wife. It is simply "the husband of your cookleaving your house."

SOUND REASONING—and, as such, will be recognized bythose who have been humbugged by the Brown and otherlecturers who have honored us with visits from abroad:—

Lectures vs. Books.—Why a man should put on his overcoatand comforter, and a woman wrap herself in furs,mufflers, cloaks, and shawls, and the children bundle up,to face a strong nor'-wester, and go out to hear a lectureof dubious excellence, or a concert that, after all, is littlebetter than a bore, while at home a goodly array of philosophersand poets, story-tellers and grand advisers, standwaiting to offer their services; yet not one of which lookssad if his neighbor is preferred before him—this we wouldwonder at, if it were not everybody's habit. If a man hasweak eyes, or his thoughts find no anchorage, and if hecannot afford the luxury of a private reader, let him visitthe public lecture-room, and he can get much good from it.Or if, for his sins, he has lost his home, let him go to theconcert and mortify himself. But we who have homescannot afford, first, the sacrifice of our home comforts, second,the loss of precious winter evening hours, and third,the price of tickets, unless we know of a surety that theywill admit us to choice performances.

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SINGULAR INSCRIPTIONS ON TOMBSTONES.

On the Duke of Marlborough:—

In St. Bennet's, Paul's Wharf, London:—

From Broom Churchyard, England:—

In St. Michael's Churchyard, Aberystwith, is another, tothe memory of David Davies, blacksmith:—

The following epitaph is transcribed from one of thelocal histories of Cornwall:—

From Cunwallow Churchyard, Cornwall. [It may beread either backwards or forwards.]

In St. Germain's, in the Isle of Man, the following verysingular epitaph is yet to be seen, in Latin, over the tombof Dr. Samuel Rutter, formerly prebendary of Litchfield,and afterwards Bishop of Sodor and Man:—

SOME FEW INSTRUCTIONS IN CROCHET-WORK, which may beof use to some of our lady readers.

In the first instance, the crochet-hook should be verysmooth, made of fine steel, and fixed in handles. Thestitches used are chain, slip, single, double, treble, and longtreble crochet.

Chain Stitch (ch) is made by forming a loop on the thread,then inserting the hook, and drawing the thread throughthe loop already made. Continue this, forming a successionof stitches.

Slip Stitch is made by drawing a thread at once throughany given stitch and the loop on the needle.

Single Crochet (sc). Having a loop on the needle, insertthe hook in a stitch and draw the thread through in a loop.You have then two on the hook; draw the thread throughboth at once.

Double Crochet (dc). Twist the thread round the hookbefore inserting it in the stitch, through which you drawthe thread in a loop. There will then be three loops onthe hook; draw the thread through two, and then throughthe one just formed and the remaining one.

Treble Crochet (tc), and Long Treble (long tc), are workedin the same way; in treble the thread is put twice, in longtreble three times, before inserting it into the stitch.

Square Crochet is also sometimes used. The squares areeither open or close. An open square consists of one dc,two ch, missing two on the line beneath before making thenext stitch. A close square has three successive dc. Thusany given number of close squares, followed by an open,will have so many times three dc, and one over; thereforeany foundation for square crochet must have a numberthat can be divided by three, having one over.

To contract an Edge. This may be done in dc, tc, or longtc. Twist the thread round the hook as often as required,insert it in the work, and half do a stitch. Instead offinishing it, twist the thread round again, until the samenumber of loops are on, and work a stitch entirely; sothat, for two stitches, there is only one head.

To join on a Thread. In joining, finish the stitch bydrawing the new thread through, leaving two inches forboth ends, which must be held in.

To use several Colors. This is done in single crochet.Hold the threads not in use on the edge of the work, andwork them in. Change the color by beginning the stitchin the old color and finishing it with the new, continuingthe work with the latter holding in the old. If only onestitch is wanted in the new color, finish one stitch and beginthe next with it; then change.

To "Purl" in Netting. Bring your thread forward, andtake up the inner side of the stitch, putting your needledownwards in the stitch instead of upwards, as you do inplain knitting.

PHILADELPHIA AGENCY.

"W. J. M."—Cannot send the "Lady's Book" previous toJanuary, 1851. Wish we had the eight years to send you.

"Clara S."—Will find explanations of the abbreviationsof crochet terms in this number; also March number,page 279; and in our May number we will give furtherdirections.

"L. M. H."—Sent you patterns by mail on 18th.

"Miss A. R."—Sent your hair bracelet on the 18th.

"Miss P. S."—Sent your ring and thimble on the 19th.

"O. V. H."—Sent your gold pen on 19th.

"B. A. C."—Sent the cap patterns by mail on 19th.

"M. P. R." commits the common error of not datingletter nor giving place of residence. The postmark, likeevery other postmark, is illegible. One-half the letterswe receive have the same omissions, giving us a great dealof trouble. We can supply the numbers; but how can wetell what the postage will be when we don't know theirdestination? The price of the numbers will be 25 cents.The communication was received too late for March number.

"Miss E. P."—Sent your patterns on 20th.

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"Graduate" is informed that he had better advertise inthe papers here for the situation he wants. There is noother way of procuring it. We have used the masculinein answering this, as "Graduate" omits letting us knowwhether we are addressed by a male or female. If a female,why not write the first name in full, or prefix Mrs.or Miss?

"T. G. B."—Sent Rigolet by Adams's Express on 28th.

"C. C. D."—Sent Odd Fellows' Regalia by Adams & Co.

"Miss E. C. G."—Sent cotton on the 30th.

"J. W. K."—Sent jet cross on 30th.

"Miss C. R. L."—Sent apron pattern on the 2d.

"M. R. E. P."—Sent jacquette pattern 4th.

One of our subscribers wrote us upon the subject of cuttingdresses by our patterns. We have mislaid the letter.Will she please write again?

"Miss T."—Sent cotton by mail. The postage will beexpensive; but cheaper than express.

"A. S. C."—Sent dress on the 7th by mail.

"Miss D. H."—Sent patterns by mail on 7th.

"Helen."—Boots to button at the side for winter wearare very fashionable here. Bronze or blue gaiter boots $3,French kid slippers $1 50. Never heard of such a mono-mania;make him wear girl's clothing until he reforms.

"S. S. S."—Sent goods by mail (the cheapest way) on the7th.

"T. S. H."—Sent Rapp's pen by mail on the 14th.

"Miss M. F."—Sent breastpin by mail on 14th.

"Mrs. J. A. C."—Wrote and sent you circular of pricesof Boardman & Gray's pianos.

"M. S. L."—Sent jewelry by mail on 18th.

"Bed Quilts."—Marseilles are almost invariably usednow. Of course, they are fashionable.

"J. S. B."—Too late for March number. Cannot furnish"Lady's Book" from the commencement. We have onlyas far back as 1851.

"Mrs. A. V. Du B."—Sent patterns by mail on 18th.

No orders attended to unless the cash accompanies them.

All persons requiring answers by mail must send a post-officestamp.

"The wicked borroweth and payeth not again."

THE "Pennsylvania Trojan" says: "The present is decidedlythe best number, in point of illustrations, readingmatter, paper, and typography, ever issued, and every wayworthy of the wide-spread reputation of L. A. Godey. Wecannot lend this number, to show it to our friends, for Mrs.M. has taken charge of it, and is copying some very prettypatterns of embroidery from it. However, she will takepleasure in displaying its beauties to you."

Sent you a duplicate of that prospectus sheet, friend"Trojan."

GOOD.—A letter from a Ky. editor: "I have about onedozen BORROWING subscribers, who all like your 'Book' remarkablywell, I presume, from their eagerness to get holdof it. I have lost one or two of these, however, as theyhave sent on and subscribed for themselves."

Don't lend, and we shall have the remainder of themsoon.

A letter from a lady in New York State:—

"SIR: I have endeavored to be as punctual as possiblein making up my club for 1854. The 'Lady's Book,' withits many charms, has become very necessary to our happiness.I am gratified that there are a few ladies among uswho are sufficiently endowed with a sense of the beautifuland interesting to appreciate its worth. One of its admirabletraits is that it bears acquaintance well. That race ofbeings who borrow everything they read is not extinct inthis vicinity. But that habit, like that of drinking ardentspirits, is growing less, as decent people are ashamed topractise it."

"No loss but what falls on my head." The "Advocate,"Stamford, says: "By the way, if the individual who so unceremoniouslyborrowed the August number will be kindenough to return it, we shall be saved the necessity oftroubling Mr. Godey for a duplicate."

Of course, we had to send it.

ONE of our lady subscribers takes two copies of the "Lady'sBook," so that she can have one to lend. Hard case;but it is the only way, she says, that she can secure a copyfor her own perusal. We would suggest to her to slip inthe copy proposals for a club of six. The price to each onewould only be $1 67 for a year's subscription.

ANSWERS TO ENIGMAS IN MARCH NUMBER.

• 9. Mist.
• 10. The letter G.
• 11. A windmill.
• 12. Faith, Hope, Charity.

ENIGMAS.

13.

14.

15.

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CHEAP CONTRIVANCE FOR FILTERING.—A very cheap andgood contrivance for filtering is to take a large gardenflower-pot, and lay in the bottom a piece of sponge, so asto cover the hole. Upon this put a few smooth, cleanpebbles, to keep the sponge in its place, and fill up thepot, to within two or three inches of the brim, with amixture of one part of powdered charcoal to two parts offine sharp sand. Then cover the top of the pot with apiece of clean white flannel, tied tightly round the rimwith a twine, but so as to sink or sway down in the centre.Set the flower-pot in a pan or tub, and pour the waterinto the flannel, letting it filter through the charcoal, &c.;and, by the time it has passed through the sponge, andcome out at the bottom, it will be clear.

TO CLEANSE A TEAKETTLE FROM FUR.—Heat the kettlerapidly over a fire of shavings, having previously made itquite dry. The expansion will separate the fur from themetal, and it may then be easily removed.

TO REMOVE STAINS OF ACIDS, &C.—Stains caused by acidsmay be removed by tying some pearlash up in the stainedpart; scrape some soap in soft cold water, and boil thelinen till the stain is gone. Many stains may be removedby dipping the linen in some sour buttermilk, and dryingit in a hot sun, washing it afterwards in cold water. Itmay be found necessary to repeat this once or twice.

TO TAKE OUT IRONMOULD.—Wet the ironmould with water,and then lay the linen on a hot water-plate and put onthe part a little essential salt of lemons. When it becomesdry, wet it again, and renew the process, being particularthat the plate is boiling hot. Dip the linen into a gooddeal of water, and wash it as soon as the stain is removed,to prevent any damage from the acid.

TO PRESERVE STEEL PENS.—Metallic pens may be preservedfrom rusting by throwing into the bottle containing theink a few nails, or broken pieces of steel pens, if notvarnished. The corrosive action of the acid which theink contains is expended on the iron so introduced, andwill not therefore affect the pen.

FRENCH POLISH.—To one pint of spirits of wine add aquarter of an ounce of gum copal, a quarter of an ounceof gum arabic, and one ounce of shellac. Let your gumsbe well bruised, and sifted through a piece of muslin. Putthe spirits and the gums together in a vessel that can besafely corked; place them near a warm stove, and frequentlyshake them. In two or three days they will bedissolved; strain it through a piece of muslin, and keep ittightly corked for use.

DOMESTIC RECEIPTS.

CUSTARDS, CREAMS, JELLIES, AND BLANCMANGE.

[Fourth article.]

CHARLOTTE RUSSE.—Line the bottom of a plain roundmould with Savoy biscuits, placing them close together ina star or some device; line the , placing the biscuitsedgewise, to make them form a compact wall; put themould upon ice; have ready a Crême au Marasquin, addinga glass of brandy. Fill the mould as it stands on the ice,and leave it till the time of serving, when turn it overupon the dish and take off the mould.

CHARLOTTE RUSSE. An easy way.—Mix with the yolksof four eggs a quarter of a pound of sugar pounded fine, andadd to this half a pint of new milk. Put it over the fire tillit begins to thicken like custard, but do not let it boil;then add half a pint of very stiff calves-foot jelly. Strainit through a napkin; put in a pan placed on ice, a pint ofvery rich cream, flavored or not, as you like, and whip ituntil it looks like float; pour the cream into another dish,and put the custard in the pan on the ice; stir it on theice with a paddle until it becomes thick like jelly; thenadd the cream very lightly. The mixture should look likelight sponge-cake before it is baked. A round tin panmust be prepared with sponge-cake, called ladies' fingers,placed around and at the bottom very evenly and closely;pour the charlotte in it, and place it on the ice till wanted.When wanted, put a round dish or plate on it, and turnit out. The bottom will then be at the top—and no cakeat the bottom.

CREAM HASTY.—Take a gallon of milk from the cow, setit on the fire, and when it begins to rise take it off the fire,skim off all the cream and put it on a plate, then set theskillet on the fire again and repeat the skimming till yourplate is full of cream; put to it some orange flower andsugar, and serve it.

CREAM "AU NATUREL."—Take some thin cream, mind andlet it be fresh, and put it in a bowl on ice to cool; add toit powdered sugar, and serve it.

CREAM, TO KEEP.—Cream already skimmed may be kepttwenty-four hours, if scalded without sugar; and, by addingto it as much powdered lump sugar as will make itsweet, it will keep good two days in a cool place.

CURDS AND CREAM.—With about half a tablespoonful ofrennet, turn two quarts of milk just from the cow; drainoff the whey, and fill a mould with the curd; when it hasstood an hour or two, turn it out. Strew colored comfitsover it, sweeten some cream, mix grated nutmeg with it,and pour it round the curd.

CURDS AND CREAM, AS IN SCOTLAND.—Put two quarts ofnew milk into the dish in which it is to be served, andturn it with a teaspoonful of rennet; when the curd hascome, serve it with the cream in a separate dish.

NAPLES CURD.—Put into a quart of new milk a stick ofcinnamon, boil it a few minutes, take out the cinnamon,and stir in eight well-beaten eggs and a tablespoonful ofwhite wine; when it boils again, strain it through a sieve;beat the curd in a basin, together with about half an ounceof butter, two tablespoonfuls of orange-flower water, andpounded sugar sufficient to sweeten it. Put it into a mouldfor two hours before it is sent to table. White wine, sugar,and cream may be mixed together and poured round thecurd, or it may be served in a sauce tureen.

THE SICK ROOM AND NURSERY.

CURE FOR SQUINTING.—Squinting frequently arises fromthe unequal strength of the eyes, the weaker eye beingturned away from the object, to avoid the fatigue of exertion.Cases of squinting of long standing have often beencured by covering the stronger eye, and thereby compellingthe weaker one to exertion.

SCRATCHES.—Trifling as scratches often seem, they oughtnever to be neglected, but should be covered and protected,and kept clean and dry until they have completely healed.If there is the least appearance of inflammation, no timeshould be lost in applying a large bread and water poultice,or hot flannels repeatedly applied, or even leeches in goodnumbers may be put on at some distance from each other.

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THE HOUSEHOLD.

IT is a long time ago since we rejoiced in the possessionof a new spelling-book, with a bright blue board cover (soliable to get the corners chipped off), and learned from itsfascinating pages that ever-to-be-remembered lesson for thehousehold—

What else of profit we gleaned from its double-columnedpages, our readers, or perhaps our printers, are the bestjudges; but the poetic bit of family government, thoughfaded with years, comes out now and then feebly in remembrance,as sympathetic inks brighten by firelight. Itis at present recalled by a subject suggestive for this month'schat, "the duties of an elder daughter at home," or, as wewould have it read, of "daughters at home." The motherof a large family has had demands on her time, health,and spirits in their infancy, which they cannot understanduntil they come to be situated in like manner, but certainit is, and as the daughters grew up around her, she naturallylooks to them to aid her in the cares and responsibilitiesof the home.

Of course, to all well-ordered governments there mustbe one head, the centre of all action; but inferior officerscan ofttimes take the whole burden of petty detail. Thesilver, the mending, the wash, must be seen to, and hereit might be a daughter's pleasant duty to see her mother'sinstructions faithfully obeyed. How much better this,than adding to the general discomfort and disorderly carelesshabits, and inconsideration or rudeness to the servants.

Then as regards her brothers—the daughter of the householdhas much to think of: to be considerate for theircomfort, to respect their feelings, to care for their amusem*nt,to enter into their plans and pursuits. How manya brother is driven to seek idle, expensive, and too oftenvicious company from the lack of such sympathy at home!And yet one so often hears—"brothers are so troublesome"—or,"we can't practice just to play for a brother"—or,"the boys have their company, and I have mine." Thetaste may not always be congenial, but good feeling andgentle manners will accomplish far more than a sarcasticrepulse.

Thus, in course of time, the stepping-stones safely passed,the girl becomes the young wife—housekeeper—mother—fittedfor the duties of her station, and therefore contentedwith it, finding nothing harsh or irksome in domestic routine,and satisfied with the pleasures and enjoyments ofhome. Far more likely to do so than she who leads acareless, idle life as a girl—to become a fretful, discontentedwife, or neglectful mother.

LACES AND EMBROIDERIES.

WE promised, in speaking of new caps, a paragraph inour fashion chat on laces; but, as that has its own material,in discussing the merits of shapes and styles, we layour laces upon the centre-table instead.

We have now in preparation some very new and tastefuldesigns for chemisettes, to be worn in mourning, every oneunderstanding that embroideries are laid aside with ablack dress. For the strictest styles, plain linen, cambric,and Swiss muslin are worn; but when silks or fringeddresses are put on, fluted ruffles, edged with plain narrowlace, on collars and open sleeves, are not out of taste, oredges of needle-work in scallops and points.

Laces, or very thin muslin embroidery, will be worn thissummer; cambric, whether plain or embroidered, beingseen only in morning-dress. We speak to those who "dressfor dinner." There is a new style of lace, the Maltese,which is very heavy and apparently durable, somewhat resemblingHoniton, at about half its cost. It is very prettyfor caps, as seen in our design for the month. Heavylaces are still in vogue; Valenciennes and the still moredelicate and lady-like Mechlin have given place to them.There is an Irish point occasionally to be met with, themost durable of all, being of the purest linen thread. Collars,or chemisettes, and undersleeves are worn to match.Nothing is more untidy—save soiled muslins—than to seecambric sleeves and a rich lace collar, or muslin sleevesand English flouncing for a chemisette. Better to haveboth of plain cambric or linen.

WASHING MADE EASY.

THE truthfulness of the "Washing-Day" song, with itsdisagreeable effects on the spirits and temper, has neverbeen questioned or doubted. For ourselves, our spirits fallwith the first rising of steam from the kitchen, and onlyreach a natural temperature when the clothes are neatlyfolded in the ironing-basket. If any of our club sympathizewith us, they will rejoice that a better day is at hand,and consider the invention described below as full of thedeepest interest to our sex as housekeepers. The one thuscommented on is in use in the St. Nicholas Hotel, NewYork:—

"A strong wooden cylinder, four feet diameter, and fourand a half feet long, is mounted on a frame, so as to bedriven by a band on one end of the shaft. This shaft ishollow, with pipes so connected with it that hot or coldwater, or steam, can be introduced at the option of the personin charge. The cylinder being half full of water, adoor at one end is opened, and 300 to 500 pieces of clothing[380]are thrown in, with a suitable quantity of soap, and analkaline fluid which assists in dissolving the dirt andbleaching the fabric, so that clothes, after being washed inthis manner, increase in whiteness without having thetexture injured.

"When the cylinder is changed, it is put in motion by asmall steam-engine, and made to revolve slowly, first oneway a few revolutions, and then the other, by which theclothes are thrown from side to side, in and out, and throughthe water. During this operation the steam is let in througha double-mouthed pipe—somewhat of this shape, X—whichhas one mouth in and one mouth out of water; the steamentering the water through the immersed end, and escapingthrough the other, by which means it is made to passthrough the clothes, completely cleansing them in fifteenor twenty minutes. The steam is now cut off, and the hotwater drawn through the waste pipe, and then cold waterintroduced, which rinses the articles in a few more turnsof the cylinder. They are now suffered to drain until theoperator is ready to take them out, when they are put intothe drying-machine, which runs like a millstone, and itsoperation may be understood by supposing that millstoneto be a shallow tub, with wire network sides, against whichthe clothes being placed, it is put in rapid motion; the air,passing in a strong current into the top and bottom of thetub, and out of the sides, carries all the moisture with itinto the outside case, from whence it runs away. Thelength of time requisite to dry the clothes depends uponthe rapidity of the revolving tub. If it should run 3,000revolutions a minute, five to seven minutes would be quitesufficient. When there is not sufficient steam to run thedryer with that speed, it requires double that. In washingand drying, there is nothing to injure the fabric. Ladies'caps and laces are put up in netting bags, and are not rubbedby hand or machine to chafe or tear them in the least,but are cleansed most perfectly.

"It can readily be imagined what a long line of wash-tubswould be required to wash 5,000 pieces a day, andwhat a big clothes-yard to dry them in; while here thework is done by four persons, who only occupy part of abasem*nt-room, the other part being occupied by the mangle,and ironing and folding-tables. Adjoining are the airing-frames,which are hung with clothes, and then shovedinto a room steam-pipe heated, when they are completelydried in a few minutes.

"Small Family Machines.—Almost the first thought,after witnessing the operation of this machine, was, canwashing be done upon the same principle in small families?To our inquiries upon this point, we have receivedthe following satisfactory information:—

"For common family use, hand-machines are made tocost from $40 to $50, with which a woman can wash fiftypieces at a time, and complete 500 in a day without laboringseverely. For the purpose of washing, without drivingthe machinery by steam, a very small boiler will be sufficient.It is not necessary to have a head of water, as thatcan be found in the cylinder, which can be turned by horseor any other convenient power. The plan of cleansingclothes by steam is not a new one; but it is contended bythe inventor that his process is an improvement upon allheretofore applied to that purpose."

APPLETONS'.

APPLETONS' is the very conspicuous gilt-lettered name ofa large brown-stone building just opened on Broadway,New York, for the business purposes of this well-knownfirm. It was built originally for a public library, but wasbought last spring by the present owners, and the lowerstory has since been fitted up for them. Henceforth,"Appletons'" will be one of the lions of Broadway.

It may not be a very flattering comparison, but one atleast easily understood—what "Stewart's" is to the womanof fashion, or "Taylor's" to the gourmand, "Appletons'" isnow to the student or the book fancier. The design anddecorations are in perfect keeping with the business, thevery windows, deep set as they are, suggesting the alcoves,with which it is lined, as in a public library. The ceilingwalls are ornamented in fresco, of quiet, yet cheerful tints;fourteen Corinthian columns are the central support, andthese have the effect of Sienna marble. The book-casesand shelving are of plain oak. The proportions and wholeinterior effect are admirable; and here are to be foundeverything that is bindable or readable, from superb Londoneditions of the classics to the last new school-book, inits plain cloth cover.

A good hour's lounge would scarcely give a just idea ofthe united elegance and utility of the new establishment;for the curious visitor should not neglect to glance at thewholesale ware-room, occupying the warm, well-lightedbasem*nt, which has its own "exits and entrances," itsown salesmen, attendants, and purchasers, and gives perhapsa more just estimate of the immense business of thefirm. There is certainly nothing approaching to it in thiscountry or in England.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

WE must enforce upon our correspondents the necessityof being explicit in forwarding their addresses; for we agreewith them in thinking it rather awkward for a young ladyto be addressed as M. S. Jones, Esq., or a married lady tofind herself suddenly divorced, and written to as Miss. Buthow are we to help it? How is the editor, especially in thehaste and confusion of a correspondence the uninitiatedcannot imagine or comprehend, to discover from internalevidence whether the said M. S. Jones is a noun masculineor feminine, or, being feminine, to decide upon her stateand condition regarding the holy bonds of matrimony?Let the letter read thus, and all doubt and misdirection areat an end:—

"DEAR SIR: Inclosed is $10 for the following subscriptionto the Lady's Book. MISS M. S. JONES, Dalton, Ohio"—

or Mrs., as the prefix may be. That agreeable young ladywill not, in this case, have her feelings hurt by being addressedas Esq., and so supposed to belong to the Woman'sRight party, at least; nor we be obliged to waste, to us,very valuable time, in reading letters of explanation orwriting notes of apology. Not to mention the two postagestamps saved—a consideration; since, by Poor Richard'srule of compound interest—

"A penny saved is two pence got."

"MRS. BARNARD."—Let your children wear aprons, by allmeans. They are not out of fashion; but, on the contrary,new patterns are constantly being designed. See ourfashion article for the present month.

"A NEW MAMMA" will find several editions of "MotherGoose" in the market. One is contained in "Harry's Ladderto Learning," published by Evans & Brittan, one of thebest juveniles we know, as there are many excellent thingsinclosed in its covers. It can also be had separate, postageand all, for less than a quarter of a dollar. A more elaborateedition, as full of clever designs as the Christmas-pieof little Jack Horner was supposed to be of plums, is publishedby John Rund Smith, London, under the title of the[381]"Nursery Rhymes of England." Also imported by Evans &Brittan.

"MISS A. B. L." can safely have her white and muslindresses for the ensuing season made with infants' waists.If her figure is small and light, they cannot fail to be becoming;and, for quite young ladies, the style never is outof date.

"MRS. P. L.," of Darien, Geo., can have her books bypackage or mail. We add to our list for reading aloud,"An Attic Philosopher in Paris: being the Journal of aHappy Man," published by the Appletons. Its tone ismost genial and pure, entirely free from the French sentimentalitythat borders on frivolity, and, at the same time,full of pathetic truths. For the children, we would particularlycommend "Our Little Comfort" and "Love's Lessons,"both of which are admirable.

"MRS. H."—An infant's skirt should not be over a yardin length. Of course, the petticoats should be a hemshorter, the flannel shortest of all.

"MISS LIZZIE N."—See fashion article.

"ELLEN" had better send an order for patterns, now thatthey are so cheap—much cheaper than words.

Of the work that "MRS. R." has asked our opinion as abook for the family, we must be allowed to say that wedo not consider its morality to be pure, nor the sympathiesit arouses womanly. Dwelling on such scenes cannot dothe general good that some critics seem to expect from it.We agree with them that "ignorance is not virtue;" at thesame time, there is much to be dreaded in familiarizingthe innocent mind with the details of sin and wickedness."To the pure, all things are pure," again urges the speciousmoralist; but, alas for our nature that it should beso! the seeds of impurity are to be found in every earth-bornmind, only too ready to be developed. Poison themind, the imagination, and you open the flood-gates of innumerabletemptations. Only too true is the lesson of asterner moralist—

We may seem to speak warmly on the subject, and thusoverstep our limits; but books that wrong, under a pretenceof virtue, are worst of all to be dreaded. Our sex aremore exposed to their influence than to any open temptation.Books are to us companions. They lie under ourpillows, and on the empty seat beside us; they hide in ourwork-baskets, or under the sofa cushion, to come forth at amoment's notice; while, with men, they have but thepassing notice of an idle hour.

NOTICE TO LADY SUBSCRIBERS.

Having had frequent applications for the purchase ofjewelry, millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, theEditress of the Fashion Department will hereafter executecommissions for any who may desire it, with the chargeof a small percentage for the time and research required.Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets, dresses,jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes, envelopes, etc. etc., willbe chosen with a view to economy, as well as taste; andboxes or packages forwarded by express to any part of thecountry. For the last, distinct directions must be given.

Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expenditure,to be addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who willbe responsible for the amount, and the early execution of commissions.

No order will be attended to unless the money is first received.

Instructions to be as minute as is possible, accompaniedby a note of the height, complexion, and general style ofthe person, on which much depends in choice. Dress goodsfrom Levy's or Stewart's; cloaks, mantillas, or talmas, fromBrodie's, 51 Canal Street, New York; bonnets from MissWharton's; jewelry from Bailey's or Warden's, Philadelphia,or Tiffany's, New York, if requested.

DESCRIPTION OF STEEL FASHION PLATE FORAPRIL.

Fig. 1st.—Dinner-dress of rose-colored cashmere, theflounces trimmed with velvet points of a rich dark brown;the opening in the front of the basque is made by layingthe corsage back from the shoulder to the line of the waist,sloping the width gradually. Short wide sleeves trimmedto correspond. Bonnet of rose-colored taffeta ribbon, witha border and bands of pale green, tied with strings of thesame. The inside has a very full ruche of blonde, with asingle damask rose placed high up on the right side.

Fig. 2d.—Plain walking-dress of mode-colored silk, theskirt entirely plain. The corsage is close and high, with ashort basque, trimming of black guipure lace and velvetribbon; the sleeves are opened on the back and forearm,trimmed to correspond. Knots of velvet ribbon close thecorsage. White drawn bonnet, the brim very shallow, fulltrimmed, the lace having blue crape convolvulus bells, intermixedat irregular distances.

Child's dress of plain white cashmere, flounced; bluecloak of full Talma pattern. White drawn bonnet, withdouble wreath of daisies inside the brim.

CHITCHAT UPON NEW YORK AND PHILADELPHIAFASHIONS FOR APRIL.

The month of April with us is principally devoted toshopping; the changes of dress do not begin to be generalbefore May, although the preparations are, of course, madeat this time. The principal consideration of the monthwould seem to be mantillas, scarfs, etc., bonnets, and themaking up of dresses.

For a large variety of styles, in the mantilla department,we are indebted to Brodie, of New York, who ranks at thehead of this manufacture. In our next number, we shallgive a more detailed account of his large establishment,entirely devoted to cloaks, mantillas, and scarfs. Andhere we are bewildered with the variety, in attempting toselect for our readers.

Although velvet is not in season, strictly speaking, wemust notice a scarf mantilla of royal purple, the rich andcostly fabric being decorated by embroidery, the design aheavy wreath of grape leaves, purple clusters, and twiningtendrils. They are shaded with exquisite art, the leavesand tendrils in different stitches, the clusters in rich raisedwork, the effect of which it is impossible to describe.

A bridal scarf of rich embroidery on a white ground, aspure as the bridal dress itself, is one of the next most costlyimportations. No other house uses so much embroideryas Brodie, and we are assured by him that the Frenchneedle-work, exquisite as it is, can be excelled in thiscountry. His establishment alone affords employment tohundreds in this branch of female industry, through thebusy seasons of the year.

The woven embroidery now so much the style, wherebouquets, wreaths, etc., are brocaded on a plain ground, is[382]brought into service the present season. The Orientalscarf we notice, as combining richness of material andeffect, with plainness of form and decoration. It has adeep border of palm leaves in bright shades, gold predominating,on a plain ground of royal purple; the heavyfringe is of the same hue. The form is the simple close-fittingmantilla scarf.

Another style, destined to become a favorite from itsrichness of effect, is composed of several flounces of blackguipure lace on a plain silk, deep blue, green, violet,brown, etc. The lower one, much deeper than those onthe body of the mantle, falls over the dress, and that nextto the row which forms the upper finish follows the curveof the shoulder. There is a space between each the widthof the lace, and the several rows are headed by a box-plaitedruche of narrow black satin ribbon. Another stylehas bands of velvet ribbon an inch and a half in width,placed lengthwise on the scarf, the ends falling over theflounce of lace below. They are at a little distance apart,and each is encircled or edged by a narrow row of laceplaced on flat, giving an effect at once elegant and novel,which it would be impossible to describe by words. Theseare a few of the leading spring styles; and others less costly,and in lighter fabrics, will be described in our extendednotice of Mr. Brodie's establishment.

For those who do not order their mantillas and scarfsfrom the city direct, or who depend upon home manufacture,we would advise them to send to Demorest, 67 CanalStreet, a few doors from Brodie's, for a set of patterns, andmake them up according to the very accurate idea givenby his styles. Here, again, we have several new varieties,the establishment also importing direct from Paris. Oneof very graceful shape has plaits at the back, as in thecloaks of the past season, with a tablier, or scarf front passingaround and forming a deep collar on the shoulder. Allthe mantillas of the season, be it remarked, are very lowand open, to display the collar, chemisette, etc. Another,of plainer scarf form, has a collar pointed in front, and ashoulder-piece coming below it has the effect of a doublecollar, ending in a bow of ribbon upon the shoulder. Stillanother, especially suited for a matron, has a slight fulnessin the back, which is cut in the same piece as the front,coming into a very low pointed yoke on the shoulder; thecollar corresponds in form and style. All Madame Demorest'spatterns are made in tissue paper, fitting to thefigure with the same grace as the real garment, and thetrimmings are imitated with wonderful exactness.

For several new sleeves, we are also indebted to the sameestablishment, although the season is too early to admit ofa judgment as to what will be the prevailing styles.

The bonnets are all very small, with open shallow brimsand long low crowns. The stiff round crown has entirelygone out, and the ingenuity of the milliner is almost exhaustedin draping this very necessary part of the bonnetin the most graceful way. Dress, or drawn bonnets aremade of silk and crape, with a profusion of ribbon andlace; the bonnet itself seems of little consequence, so thatthe crown has a good shape, and the inside of the brim isgracefully decorated. Our fashionable ladies have a remarkableair of one-sidedness in this respect. For instance,a large bow of pink ribbon, set high up on the right, anda drooping spray of flowers on the left, connected by blondeor narrow laces of any kind. In wreaths running aroundthe face, one side is made heavier than the other, and continuedso to the forehead, or crosses it perhaps, instead of theold-fashioned well-balanced bouquets on each side, connectedby narrow wreaths at the top. White is the prevailingcolor so far, with crape flowers in purple, withbright green leaves, as lilacs, heartsease, convolvulus,clusters of glycena, etc. etc. Delicate shades of pink,green, violet, and blue are also seen; lace, either blonde orless costly styles, is used in all.

Of ribbons for straw bonnets we have endless varietiesof colors and patterns, brocaded, plaided, and plain. Forourselves, we are no fanciers of a ribbon that at a littledistance looks like a strip of gay-colored chintz; a rich,thick satin, or Mantua, of one shade, is always more lady-like,and sufficient variety can be found in the differentstripes, pearlings, etc. Gold brocaded ribbons—by brocaded,we mean a raised figure upon a plain ground—are moresuitable for headdresses, or evening-dress, than the street.They will be entirely out of place on a straw bonnet; asmuch so as a rich gimp or velvet trimming on a chintzdress.

Silks, mousselines, and light spring cashmeres, indeed,any fabric of like thickness, will be made, as in the pastwinter, with basques, closed all around, over the hips, andwithout the rolling-collar at the bust, which was so longthe style. The sleeves will be worn decidedly larger at thetop, even when they are not intended for puffs or plaits.These open on the inside of the arm, and require to havethe seam set very far forward, so as to have the openingfall away from the wrist. It is now the style to face a silksleeve far up with white Florence, and box-plait a whitesatin ribbon about an inch in width around the insideedge, no matter as to what the dress itself is trimmedwith: it gives a very stylish finish. Ribbons, galloons, andfrills of the same are the favorite trimmings, which, in allcases save black, should match the shade of the dress exactly.Black silks are much worn this spring, with ribbontrimmings of deep purple, blue, green, and even crimson;the flounces are bound in this style, and the barque andsleeve trimmings correspond. Bows of ribbon, mediumwidth, either flat or with flowing ends, close the basqueand sleeve openings on most of the new silks, etc. Guipurelace is the richest and most costly of all, and comesof every shade and width, ranging from 75 cents to $5 peryard. The galloons are rich, light, and fanciful; satin andvelvet, watered, pearled, etc.

Our May number, besides a more elaborate notice of Mr.Brodie's establishment, will contain many items of greatinterest in this department, as the openings are announcedfor an early day. FASHION.

TO EXTRACT ESSENCES FROM FLOWERS.—Procure a quantityof the petals of any flowers which have an agreeable fragrance,card thin layers of cotton, which dip into the finestFlorence or Lucca oil, sprinkle a small quantity of finesalt on the flowers, and lay a layer of cotton and one offlowers alternately, until an earthen vessel or wide-mouthedglass bottle is full. Tie the top close with a bladder,then lay the vessel in a south aspect to the heat of thesun, and in fifteen days, when uncovered, a fragrant oilmay be squeezed away from the whole mass, quite equal tothe highly-valued otto of roses.

TO IMPROVE THE VOICE.—Beeswax, two drachms; copaibabalsam, three drachms; powder of liquorice-root, fourdrachms. Melt the copaiba balsam with the wax in a newearthen pipkin; when melted, remove them from the fire,and while in a melted state mix in the powder. Makepills of three grains each. Two of these pills to be takenoccasionally.

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