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Title: Godey's Lady's Book - Philadelphia V 48, January, 1854
Author: Various
Language: English
As this book started as an ASCII text book there are no pictures available.
Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

*** Start of this Doctrine Publishing Corporation Digital Book "Godey's Lady's Book - Philadelphia V 48, January, 1854" ***

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[Illustration: Pleiades.]

[Illustration: GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK




    A Bit of Shopping Gossip,                                        282

    A Bloomer among us, by _Pauline Forsyth_,                        396

    A Chapter on Necklaces, by _Mrs. White_,                         213

    A Consideration,                                                 569

    Advice to a Bride,                                               405

    A Few Words about Delicate Women,                                446

    A Gossip on the Fashions,                                         56

    A Great Duty which is Imposed upon Mothers,                      464

    A Great Mulrooney Story, by _Sylvanus Urban, the Younger_,        27

    A Lace Basque,                                                   550

    A Lesson worth Remembering,                                      478

    A Loving Heart, by _W. S. Gaffney_,                              543

    Amateur Gardening,                                                89

    A Mother's Love, by _Mary Neal_,                                 355

    Amor, Vivax, Fragilis, by _H. H., M. D._,                         32

    An Antidote,                                                     188

    Anecdote of Byron,                                               130

    An Incident, by _J. M. C._,                                       64

    Annoyance, by _Beata_,                                           452

    An Ornamental Cottage,                                      268, 269

    A Pleasant Letter,                                               152

    A Portrait, by _Paul H. Hayne_,                                   64

    Appletons',                                                      380

    Apron in Broderie en Lacet,                                      363

    A Ruling Passion,                                                272

    A Sketch, by "_Leonora_,"                                         63

    A Song, by _Charles Stewart_,                                    501

    A Story of Valentine's Day, by _Mrs. Abdy_,                      137

    A Strange Incident,                                              514

    Aunt Tabitha's Fireside, by _Edith Woodley_,                     150

    A Valentine, by _Clara Moreton_,                                 165

    A Warning to Lovers,                                             187

    Babylon, Nineveh, and Mr. Layard,                       51, 134, 228

    Bearded Civilization,                                            227

    Beauty, by _Miss M. H. Butt_,                                    346

    Be of Good Cheer; it is I, by _R. T. Conrad_,                     64

    Blessington's Choice, by _Fitz Morner_,                          424

    Braided Slipper,                                                 261

    Braid for Child's Dress,                                         549

    Braid Patterns,                                                  172

    Bread-Cloth,                                                     553

    Bright Flowers for her I Love, by _Wm. Roderick Lawrence_,       450

    Boardman & Gray's Dolce Campana Attachment Piano-Fortes, 5, 101, 277

    Bonnets, from Thomas White & Co.,                           193, 283

    Border and Corner for Pocket-Handkerchief,                       361

    Broderie Anglaise for Flouncing,                                 173

    Camilla Mantilla,                                                289

    Caps,                                         69, 170, 360, 362, 546

    Celestial Love Letters,                                          118

    Celestial Phenomena, by _D. W. Belisle_,           60, 131, 233, 315,
                                                                403, 504

    Centre-Table Gossip,                     89, 187, 282, 379, 477, 569

    Charity Envieth Not, by _Alice B. Neal_,                         417

    Chemisettes,                                            69, 264, 362

    Chemistry for Youth,                               81, 185, 279, 566

    Child's Dress,                                                    71

    Children's Dresses,                                            1, 92

    Chinese Sayings,                                                 548

    Costly China,                                                    569

    Cottage Furniture,                            74, 263, 364, 454, 551

    Crochet Tassel Cover,                                            358

    Dairy-House and Piggery,                                         349

    Deaconesses,                                                     273

    Decorated Parlor Windows,                                    97, 166

    Design for Screen,                                          198, 267

    Development of the Lungs,                                        107

    Directions for a Letter-Band,                               391, 458

    Directions for Knitting a Work-Basket,                           458

    Directions for taking Leaf Impressions,                          443

    Directions to Ladies for Shopping,                                83

    Disappointed Love, by _W. S. Gaffney_,                           449

    Don't Overtask the Young Brain,                                  337

    Dream Picture, by _Mrs. A. F. Law_,                              353

    Dress--as a Fine Art, by _Mrs. Merrifield_,             25, 347, 412

    Dress Collar.--Embroidery,                                       553

    Dress of American Women,                                         282

    Dying, by _Bell_,                                                165

    Editors' Table,                          75, 175, 271, 366, 462, 555

    Editors' Table-Drawer,                                       77, 273

    Edna, by _Ellen Alice Moriarty_,                                 164

    Ellie Maylie, by _Jennie Dowling De Witt_,                       353

    Embroidered Antimacassar,                                        269

    Embroidered Collar,                                              174

    Embroidered Screen,                                              171

    Embroidery.--Dress Collar,                                       553

    Embroidery for Petticoats,                                        68

    Embroidery for Shirts,                                       74, 169

    Embroidery with Cord,                                            458

    Enigmas,                                 87, 185, 280, 377, 474, 567

    Eugenie Costume,                                                 292

    Evangeline and Antoinette.--Mantillas,                      385, 457

    Evening Thoughts, by _H. Merran Parke_,                          543

    Every Lady her own Dressmaker,                                   570

    Fairyland, by _Laura M. Colvin_,                                 260

    Farm House,                                                      444

    Fashions,                                90, 189, 283, 381, 479, 571

    Female Accomplishments,                                           89

    Female Medical Education,                                        462

    Feminology,                                                      273

    For the Lovers of Jewelry,                                       478

    Geraniums, _from Mrs. Hale's New Household Receipt-Book_,        565

    Godey's Arm-Chair,                       82, 181, 275, 371, 467, 561

    Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing,    36, 115, 216, 323, 410, 502

    Headdress,                                                       546

    A Bit of Shopping Gossip,                                        282

    History of Pearls, Natural and Artificial,                       533

    House Plants, _from Mrs. Hale's New Household Receipt-Book_,     472

    Illuminated, or Vellum-Painting,                                 538

    Influence of Female Education in Greece,                         271

    Ingenuity of Bees,                                               133

    Instantaneous Flowering of Plants,                               161

    Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-Work,   22, 154, 240

    Instructions in Knitting,                                        472

    Intellectual Endowments of Children,                             409

    Interesting Discovery at Jerusalem,                              395

    I was Robbed of my Spirit's Love, by _Jaronette_,                354

    Jacket for Riding-Dress,                                         364

    Juvenile Books.--From Evans & Brittan,                           188

    Juvenile Fashions,                                               547

    Laces and Embroideries,                                          379

    Lace Mantilla and Tablet Mantilla,                          388, 457

    Lady's Riding-Boots,                                             551

    Lady's Scarf Mantelet,                                           357

    Lady's Slipper,                                             363, 552

    Lady's Walking-Dress and Diagrams,                               262

    L'Anglaise Costume,                                              293

    Lay of the Constant One, by _Mrs. Corolla H. Criswell_,          258

    Legend of Long-Pond; or, Lake of the Golden Cross,
      by _Fanny Fales_,                                              506

    Let me Die! by _S. M. Montgomery_,                               544

    Le Printemps Mantilla,                                           289

    Letters Left at the Pastry Cook's, _Edited by
      Horace Mayhew_,                        58, 128, 247, 334, 414, 499

    Lines to a Bronchitis Birdie, by _N. W. Bridge_,                 545

    L'Isolement, _Translated from the French of Alphonse
      de Lamartine, by Wm. A. Kenyon_,                               545

    Literary Notices,                        78, 177, 274, 369, 465, 558

    Literature for Ladies,                                           175

    Little Children,                                                 207

    Love's Elysium, by _J. A. Bartley_,                               55

    Madame Caplin's Corsets,                                         265

    Management of Canary Birds,                                      322

    Mantillas, from the celebrated Establishment of G. Brodie,
      New York,                 4, 72, 100, 167, 168, 196, 197, 267, 290,
                                                 291, 392, 458, 482, 483

    Manuel Garcia, the celebrated Singing-Master,                    366

    Manufacture of Pins,                                             404

    Marquise and Navailles.--Mantillas,                         389, 457

    May-Day,                                                         423

    May First,                                                       477

    Mrs. Clark's Experience as a Servant, by _Bell_,                 508

    Mrs. Mudlaw's Recipe for Potato Pudding, by
      _The Author of the_ "_Bedott Papers_,"                         250

    Mrs. Murden's Two Dollar Silk, by _The Author of_
      "_Miss Bremer's Visit to Cooper's Landing_,"                   317

    "Mustard to Mix."--A Receipt for Young Housekeepers, by
      _The Author of_ "_Miss Bremer's Visit to Cooper's Landing_,"
      _etc._,                                                        158

    My Grandmother's Stand, by _H. B. Wildman_,                       65

    "My Experience in Babies, Sir!" by _Mary Neal_,                   63

    My Tulips, by _H. S. D._,                                        544

    Netted Cap, for morning wear,                                    360

    New Revelations of an Old Country,                               427

    Niagara,                                                         521

    Novelties for the Coming Season,                                 170

    Ode from Horace, by _Edw. Newton Van Sant_,                       66

    Ode to the Air in May, by _Nicholas Nettleby_,                   452

    O'er Bleak Acadia's Plains, by _Clark Gaddis_,                   261

    Oh, Lay Her to Rest, by _Florus B. Plimpton_,                     40

    Old, while Young, by _Mabel Clifford_,                           259

    On the Porch of the Cataract House, by _Helen Hamilton_,          62

    Ornaments,                                                       570

    Our Fashion Department,                                          478

    Our Practical Dress Instructor,                   168, 262, 357, 453

    Painting on Velvet,                                              393

    Parlor Work,                                                 89, 188

    Patterns for Embroidery,                     172, 270, 365, 456, 554

    Petticoat Trimming.--In Broderie Anglaise,                       173

    Physical Training,                                               525

    Pictures from Dante,                                             273

    Plain Work,                                                      460

    Preparations for Company,                                         26

    Presentiment, by _Mrs. Priscilla P. Lompayrac_,                  260

    Preservation of Food,                                            487

    Public Liberality,                                               272

    Reading without Improvement,                                     272

    Receipts, &c.,                           87, 186, 280, 378, 475, 567

    Remembered Happiness,                                            433

    Remember the Poor, by _Mrs. C. H. Esling_,                       165

    Roman Women in the Days of the Cæsars, by _H. P. Haynes_,        243

    Secret Love, by _Kate Harrington_,                               542

    Selling the Love-Token, by _Alice B. Neal_,                      208

    Silent Thought, by _Willie Edgar Tabor_,                         440

    Singular Inscriptions on Tombstones,                             376

    Slander,                                                         557

    Sleeves,                                                     69, 264

    Smyrna Embroidery.--Lady's Slipper on Cloth,                     552

    Some Thoughts on Training Female Teachers, by _Miss M. S. G._,   336

    Song to C. G. D., by _William P. Mulchinock_,                     66

    Sonnets, by _Wm. Alexander_,             66, 163, 260, 352, 450, 543

    Spring,                                                          464

    Spring Bonnets,                                             294, 459

    Spring Fashions,                                            390, 457

    Stanzas, by _H. B. Wildman_,                                     450

    Stanzas, by _Helen Hamilton_,                                    450

    Table-Moving, by _Pauline Forsyth_,                              235

    Taper-Stand,                                                     266

    Teaching at Home.--Language,                                     442

    The Borrower's Department,                    87, 184, 377, 475, 566

    The Children-Angels, by _James A. Bartley_,                      162

    The Dead Tree,                                                   544

    The Dying Wife, by _Phila Earle_,                                257

    The Economics of Clothing and Dress,                             421

    The Elixir of Life, by _Charles Albert Janvier_,                 354

    The Embroidered Slippers.--An acknowledgment of a Holiday Gift,  259

    The Evening Walk, by _Richard Coe_,                              162

    The Fountain Very Far Down, by _Virginia F. Townsend_,           145

    The Gleaner, by _Richard Coe_,                                   449

    The Good Time Coming,                                             75

    The Hortense Mantelet and Victoria,                               70

    The Household,                                                   379

    The Interview, by _T. Hempstead_,                                352

    The Last Kiss, by _Jenny A. M'Ewan_,                             541

    The Last Moments, by _R. Griffin Staples_,                       356

    The Life of Man, by _C****_,                                     261

    The Lloyds, by _Mrs. S. J. Hale_,                                 41

    The Manufacture of Artificial Flowers, by _C. T. Hinckley_,      295

    The Manufacture of Paper, by _C. T. Hinckley_,                   199

    The Miser, by _Charles Leland Porter_,                           163

    The Mother's Lesson, by _Elma South_,                            441

    The Needle in the Haymow.--A Story for Housekeepers,
      by _H. D. R._,                                                 515

    The New Sewing-Machine,                                          127

    The Nursery Basket,                                              570

    The Orphan Boy, by _Robert G. Allison_,                          163

    The Orphan's Departure, by _Margaret Floyd_,                     310

    The Pedestrian Tour, by _Pauline Forsyth_,                       494

    The Pet, by _Rosa Montrose_,                                     449

    The Philadelphia School of Design for Women,                     271

    The Philosophy of Shopping, by _Mrs. Alaric Watts_,               33

    The Pleiades,                                                     21

    The Practical,                                                   463

    There's Music, by _Horace G. Boughman_,                          353

    The School-Mistress Married,                                      77

    The Schottisch Partner, by _Motte Hall_,                         542

    The Scotch Piper,                                                184

    The Song-Birds of Spring, by _Norman W. Bridge_,                 355

    The Spring-time Cometh,                                          463

    The Stolen Match, by _Hon. Caleb Cushing_,                        13

    The Souvenir; or, The Arrival of the Lady's Book. A Sketch of
      Southern Life, by _Pauline Forsyth_,                           338

    The Toilet,                              92, 187, 281, 382, 477, 568

    The Trials of a Needle-Woman, by _T. S. Arthur_,       119, 218, 326,
                                                                434, 527

    The Turkish Costume,                                             348

    The Vork-'Ouse Boy,                                               83

    The _Was_ and the _Is_, by _O. Everts, M. D._,                   356

    The Wild Flowers of Early Spring-time,                           343

    The Wild Flowers of the Month, by _H. Coultas_,                  523

    The Wives Of England,                                             76

    The Wreck, by _Mrs. E. Lock_,                                    259

    They say that she is Beautiful, by _Mary Grace Halping_,         451

    Time's Changes; or, Fashions in the Olden Times,                 512

    'Tis Gold! 'Tis Gold! by _James L. Roche_,                       258

    'Tis O'er, by _I. J. Stine_,                                     452

    To a Friend on the Day of his Marriage,                          545

    To an Absent Dear One, by _Fannie M. C._,                        355

    To Caroline in Heaven, by _Annie B. Clare_,                       65

    To Ida, by _Horace Phelps, M. D._,                               356

    Toilet Cover in Crochet,                                          73

    To Laura.--The Friend, by _Beata_,                                65

    To Miss Laura,                                                   416

    To Morning, by _Blanche Bennairde_,                               57

    To my Brother, by _Mrs. M. A. Bigelow_,                          258

    To one who Rests, by _Winnie Woodfern_,                          451

    To our Friend Godey, by _Mrs. A. J. Williams_,                   468

    To the Gánd'hraj, by _Mrs. E. Lock_,                             165

    To the New Year,                                                  62

    Transplanting Roses,                                             188

    Treasures,                                                       420

    True Happiness in a Palace,                                      367

    Truth, by _D. Hardy, Jr._,                                       550

    Truth Stranger than Fiction,                                     406

    Two Mothers? by _Mrs. S. F. Jennings_,                           543

    Undersleeves,                                               362, 456

    Valentine's Day,                                                 156

    Vegetable Physiology, by _Harland Coultas_,            148, 232, 523

    Veteran Sailor's Song, by "_Caryl_,"                             164

    Virginia Percy.--A Sketch of Southern Life,
      by _Pauline Forsyth_,                                          108

    Washing made Easy,                                               379

    Watch-Pocket.--Broderie en Lacet,                                269

    We Parted, by _M. A. Rice_,                                      257

    Willie Maylie, by _Cornelia M. Dowling_,                         353

    What shall be done for the Insane?                               555

    Why don't Ladies learn to Cook?                                  549

    Woman the Physician of her own Sex,                              176

    Working and Dreaming, by _Mrs. A. L. Lawrie_,                    162

    Work-Table for Juveniles,                                    67, 455

    Yankee Doodle with Variations,                                   473

    Zanotti: a Romantic Tale of Italy and Spain, by _Percy_,         300



     The Pleiades.

     Time in Search of Cupid.

     The Hortense Mantelet and the Victoria.


     Godey's Latest Fashions.

     Children's Dresses.

     MUSIC.--The Bluebird Waltz, by _Edward Mack_.

     The Hungarian Circle.

     Boardman & Gray's Dolce Campana Attachment Piano-Fortes.

     Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-Work.

     Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

     Fallen Rock-Sculptures at Bavian.

     A Gossip on the Fashions.

     Work-table for Juveniles.

     Embroidery for Petticoats.

     Chemisettes, Sleeves, and Caps.

     Child's Dress.

     Toilet Cover in Crochet.

     Embroidery for Shirts.

     Cottage Furniture.

     Directions to Ladies for Shopping.

     Designs for Headdresses.


     The Evening Walk.

     Godey's Colored Fashions.

     Embroidered Dressing-Gown.

     Broderie Anglaise Flouncing.

     The Farm Yard.

     Window Curtains.

     MUSIC.--Andante and Waltz, by _Thos. A'Becket_.

     The Moscow Wrapper.

     Boardman & Gray's Dolce Campana Attachment Piano-Fortes.

     Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

     The New Sewing-Machine.

     Babylon and Nineveh.

     Vegetable Physiology.

     Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-Work.

     The Salamanca.

     Polka Jacket and Diagrams.

     Embroidery for Shirts.

     The Pelisse, a favorite style of outside garment.


     Embroidered Screen.

     Patterns for Embroidery.

     Braid Pattern.

     Petticoat Trimming.--In Broderie Anglaise.

     Embroidered Collar.

     The Scotch Piper.


     Selling the Wedding-Ring or Love-Token.

     Godey's Unrivalled Colored Fashions.

     Embroidered Antimacassar.

     Watch-Pocket.--Broderie en Lacet.

     Embroidery Pattern.

     Model Cottage, printed in tints; and ground-plan.

     Fashionable Bonnets.

     MUSIC.--Pop Goes the Weasel.

     The Arragonese and the Valencia.

     Design for Embroidered Screen.

     The Manufacture of Paper.

     Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

     Babylon and Nineveh.

     Vegetable Physiology.

     Instructions for making Ornaments in Rice Shell-Work.

     Braided Slipper.

     Lady's Walking-Dress and Diagrams.

     Cottage Furniture.

     Chemisettes and Sleeves.

     Madame Caplin's Corsets.

     Taper Stand.

     Patterns for Embroidery.

     Bird's-eye View of Boardman & Gray's Piano-Forte Manufactory,
     Albany, N. Y.

     Little Girl's Sack and Outdoor Dresses.

     Oakford's Spring Fashions for Hats, Caps, &c.


     Departure of the Orphan.

     The Arrival of the Lady's Book.

     Apron in Broderie en Lacet.

     Latest Fashions.--Spring Dresses.

     Camilla Mantilla and Le Printemps Mantilla.

     The Columbine and the Snowdrop.--Mantillas.

     Eugenie Costume and L'Anglaise.

     Spring Bonnet.

     The Manufacture of Artificial Flowers.

     Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

     Model Cheese Dairy-House, and Model Piggery.

     Lady's Scarf Mantelet and Diagrams, and Diagrams for Lady's Jacket.

     Crochet Tassel Cover.

     Netted Cap, for morning wear.

     Border and Corner for Pocket-Handkerchief.

     Chemisettes, Undersleeves, and Caps.

     Lady's Slipper.

     Jacket for a Riding-Dress.

     Cottage Furniture.

     Patterns for Embroidery.

     The Husband of your Cook leaving your House.


     The Gleaner.

     Godey's Colored Spring Fashions.

     Embroidered Dress Undersleeve.

     Preparing for Church.

     MUSIC.--Let us be Friends. Words by _David Bates, Esq._ Music by
     _P. K._

     MANTILLAS.--Evangeline and Antoinette; Lace Mantilla and Tablet
     Mantilla; Marquise and Navailles Shawl-Mantelet; The Albuera.

     Spring Fashions.

     Design for a Letter-Band.

     Painting on Velvet.

     Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

     New Revelations of an Old Country.

     Farm House.

     Ladies' Dresses and Diagrams.

     Cottage Furniture.

     Back of a Watch-Pocket.

     Dice Pattern for Slippers.

     Patterns for Embroidery.

     Embroidery with Cord.

     Spring Bonnets.

     Night Dresses.

     The Broken Bust.


     Eastport and Passamaquoddy Bay.

     Colored Fashions.

     Embroidered Dress Collar.

     The Truant Detected.

     Fashionable Bonnets and Caps.

     The Pyramid Talma.

     The Scarf Volant.

     MUSIC.--The Palace Waltz.

     The Empress and the Novada.

     Preservation of Food.

     Godey's Course of Lessons in Drawing.

     The Wild Flowers of the Month.

     Artificial Pearls in the Mussel.

     Illuminated, or Vellum-Painting.

     Caps and Headdress.

     Juvenile Fashions.

     Braid for Child's Dress.

     Lace Basque.

     Lady's Riding Boots.

     Cottage Furniture.

     Lady's Slipper on Cloth.--Smyrna Embroidery.

     Design for a Bread-Cloth.

     Patterns for Embroidery.


[Illustration: EMBROIDERY.]

[Illustration: THE VICTORIA.]






_Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1853, by T. C.
ANDREWS, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Eastern
District of Pennsylvania_




[From the establishment of G. BRODIE, No. 51 Canal Street, New York.]]








Perhaps we cannot present our readers a more interesting article
on manufacturing, than to give an idea of piano-forte making.
Piano-fortes, in these days, making an almost indispensable article
of furniture in every dwelling; adding so much to the pleasures of
home, and being so much of a companion in all home hours; contributing
so largely to the enjoyments of society, that some little knowledge
of the processes of making, and the materials used, must be not only
interesting to all, but valuable to those who may wish to know how good
piano-fortes should be made.

With this desire, we have selected as our MODEL the large and
flourishing manufactory of Messrs. Boardman & Gray, the eminent
piano-forte makers of Albany, N. Y., celebrated as the manufacturers of
the Dolce Campana Attachment Piano-Fortes, whose instruments were not
only sought after and used by Jenny Lind, Catharine Hayes, and other
celebrities, but by the profession generally throughout the United

Messrs. Boardman & Gray's manufactory is situated at Albany, N. Y.,
occupying the end of a block, presenting a front on three streets
of upwards of 320 feet, the main building of which, fronting on two
streets 208 feet, is built of brick, four stories high above a high
basement-story, devoted exclusively to machinery driven by a forty
horse power engine. The completeness of design of these buildings and
machinery for the purpose used, we believe, has no superior, if any
equal, in this country. Every improvement and convenience is attached
to make the entire perfect, and in going through the premises one is
attracted by the comprehensiveness of the whole concern.

The entrance to the factory of Messrs. Boardman & Gray is by a large
gateway through the centre of the building, next to the office, so
that the person in charge of the office has full view of all that
enter or leave the premises. We pass into the yard, and are surprised
at the large amount of lumber of all kinds piled up in the rough
state. The yard is full, and also the large two story brick building
used as drying sheds for lumber. Here a large circular saw is in full
operation, cutting up the wood ready for the sheds or machine-room.
Messrs. Boardman & Gray have the most of their lumber sawed out from
the logs expressly for them in the forests of Alleghany, Oneida,
Herkimer, and other choice localities in N. Y., and also Canada, and
delivered by contract two and three years after being sawed, when well
seasoned. The variety and number of different kinds of wood used in
the business is quite surprising. Pine, spruce, maple, oak, chestnut,
ash, bass-wood, walnut, mahogany, cherry, birch, rosewood, ebony,
whiteholly, apple, pear-tree, and several other varieties, each of
which has its peculiar qualities, and its place in the piano depends
on the duties it has to perform. The inspecting and selecting of the
lumber require the strictest attention, long experience, and matured
judgment; for it must be not only of the right kind, and free from all
imperfections, such as knots, shakes, sapwood, &c., but it must also be
well seasoned. All the lumber used by Messrs. Boardman & Gray, being
cut two or three years in advance, is seasoned before they receive it;
then it is piled up and dried another year, at least, in their yard,
after which it is cut up by the cross-cut circular saw, and piled
another season in their sheds, when it is taken down for use, and goes
into the machine-shop; and here it is cut into the proper forms and
sizes wanted, and then put into the drying-rooms for six months or a
year more before it is used in the piano-forte.

These drying-rooms, of which there are three in the establishment, are
kept at a temperature of about 100° Fahrenheit, by means of steam from
the boiler through pipes. As fast as one year's lot of lumber is taken
down for use, another lot is put in its place ready for the next year.
In this way, Messrs. Boardman & Gray have a surety that none but the
most perfectly seasoned and dry lumber is used in their piano-fortes.
Their constant supply of lumber on hand at all times is from two to
three hundred thousand feet, and as Albany is the greatest lumber mart
in the world, of course they have the opportunity of selecting the
choicest lots for their own use, and keeping their supply good at all

The selection of the proper kinds of lumber, and its careful
preparation, so as to be in the most perfect order, constitute one of
the most important points in making piano-fortes that will remain in
tune well, and stand any climate.

[Illustration: DRILLERS' ROOM.]

Here is the motive power, and a beautiful Gothic pattern horizontal
engine of _forty horse power_, built at the machine works of
the Messrs. Townsend of Albany, from the plans, and under the
superintendence of Wm. McCammon, Esq., engineer now in charge of
the Chicago (Ill.) Water-works. The engine is, indeed, a beautiful
working model, moving with its strong arm the entire machinery used
throughout the building, yet so quiet that, without seeing it, you
would hardly know it was in motion. In the same room is the boiler,
of the locomotive tubular pattern, large enough not only to furnish
steam for the engine, but also for heating the entire factory, and
furnishing heat for all things requisite in the building. Water for
supplying the boiler is contained in a large cistern under the centre
of the yard, holding some 26,000 gallons, supplied from the roofs of
the buildings. The engine and boiler are in the basement (occupying the
basement and first story in one room), at one end of the building, and
are so arranged that all the machinery used in the different stories is
driven throughout by long lines of shafting put up in the most finished
manner, while the entire manufactory is warmed in the most thorough
and healthy manner by steam from the boiler, passing through some
8,000 feet of iron pipe, arranged so that each room can be tempered
as required. At the same time, ovens heated with steam through pipes
are placed in the different rooms to warm the materials for gluing and
veneering. The glue is all "made off" and kept hot in the different
rooms by means of iron boxes with water in them (in which the glue-pots
are placed), kept at the boiling point by steam passing through pipes
in the water: thus the boiler furnishes all the heat required in the

[Illustration: ENGINE AND BOILER.]

We pass to the next room, where we find the workmen employed in
preparing the massive metallic (iron) plates used inside the pianos,
from the rough state, as they come from the furnace. They are first
filed smooth and perfect to the pattern, then painted and rubbed even
and smooth, and are then ready for the drilling of the numerous holes
for the pins and screws that have to be put into and through the plate
in using it. (A view of the drilling-machines and workmen is given with
the engine.)

Into each plate for a seven octave piano, there have to be drilled
upwards of 450 holes, and about 250 of these have pins riveted into
them for the strings, &c.; and these must be exactly in their places
by a working pattern, for the least variation might make much trouble
in putting on the strings and finishing the piano. Of course, these
holes are drilled by machinery with that perfection and speed that can
be done only with the most perfect machines and competent experienced
workmen. And these metallic plates, when finished and secured in the
instrument correctly, give a firmness and durability to the piano
unattainable by any other method.

[Illustration: MACHINE-ROOM.]

In the same room with the drilling-machines we find the leg-making
machines, for cutting from the rough blocks of lumber the beautifully
formed "ogee" and "curved legs," as well as sides, of various patterns,
ready for being veneered with rosewood or mahogany. The body of the
legs is generally made of chestnut, which is found best adapted to
the purpose. The leg-machine is rather curious in its operations, the
cutting-knives revolving in a sliding-frame, which follows the pattern,
the leg, whilst being formed, remaining stationary.

Our first impression on entering the machine-shop is one of noise and
confusion; but, on looking about, we find all is order, each workman
attending his own machine and work. Here are two of "Daniel's Patented
Planing-Machines," of the largest size, capable of planing boards or
plank of any thickness three feet wide; two circular saws; one upright
turning-saw, for sawing fancy scroll-work; a "half-lapping machine,"
for cutting the bottom framework together; turning lathes, and several
other machines, all in full operation, making much more noise than

The lumber, after being cut to the length required by the large
cross-cut saw in the yard, and piled in the sheds, is brought into this
machine-room and sawed and planed to the different forms and shapes
required for use, and is then ready for the drying-rooms.

In this machine-room, which is a very large one, the "bottoms" for the
cases are made and finished, ready for the case-maker to build his case
upon. If we examine them, we will find they are constructed so as to be
of great strength and durability; and, being composed of such perfectly
seasoned materials, the changes of different climates do not injure
them, and they will endure any strain produced by the great tension of
the strings of the piano in "tuning up to pitch," amounting to several

But we must pass on to the next room. We step on a raised platform
about four feet by eight, and, touching a short lever, find ourselves
going up to the next floor. Perhaps a lot of lumber is on the platform
with us, on its way to the drying-rooms. On getting on a level with
the floor, we again touch the magic lever, and our steam elevator
(or dumb waiter) stops, and, stepping off, find ourselves surrounded
with workmen; and this is the "case-making" department. And here we
find piano-forte cases in all stages of progress; the materials for
some just gathered together, and others finished or finishing; some
of the plainest styles, and others of the most elaborate carved work
and ornamental designs. Nothing doing but making cases; two rooms
adjoining, 115 feet long, with workmen all around as close together as
they can work with convenience. Each room is furnished with its steam
ovens, glue heaters, &c. The case-maker makes the rims of the case,
and veneers them. He fits and secures these to the bottom. He also
makes and veneers the tops. This completes his work, and then we have
the skeleton of a piano, the mere shell or box. The rim is securely and
firmly fastened to the strong bottoms, bracing and blocking being put
in in the strongest and most permanent manner, the joints all fitting
as close as if they grew together; and then the case is ready to
receive the sounding-board and iron frame. The bottoms are made mostly
of pine; the rims of the case are of ash or cherry, or of some hard
wood that will hold the rosewood veneers with which they are covered.
The tops are made of ash or cherry, sometimes of mahogany, and veneered
with rosewood. We will now follow the case to the room where the
workmen are employed in putting in the sounding-board and iron frames.

[Illustration: SPINNING-MACHINE.


The sounding-board is what, in a great measure, gives tone, and the
different qualities of tone, to the piano. Messrs. Boardman & Gray
use the beautiful white, clear spruce lumber found in the interior
counties of New York, which they consider in every way as good as the
celebrated "Swiss Fir." It is sawed out in a peculiar manner, expressly
for them, for this use, selected with the greatest possible care, and
so thoroughly seasoned that there is no possibility of its warping
or cracking after being placed in one of their finished instruments.
The making of the sounding-board the requisite thinness (some parts
require to be much thinner than others), its peculiar bracing, &c.,
are all matters that require great practical experience, together with
numberless experiments, by which alone the perfection found in the
piano-fortes of Messrs. Boardman & Gray, their full, rich tone giving
the most positive evidence of superiority, can be attained.

We will watch the processes of the workmen in this department. One
is at work putting in the "long-block" of hard maple, seasoned and
prepared until it seems almost as hard as iron, which is requisite, as
the "tuning-pins" pass through the plate into it, and are thus firmly
held. Another workman is making a sounding-board, another fitting
one in its place, &c. &c. All the blocking being in the case, the
sounding-board is fitted and fastened in its place, so as to have the
greatest possible vibrating power, &c.; and then the iron frame must be
fitted over all and cemented and fastened down. The frame is finished,
with its hundreds of holes and pins, in the drillers'-room, and the
workman here has only to fit it to its place and secure it there; and
then the skeleton case is ready to receive its strings and begins to
look like what may make a piano-forte.

Spinning the bass strings, and stringing the case, come next in order.
In the foreground of the last plate, we have a curious-looking machine,
and a workman busy with it winding the bass strings, a curiosity to
all who witness his operations. To get the requisite flexibility and
vibration to strings of the size and weight wanted in the bass notes,
tempered steel wire is used for the strings, and on this is wound
soft annealed iron wire, plated with silver; each string being of a
different size, of course various sizes of body and covering wire are
used in their manufacture. The string to be covered is placed in the
machine, which turns it very rapidly, while the workman holds the
covering wire firmly and truly, and it is wound round and covers the
centre wire. This work requires peculiar care and attention, and, like
all the other different branches in Messrs. Boardman & Gray's factory,
the workmen here attend to but one thing; they do nothing else but spin
these bass strings, and string pianos year in and year out.

The case, while in this department, receives all its strings, which
are of the finest tempered steel wire, finished and polished in the
most beautiful manner. But a few years since, the making of steel music
wire was a thing unknown in the United States; in fact, there were
but two factories of note in the world which produced it; but now, as
with other things, the Americans are ahead, and the "steel music wire"
made by Messrs. Washburn & Co., of Worcester, Mass. is far superior in
quality and finish to the foreign wire. The peculiar temper of the wire
has a great influence on the piano's keeping in tune, strings breaking,
&c., and, as the quality cannot always be ascertained but by actual
experiment, much is condemned after trial, and the perfect only used.


The preparation of what is termed the "keyboard" is one of peculiar
nicety, and the selection of the lumber and its preparation require
great experience and minute attention, so that the keys will not spring
or warp, and thus either not work or throw the hammers out of place,
&c. The frame on which the keys rest is usually made of the best of old
dry cherry, closely framed together to the form required for the keys
and action. The wood of the keys is usually of soft straight-grained
white pine, or prepared bass-wood. Both kinds have to go through many
ordeals of seasoning, &c., ere they are admitted into one of the
fine-working, finished instruments of Messrs. Boardman & Gray. The
keys are made as follows: On a piece of lumber the keys are marked
out, and the cross-banding and slipping done to secure the ivory; the
ivory is applied and secured, and then the keys are sawed apart and
the ivory polished and finished complete. The ebony black keys are
then made and put on and polished, and the key-board is complete; the
key-maker has finished his part of the piano. The ivory used is of the
finest quality, and an article of great expense; its preparation from
the elephant's tusks, of sawing, bleaching, &c., is mostly confined to
a few large dealers in the United States. The most important concern
of the kind is that of Messrs. Pratt, Brothers & Co., of Deep River,
Conn., who supply most of the large piano-makers in the Union. As the
ivory comes from them, it is only in its rough state, sawed out to the
requisite sizes for use, after which it has to be seasoned or dried
the same as lumber, and then prepared and fastened on the key; then to
be planed up, finished, and polished, all of which requires a great
amount of labor, much skill, and experience. Besides ivory, Messrs.
Boardman & Gray use no small quantity of the beautiful variegated
"mother-of-pearl," for keys in their highly ornamental, finished
piano-fortes, a material itself very costly, and requiring a large
amount of labor to finish and polish them with that peculiar richness
for which their instruments are so celebrated. In this, as in the other
departments, each workman has his own special kind of work; nothing
else to attend to but key-making; his whole energies are devoted to
perfect this part of the instrument.


In this department, we again see the perfection of machine-work. The
action is one of the most important things in the piano-forte. On its
construction and adjustment depends the whole working part of the
instrument; for, however good the piano-forte scale may be, or how
complete and perfect all the other parts are formed, if the action is
not good, if the principle on which it is constructed is not correct,
and the adjustment perfect, if the materials used are not of the right
kind, of course the action will not be right, and it will either be
dead under the fingers, without life and elasticity, without the power
of quick repetition of the blow of the hammer, or soon wear loose,
and make more noise and rattling than music. Thus will be seen the
importance of not only having that action which is modelled on the best
principle, but of having an instrument constructed in the most perfect
and thorough manner. All parts of it should be so adjusted as to work
together with as much precision as the wheels of a watch.

Messrs. Boardman & Gray use the principle which is termed the French
Grand Action, with many improvements added by themselves. This they
have found from long experience to be the best in many ways. It is
more powerful than the "Boston, or Semi-Grand;" it will repeat with
much greater rapidity and precision than any other; it is far more
elastic under the manipulation of the fingers; and, to sum up all, it
is almost universally preferred by professors and amateurs, and, what
is still a very important point, they find, after a trial and use of
it for many years, that it wears well. What is technically called the
action consists of the parts that are fastened to the key, and work
together to make the hammer strike the strings of the piano when the
key is pressed down. The parts made of wood, consisting of some eight
or ten pieces to each key, are what compose the action-maker's work;
and, although they are each of them small, still on their perfection
and finish depends much of the value of the instrument in which they
are used. Various kinds of close-grained wood are used in their
construction, such as white holly, apple or pear-tree, mahogany, hard
maple, red cedar, &c., and other kinds as are best adapted to the use
put to. They have to be closely fitted; the holes for the centre pins
to work in must be clothed with cloth prepared expressly for this
work. Buckskin of a particular finish, and cloth of various kinds and
qualities, are used to cover those parts where there is much friction
or liability to noise, and every part so perfectly finished and fitted
that it will not only work smoothly, and without any sticking or
clinging, but without noise, and yet be firm and true, so that every
time the key is touched the hammer strikes the string in response.
The action-maker completes these different parts of the action; and
then another workman, who is called the "finisher," fits them to the
keys and into the case of the piano; but, before we enter into his
room, we will see to the preparation of another important part of the
action, namely, the hammer. This is another extremely important thing
in piano-forte making; the covering of the hammers is one of the most
peculiar branches of the business. It is one that long experience and
minute attention can alone perfect. The hammer head is generally made
of bass-wood, and then covered with either felt prepared for this
purpose, or deer or buckskin dressed expressly for this business.
The preparation of buckskin for piano-forte makers is at this time
quite an important trade, and the improvements made in its dressing
of late years have kept full pace with the other improvements in the
piano. The peculiar ordeal they undergo we cannot here explain; but
we can only see the beautiful article finished for use. Some of them
for the under coatings or layers are firm and yet elastic and soft,
while those prepared for the top coating or capping are pliable and
soft as silk velvet; and these, when correctly applied, will form a
hammer which, if the piano-forte is perfect otherwise, will always give
the rich, full organ tone for which the pianos of Messrs. Boardman
& Gray are so celebrated. Those employed in covering and preparing
hammers do this exclusively, and must perfect their work. They give
the greatest number of coats, and the thickest buckskin to the hammers
for the bass strings, and then taper up evenly and truly to the treble
hammers, which have a less number of coats and of the thinnest kinds;
and then, after the hammer is fitted to the string in the piano, and
it has been tuned and the action adjusted, it goes into the hands of
the hammer finisher, who tries each note, and takes off and puts on
different buckskin until every note is good, and the tone of the piano
is perfectly true.

[Illustration: FINISHING-ROOM.]

We left the piano-case in the hands of the persons employed in putting
on the beautifully polished steel strings, whose vibrations may yet
thrill many a heart, or bring the starting tear. After it has its
strings, it goes to the finisher, whose duties consist in taking the
keys as they come from the key-maker, the action as prepared, and the
hammers from the hammer-maker, and fitting them together and into
the case, so that the keys and action work together; adjusting the
hammer to strike the strings, and putting the dampers in their proper
places to be acted on by the keys and pedals; making and fitting the
harp, or soft stop; adjusting the loading of the keys to make a heavy
or light touch, and thus doing what may be termed the putting the
machinery together to form the working part of the piano-forte. And,
when we consider that each key in one of Messrs. Boardman & Gray's
piano-fortes is composed, with its action, of some sixty-five to
seventy pieces, and that there are eighty-five keys to a seven octave
instrument, making a sum total of nearly six thousand pieces, and
that many of these pieces have to be handled over many times before
they are finished in the piano, one is not a little surprised at the
immense amount of work in a perfect piano-forte. But these six thousand
pieces only compose the keys and action alone, and consist of wood,
iron, cloth, felt, buckskin, and many other things; and, as a matter of
course, each piece must be made and fitted with the greatest exactness,
and the most perfect materials alone must be used. The "finishing,"
it will be seen at once, is another important branch, and requires
long experience, close attention, and workmanship. Messrs. Boardman &
Gray have many workmen employed in this department at finishing alone.
The work is done by the piece, as many of the different branches are
under the personal superintendence of the foreman, whose duty it is to
see that the work is made perfect; for the workman is liable for the
materials he destroys. One great improvement made by Messrs. Boardman
& Gray, and placed in all their piano-fortes, we believe is not used
by any other maker. We refer to their metallic OVER damper register
and cover. The dampers are held in their places by wires or lifters
passing between the strings and through the register, which holds them
as they are acted on by the keys and pedal. This register is usually
made in the old way, of wood, and placed _under the strings_, and,
consequently, the weather acting on the wood is liable to warp or
spring the register, and thus throw these wires or lifters against the
strings, causing a jingling or harsh jarring when the piano is used;
and, then, the register being placed beneath the strings, and the
lifters passing through it and above the strings to the dampers, of
course they are liable to accidents, and to be bent and knocked out of
place in many ways by anything hitting the dampers, as in dusting out
the instrument, &c. But this improvement of Messrs. Boardman & Gray
covers all these defects in the old register. Theirs, being of iron, is
not affected by the changes of the weather or temperature of different
houses and rooms; and, then, being placed _above_ the strings, the
dampers are at all times protected from injury. Consequently, their
piano-fortes never have any jangling or jingling of the strings against
the damper wires. This we believe to be a most valuable improvement,
and, at the same time, the beautiful metallic damper cover is highly
ornamental to the interior of the piano-forte.

When the case is thus finished, it can be tuned for the first time,
although all is yet in the rough and unadjusted state; and from
the finisher, after being tuned, it passes into the hands of the

(Concluded next month.)



The vesper bell had tolled the hour of _oraciones_, in Valladolid,
at the close of an autumnal day, in the year 1469, and the crowds of
worshippers reverted to their accustomed pleasures and pursuits, after
making their evening salutation to the Virgin. Small parties of armed
horsemen had been seen to enter the city during the day, who one by
one disappeared under the half opened and quickly shut gateway of
here and there a dark stone dwelling, whose grated windows and heavy
walls seemed to be designed to guard its inmates against the assault
of feudal enemies, quite as much as to shelter them from the elements.
But the spectacle of military array was of too ordinary occurrence to
awaken the attention of the plodding burghers, who, muffled in their
large cloaks, were sufficiently happy to remain unmolested themselves
by the mail-clad cavaliers, without seeking to pry into their business;
to do which, would only have subjected such over-curious persons to
fierce words, and perchance rude blows to back insulting speech. And
it was vain to speculate on such a matter, in times when grandee and
peasant alike made war at will on their own account; and no powerful
chieftain moved without a retinue of right good lances beside him,
inured to violence, and bound to follow his banner for weal or woe. As
the sun descended behind the mountains of Leon, a sharp wind rushed
along the valley of the Duero, and sweeping up the Pisuerga filled
Valladolid with its chilling blasts; but the tramp of steeds and the
clang of armor still rang upon the ear, long after night had thrown her
dark mantle over the gothic towers of the city.

Occupying a large space on a side of the Campo Grande, at one extremity
of the city, stood a stately edifice, rising amid the numerous churches
and long ranges of unsightly convent walls, which formed the prominent
objects in that immense irregular square. The richly ornamented front
of this mansion, although its heavy carved mouldings and friezes, and
indeed its entire surface, had acquired the deep brown hue of venerable
age, was yet untouched by the hand of decay; and in its mass no less
than its ornaments bespoke the wealth and consequence of its occupant.
Indeed, the coat of arms of ample size, overhanging, as it were, the
keystone of a huge arched gateway, which, being placed in the centre
of the façade, constituted the sole entrance to the inner court-yard,
and the apartments of the building, afforded conclusive evidence that
it belonged to one of the proud nobles of Castile. Its lower range of
windows was guarded by strong stanchions or bars of iron, extending
longitudinally up and down, and built fast into the solid masonry.
Balconies, also of massive iron bars, but wrought into tasteful shapes,
and resting upon sculptured slabs of stone, jutted out in relief from
the window-sills of the upper windows, which were secured by means
of thick shutters of carved oak, made to open inwards, like folding
doors, and fastened by movable stanchions of a peculiar form, called
_fallebas_, somewhat resembling in make and movement the iron crane
used for hoisting merchandise. Within the quadrangle or _patio_, where
a small fountain played into a marble basin, was a postern door, which
conducted through a terraced garden towards the outer wall of the city.
A small, square turret, rising at each corner of the roof, rather for
ostentation than use, completes the picture of the town residence of
Don Juan de Vivero.

Late in the evening, a solitary cavalier, attended only by a _mozo de
espuelas_, or groom, spurring along his weary steed, rode up to the
front gate of this house, and knocked for admission. At the signal, the
_mirilla_, or little door in the gateway, just large enough to look
through and see what was without, was cautiously unclosed; and to the
challenge of the porter the whispered reply of "_Gente de paz_," in the
well known voice of Don Gutierre de Cardenas, caused the gate to be
quickly unbarred for the reception of the horseman and his follower.
The appearance of Don Gutierre, as he became exposed to the light of
the torches within, indicated a plain citizen; it might be a common
trader, it might be a mere artisan; and ere he had well dismounted
and given his jaded and travel-soiled horse to the domestics, a
lady hastily entered, who started at the garb and appearance of the
new-comer; but without waiting for the usual exchange of salutations--

"Now what tidings, señorito, for my lady," cried she, "and why dost
thou come hither thus travestied and alone, when we look for other

"Content thee, Doña Beatriz," said the cavalier, "and conduct me
straight to thy lady, or to the lord Archbishop, if he be here."

"I trow," answered Doña Beatriz, "she will welcome thee none the
better for the precious specimen thou wearest of the skill of Zaragoza
tailors, nor for carrying into her presence thy sweet person covered
with dust from every bypath, between Osma and Valladolid, nor for
speeding so ill in thy mission."

"Content thee, again, I say, and lead on," rejoined he, "lest I be
tempted, in guerdon of thy swift wit, to kiss thy soft hand unbidden;"
and he followed the laughing Doña Beatriz to the apartments of her
lady. Scarce had their footsteps died away on the staircase, when Don
Juan de Vivero was summoned in all haste to the presence of his fair
guest; and the hurry of sudden preparation, and the eager looks of
anxious expectation pervaded the late quiet household.

Midnight was fast approaching, when Don Gutierre once more appeared,
and sought admission into the cabinet of Doña Beatriz. He now came
forth, clad in the rich apparel of a Spanish cavalier of that day,
which he bore with the habitual grace and ease that showed this, rather
than the humble garb he had worn before, was the appropriate dress
of his rank. The apartment into which he was ushered was simply, and
compared with the usage of our age and country it would have been
called meanly, furnished. An _estera_, or matting of woven sedge, was
spread on the floor, and heavy embroidered hangings covered the walls,
rudely representing the gests and triumphs of Bernardo del Carpio and
my Cid the Campeador; but the chairs and other utensils were coarse in
make, and such only as necessity required. It was in other form that
the grandees of that day displayed their magnificence and squandered
their wealth.

Prominent in the room sat an elderly man in the long ungainly robe and
other attire of an ecclesiastic of rank, who, although advanced in
years, yet evidently retained the vigor of manhood unbroken, and, to
judge from his stately air and the fair glance of his eye, could do
his part in the _mêlée_ as bravely as the best, and would not scruple,
if occasion required, to change his crosier for a lance. It happened
then, as it does now, that the higher benefices of the church were
generally the appanage of the younger members of noble families; but
it was the case then, as it is not now, that to maintain his place a
noble must have been either wise in council, or daring in fight; the
glories of a horsejockey and cockfighter may become a peer in the era
of improvement, but herein did not consist _their_ glories; and the
prelates, who sprung from the blood of men accustomed to command,
naturally partook of the spirit of their sires. They were not rarely
foremost in the civil wars that formed the chief business of mankind in
the Middle Ages; and Don Alonso Carrillo, Archbishop of Toledo, for it
was no less a personage who sat in that presence, had played his part
undauntedly among the boldest knights of Castile.

He was earnestly conversing in a low voice with a lady near, whose face
as she sat was slightly averted from the door; while Doña Beatriz and
a third lady stood in the apartment, who, with the Archbishop and Don
Gutierre, made up the whole party. Doña Beatriz had the full black eye
and the raven tresses which we associate with a southern clime, and
that brown shade of complexion which, but for the healthfulness of her
tint, and the animation of her whole face, would scarcely have escaped
the reproach of tending to sullenness of aspect. But of her, afterwards
so celebrated by the name of Condesa de Moya, time had not yet touched
the beauty. The lady, who stood by her side, Don Gutierre saluted as
Doña Mencia de la Torre; and both of these ladies waited, with all
the subdued respect of tone and deference of deportment due to the
highest rank, upon the youthful incarnation of loveliness with whom the
Archbishop conferred.

A low bodice or corset of black velvet, fitted closely to her waist,
displayed the perfect proportions of a bust that was just blooming into
womanhood. A _brial_ or petticoat of the same rich material depended
over the full, but well-formed and graceful contour of her limbs. This
part of her dress was fastened at the waist by a kind of brocaded belt,
embroidered with jet and brilliants, and a band of similar workmanship
ran from the belt down the middle of the _brial_ or skirt, and was
continued in a border around the bottom of it; a border of the same
general description running around the upper part of the bodice next
to the neckerchief. The tight wristbands of the dress were adorned by
several bands of corresponding make and materials. Above the bodice
she wore a wrought kerchief of the costliest Flanders lace, fastened
at the throat with a gold brooch, and having a border of very peculiar
workmanship. It was narrow, as compared with the belt and bands of her
_brial_, and instead of the wreaths and fanciful figures embroidered
on them, it bore the form alternately of a castle and a lion, wrought
in rich gems of various kinds on a silver ground, forming a splendid
edging to the kerchief, double in front, and passing all around the
neck. A large diamond cross, set in pearls, was suspended over her
bosom from the rich pearl collar, which, as being the princely gift of
him whose coming she awaited, was the fitting ornament of her person
on this occasion. To complete her habiliments, a flowery tabard, as it
was then called, or rich mantle of crimson silk, bordered with damask,
was thrown over her shoulders and arms, hanging down to the floor, and
a white veil of thin delicate lace, gauze-like and transparent as woven
air, covered, without concealing, her dark brown tresses, and, being
fastened in front by the brooch on her bosom, could be dropped over
her face at will, so as to increase the effect of the beauty which it
veiled, like the light fleecy clouds flitting along the moon's orb in a
bright autumnal eve.

It is easy to give a description of garments, but how describe the
surpassing loveliness of form and countenance, which consists, not in
the peculiar shape of each separate feature or limb, but in the perfect
harmony of parts, and heavenly combination of elements in the whole
person? The lady of whom we speak was of middling stature, and rather
fuller in form than might be considered consistent with a faultless
model; but the grace of every movement, and the mingled sweetness and
dignity of her whole manner, would alone have sufficed to mark the
royal daughter of a line of kings. Her face was not of that stamp which
fancy is prone to attribute to the maidens of Spain. We have already
said that her hair was brown; and her complexion was pure blushing red
and white, the unclouded carnation of the fairest youthful beauty. A
broad, open brow, an oval face gently curving off into a rounded chin,
even well-defined lips, expressing a firm character united with a
gentle spirit, and eyes of dark gray deepening into blue; _ojos entre
verdes y azules_, says a good friar of her day, who seems to have
studied the constituents of beauty rather more attentively than became
a monk: such were the separate features of the fair young maiden. Her
general cast and look did not speak her more than eighteen; but a
certain maturity of expression in her face, and a grave and somewhat
devotional air, increased by the appearance of a richly illuminated
missal, which she held in her hand, would have suited a much riper age.

To the low salutation of Don Gutierre, she graciously nodded in
reply, without interrupting her conversation with the Archbishop. So
earnestly, indeed, was it continued, that a young cavalier had entered
the open door unobserved by her, and advanced towards the centre of the
room. He stood with one foot slightly set forward, his short cloak, of
the finest cloth of Segovia, flung back from his shoulders, displaying
the close jacket of Genoese velvet, which covered his manly form, the
gold-hilted sword which hung over his slashed underclothes, and a chain
of massive chased gold links with a cross of Montesa suspended from
his neck, while in his left hand he held a black velvet hat, ornamented
with a plain diamond aigrette and a single tuft of white ostrich
plumes, leaving uncovered a high, noble brow and expressive dignified
features, with sparkling eyes, that gazed on the beautiful vision
before them, entranced, as it were, with love and admiration.

"'Tis he, 'tis he!" cried Don Gutierre, pointing with his finger to the
silent stranger; and as the lady started with a slight exclamation of
surprise, Fernando de Aragon kneeled at her feet, and, seizing her not
unwilling hand, covered it with the kisses of her accepted lover, whom
she now, for the first time, saw, and that in secrecy and disguise.

Need we say that the lady was Isabel of Castile, the lovely and the
loved, the model of queens, of wives, and of mothers; the unaffected
reality of all that her false-hearted namesake of England, Elizabeth,
affected to be, but was not, a woman, namely, with all a woman's
sensibilities, and yet a great and high ruled princess; that Isabel,
whose reign is the golden age of prosperity and glory in the annals of
fallen Spain!

At the time when the events of our story happened, Henry the Imbecile
held the sceptre of Castile and Leon, and the disorders of a sickly
state had reached their acme. Don Henrique ascended the throne under
circumstances the most inauspicious. The kingdom was devastated
and exhausted by the long and bloody civil wars which preceded the
accession of his ancestor, Henrique de Trastamara. The infirm health
and premature death of his grandfather, Henry III., prevented his
applying those remedies to the public relief which a capacious mind and
enterprising spirit might otherwise have devised and undertaken. His
predecessor, Don Juan, destitute of either energy or talents to govern
his turbulent nobles, was equally degraded, in being at all times
either their tool or their victim. Condemned to see them dispute the
possession of his person and his power on the fatal plains of Olmedo,
he resigned all his authority to the constable, Don Alvaro de Luna, and
afterwards with still greater weakness gave up his tried and faithful
minister to the fury of their common enemies. Don Henrique himself
inherited the mean-spirited and servile character of Don Juan.

Wavering and pusillanimous in his purposes, despised by his vassals,
corrupt in his habits, and given up to the pursuit of pleasures of
which nature had denied him the enjoyment, he soon acquired a most
invincible repugnance to business of whatever kind, which he gladly
suffered to pass entirely into the hands of ambitious and unprincipled
favorites. A never-ending succession of troubles in his family, and
of civil war between contending factions of the aristocracy, was the
necessary consequence of the weakness of their common head. So long as
he could enjoy his personal amusement unmolested, no public calumny
moved the impassiveness of his indolence. While the profligate court
spent in tournaments and gallantry, or in the wild distractions of
the chase, that time which belonged to the necessities of the state,
the fierce grandees made civil war upon each other from province to
province, dividing, with impunity, the spoils of the crown and the
substance of the people. Corruption, venality, and violence became
universal; and the whole kingdom, convulsed by every species of
disorder, and infected with all the principles of dissolution, was
hurrying onward towards absolute and irretrievable ruin.

But that we may fully appreciate the condition of unhappy Castile at
this period, it is well to refer to the touching pictures given by the
old chroniclers, not merely of the general aspect of things, but also
of some remarkable incidents in particular.

"All Spain was overwhelmed," says Don Alonzo Ortiz, who spoke of what
he actually saw; "all Spain was overwhelmed by the most terrible storm,
in those days when the flames of civil war raged with the greatest
fury, and total perdition impended over the prostrate commonwealth.
There was no spot exempt from the common misery. There was no man who
enjoyed his patrimony without fear or peril of his life. All classes
of the community were filled with affliction, flying to the cities
for refuge, since robbery and murder stalked unchallenged through the
land. Our barons did not take up arms to defend our borders against
the Infidel, but to strike the thirsty sword into the bowels of their
common country. The domestic enemy banqueted in the blood of his
fellow-citizens. The strongest of arm and deepest in fraud bore the
palm of power and praise among us; so that all things had broken wholly
forth from the check and scope of justice, and the venerable majesty of
the law had quenched its light in the darkness of general corruption."

How true to the life is the general description of the canon Ortiz,
may be seen from a trait of the times recorded by Fernando del Pulgar.
It seems that Don Pedro de Mendaña was alcaide of Castronuño during
the period under review. Seeing the time well disposed for his natural
desires and inclinations, he received in that fortalice many robbers
with the booty which they made, and protected them from pursuit, as
also desperate men of every kind, absconding debtors, murderers, and
other outlaws. And when he found himself accompanied by such followers,
induced by impunity from the laws and by large rewards to do his
bidding, he seized on the castles of Cubillas and Cantalapiedra, and
fortified that of Sieteiglesias, and placed his men in them; from which
strongholds they sallied forth to rob in all the regions round about,
and brought to him the treasure and goods they collected. He also
captured the town of Tordesillas, and augmented his power in such wise,
that the great cities of Burgos, Avila, Salamanca, Segovia, Valladolid,
and Medina, and all the other towns in that country, gave him a
regular tribute of bread, wine, and money, to purchase security. And
thenceforward he continued to make other demands from them, of money
and cattle, all which was yielded to his satisfaction. And by such
oppressions he acquired great riches, so as to maintain constantly in
his pay no less than three hundred mounted banditti. All the grandees
of the kingdom who had estates in these districts held him in fear, and
gave him largesses, that he might not make war against them on their
lands. And from the success of this alcaide, many other alcaides in the
kingdom took example, and set themselves to pillaging and ransoming
the people, and defending the crimes and misdeeds which robbers
perpetrated. Some time elapsed in this wise, when Pedro de Mendaña was
besieged in his castle of Castronuño, and after an obstinate defence
surrendered only upon honorable terms of capitulation; he and his bands
escaping all punishment, as if what he had done was in the mere common
course of war.

We shall give one other incident equally characteristic, but differing
from the foregoing, as it shows how the great nobles and their
immediate followers demeaned themselves in the same reign. Don Henrique
had abandoned the control of affairs to his queen, and to her paramour
Don Beltram de la Cueva, Conde de Ledesma, who was universally believed
to have dishonored the royal bed, and to be the father of the Infanta
Juana, stigmatized from this circumstance by the _sobriquet_ of la
Beltraneja, by which name she is uniformly styled in Spanish history.
The power enjoyed by this ancient Godoy excited a confederation of
the discontented grandees and prelates, having for its object the
deposition of Don Henrique, and the elevation of his brother Don Alonzo
to the throne. The chroniclers Diego Enriquez del Castillo and Alonzo
de Palencia describe the scene which ensued.

The leagued barons, being assembled at Avila, selected an extensive
plain without the city, on which they erected a large scaffold, open
on all sides, so that the citizens of Avila and the multitude who
came from other towns to witness the ceremonial, might plainly see
everything which took place. Here was displayed a royal throne, on
which sat a figure representing Don Henrique with the crown on his
head, a sword before, and the sceptre in his hand, in the usual manner
of arraying the person of kings. Everything being thus arranged, the
barons rode out from the city towards the scaffold, accompanied by Don
Alonzo. When they had arrived, Don Juan Pacheco, Marquis de Villena,
with the master of Alcantara, and the Conde de Medellin, took the
prince a little way aside, while the other lords approached and placed
themselves behind the effigy, ready to perform the act of dethronement.

Having done this, one of them advanced to the front of the scaffold,
and read a paper with a loud voice, setting forth the offences of Don
Henrique, which they divided into four principal heads. For the first,
they alleged that he deserved to lose his royal dignity, whereupon
the Archbishop of Toledo, Don Alonzo Carrillo, advanced, and took the
crown from the brows of the mimic king. For the second, he forfeited
the right of jurisdiction and justice, wherefore Don Alvaro de Zuñiga,
Conde de Plasencia, removed the sword which lay on his lap. For the
third, he ought to lose the government of his kingdom, and so Don
Rodrigo Pimentel, Conde de Benavente, snatched the sceptre which he
held in his hand. Lastly, for the fourth, he deserved to be deprived of
the throne and establishment of a king, wherefore Don Diego Lopez de
Luñiga, approaching and striking the effigy from the chair in which it
was seated, kicked it ignominiously from the scaffold to the ground,
accompanying the act with bitter terms of invective and reproach
against the person and character of Don Henrique.

Immediately upon this, Don Alonzo came up, and being placed on the
throne, received the insignia of royalty, with the homage and fealty of
the banded knights, who kissed his hands as king and right lord of the
realm, ordering the trumpets to sound a loud note of joy and triumph,
amid the shouts of "_viva el rey_" from themselves and their partisans,
and the muttered lamentations of the shocked and terrified multitude,
too conscious that all the extremities of civil war must tread close
on the heels of such high-handed and outrageous misdemeanors. And so
indeed it was to the scandal of all Spain, and to the desolation and
misery of the people, until the sudden death of Don Alonzo deprived
the disaffected lords of a rallying-point, and abated, but did not
extinguish, the fury of embattled factions in wretched Castile.

After the death of Don Alonzo, there remained only Doña Isabel, the
young sister of the king, who could dispute with him the possession of
the crown. She was daughter of Don Juan by a second marriage, being
born at Madrigal, in old Castile, the twenty-second day of April,
in the year 1451. Ere she had completed her fourth year, her father
died, and Don Henrique, on succeeding to the crown, left Isabel and
her mother to languish in poverty and obscurity in the seclusion of
their town and lordship of Arevalo. The queen-mother, Doña Isabel
of Portugal, soon lost her reason from the accumulated burden of
degradation and other sorrows, and her deserted daughter, far from the
luxury of palaces, and stripped of all the flattering incidents of
royal birth, entered upon that childhood and youth of affliction whose
trials were to conduct to so glorious an issue in her after life. Don
Henrique did indeed, after a while, repent him of his abandonment of
the injured Isabel, and received her into his palace, to enjoy the
advantages which belonged to her rank.

But what a scene was there for the pure and ingenuous recluse of the
walls of Arevalo! The implacable foe of the Gothic name strengthened
himself among the hills of Granada, and defied the chivalry of Castile
to the field; but the descendant of Don Pelayo was now a craven knight
and a minion ruled prince, the scorn alike of Christian and of Moor;
and consumed the treasures of his kingdom in revelry and favoritism,
and its blood in civil broils, in the stead of devoting them to the
noble task of driving Muley Hassan, from the golden halls and marble
courts of the Alhambra, back to the native deserts of his race.

    The skipping king, he ambled up and down,
    With shallow gestures, and rash bavin wits,
    Soon kindled and soon burnt: carded his state;
    Mingled his royalty with carping fools;
    Had his great name profaned with their scorn.

And, worst of all, the profligate consort of a shameless monarch, the
guilty Doña Juana, lived in unchecked adultery with Don Beltran, at
once the falsest of friends and most incapable of ministers, and reared
up the offspring of their crime, the unfortunate Beltraneja, to be the
watchword of treason in Castile for many a weary year of bloodshed and
confusion. Fortunately for Isabel, she possessed a native dignity and
purity of character, fortified and refined by the seeming mischances
of her lot, which, however, had but taught her the "sweet uses" of
adversity; and she passed through the fiery ordeal of a dissolute
court unscathed, or rather with her genuine nobility of soul yet more
elevated, by a shrinking repulsion for the foul atmosphere she had been
compelled to breathe.

When the death of Don Alonzo, the victim of poison, administered to him
in his food, left the insurgent nobles without a suitable chief, they
went to Doña Isabel, with the Archbishop of Toledo at their head, and
tendered her the sceptre of Castile. She had taken refuge in a convent
at Avila, anxious to escape from the horrors of civil war, which
everywhere met her eye. If her principles of conduct had been less pure
and upright, the spectacle of her country given up to the reciprocal
rage of hostile partisans, and her beloved brother the early victim of
unregulated ambition, would have come to confirm her resolutions in
such a crisis. But she needed not this; and immovable in her loyalty
to her unworthy lord and brother, Don Henrique, she unhesitatingly
and decidedly refused the proffers of allegiance made her by the
grandees in arms against the crown. A procedure so full of high-toned
generosity, while it won the regards of Don Henrique, was not without
its influence upon his enemies, and greatly furthered the conclusion
of a qualified peace at the congress of Los Toros de Guisando, where
Don Henrique proclaimed Doña Isabel sole heiress of his kingdom, thus
forever sealing the fate of La Beltraneja, whom he declared under oath
not to be his child.

The barons, who had so contumeliously enacted the ceremony of
dethroning the king in effigy at Avila, now returned to his confidence,
and engaged in a new series of intrigues for the disposal of the hand
of Doña Isabel, who, as heiress of Castile and Leon, was sought for
in marriage by many of the great princes of Europe. Don Juan Pacheco
obtained the grand mastership of Santiago, and the Archbishop of Toledo
was again trusted. Of the various alliances which offered, that of the
house of Aragon, as uniting the two great fragments of the Spanish
monarchy, it was the interest of every true patriot to promote; and
thus it was viewed by the Archbishop. But Don Juan had reasons of
personal interest for opposing this, and managed to gain exclusive
control of the movements and purposes of the king. They endeavored
to compel the princess by threats of imprisonment to marry the King
of Portugal, a widower far advanced in years, and wholly unsuitable
as a husband for the fair and youthful Isabel. Failing this hopeful
scheme, they fixed on Charles, Duke of Berri and Guienne, brother of
Louis XI. of France. Don Fadrique Enriquez, Admiral of Castile, and
Don Mosen Pierres de Peralta, Constable of Navarre, were coadjutors
of the Archbishop in furthering the proposals of the young Ferdinand
of Aragon, who had a still more powerful partisan than either in the
growing tenderness of Doña Isabel.

In fact, Isabel, like a discreet and prudent lady as she was, had been
playing a game of her own under the rose; quite as cunningly as the
politic nobles and astute churchmen of her brother's court. Two of
the applicants for her hand were quickly disposed of. She would not
think of the old King of Portugal, who might as well be her father as
her husband. George of Clarence, another of her suitors, had acquired
a reputation of ferocity in the wars of York and Lancaster that put
him out of the question. There remained only Charles and Ferdinand
as subjects of deliberate consideration. She privately dispatched
her chaplain, a man of entire trust, called Alonzo de Coca, with
instructions to repair to the court of France on some pretended object
of business or pleasure, and seek out the Duc de Guienne, and carefully
make inquiries concerning him, and then return through Aragon to do
the same with regard to Don Fernando, so as to bring back a full and
faithful report to his mistress. He gave Doña Isabel a complete account
of the appearance and habits of both princes, relating in how many
things the Prince of Aragon excelled the Duke of Guienne. Don Fernando,
he said, was in countenance and proportion of person very handsome,
and of noble air and manner, and apt in every knightly exercise or
princely deed. The Duke of Guienne, on the contrary, he said, was weak
and effeminate, with legs so small as to be altogether deformed, and
with weeping eyes already sinking into blindness, so that, ere long,
he would stand more in need of a page to lead him by the hand, than of
horse and lance for the battle-field or tournament.

Doña Isabel instantly came to a right conclusion upon what course to
pursue, resolving to bestow her virgin heart and young affections
upon a prince worthy of her choice, instead of giving over her person
to caducity and deformity, to accommodate the ambitious projects of
scheming statesmen. The Archbishop having a perfect understanding with
the gentlemen of her household, Don Gonzalo Chacon and Don Gutierre
de Cardenas, a private correspondence with Isabel was commenced and
carried on for some time unsuspected, and she finally accepted a
rich collar of gems and pearls sent her by Don Fernando, with other
suitable presents, and consented to become his bride.

Doña Isabel resided at this time in Ocaña, whither she and the king
had been conducted by Don Juan Pacheco, in order that they might be
completely in his hands, it being a place subject to his control as
master of Santiago. Hither Don Henrique summoned the Cortez, in order
that the compact of Los Toros de Guisando might be carried into effect,
and Doña Isabel recognized by the estates of the realm as heiress of
Castile and Leon. Beginning, however, to fluctuate in his intention,
and receiving tidings of disturbances in Andalusia which rendered his
presence necessary there, he left Ocaña before anything was done, after
compelling Doña Isabel to swear that "_she would not undertake any
novelty respecting her marriage_ during his absence."

As Doña Isabel had already engaged to espouse Don Fernando, although
Don Henrique knew it not, her clerical counsellors persuaded her
that she might conscientiously swear not to "undertake _any novelty_
respecting her marriage," and that she ought to do so, to lull the
suspicions of Don Henrique and the master. But no sooner had these last
departed from Ocaña, than the conspirators, if so they may be termed,
proceeded with all possible dispatch to conclude the marriage, and so
place themselves beyond the resentment of the king and the manœuvres of
Don Juan.

Doña Isabel was first conveyed to Madrigal, where her mother then
lived, it being given out that her object was to remove her brother's
body from Arevalo, and superintend the interment of it at Avila. Uneasy
at her leaving Ocaña, and suspecting all was not right, the master now
took measures for possessing himself of her person; but the Archbishop
and Don Fadrique, getting intelligence of his designs, mustered a party
of their friends, and conducted her in all haste to Valladolid, which
was wholly at the devotion of the Admiral. As the Marquis of Villena
was now on his guard, and ready to take any desperate step to secure
the disputed prize, the friends of Doña Isabel saw that no time was to
be lost in deliberation. Everything had been previously arranged, so
far as it could be, preliminary to the marriage, a dispensation having
been procured from the Pope, and Don Fernando having been raised by
his father to the dignity of King of Sicily to make him better worthy
of Doña Isabel. Nothing remained but that Don Fernando should come to
Valladolid, and espouse the Infanta; and this was a task of greater
difficulty than at first sight it would seem.

The management of the affair was intrusted to Don Gutierre de Cardenas
and Don Alonzo de Palencia, the latter a gentleman attached to the
Archbishop. They counted upon the Bishop of Osma, Don Pedro Montoya, to
furnish one hundred and fifty lances, and Don Louis de la Cerda, the
Count of Medinaceli, five hundred, which, with three or four hundred
more to be procured from other sources, they deemed a sufficient
escort to insure the safety of Don Fernando. But when Cardenas and
Palencia reached Osma on their way to Zaragoza, they learnt to their
consternation that the Bishop and the Conde de Medinaceli, with the
usual levity of the Castilian nobles of that day, had deserted the
party of Doña Isabel, and joined that of the master. The whole frontier
was held by the powerful bands of Mendoza, who occupied with their
retainers and connections all the castles along the line from Almazan
to Guadalajara. Cardenas and Palencia became convinced that it was now
impossible for Don Fernando to enter Castile openly, and that, unless
they could succeed by some ingenious stratagem, the whole object, for
which they had labored so long and so earnestly, would be utterly
and perhaps forever defeated. They determined to make a bold push to
overmatch the machinations of their enemies.

Concealing their immediate purpose, which they could easily do, by
Cardenas passing for the servant of Don Alonzo, who frequently had
occasion to go to and fro on business of the Archbishop's, they
hastened forward to Zaragoza, and proposed to Don Fernando to repair to
Valladolid in disguise and without attendance. Cardenas communicated
to the prince the loving messages of Doña Isabel, with her maidenly
complaints that he had not yet visited her in Castile, and her prayers
that he would not abandon her in the perilous predicament wherein she
was placed for his sake. Don Fernando instantly resolved to hasten to
Valladolid at all hazards, on the wings of love and hope; having first
sent forward Don Mosen Pero Vaca, a confidential servant of his father,
the King of Aragon, on a simulated embassy to Don Henrique, so as to
blind the eyes of the Mendozas, of Don Luis de la Cerda, and of the
rest of their faction along the road to Valladolid.

Don Fernando, then, accompanied only by a few domestics, in whom he
could repose implicit confidence, put himself under the guidance of
Cardenas, and boldly passed the line which separates Aragon from
Castile. Being obliged to stop to refresh themselves and their mules,
they halted at a hamlet between Gomara and Osma, where they passed for
mere traders, the prince busying himself to take care of the mules
and horses, and to serve at the table, so as to divert all suspicion
from his own person. After a multitude of difficulties and hair-breadth
escapes, he safely arrived in the dead of night at Osma, where he
found Don Pedro Manrique, Conde de Trevino, and three hundred lances
secretly got together and prepared to escort him for the residue of
his journey; the Manriques, the Rojas under the Conde de Castro, and
other friends of Doña Isabel, being on the alert and in command of the
road from Osma to Valladolid. Don Fernando was welcomed by the Conde
de Trevino and his followers at Osma with cries of joy and flourish of
trumpets, and conducted through the streets by the light of flaming
torches, which blazed out upon the astonished sight of the inhabitants
and the soldiers of the garrison, waking from their slumbers to witness
the triumphant entry of Don Fernando. Cardenas pushed on with fresh
horses to Valladolid, to give tidings of the approach of the party, who
followed with all possible speed.

Meanwhile, the Archbishop and the Admiral had been secretly gathering
in their friends, and introducing them by small parties into
Valladolid, as we have already seen. When Don Gutierre arrived in the
evening at the house of Vivero, he found them anxiously awaiting the
coming of Don Fernando. Chacon was sent back to meet him, and conduct
him into the house by the postern door from the garden, so as to avoid
the risk of his being seen and recognized in the streets of the city.
His followers halted at a village a few miles from Valladolid, while
he rode in almost alone, to plight his faith as a prince and a knight
to the fair Isabella. This interview took place the fourteenth day
of October, 1469. Don Fernando returned to Dueañs the same night,
and remained there until the eighteenth day of the month, when all
the conditions of the intended marriage having been fully settled,
he publicly entered Valladolid, in company with several lords of the
houses of Manrique and Rojas, and was received without the gates by
the Archbishop, the Admiral, and a brilliant cortege of the principal
cavaliers of the city. Concealment was no longer necessary, and in
the evening the espousals of the prince and princess were published
and ratified before a great concourse of spectators, assembled in the
house of Don Juan de Vivero. And there, on the following morning, the
marriage ceremony was performed, and the nuptial benediction pronounced
with feasts and rejoicings, it is true, but without the magnificence
of display, the tournaments, the public dances, and the bull-fights,
which the custom of the times and place required in honor of royal

It was, in fact, a STOLEN MATCH, to which the weak tyranny of the king,
and the factious violence of the nobles, who possessed his good-will,
drove the future lords of Spain, Italy, and the Indies. And distrust,
as with ample cause we may, the virtue that is reared in the moral
contagion of palaces, never yet did prince or subject take to his arms
a more pure and lovely wife--loyal, affectionate, tender, and true,
endowed with every queen-becoming grace mingled and tempered with the
blander charms of humble life--than yielded up her maiden hand and
heart on that occasion to her lover king.

If the gentle reader would appreciate the moral of our tale, let him
summon up before his mind's eye the picture of Isabella of Castile,
married by stealth in the hall of a private dwelling, and hardly with
the solemnities of a common Spanish bridal; and then compare the
scene with that of the same Isabel, in the overpowering glories and
stupendous triumphs of her after life, as exhibited in the graphic,
picturesque, and impressive pages of Washington Irving. It were idle
for us to attempt a task accomplished to our hands by his magic pen.
Why advance to break spears with him, when the challenger would thus
but show his own weakness, without calling into display the strength of
the challenged? Instead of this, we shall have recourse to that mine
from which he has dug so many gems, borrowing a single trait to fill up
our canvas from the naïve pages of the curate of Los Palacios:--

"The right noble and ever blessed queen, Doña Isabel, with the king
Don Fernando her husband, reigned over the realms and lordships of
Castile nine and twenty years and ten months; in the which time was the
greatest exaltation, triumph, honor, and prosperity that ever chanced
in Spain. Consider that, being the stainless daughter of such noble
lineage and royal stock and ancestry, she entertained in her person
so many other and excellent havings, the which our Lord adorned her
withal, wherein she outshone and overtopped all the queens, whether of
Christendom or of any differing law which did go before her, not only,
I say, in Spain, but in all the world, of those whereof by their virtue
and their graces, and by their wisdom and their power, the memory
doth live and flourish. Who could worthily recount the grandeur, the
magnificence of her court; the prelates, learned men, and venerable
counsellors, who always accompanied her; the reverend fathers, the
precentors, and the musical accordances in honor of divine worship;
the solemnity of the masses and honors continually chanted in her
palace; the knightly and martial nobles of Spain, dukes, masters,
marquisses, and _ricos hombres_; the gallants and dames, the jousts
and tournaments, the multitude of poets and troubadours and minstrels
of every degree; the men of arms and war, ever in battle against the
Moors, with all their artillery and engines of infinite variety; and
the gold and silver and gems and pagan men brought from the Indies
newly discovered, where the setting sun goes down behind the ocean sea!
Spain was, in the time of these victorious kings, Don Fernando and Doña
Isabel, more triumphant, sublimated, and potent, and more feared and
honored, than ever before or since; and so of this right noble queen,
the fame shall be cherished forever in the realms and lordships of


(_See Plate._)

    Borne by music on their way,
    Every chord a living ray,
    Sinking on a song-like breeze,
    The lyre of the Pleiades;
    With its seven fair sisters bent
    O'er their starry instrument,
    Each a star upon her brow,
    Somewhat dim in daylight's glow,
    That clasped the flashing coronet
    On their midnight tresses set.

    And who were they, the lovely seven,
    With shape of earth, and home in heaven?
    Daughters of King Atlas they--
    He of the enchanted sway:
    He who read the mystic lines
    Of the planets' wondrous signs;
    He the sovereign of the air--
    They were his, these daughters fair.
    Six were brides in sky and sea
    To some crowned divinity;
    But his youngest, loveliest one,
    Was as yet unwooed, unwon.
    On that sky lyre a chord is mute
    Haply, one echo yet remains,
    To linger on the Poet's lute,
    And tell, in his most mournful strains,
    A star hath left its native sky
    To touch our cold earth, and to die;
    To warn the young heart how it trust
    To mortal vows, whose faith is dust;
    To bid the young cheek guard its bloom
    From wasting by such early doom;
    Warn by the histories linked with all
    That ever bowed to passion's thrall
    Warn by all--above--below,
    By that lost Pleiad's depth of woe--
    Warn them, love is of heavenly birth,
    But turns to death on touching earth.


The term "shell-work" may, perhaps, suggest to our readers those gay,
and sometimes gaudy, but often very striking groups of brightly-tinted
shell-flowers, which we meet with at most watering-places. These
certainly form showy ornaments for the table or mantle-piece, but are
scarcely adapted for ladies' work; the plaster, stiff wire, rough
colors, and actual hard work, being matters by no means fitted for

    "Delicate and dainty fingers!"

The shell-work we propose to teach is a very different affair, its
lightness and purity of look adapting it peculiarly for wreaths,
or sprays for the hair or dress; and the materials of which it is
composed, rendering it an elegant drawing-room occupation, as well as
one calculated to call forth the artistic taste and inventive powers of
the worker; for it is capable of infinite variety.

We shall divide our instructions into two branches--viz., the "Simple,"
and the "Composite Rice-Shell-Work." The former will exclusively occupy
our first article.


The shells we use are called "rice-shells," from their resemblance to
the grains of rice; they are brought from the West Indies, and sold by
measure, or by the box, at most conchological repositories. Their Latin
name _Voluta Nivea_. Those who would study economy will often obtain
them very cheaply from those miscellaneous dealers who purchase the
foreign shells and curiosities brought from abroad by sailors. A pint
of these shells will go a great way.

Before we can set to work, the shells must be cleaned and prepared.
For this purpose, the first thing to be done is, with a strong yet
fine-pointed pin, to free each shell from any grit or dirt which may
have accumulated in the interior. Next, with a strong, sharp pair of
scissors, a bit of about the size of a pin's point is to be clipped off
from the extreme tip of each shell, so as to leave a tiny hole there,
not larger than the eye of a middle-sized sewing-needle. This is a
manipulation requiring care, as, if it is roughly done, too large an
opening will be made, and the symmetry of the shell will be destroyed.
Neither should the worker stoop over the shell while clipping it, for,
if the bit of shell snipped off were to fly into the eyes, it would
occasion much irritation and pain. Practice will soon enable any one to
clip the shells rapidly and evenly.

In order to set about rice-shell-work tidily and systematically, it
will be necessary to have a dozen little square card-board trays or
boxes, about three or four inches square, and two inches deep. These
can be easily made from white or colored card-board, and should be so
contrived that they may fit into one another, and all be contained in
one large tray or box of similar material, and covered over by one

As the shells are cut, let them be sorted into three divisions, the
small, the middle-sized, and the large shells. When all are clipped,
put them into three separate basins; pour over them cold water enough
to cover the shells, and to stand about an inch above them. Into this
water put soda and mottled soap, in the proportion of half an ounce of
each to a full pint of water; the soap should be shredded. Cover the
basins, and set them on a hob, or in an oven, near a good fire; stir up
the whole occasionally, and let it remain until the water is scalding
hot, not longer. Then rub the shells gently with the hands, and pour
off that water; and having rinsed the shells, add a fresh supply of
water, and put in only soap this time. Let it again stand by the fire
until hot, stirring it occasionally; then again rub the shells gently
between the hands, pour off the soapy water, and rinse them thoroughly
with clear, cold water.

Now lay a soft, folded towel on the table; put about a tablespoonful at
a time of shells on this towel, and turning another fold of it over,
rub them gently, but sufficiently to free them from moisture. Have
ready a silk handkerchief, and remove them to this, and polish them
with it, and then transfer them to one of the boxes, and setting it
on the hob, let it stand there until the shells feel warm, shaking it
occasionally in order that all may be equally dried. They will now be
ready for use, and ought to have a pearly, white, polished appearance.

Take notice that too much soap or soda, or too great a degree of heat
in the water, or too long a soaking, will make them look yellow; while
too much heat when drying will crack them or render them brittle, and
too little will leave a moisture about them which will tarnish the
other parts of the work.

The next important item to the shells is the silver wire. This is
bought on reels, by the ounce, and can be obtained of any of the large
gold and silver bullion fringe-makers and wire-drawers in this city.
As "Evans's Derby Crochet Cotton" is doubtless well known to most of
our readers, we will compare the different sized wires required to the
different numbers of this cotton of similar size. The coarsest silver
wire we ever need would be about the calibre of No. 10 "Derby Cotton;"
the next about that of No. 16; and the finest about the size of No. 24
or 30. The two latter are those chiefly used for leaves, flowers, &c.,
the coarsest being generally only employed for the stem on to which the
various component parts of a wreath or spray are to be grafted, or for
baskets, or ornamental groups; our aim being lightness, not only of
appearance but of weight, we use the thinnest wire we can consistently
with firmness.

The largest shells are chiefly used for baskets; the middle-sized and
small ones for flowers and leaves. Each kind is to be contained in its
own box.

Into another of the boxes cut some two or three hundred lengths of the
middle-sized wire, each piece measuring about two and a half inches.

Having now made all our preparations, we will set to work, and see
how all the various separate portions of the headdress given at the
commencement of this article are made, and how they are put together.

The following cut shows the manner in which every shell required for
leaves or flowers must be prepared. We call it "wiring the shells."
In order to effect it, the shell must be taken between the finger and
thumb of the left hand, with its point towards the tip of the finger,
and its opening turned upwards; then one of the two-and-a-half-inch
lengths of wire, which we directed should be prepared, must be taken
in the right hand, and one end of it passed in at the point, and out
at the opening of the shell, and a third of it drawn through, and then
turned over on itself; the folded wire being then held between the
thumb and finger of the right hand, the shell must be turned round and
round until the wires are sufficiently twisted together, to hold the
shell firmly. In a very short time this manipulation will become so
familiar that it will be performed with astonishing ease and dispatch.


Keep the wired shells sorted, laying the smaller ones in a box to
themselves, and the middle-sized ones also in a box to themselves, and
with the shells all towards one end; for, when we come to make up the
flowers, &c., it is astonishing how much time will be saved by our
being able at once to put our hands on the portion we need.

Having thus wired a hundred or two, or more of shells, according to the
purpose we have in view, we next proceed to make them up.


A leaf, like the one represented, may be made of any number of shells,
from five to fifteen, or even twenty-five. A very small shell should be
chosen for the apex, and then the pairs graduated so as to increase in
size towards the stem. They should all be picked out, and laid ready
for use before we begin to form the leaf.

Take the small central, or top shell between the finger and thumb of
the left hand, allow the shell itself and about an eighth of an inch of
the twisted wire to project above the finger, and have the opening of
the shell turned towards you. Take the first pair of shells and insert
one on either side of the central one, leaving about the tenth of an
inch of twisted wire between the shells and their junction with the
wire of the middle shell; then, with the finest wire, bind them all
together by twisting the fine wire neatly round and round the stem, for
the distance of nearly a quarter of an inch, when the second pair of
shells are to be added, arranged, and bound on in like manner and for
a similar distance; continue thus all the way down, leaving the wires
between the shell and the stem a little longer at each pair, keeping
all the openings one way, and taking care to bind the stem firmly and
compactly, and especially to avoid leaving any projecting ends or
points of wire, as these not only look untidy, but are excessively
inconvenient if the work is intended for wear.


The flower bud is formed by taking one of the lengths of wire,
threading a shell on it, and then a small Roman pearl bead, and then a
second shell, and twisting the wire to keep them all firm. It will be
perceived by the engraving that the bead comes between the two points
of the shells, and that both openings lie the same way.


This is what we term a "single," or "simple flower." It is composed of
five wired shells of equal size; the openings are all turned inwards,
and the wires bound together immediately below the points of the shells
firmly and compactly, all the way down to the very extremity.


This double flower is composed of seventeen shells--viz., twelve small
ones, and five of a middle size. The five are arranged as in the single
flower, and the twelve are made up into four leaflets of three each,
put together in the way a leaf is commenced; these leaflets are bound
on to the flower, being arranged evenly round it, and so as to leave
about a quarter of an inch of its stem above their junction with it,
and the same length of wire between the pair of shells in each leaflet
and the stem. Bend them into their places when the flower is completed.

Another variety of flower is here given, composed of twelve small
shells, so arranged as to leave half an inch of wire between the
point of each shell and the place where we begin to bind it; all the
openings face upwards. The shells are to be arranged like the spokes of
a wheel.



Wheat-ears may be made of any number of shells, from eighteen to
thirty, and of either small or middle-sized shells. One is taken as an
apex, then a pair set one on either side of it, then one in the centre;
then another pair, and so on, binding them on, almost close to the
point of each shell, and putting in here and there three-quarter-inch
lengths of the middle-sized wire, to resemble the beards.


This is a representation of an ornamental group; the shells chosen for
it should be the large ones. Three lengths of wire (middle-sized),
measuring about four or five inches, must be cut off. A shell is
threaded on each wire, the wire folded double, a twist or two given to
it just to maintain the shell in its place, and then the double wire
wound round a good sized pin to give it that spiral form. The three,
when done, are bound together at the bottom for about a quarter of an
inch, and mounted on an inch or two of the coarsest wire.

In binding leaves, flowers, &c., the fine wire should not be cut off
until the leaf, or whatever it may be, is complete, as it is desirable
to avoid ends and roughnesses.

We could amplify these notices, but we consider that the engravings
will be sufficient to show our readers the kind of groups that can be
arranged, and suggest to inventive and tasteful minds a multitude of
other combinations.

With regard to their adjustment into sprays, or wreath, we can say but
little, because that is so much a matter of taste. A light and graceful
appearance should be aimed at, and the work neither crowded too closely
together, nor left too straggling. It will often be advisable to mount
a flower on a couple of inches of the coarse wire, in order to lengthen
the stem, and it may then be grouped with a bud, or with spiral shells;
but no rules can be laid down in an optional matter like this. The
foundation stem, or that from which all the sprays of the headdress
given at the commencement of this article, hangs, should be of double
coarse wire; and the stems of the sprays of single coarse wire. All are
to be bound on with the finest wire, and as neatly and as lightly as is
consistent with firmness.

Care must be taken not to tarnish the wire by too much handling,
especially with warm hands, or by unnecessary exposure to the
atmosphere. When not in use, the reels should always be kept enveloped
in silver paper.

The leaves of various sizes, the flowers of different kinds, and the
other portions, should be consigned each to the boxes appropriated for
them, as fast as they are made, and not all heaped together in one
inextricable mass.

In our next article we shall describe the "Composite Rice-Shell-Work,"
which will present to our lady pupils a variety of ornamental

This pleasing art is well worthy the pains and patience of all

     "Who in work both _contentment_ and happiness find."




We must now offer a few brief remarks upon certain costumes which
appear to us most worthy of our attention and study, for their general
elegance and adaptation to the figure. Of the modern Greek we have
already spoken. The style of dress which has been immortalized by
the pencil of Vandyck is considered among the most elegant that
has ever prevailed in this country. It is not, however, faultless.
The row of small curls round the face, how becoming soever to some
persons, is somewhat formal, and although the general arrangement of
the hair, which preserves the natural size and shape of the head, is
more graceful than that of the time of Sir Joshua Reynolds, we think
it would have been more pleasing had it left visible the line which
divides the hair from the forehead. With regard to the dress itself:
in the first place, the figures are spoiled by stays; secondly, the
dress is cut too low in front; and thirdly, the large sleeves sometimes
give too great width in front to the shoulders. These defects are, in
some degree, counterbalanced by the graceful flow of the ample drapery,
and of the large sleeves, which are frequently widest at their lower
part, and by the gently undulating line which unites the waist of the
dress with the skirt. The Vandyck dress, with its voluminous folds, is,
however, more appropriate to the inhabitants of palaces than to the
ordinary occupants of this working-day world. The drapery is too wide
and flowing for convenience.

Lely's half-dressed figures may be passed over without comment; they
are draped, not dressed. Kneller's are more instructive on the subject
of costume. The dress of Queen Anne, in Kneller's portrait, is graceful
and easy. The costume is a kind of transition between the Vandyck and
Reynolds styles. The sleeves are smaller at the shoulder than in the
former, and larger at the lower part than in the latter; in fact, they
resemble those now worn by the modern Greeks. The dress is cut higher
round the bust, and is longer in the waist than the Vandycks, while the
undulating line uniting the body and skirt is still preserved. While
such good examples were set by the painters--who were not, however, the
inventors of the fashions they painted--it is astonishing that these
graceful styles of dress should have been superseded in real life by
the lofty headdresses and preposterous fashions which prevailed during
the same period, and long afterwards, and which even the ironical and
severe remarks of Addison in the "Spectator" were unable to banish from
the circles of fashion. Speaking of the dresses of ladies during the
reigns of James II. and William III., Mr. Planché, in his History of
British Costume (p. 318), says: "The tower or commode was still worn,
and the gowns and petticoats flounced and furbelowed, so that every
part of the garment was in curl;" and a lady of fashion "looked like
one of those animals," says the "Spectator," "which in the country
we call a Friesland hen." But in 1711 we find Mr. Addison remarking:
"The whole sex is now dwarfed and shrunk into a race of beauties that
seems almost another species. I remember several ladies who were once
nearly seven feet high, that at present want some inches of five. How
they came to be thus curtailed, I cannot learn; whether the whole sex
be at present under any penance which we know nothing of, or whether
they have cast their headdresses in order to surprise us with something
in that kind which shall be entirely new: though I find most are of
opinion they are at present like trees lopped and pruned that will
certainly sprout up and flourish with greater heads than before."

The costume of the time of Sir Joshua Reynolds, as treated by this
great artist, though less splendid, appears to us, with the exception
of the headdress, nearly as graceful, and far more convenient than the
Vandyck dress. It is more modest, more easy, and better adapted to
show the true form of the shoulders, while the union of the body of
the dress with the skirt is effected in the same graceful manner as in
the Vandyck portraits. The material of the drapery in the latter is
generally silks and satins; of the former, it is frequently muslin, and
stuff of a soft texture, which clings more closely to the form. That
much of the elegance of both styles of dress is to be attributed to the
skill and good taste of the painters, is evident from an examination
of portraits by contemporary artists. Much also may be ascribed to the
taste of the wearer. There are some people who, though habited in the
best and richest clothes, never appear well-dressed; their garments,
rumpled and untidy, look as if they had been pitched on them, like hay,
with a fork; while others, whose dress consists of the most homely
materials, appear well-dressed, from the neatness and taste with which
their clothes are arranged.

Leaving now the caprices of fashion, we must notice a class of persons
who, from a religious motive, have resisted for two hundred years the
tyranny of fashion, and until recently have transmitted the same form
of dress from mother to daughter for nearly the same period of years.
The ladies of the Society of Friends, or as they are usually called
"Quakers," are still distinguished by the simplicity and neatness of
their dress--the quiet drabs and browns of which frequently contrast
with the richness of the material--and by the absence of all ornament
and frippery. Every part of their dress is useful and convenient; it
has neither frills nor flounces, nor trimmings to carry the dirt and
get shabby before the dress itself; nor wide sleeves to dip in the
plates, and lap up the gravy and sauces, nor artificial flowers, nor
bows of ribbons. The dress is long enough for decency, but not so long
as to sweep the streets, as many dresses and shawls are daily seen to
do. Some few years back, the Quaker ladies might have been reproached
with adhering to the letter, while they rejected the spirit of their
code of dress, by adhering too literally to the costume handed down to
them. The crowns of their caps were formerly made very high, and for
this reason it was necessary that the crowns of the bonnets should be
high enough to admit the cap crown; hence the particularly ugly and
remarkable form of this part of the dress. The crown of the cap has,
however, recently been lowered, and the Quaker ladies, with much good
sense, have not only modified the form of their bonnets, but also
adopted the straw and drawn-silk bonnet in their most simple forms. In
the style of their dress, also, they occasionally approach so near the
fashions generally worn, that they are no longer distinguishable by the
singularity of their dress, but by its simplicity and chasteness.


A hostess who wishes that her friends should enjoy their dinner, and
that she also should enjoy it with them, must see that all is ready and
at hand _before_ her guests arrive. If her servants are well trained,
and accustomed to do things regularly, _when_ there is _no_ company,
there will be little difficulty when there _is_; and if there is that
pleasant understanding between the head and the hands of the household
which should always exist, any casual mistake will easily be rectified;
an accident itself will occasion more fun than fuss; and although no
host and hostess should feel as unconcerned or indifferent at their
own table as elsewhere, the duty of seeing that nobody wants anything
will be manifestly a pleasant one, whilst the simple cordiality, which
delights in good appetites and cheerful countenances, and the domestic
order which is evidently, but unostentatiously, the presiding genius of
the family, will go far to enhance the flavor of the simplest fare.




"Wanst upon a time--an', sure, that's not so long ago, afther
all--there wor a grate fri'ndship betune the familees of the Sullivans
an' the O'Briens; but, by raison of their livin' a long ways apart,
they niver sot eyes on ache other for many's the year, though they
kep' up the ould good-will by writin' letthers back an' fore, wid the
shuperscupshins of, 'Yer humble sarvint to command, Murtoch O'Brien ma
bouchal,' or, 'May the heavins be yer bed, an' glory be wid ye, Dennis
Sullivan a hagur!'

"Well, the years rowled by, an', in the mane time, the sunshine lived
foriver in the house of Murtoch O'Brien, in the shape of a daughther
that bate the wureld for beauty; while Dinnis Sullivan wor prouder of
his son Maurice nor if he had found all the goold mines of Californy,
wid all the jooels of the Aist Injees to the top of 'em. Oh, faix,
but ye may be sartin that the ould min in their letthers gossipped
about the childher, an' that Misther O'Brien, bein' discinded from the
anshint kings of Munsther, belaved his daughther Norah the aquil of
any princess in Eurip and Aishey, lettin' alone the Turkeys and the
Roosthers--Rooshins, I mane--an' the Jarmans, an' the Frinch, an' all
the other haythens.

"Well, by coorse, by an' by, young Masther Maurice an' the butyful
Miss Norah wor conthracted thegither by the ould people; though, it's
the thruth I'm sayin', nayther of the youngsthers wor beknowin' to
it at all, until wan day, when Maurice wor near grown to be a man,
his fadher up an' tould him what he had done. 'Well an' good!' sez
Maurice, for he wor a mighty purty behaved young jintleman; an', wid
that, he crasses over the salt say into forrin parts, where he larned
to ate frogs in France, an' to sleep undher a feather bed in Jarmany,
wid his exthremities stickin' out. By an' by, whin he had finished his
eddicashin at the Jarman Univarsity, by dhrillin' a hole wid a small
sword through the arum of wan Count Dondher an' Blixum, an' by bein'
mortially wounded in his undher garmint hisself, Maurice thravels
back to the ould counthry. Oh, but Dinnis Sullivan wor mighty plased
to shake hands wid his darlin' boy agin! an' he grown so tall, an'
sthrong, an' manly like.

"'Maurice, avourneen!' sez his fadher, tindherly, 'seein' 'tis of age
ye are, an' may be I'll not be wid ye long, sure it 'u'd be plasin' me
to see yeez marri'd at wanst to Norah O'Brien,' sez he.

"'But how will I tell whether I'll like her or no?' sez Maurice,

"'By raison that she's a hairess and a grate beauty,' sez the ould

"'Thim's good things in their way,' sez Maurice; 'but may be I'll be
ruinashin'd, afther all, wid the crooked timper.'

"'Make yerself parfaitly aisey on that score, Maurice ma bouchal,' sez
his fadher. 'Honey isn't swater, nor butther safter.'

"'May be 'tis too saft she is,' sez Maurice.

"'Tare an' ounties!' sez the ould jintleman, in a grate passion. 'What
'u'd yees like to have, I'd be plased to know? Isn't Murtoch O'Brien my
ould fri'nd, an' wan I niver had a quarrel wid in my life, batin' the
bottle he throw'd at my head at ould Thrinity, an' the bullet I lodged
in his side on the banks of the Liffey one morn? Sure, afther that
affeckshinate raymonsthrance we wor betther fri'nds nor iver we wor

"Well, by this an' by that, seein' the ould jintleman wor bint upon the
match, Maurice consints to ride over an' coort the young lady, purvided
he might take wid him his fostherer, wan Tim Delaney. Sure I know'd him
well, for he wor own cousin to myself by the mudher's side, an' he it
wor as tould me this sthory.

"'Take him by all manes,' sez the ould jintleman. 'I've not the laste
objeckshin. 'Tis a dacent lad he is, an' a betther face or a n'ater
figure, barrin' yer own, Maurice dear, there's not to be found in
all the county. He desarves to be put forrid in the wureld. He's not
althegither an' ignoraymus nayther,' sez he, 'for Fadher Doran thried
to bate the humanities into him for the matther of two saisons; an',
though he butthers his mattymatticks wid poetical conthribushins, an'
peppers an' salts the larned langwidges wid aljebrayickal calkilations,
there's a dale of larnin' in that head of his, av he only understhood
the manage of it.'

"So, wid that, Misther Maurice sed he wor contint, an', sendin' his
thrunk on afore him by the faymale stage, he"----

"Stop! stop! Mulrooney! I was not aware of any distinction between one
stage and another. Will you do me the favor to enlighten me?"

"Arrah now," said Peter, boldly, "don't I know the differ? Sure, if the
coaches as carries the letthers is the male stages, it stands to raison
thim as doesn't must be the faymales."

"Humph! Admirably defined! Well, go on."

"An' thin--an' thin--och, wirrasthrue! but I've lost the sthory
complately an' enthirely, by makin' a dickshunary of myself."

"Let me jog your memory, then. Maurice sent his trunk on before"----

"That's it," said Peter, "by the faymale stage, an' set out on
horseback wid hisself an' Tim, bright an' early the nixt morn, for
Carrigathroid. Well, they hadn't gone more nor a few miles, afore
little Micky Dunn, the stable boy, comes tearin' down the road to say
that the masther had been takin' suddintly wid a fit of the gout, an'
that Misther Maurice must go back an' attind the sale of Ned Ryan's
place, as the ould jintleman wanted it to square off the corner of the
upper farm.

"'Oh, musha, thin, but what'll I do?' sez Maurice. ''Tis unlucky to
turn back; an', besides, my thrunk is gone on afore, wid all the
b'utyful clothes in it I brought from France an' Jarmany.'

"'Faix, but that's bad!' sez Tim; 'an' I misthrustin' Andy Shehan, the
dhriver. May be 'tis betther I'd thravel on afther him?'

"''Deed an' 'deed, I think so,' sez Maurice. 'An' take this kay along
wid ye, Tim,' sez he, 'an' sarch if the things isn't spirited away,
or smashed up enthirely. An', Tim,' sez he, 'there's a letther of
interjuckshin in the thrunk which I want yees to deliver at wanst, for
fear the ould squireen'll be onaisey, as he expected me the day. An',
Tim,' sez he, lowerin' his voice, 'I'll be plased if ye'll take it to
Carrigathroid yerself, an' see if Miss Norah is half so purty an' good
as fadher sez she is.'

"'Why wouldn't she be,' sez Tim, 'if the masther sez so?'

"'Throth an' I dun 'no',' sez Maurice; 'but I'd like to larn that
aforehand from yer own lips, Tim, avick.'

"'Faix, that's aisey enough, I does be thinkin',' sez Tim. 'You folly
afther as quick as ye can, Misther Maurice; an', in the mane time,'
sez he, 'I'll pay my respicts to the family.'

"So, wid that, they took lave of one another, an' Tim thravelled on to
the town where the young masther's thrunk wor left, a bit mile or so
from O'Brien's, of Carrigathroid.

"'Where's the thrunk as wor left here by Andy Shehan?' sez he to the
woman of the stage-house.

"'Up stairs,' sez she, 'all safe an' sound.'

"'I'll see that,' sez he. An' up stairs he goes an' opens the thrunk,
an' looks over the clo'es, an' the dimont pins, and the goold watch,
an' the chains an' rings galore; an', sure enough, they wor all there
nate an' nice, as Ally Bawn said when the six childher fell into the
saft of the bog. Oh, murther, but now comes the sthrangest part of the
sthory. When Tim seen the things forenent him, an' how b'utyful they
wor, he begins to wondher how he'd look in thim; an' thin he looks at
his own coorse clothes, all plasthered and besmudthered over wid the
dirthy wather of the road.

"'How will I carry the masther's letther to the big house, an' I
lookin' for all the wureld like a dirthy bogthrotter?' sez he. 'Sure
I'd be shamefaced to show myself in dacent company. 'Tis a mighty fine
thing to be a jintleman,' sez he, lookin' at the thrunk ag'in. 'Oh,
but thim's the grand coats, an' pantalloons, an' goolden things,' sez
he; 'sure, I thinks the likes of 'em wor niver seed afore. May be,'
sez he, coagitatin' the matther--'may be Misther Maurice wouldn't be
onaisey if I loaned thim of him for a bit while, ispishilly as it's
his sarvice that I'll be on. Sure, 'tis no harum to thry if they fits
me,' sez he. An', begorra, afore he know'd it, he wor dhressed in thim
b'utyful garmints, an' lookin' grander nor iver he did in his mortial
life. Prisently, he flings back the dure, an' discinds the stairs wid
all the goold chains a danglin' about his neck, an' wid a fine goold
watch fasthened by a raal dimont pin to the breast of his flowery
silk weskit: 'For,' sez he, 'sure they wouldn't know I had sich purty
things, if I didn't show thim.'

"'Oh, but it does my heart good to see sich a han'some jintleman!' sez
the misthress of the house, makin' a low curchey. 'Didn't I know,' sez
she, 'yer honnor wor the raal quality the minnit I seen the shine of
yer face at the dure. Indade, an' faix, it's the thruth I'm sayin',
plase goodness.'

"'Arrah, now, be done wid yer blarney,' sez Tim, flourishin' a white
han'kercher as wor sthronger wid sint nor a flower-garden. 'Don't
conthaminate yer centhrifujals bu spakin' so odoriferously,' sez he;
'but tell me, like the dacent woman ye are, where'll I sarch for a

"'That's aisey,' sez she; 'for sure there's wan next dure to the

"So, wid that, out goes Tim, houldin' up his pantaloons wid both hands
to keep thim clane, an' prisently he steps in at the barber's shop as
bould as a lord.

"'Barber!' sez he.

"'Sir,' sez a little thin-shanked man.

"'Shave me,' sez Tim, settin' hisself down in the big chair, while the
little man wor sthrappin' away at the razhier. 'Aisey, my good man,'
sez Tim, 'an' cut the stubble clane.'

"'Oh, I'll do that same,' sez the barber. 'Be du husht, av ye plase.'
An', afore Tim could say Larry Houlaghan, his beard wor off.

"'Barber,' sez Tim.

"'Sir,' sez the little man.

"'Frizzle my head,' sez Tim.

"An', widout any ghosther at all, the spry little man pokes a long iron
thing into the fire.

"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim. 'What's that?'

"'Thim's the curlin'-tongs,' sez the barber.

"'Oh,' sez the cunnin' Tim, turnin' up his nose, 'thim's the ould time
fashion. May be ye niver seen the frizzlin' insthrument they use in
forrin parts?'

"'Sorra one have I seed, barrin' the masheen in my hand,' sez the

"''Tworn't to be expected of yees, in this outlandish place,' sez Tim.

"'Hould still, if ye pl'ase,' sez the barber, takin' a grip of his hair.

"'Ouch!' sez Tim. 'L'ave me go, will yees? By japurs, but 'tis pullin'
all my hair off ye are!'

"''Tisn't likely I'd do that, wid my exparience,' sez the little man.
'Sure, many's the quality I've dhressed the heads of in my day.' An',
wid that, he saizes hould of another lock of hair, an' gives it a grip
and a twist.

"'Tundher an' turf!' sez Tim, startin' up in a mighty big passion.
'Would ye burn my head aff afore my eyes? 'Tisn't a stuck pig I am that
ye're singein' for bacon,' sez he.

"'Musha, thin, but that's thrue, anyhow,' sez the barber. An' on he
wint, frizzlin' first one side and thin the other, till, by an' by,
Tim's head wor all over corkskrews, like a haythen naygur's.

"'How will I look?' sez Tim, goin' to a glass. 'Augh! millia! murther!
'Tisn't my own face that I see yondher?'

"''Deed but it is,' sez the barber.

"'Oh, wirrasthrue!' sez Tim, wringin' his hands. 'What'll I do? 'Tis
ruinashin'd I am, clane out an' inthirely! I'll be mistakin' myself for
a sthranger!'

"'Yea, thin,' sez the little man, 'there's no denyin' but yees
wondherfully improved in apparence.'

"'Botherashin!' sez Tim; 'but how will I raycognize myself, I'd like to

"Sure, but he had the throubled look whin he mounted his horse; but, by
the time he got to Carrigathroid, his spirits came back agin, an' he
fasthens the baste to the swingin' bough of a three, an' steps up to
the dure an' knocks as bould as Joolyus Saizer.

"'Hallo! House! Whoop!'

"'What's the matther, my good man?' sez a sarvant, answerin' the dure.

"'Matther?' sez Tim. 'Plinty's the matther. Here's a letther for
Misther O'Brien, wid the respicts of the owner.'

"'Yer name, sir, if ye pl'ase,' sez the man.

"'Tell him Misther Sullivan sint it,' sez Tim.

"'Oh!' sez the man, makin' a low bow. 'Obleege me by walkin' in; ye're

"An', wid that, he marches on afore, Tim followin' afther, an' flings
open the dure of a grand room all blazin' wid light, an' sings out--

"'Misther Sullivan!'

"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim to hisself. ''Tis changed I am by that
frizzlin' barbarian!'

"'Ah, my young fri'nd,' sez Misther O'Brien, takin' him by the
hand, ''tis pl'ased I am to see ye the day! Let me presint ye to my
daughther. Norah, mavourneen, this is Misther Maurice Sullivan.'

"'Och, the beauty of the wureld!' sez Tim, quite flusthrated. 'Call me
Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'

"'Ah, I undherstand,' sez the ould squireen, wid a smile. 'The Delaneys
is yer relashins.'

"Troth, an' indade they are,' sez Tim.

"'Thim's good blood, I does be thinkin',' sez the squireen.

"'Sorra betther to be found anywhere,' sez Tim.

"'I beg yer pardin, 'tis standin' ye are the while,' sez the ould
jintleman. 'Will ye take a sate on the ottimin?'

"'Sure, 'tisn't the grand Turkey ye mane?' sez Tim, gettin' frikened.

"'Oh no,' sez the ould jintleman; ''tis the fine flahool stool standin'
forenenst ye.'

"'Ayeh!' sez Tim. 'The ould name's the betther.'

"May be so,' sez the squireen, puttin' on his specktickles, an' starin'
at Tim as if he wor a wild baste. An' sorry I am to tell ye that purty
Miss Norah likewise hadn't no betther manners, but set starin' too at
the bouchal wid her great black eyes.

"'What's the matther?' sez Tim, as red as a b'iled lobsther. 'Isn't it
all right?'

"'How will I know?' sez the squireen.

"'Och! och!' sez Tim, 'why did I make a "behay" of myself? Blessin's
on yer darlin' face!' sez he, turnin' to Miss Norah; 'an' may goodness
purtect ye! an' the daisies grow up under yer purty feet! an' may all
the fairies in Ireland bring good luck to ye, an' a dale of it! But oh,
be pl'ased to take pity on a poor boy as is quite dumbfounder'd at yer
b'utyful countenance, and burnt into ashes by the blaze from yer eyes!
An' now don't be afther colloguing wid the ould man that a way, an' I
kep' in the dark, like Shaun Dooley, the blind fiddler.'

"'Indade, an' in throth, 'tis very mystharious,' sez Miss Norah,
whisperin' to the fadher. ''Tisn't the first ha'porth of manners the
crayther has. Sure I am I'll not like him, any way.'

"'L'ave him to me,' sez the ould man. 'May be he's betther nor
he seems. Get ye gone, acushla, an' ordher Michael to bring up a
pitcher of st'amin' hot potheen; that's the raal stuff to bring out
a man's charackther. Misther Sullivan,' sez he, as the daughther
disapp'ared--'Misther Sullivan'----

"'Delaney, av ye pl'ase,' sez Tim.

"'I beg yer pardin, Misther Delaney Sullivan. May I be so bould, an'
m'anin' no offince, as to be axin' ye what makes ye carry all thim
goold chains, an' the han'some goold watch, an' the dimont pin, in sich
a sthrange way?'

"'Oh,' sez Tim, mightily relaved, an' pokin' the ould man for fun
undher the fifth rib, ''tis there ye are! Sure, 'tis raisonable,' sez
he, 'a young jintleman should folly the fashi'ns.'

"'Oh,' sez the squireen, 'an' thim's the fashi'ns, is they?'

"'What 'u'd they be good for, if they worn't?' sez Tim.

"'Faix, nothin' at all, I b'lieve,' sez the squireen. 'Whin did ye
l'ave home, Misther Sullivan?' sez he.

"'Delaney, av ye pl'ase.'

"'Blur an' agars!' sez the ould man, 'don't I know that, Misther
Delaney Sullivan?'

"'Well,' sez Tim to hisself, ''tis no matther. Any way, I'll be kilt
an' transported, whin Masther Maurice comes. Sure, if he will parsist
in callin' me Sullivan, 'tisn't good manners to conthradict him.'

"'An' how did ye l'ave the family?' sez the squireen.

"'Well an' hearty,' sez Tim; 'wid no sarious disordher, barrin' the
loss of a suckin' pig wid the maisles.'

"'A suckin' pig in the family!' sez the ould man. 'A suckin' pig, did
ye say? Sure, thim's not human.'

"'Och! what'll I be sayin' wid the grate blisther on my tongue? Sure,
tworn't any pig at all, at all. 'Twas the babby wid the shmallpox.'

"'The shmallpox!' shrieks the squireen. 'Oh, be aff wid ye! Don't come
a near me! I'm frikened to death a'ready!'

"'Millia murther!' sez Tim. 'I'll be beside myself prisintly. I don't
mane the shmallpox, nor the childher. Where 'u'd they come from, I'd
like to know? But the docther--no, I don't mane that--the masther--no,
not the masther--the weeny. Arrah, botherashin to me, I'd be obleeged
to ye if ye'd tell me what I mane; for, 'deed an' 'deed, the beauty of
the young lady has put the comether on my sinses enthirely!'

"'Faix, I b'lieve so,' sez the squireen. 'But here comes the potheen,'
sez he; 'an' 'tis the sovre'nst thing in the wureld for a crooked

"'Mostha, but it's the raal stuff, too!' sez Tim, takin' a long pull at
the noggin, an' smackin' his lips.

"'An' so ye left the ould folk quite well?' sez the squireen.

"'Brave an' hearty,' sez Tim. 'The ould man wor br'akin' stones to mend
the pike wid, an' the ould mother wor knittin' new heels to an ould
pair of Connemara stockin's.'

"'I'm t'undhersthruck!' sez Misther O'Brien. To think that the blood of
the Sullivans should demane thimselves by br'akin' stones for a road
an' patchin' stockin's!'

"'Thim's figgers of spache,' sez Tim. 'Sure, I mane shuperintindin' of

"'Throth, it's hard to tell what ye mane, Misther Delaney Sullivan,'
sez the squireen. 'A young jintleman as is college-bred shouldn't
condiscend to quare figgers the likes o' thim. An' now I'll be pl'ased
to have a taste of yer larnin'.'

"'Sure, it 'u'd nayther be dacent, nor proper, nor expadient, in
one of my birth an' breedin', to show off my parts upon a jintleman
of your wondherful sagashity. The natheral modesty that is the
predominatin' trait in my charackther won't let me. Thim as is my
aquils has acknowledged my shupariority; an' the masther hisself
couldn't folly me in the langwidges, an' the humanities, an' in single
an' double fluckshins, to say nothing of my extinsive ackwiremints in
algebrayickal mattymattocks, an' the other parts of profane histhory of
a similar cognashus charackther.'

"'Spake plainer,' sez the squireen, 'for ye does be puzzlin' me wid the
hard words as seems to have no sinse in 'em.'

"'I'd be bothered to find it if they did,' sez Tim, slyly, to hisself.
But he sez to the squireen, sez he, 'How will I diffinitively expurgate
the profound m'anin' of the anshint frelosophers widout smudherin' ye
wid the classicalities? Isn't it the big words as makes the l'arnin'?
Axin' yer pardin, Misther O'Brien, but 'tis well beknownst to a
jintleman of your exthraordinary mintal an' quizzical fackilties that
the consthruction of the words consthitutes the differ of langwidges,
of which pothooks an' hangers is the ilimints.'

"'Bedad, but there's some thruth in that,' sez the squireen, 'barrin'
the manner of expressin' it.'

"'Arrah, thin,' sez Tim, 'I'm pl'ased to hear ye say so; an', if it's
agreeable to yees, we'll dhrop the discourse for the prisint. To tell
ye the blessed thruth, Misther O'Brien, 'tis dead bate wid the long
thravel I am, an', wid your permission, I'll be bould to throuble yer
sarvint to fling me a clane lock o' sthraw in one corner of yer honor's
kitchen for the night.'

"Oh, but may be the ould squireen didn't stare at Tim wid all his eyes
in raal arnest, thin--

"'Sthraw!' sez he. 'Do ye take this for a boccoch's shealin'? Well, I
must say, Misther Delaney Sullivan,' sez he, 'that, for a jintleman's
son, born an' brid, 'tis monsthrous quare ways ye have.' An', wid
that, he rings for the futman, an' tells him to show Tim to bed. 'I'll
be wantin', Misther Sullivan, to spake the sarious word wid ye the
morrow morn,' sez the ould man, dhrawin' hisself up grand like; 'for,
on my conscience, there's many things about ye as does be puzzlin' me

"''Tis no matther,' sez Tim to hisself, follyin' afther the sarvint.
'Sure, I'm in for it now, anyhow. Ayeh! is thim the stairs? Musha,
thin, but 'tis wide enough they are for a drove of fat cattle. Hould
on a bit, will ye, or I'll be fallin' over the ballisthers. I wonder
where thim crass passiges lades too beyant? Sure, I'd give all I'll
be like to have in the wureld to quit the place. Och, Tim Delaney,
'tis a bad ind ye're comin' to wid settin' yerself up for a jintleman;
an', begorra, if the young masther murdhers ye enthirely, it sarves ye
right, any way, an' that's no lie.'

"'Will ye be pl'ased to inter?' sez the sarvint, throwin' open the
dure of a big room, where the windys wor all ornaminted wid b'utyful
curt'ins, an' likewise the grate bed wid goold angels at the corners of
the posts, lettin' alone the fringes an' the tassels, an' many other
b'utyful things too tadious to mintion.

"'Och,' sez Tim, 'is that my bid? How will I git in widout tumblin'
myself on the flure? Thim steps, did ye mane? Arrah, now, have done wid
yer nonsince! Sure, I niver heard of goin' to bid wid a step-laddher

"'Thim's the fashi'n,' sez the futman.

"'To the divil wid the fashi'n!' sez Tim. 'What are ye laughin' at, ye
ugly spalpeen? L'ave the light, an' go. Oh, murther!' sez Tim, whin
he was all alone by hisself. 'If I wor out of this scrape, a thousand
goold guineas wouldn't timpt me to do the likes agin.'

"An', wid that, he sarches the windys, manein' to make his escape, but
they wor too high; an' thin he opens the dure saftly an' looks into the
passiges, but they twisted all about, so he didn't dare to thry thim
for fear they would be afther takin' him for a robber; so, wid many
muttherin's an' moanin's, he lays hisself down on the bid wid all his
clothes on, an', by an' by, falls into a throubled sleep.

"Well, all this time, ye may be sure young Masther Maurice wor not
lettin' the grass grow undher his feet. So, whin he had bought the
land, he takes a fresh baste an' hurries afther Tim. By hard ridin' he
got to the town late that same night; an', whin he l'arned that Tim
wor gone up to Carrigathroid all cock-a-hoop in his own fine clo'es
an' jooels, he flies into a tearin' passion, and makes bould to ride
over at wanst. As it happened, the squireen an' Miss Norah wor still
up, for the raal genteels do kape mighty late hours; and so it worn't
long afore he makes hisself beknownst to the ould jintleman an' his
daughther, an' up an' tells 'em his sthory. Oh, but thin they all
laughed more nor iver they did in their born days afore; more by token
that the squireen wor glad to have a disilushin of the mysthery, an'
Miss Norah bein' aiquilly pl'ased to find the thrue Masther Maurice wid
the best quality manners, an', at the same time, so mortial han'some.

"'An' now,' sez Maurice, 'what'll I do wid that rogue of a Tim?'

"'L'ave him to me,' sez the squireen, wid a knowin' wink. 'Myself bein'
a justus-o'-p'ace, a good frikenin' 'll be of sarvice to the saucy
Omadhaun. But we'll say no more till the morn,' sez he; 'an', in the
mane time, we'll thry an' find ye a supper an' a bed.'

"Well, to be sure, bright an' airly, while Tim wor tossin' an' tumblin'
about in his fine flahool bid, an' dhramin' of witches, an' spooks,
an' leprawhauns, an' even of the ould bouchal hisself, there's comes a
t'undherin' whack at his dure; an', prisintly, in walks four sthrappin'
fellows right to his bedside.

"'What's wantin'?' sez Tim, settin' boult up, wid his curly hair all
untwistin' itself an' standin' on end like a porkepine's. 'Is it
lookin' for me ye are?'

"'Troth, but ye're a quick hand at guessin',' sez the biggest man.
'Where's yer masther, ye thafe of the wureld? Tell me that.'

"'Oh, murther!' sez Tim. 'It's all out!'

"'Sure, he confisses it a'ready,' sez another. 'Bring him along, Tony.'

"'Confisses what?' sez Tim, wid his face as white as the bed-hangin's.
'Confisses what? Spake out, will ye?'

"'The murther!' sez Tony. 'Isn't thim his clo'es ye're wearin' now?'

"'Murther? Och! ochone! ochone!' sez Tim, wringin' his hands. 'That I
iver lived to see this day! An' is the young masther dead? Why, thin,
upon my oath an' my conscience, I niver had a hand in it! Sure, 'tis
well the darlin' knowed I'd lay down my life for him. Oh, jintlemen,
take pity on a poor innocent boy that's in the black throuble, an' all
bekase he put on the young masther's things for a bit of spoort!'

"'An' a purty spoort ye'll find it,' sez the futman, for be sure he wor
one of thim. 'But here comes Misther O'Brien.'

"'Stand aside, all of yees, an' let me look at the thraitor!' sez the
squireen, burstin' into the room. 'Oh, 'tis there ye are, ye villin,
wid yer mattymattox an' yer single an' double fluxshins. Saize him,
men, wid a sthrong grip, an' bring him to the hall. 'Tis well myself's
a magisther, an' can set upon the case at wanst.'

"'Oh, Misther O'Brien,' sez Tim, dhroppin' on his knees, ''tis innocent
I am the day! I'll tell ye about it. You see, the young masther an'

"'Isn't thim his clo'es?" sez the squireen.

"'Ayeh, but that's thrue. Let me tell ye, an' hear r'ason. The young
masther an' I'----

"'Kape yer sthories to yerself,' sez the squireen, puttin' on a black
frown. 'Why would I listen to yer diabolickle invintions whin thim
things is witness agin ye? Hould him fast, boys, an' off wid him. May
be I won't live to hang him, afther all.'

"'Help! help! murther!' sez Tim, sthrugglin' wid all the power that
wor in him. 'I didn't do it! It's clane hands I have! I won't be
murthered! L'ave me go, I say! What 'u'd ye hang a poor innocent for?
Murther! murther!'

"All at wanst, as he wor skreekin' and kickin', who should walk in from
behind the dure but Misther Maurice an' Miss Norah.

"'Whoop! whoroo!' sez Tim. 'There's the young masther now! Hands off
wid ye! Don't ye see him wid Miss Norah?'

"'Hould on a minnit, men,' sez the squireen. 'May be 'tis a mistake,
afther all. Is that young jintleman Misther Sullivan?'

"'Oh, to be sure it is,' sez Tim. 'Who else 'u'd it be, I'd like to
know? Misther Maurice! Maurice, achorra, spake to thim, av ye pl'ase,
an' tell thim it's yerself that I see.'

"'Why will I do that?' sez the young jintleman, laughin'. 'Sure,
'twould be wastin' my breath, an' they knowin' it a'ready.'

"'Oh, murther! see that now!' sez Tim. 'An' they a frikenin' me out of
my siven sinses all the while. Ayeh! Maurice a vick, but I forgive ye
the bad thrick yees played me the day.'

"'Musha, thin, an' thank ye for nothin',' sez Maurice; 'for I does be
thinkin' that 'tis yerself, Tim, as is to blame, seein' the fine clo'es
on yer back.'

"'Yea, thin,' sez the squireen, burstin' into a great laugh, ''twore
hisself, sure enough, as played the bould thrick, an' bothered me all
out wid his single an' his double fluxshins; but, bedad, if the thrick
wor in his hands last night, sure he'll confiss I trumped it dacently
this mornin'.'"


BY H. H., M. D.

    Oh, love! What is love? 'Tis a tender vine,
      Amid shadow and sunshine growing;
    In the soft summer hours will its tendrils twine,
      To cling when the wild winds are blowing.
    Though through calm sunny days it will put forth its bloom,
      It is greenest when tears are flowing;
    And it climbeth--how mournfully!--oft o'er the tomb,
      Gray shadows around it throwing.

    The germs its fresh blossoms fling forth to the air
      Are wafted, on white wings, to heaven;
    Here though it may wither, yet, evergreen there,
      A crown unto angels 'tis given!
    Then tend it most gently. Though care bids it grow,
      And it ever roots deepest in sorrow,
    Yet the love that to-day smiles o'er dreariest woe,
      Neglected, may wither to-morrow.



The truly lively and excellent Miss Mitford has, in her story of "The
Black Velvet Bag," dilated very agreeably on the pleasures of the
feminine occupation of Shopping! She has made its charms obvious to the
meanest capacity; nay, more candid still, she has afforded us, now and
then, a glimpse of its many pleasant delusions. She is, throughout,
the busy, intelligent actor in this everyday drama of domestic life.
She has admitted us fully and fairly to her confidence, from the
preliminary "Inventory of Wants," with its accompaniment of a full
purse, to the _finale_ of a full budget and an empty exchequer!

Let not the above admission (honestly made), however, induce any one
to suppose that the subject must necessarily be exhausted. On the
contrary, she has not even alluded, in the remotest degree, to that
which I hold to be its chief delight--its crowning glory; namely, the
harvest of enjoyment which its many phases present to the inactive,
though not uninterested, spectator of its whereabout.

"I _do_ wish that you would lay aside your work, and accompany me in
a round of shopping," was the opening address of an early morning
visitor. "I really have so many commissions to execute that it would
be an act of charity to afford me the benefit of your good taste and
excellent judgment!"

Who could resist a request so flatteringly preferred? The work was
laid aside, and the request complied with on the instant; and within a
quarter of an hour we were set down at the first stage of our pleasant

The _magazin_ that was honored by our selection on the present
occasion held a middle rank between the aristocratic pretensions of
Howell and James's, and the honest _bourgeois_ reputation of Tottenham
House! My friend was of that class of elegant economists who go to
the fountain-head for the sample, and to the principal stream for
the supply. The initiated will be at no loss to decide that Swan and
Edgar's was our mart.

As I was not a principal on the present occasion, the _pas_ was, of
course, assumed by my companion. On the moment of our entrance, offers
of services were obsequiously proffered, and, to my great surprise,
were as courteously evaded. My friend was a tactician, and, fully
alive to her own infirmity, was not so rash as to venture on an
unproved agent. Former experience had revealed to her on whose head
the organ of patience was most largely developed, and as its possessor
happened to be engaged, my friend, like a wise general, was content to
forego a present convenience, in order to secure a future advantage.
She, therefore, intimated that she preferred being waited on by Miss
A., and added, she was quite content to await her leisure on the
present occasion.

The martyr-like expression of Miss A.'s countenance gave place to one
of great complacency, the result, perhaps, of the 'compliment implied
by her selection, since it must have been gratifying to feel that
merit is _sometimes_ appreciated; and no one can deny that, among the
virtues, Patience has always ranked as a cardinal!

A few minutes sufficed to surround us with silks and satins, ribbons
and velvets; a few more were consumed in the discussion of "the unusual
prevalence" of "flat colors" and "neutral tints," together with
conjectures as to the duration of this sombre mode, which soon gave
place to the important business before us. My friend became serious and
oracular; murmured of "harmony and contrast;" and, in the words of our
divine Milton--

                "With dispatchful looks in haste
    She turns on (_most becoming_) thoughts intent,
    What choice to choose, for delicacy best,
    What order to contrive, as not to mix
    Hues not well joined, inelegant; but bring
    Shade after shade upheld by kindliest change."

She was fairly in her vocation, and I, well assured that an hour or two
would elapse before my "good taste" would be in requisition, proceeded
to solace my leisure by watching the sayings and doings of my neighbors
of the opposite counter.

"Do you happen to have anything new for dresses?" was the first inquiry
of a pair of languid-looking young ladies, evidently afflicted with
a certain quantity of money and of time to be disposed of. "We want
something very odd and very new." The shopman inquired of "price and
texture." At this leading question the ladies looked aghast. "Oh!
they did not know; only they wanted something very odd and very
pretty--something that had never been seen by anybody else." And with
this luminous description, the young man departed; and, after an
interval of short duration, returned, followed by two subordinates
bending beneath the weight of silk, wool, and cotton, and of patterns
the most diverse and strange. Nondescripts of a genus botanical,
flowers without stalks, and stalks without flowers. Others of the style
geometrical--angles, acute and obtuse; circles, and segments of every
size. A few presented strata of every sombre hue, forcibly reminding
the spectator of geology and Dr. Lyell! The young ladies were more than
satisfied: where all was so exquisitely "odd," the difficulty of choice
was proportionably increased. They selected and rejected, and finally,
embarrassed by the riches before them, ordered a dozen to be sent home
for further consideration, and the final decision of mamma!

Our fair young friends were scarcely seated in their carriage, when
their places were taken by a middle-aged lady of a very different
stamp, who, emerging from one of the suburban omnibuses, bustled into
the shop "and begged to be attended to immediately, as her time was
precious." No one could look upon her and doubt it. That imposing
character--a thoroughly good manager--was revealed in every word and
gesture. There was decision in her voice, her step, her eye; no need
had she of written memoranda to help a slippery memory. Her orders
were issued with distinctness, clearness, and precision. "She desired
to see some lady's four-thread fine white cotton stockings, without
figure and without clocks; some lady's dark French kid habit gloves,
sewed with silk of the same color, with studs at the wrist; some
Irish linen (described with equal minuteness); graduated tapes, and
assorted pins." Here was discrimination; no causeless second journey
did thoughtlessness on her part impose on any one. The pieces of linen
were opened, wetted, rubbed, and finally a thread was loosened, to
test the strength of the fabric. The gloves were singly stretched
across the hand, and finally the stockings were separated and turned
inside out, that their quality might be ascertained beyond a doubt. I
fancied the shopman winced a little at the latter experiment; but who
could gainsay that quiet decision of manner which so plainly announced
"I pay for what I have, and choose to have the best for my money"? A
pencil was quietly drawn forth--a name written by the lady on each
separate article. The bill was carefully examined--found correct--paid,
and with a final chink of the purse, and strict orders as to time
in the delivery of the parcel, the lady departed; and I could not
help thinking we all breathed with more freedom when relieved of the
presence of this very superior woman.

An interesting family group were the next to present themselves in the
persons of a beautiful widow lady, perhaps of some five-and-thirty
years of age; a sister, some ten years younger; a blooming miss in her
teens, and a delicate-looking little boy of some five years old.

Of this party the younger ladies assumed the executive, and requested
to see some dresses for second mourning. The counter forthwith groaned
under the weight of silks and stuffs,

     "Black, blue, and gray, with all their trumpery;"

and really the variety was so great that the office of selection seemed
far from an easy one. The younger ladies were in high spirits, and
proceeded to canvass the peculiar merit of each article with great
energy. There certainly is something very attractive in unsunned
fabrics, even though they appertain not to ourselves. I felt quite
interested in the debate, and when the discussion became warm, on the
comparative merits of French gray or French lavender, I could hardly
forbear from offering a casting vote on the subject.

Meantime the person most interested in the decision sat by silent
and abstracted, her eyes fixed on the face of the boy--her thoughts
probably in the tomb of her husband. At length it became necessary
to make a selection. The lady was appealed to. She seemed as though
awaking from a dream, and, glancing at the shining heaps before her,
said, "Too gay, much too gay." Her sister, in a low voice, appeared to
expostulate with her, for the words "two whole years" were distinctly
audible. The animated look of the little girl became subdued as she
gazed on her mother's face. She pushed aside the brighter colors and
drew some black silk over them, and was silent. Not so, however, her
aunt! She had evidently resolved that the children at least should
mourn no longer; with a tone of authority she desired the lavender silk
to be cut off, and with a look of mingled pity and contempt heard her
sister order another "Paramatta." Too indignant to interfere further,
she contented herself with adding "and crape, I suppose." The lady did
not reply--the shopman, probably inferring her wishes from her silence,
produced the anathematized material, a liberal quantity was cut off,
and the party slowly retired.

A merry-eyed, dandyfied-looking young sailor, with a complexion much
bronzed beneath a fervid sun, was the next member of the _dramatis
personæ_. He desired to see some silk pocket-handkerchiefs; India
silk--no other would do. A variety was placed before him, together
with some of British manufacture, greatly superior to the veritable
Bandanas! It might be so--they were more beautiful, certainly; but
India handkerchiefs he must have--ay, and with the true peculiar
spicy smell; that odor only to be acquired by a four months' voyage
in company with cinnamon and sandal-wood. After a little delay, even
this desideratum was achieved. A dozen were cut off, each folded in a
separate paper, and each and every one directed by his own hand! During
this ceremony, a very contagious smile irradiated his features, which,
gathering strength with every name he wrote, finally exploded into an
uncontrollable fit of laughter. Grave people turned round to stare and
frown; and the youth, rather abashed by the sound of his own laugh,
murmured something in an apologetic tone, and, hastily paying for his
purchase, quitted the shop. There was something odd in all this. At
length the truth flashed on my mind. The youth had just returned from
India, and was gifted with a goodly train of unreasonable cousins,
all of whom "had expected some trifle from the Land of the East."
Poor fellow!--as though a hundred a year were a greater fortune in
Hindoostan than in England, or self-denial a whit easier of practice
on the banks of the Ganges than the banks of the Thames. At length,
his means admitting of a partial satisfaction of his expectants, he
had taken the only means in his power to amend his short-comings. Poor
fellow!--may his pious fraud meet with a rich harvest of gratitude;
and, above all, may he have wit enough to keep his own counsel!

For a few minutes the little stage that had afforded me so much
interest was vacant. It was, however, shortly filled by a group well
calculated to afford

     "A bright atonement for the brief delay."

It consisted of a lady of some five-and-forty years, with face and
figure well preserved; and which, though lacking the delicacy of youth,
was redeemed by an expression scarcely less attractive. She took her
seat with a quiet dignity of manner--the result, I fancied, rather of a
well-balanced mind than of conventional attainment. She was accompanied
by a pretty sentimental girl of about eighteen, a brisk little maiden
of twelve, buoyant with delight at having escaped the school-room at an
unwonted hour, and a staid-looking Young Person, probably a dependent

The party seated themselves with some regard to personal comfort, as
though their business was likely to be of some duration. Their commands
were, the indispensables of a lady's outfit. During this period, the
young lady looked on with a kind of lofty indifference, and, when
appealed to, gravely declined interference, leaving the matter to
be arranged by the lady mother and the useful cousin. These affairs
satisfactorily adjusted, the externals were next in demand. The smile
of the child betrayed the secret--they were purchasing the _trousseau_
of a bride. In vain was the sentimentalist appealed to in the articles
of handkerchiefs and gloves--she was cold, polite, but indifferent.
This I thought strange, till I remembered she was a _fiancée_, almost
as good as a married lady already, and had therefore some dignity to
sustain. At length the brilliant externals were spread before her. What
young lady of eighteen could maintain the appearance of indifference?
It was not in nature--not in female nature. The statue descended from
its pedestal; entered quietly and gracefully into the details before
it; made selections with the taste of an artist and knowledge of a
woman of fashion (two qualities rarely combined); bought various
trifles adapted for presents, and would have chosen as many more had
not mamma held up a banker's check! The warning was understood--one and
ninepence was received in change of a bill of one hundred pounds--and
still they lingered. The bride elect had a purchase of her own to make.
A shawl--a good, but not a fine one--was selected and paid for by
herself, and presented, with a kind pressure of the hand (which would
elsewhere have been a kiss), to the useful cousin. The carriage drew
up, and the party retired in search of the millinery elsewhere!

Scarcely was the seat of honor vacated by the bridal party, when it
was filled by another matron and her fair daughter; but no comfortable
carriage set her down--no obsequious footman ushered her into Messrs.
Swan and Edgar's emporium. The lady before me--for she was a lady,
despite her russet gown and plain straw bonnet--had originally been as
richly gifted by nature as her predecessor; but care, not time, had
evidently wrought its ravages on her countenance. She looked faded and
worn, took her seat with an air of embarrassment, and with a slight
nervousness of manner asked to speak with "one of the principals of the
establishment." During the brief interval previous to his arrival, her
countenance underwent many changes, as though she were nerving herself
for some painful effort. The arrival of the official, however, at once
restored her self-possession. With a calm, sweet voice, she stated her
business. She said she was the wife of a naval officer of limited means
about to emigrate, and wished to make rather an extensive purchase,
but that, as under such circumstances quantity rather than fashion
was the object of her attainment, she desired to know if she could be
thus supplied on terms of advantage? The reply was in the affirmative,
and, with a delicacy of feeling that did honor to the speaker, he
himself superintended her commission. He felt instinctively that he
was addressing a gentlewoman in the best sense of the term; as much
material was paid for by a fifty pound note as would have clad a dozen
people. The fearful plunge once over, the manner of the lady became
more assured, her daughter looked fairer than ever, and I felt, despite
the frowns of fortune, she was an enviable woman.

How much, how very much, said I to myself, are the unavoidable evils of
life felt, when (as in the present instance) they fall to the lot of
one gifted with the step-dame dower of acute sensibility. To such the
privations of poverty are far less galling than the ever-present dread
of the "proud man's contumely." To minds thus constituted, misfortune
feels like crime, and nothing short of the wisdom that is from above
can enable its possessor to bear the burthen unrepiningly. I looked
upon the lady before me, and felt, despite the lowly attire and faded
form, that of the many whose riddle I had read, she was to me the
heroine of the day.

The present was forgotten; my mind had travelled to scenes beyond the
Atlantic. Already had I

                        "Built them a bower,
      Where stern pride hath no power,
    And the fear of to-morrow their bliss could not mar."

Should the brave lieutenant, the beau cousin of that sweet girl,
accompany them? Or should the handsome curate follow after? I had not
decided the matter, when I was cruelly aroused from my delightful
reverie, to decide, where no difference was, between two rival satins
of the purest white, and after exercising much ingenuity in discovering
the favorite of my friend, I boldly declared for the opposite
candidate, maintained my opinion with very becoming pertinacity, and at
length gradually and graciously suffered myself to be convinced; and
again in the words of Milton I admitted her choice to be

     "Wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best."

The principal business of the day being thus happily accomplished,
we resolved to leave the rest till to-morrow, and returned home
mutually charmed with each other. My friend had labored diligently
in her vocation, to engraft her own good taste on half a dozen dowdy
cousins, whilst I retired to fill another page in the note-book of a


Drawing has been generally looked upon as an accomplishment, not
considered as an essential--as ornamental rather than indispensable in
the education of the rising generation. The pleasures and advantages
of its pursuit have been almost solely enjoyed by the rich; while they
have been, to a certain extent, as a sealed book to the great majority
of those now designated emphatically the people. So far from looking
upon a knowledge of the art of drawing as necessary merely to the
artist or designer, we hold that it should form an essential part of
general education; that its proper place is in the daily school; that
its principles and practice should be inculcated in the daily lessons;
in short, that equally with reading or writing, drawing should be
deemed one of the branches of everyday tuition. We are now fully alive
to the importance of cultivating what are designated "habits of taste,"
and the appreciation of the beautiful in art; and this chiefly--if
for nothing else--from the practical value derivable therefrom in the
improvement of our arts and manufactures. By a thorough understanding
of the details of drawing, an accuracy of perception and a facility for
marking and retaining forms and arrangements are readily available. It
is, then, of importance to place within the reach of all a means by
which the art in its varied branches may be easily communicated. The
design of the present article is to contribute to this desideratum.
We shall make our remarks as plain as possible, and as concise as
the nature of the subject will admit of; and shall give unsparingly
well-digested illustrations, believing that in this subject, at least,
much is to be imparted to the pupil through the medium of the eye. It
is to be hoped that this union of the pen with the pencil will be of
great utility in quickly imparting a knowledge of the subjects under
discussion. Before proceeding to our more immediate purpose, we shall
offer a few remarks elucidatory of the plan or bearing of the system,
by which we mean to be guided in presenting the requisite knowledge to
the student.

On the supposition that the pupil at the outset is utterly ignorant of
the art, we commence our instructions by elucidating FIRST PRINCIPLES.
As all drawings are reducible to certain lines and figures, we hold it
necessary to enable the student to draw these elementary parts with the
utmost facility; leading him, by a series of examples, from the drawing
of a simple line up to the most complicated sketch or object which may
be offered to him; and then, by an advance to the more intricate rules,
making plain the laws of vision (the foundation of perspective), so as
to delineate correctly the various views in which they may be presented
to his notice; the aim of the introductory lessons being to enable the
student thoroughly to understand the reason why every operation is
performed as directed, not merely to give him a facility for copying
any determined object without reference to principles.

The student may, by dint of practice, acquire a facility for this
merely mechanical style of imitation or copying; but, unless he is well
grounded in fundamental principles, his operations will be vague and
uncertain. It may be considered true that the better we are acquainted
with the first principles of an art, its basis or foundation, so much
more intimately conversant shall we be with all the intricacies of
its diversified practice, and the less easily damped by its real or
apparent difficulties. Students too frequently expend much time almost
entirely in vain, from want of attention to this truth, trite and
commonplace as it may be deemed. In acquiring the practice of this
art, they are too eager to pass from the simple rules, the importance
of which they think lightly of. A sure and well-laid foundation will
not only give increased security to the building, but will enable
the workmen to proceed with confidence to the proper carrying out of
the design in its entirety; on the contrary, an ill-laid foundation
only engenders distrust, and may cause total failure. We are the more
inclined to offer these remarks, being aware that students at the
commencement of a course of tuition are apt, in their eagerness to be
able to "copy" a drawing with facility, to overlook the importance of
the practice which alone enables them satisfactorily to do so. It is
the wisest course of procedure to master the details of an art before
proceeding to an acquaintance with its complicated examples.

We would, then, advise students to pay particular attention to the
instructions in their ENTIRETY which we place before them; if they be
truly anxious to acquire a speedy yet accurate knowledge of the art,
they will assuredly find their account in doing so. Instead of vaguely
wandering from example to example, as would be the case by following
the converse of our plan, yet copying they know not how or why, they
will be taught to draw all their combinations from simple rules and
examples, we hope as simply stated; and thus will proceed, slowly it
may be, but all the more surely, from easy to complicated figures,
drawing the one as readily as the other, and this because they will
see all their details, difficult to the uninitiated, but to them a
combination of simple lines as "familiar as household words."



Before the apparent forms of objects can be delineated, it is
absolutely necessary that the _hand_ shall be able to follow the
dictation of the _eye_; that is, the pupil must, by certain practice,
be capable of forming the lines which constitute the outlines and other
parts of the objects to be drawn; just as, before being able to write
or copy written language, the hand must be taught to follow with ease
and accuracy the forms which constitute the letters; so in drawing,
the hand must be tutored to draw at once and unswervingly the form
presented to the eye. Thus the handling of the pencil, the practice
to enable the hand to draw without hesitation or uncertainty, and the
accurate rapidity essential in an expert draughtsman, may be considered
as part of the alphabet of the art of free pencil sketching. Nothing
looks worse in a sketch than the evidences of an uncertainty in putting
in the lines; just as if the hand was not to be trusted, or at least
depended upon, in the formation of the parts dictated by the eye. The
eye may take an accurate perception of the object to be drawn, yet
its formation may be characterized by an indecision and shakiness (to
use a common but apt enough expression), which, to the initiated, is
painfully apparent. In beginning, then, to acquire a ready facility
in free sketching, in which the hand and eye are the sole guides, the
pupil should consider it well-spent time to acquire by long practice an
ease and freedom in handling the pencil, chalk, or crayon with which he
makes his essay.

The first lessons may be performed with a piece of pointed chalk on
a large blackboard; some of our celebrated artists have not in their
early days disdained the use of more primitive implements, as a piece
of burnt stick and a whitewashed wall or barn door. The larger the
surface on which the lessons are drawn, the better, consistent, of
course, with convenience. If a blackboard cannot be obtained, a large
slate should be used. Until the pupil has acquired a facility for
copying simple forms, he should not use paper and pencil; as, in the
event of drawing in a line wrong, it is much better at once to begin a
new attempt, than try to improve the first by rubbing out the faulty
parts and piecing the lines up. As the pupil must necessarily expect to
make many blunders at first starting, it will save paper if he will use
a board or slate, from which the erroneous lines can be at once taken
out, a damp sponge being used for this purpose. By this plan any number
of lines may be drawn.

[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

Having provided themselves with the necessary materials, pupils
may begin by drawing simple lines. These must be drawn without the
assistance of a scale or ruler, by the hand alone. The line _a_,
Fig. 1, will be parallel to the side of the board or slate, and
perpendicular to the ends. Pupils should endeavor to make the line as
regular as possible, and to run in one direction---that is, inclined
neither to the right nor left. They should next draw horizontal lines,
as _b_, beginning at the left and going towards the right hand. In
drawing lines as _a_, pupils should begin at the top and go towards
the bottom; in a more advanced stage they should try to draw them from
either end. The oblique lines, _d_, _e_, and _f_, should next be drawn.
In all these exercises the lines should be drawn boldly, in a length at
a time, not piece by piece; the hand should not rest on the board or
slate while drawing, but should be free, so that the line may be drawn
in at one sweep, as it were, of the arm or wrist. Irregular or "waved"
lines should next be drawn, as at _c_; this style of line is useful in
drawing broken lines, as in old ruins, trees, gates, stones, &c. &c.
Pupils must not content themselves with drawing a _few_ examples of the
lines we have given. They must practise for a long time, until they can
at once with ease draw lines in any direction correctly; they ought to
progress from simple to difficult, not hastily overlook the importance
of mastering simple elementary lessons. With a view to assist them in
arranging these, and to afford not only examples for practice, but
also to prove by a gradation of attempts the connection--too apt to be
overlooked by many--between simple lines and complex figures, simple
parallel lines, as _a_, _b_, _c_, Fig. 2, should be drawn; but not only
must pupils endeavor to keep each line straight from beginning to end,
free from waviness and indecision, and also parallel to one another,
but another object must be kept in view; that is, the distance between
the lines; hitherto they have drawn lines with no reference to this,
but merely to their position and direction. No mechanical aids must be
allowed to measure the distances, this must be ascertained by the eye
alone; and a readiness in this will be attained only by practice. The
eye is like the memory; it must be kept in constant training before
it will do its work. By inspecting the diagram, it will be perceived
that the lines marked _c_ _c_ are farther apart than those above. All
gradations of distances should be carefully delineated; and if, after
the lines are drawn, the eye should detect, or fancy it detects, any
error in this respect, let the lines be at once rubbed out, and a
new trial made; and let this be done again and again until the lines
appear to be correctly drawn, both as regards boldness and correctness
and distance apart. After drawing the horizontal lines, the student
may then proceed to perpendicular lines. It may here be noted, to
save future explanation, that when we use the term perpendicular,
we mean it to be that applied to a line or lines which run parallel
to the side of the board or slate; and horizontal, those parallel to
the ends. Strictly speaking, both lines thus drawn are perpendicular
to others which may be drawn parallel to their opposite sides. We,
however, suppose the surface on which the pupil is drawing to be in
the same position as this book while held open for reading; the sides
to represent the sides, and the ends, the ends of the drawing-board or
slate. Lines are horizontal when parallel with the lines of type, and
perpendicular when parallel with the sides of the page; it is in this
sense, then, that we shall use the terms horizontal and perpendicular.
Perpendicular lines, as in Fig. 3, may next be drawn, close to one
another at the sides, at _a_ and _c_, and farther separate at _b_; they
may also be drawn horizontally in the same way; this practice will be
useful in more advanced stages. As the pupil will observe, the lines
thus drawn give the appearance of roundness; it is, in fact, the way by
which engravers obtain this effect: the pupil will find it useful in
fine pencil drawing.

[Illustration: Fig. 3.]

[Illustration: Fig. 4.]

The drawing of diagonal or oblique lines may next be practised, as in
Fig. 4. In all these examples, the board or slate should never be moved
or reversed; the end forming the topmost one should always remain so.
We are aware that some parties have greater facilities for drawing
lines in one direction than in another; thus, the majority of beginners
would draw lines sloping from right to left with much more ease than
in the reverse position. We have seen cases where, in lessons like the
foregoing, the lines sloping from right to left were drawn first, the
board reversed, and lines to represent those sloping the reverse way
drawn in the same direction exactly; the board was then turned to its
original position, when the sets of lines appeared sloping different
ways, while, in reality, they were done both in the same manner. This
practice is not honest either to the teacher or pupil, and should at
once be discarded.

[Illustration: Fig. 5.]

The examples now given have had reference only to one peculiar position
of the lines to be drawn; that is, they have all been horizontal, or
all perpendicular or oblique; placed in the same relative position to
one another. We now give an example where the lines go in different
directions with respect to one another. Thus in drawing the lines
_b a_, _a f_, _d c_, and _c e_, Fig. 5, care must be taken to have
the lines perpendicular to one another; that is, supposing the lines
_a b_, _c d_, to be drawn first, the horizontal lines _a f_, _c e_,
must be drawn so that the points or ends _f e_ shall be neither above
nor below the ends or points _a_, _c_--that is, _f_ and _e_ must be
exactly opposite _a_ and _c_. In the present case, no mechanical aid
is allowable; the eye is to be the only guide. Attention should also
be paid to keeping the exact distance between the lines _a b_, _a
f_, and _c d_, and _c e_. The pupil must not imagine that all these
modifications of lines are worthless; a little patience and reflection
will suffice to show him that they are, in truth, part of the
groundwork, without which he can never hope to rear the superstructure
of perfect drawing. We now proceed to a little more interesting labor,
where simple figures are to be drawn; these, however, being neither
more nor less than the lines already given variously disposed. Draw
the lines _a c_, _b c_, Fig. 6, meeting in the point _c_; these form
a certain angle; care should be taken to draw the lines as in the
copy. Next draw the horizontal line _a b_, Fig. 7, and a figure is
formed which the pupil will at once recognize. Draw the horizontal
line _a b_, Fig. 8; perpendicular to it, from the ends _a b_, draw the
lines _a c_, _b d_, taking care that they are of the same length as
_a b_; draw the line _c d_, a square is at once formed. As it is an
essential feature in this form that all the sides are equal, if the
pupil, after drawing it, perceives any inequality therein, he should
rub it out and proceed to another attempt. Some little practice should
be given to the delineation of squares, angles, &c. If a parallelogram
or oblong--vulgarly called an oblong square--is wished to be drawn, it
may be done by making two opposite lines shorter than the others; the
line _e_ denotes the fourth outline of an oblong, of which the side
is _a b_. If two oblongs be drawn, care being taken to have the inner
lines the same distance within the outer ones all round, by adding
a narrow line outside these, as in Fig. 9, the representation of a
picture-frame is obtained; the diagonal lines at the corners, as at _a_
and _b_, being put in to represent the joinings at the corners of the
frame, the "mitre" joints, as they are termed. By first drawing the
simple outlines, as in Fig. 10, the foundation of a door is obtained by
filling in the extra lines, as in the figure.

[Illustration: Fig. 6.]

[Illustration: Fig. 7.]

[Illustration: Fig. 8.]

[Illustration: Fig. 9.]

[Illustration: Fig. 10.]



    Oh, lay her to rest where the myrtle can grow,
      Among the green grass that shall over her wave,
    That not only in summer, but in winter's cold snow,
      'Twill be green as the love that encircles her grave
    Her heart was a treasure of trust to a friend,
      A mirror reflecting warm sympathy's glow;
    It was patient to anger, and feared to offend,
      And suffered in silence what no one can know.

    Oh, lay her to rest! let no monument tell
      That she dwells with the perfect, the good, and the just,
    Nor let flattery's homage emblazon her cell,
      But bear her in silence and tears to the dust.
    Oh, lay her to rest! of earth hath she known
      Sufficient of sorrow, sufficient of pain;
    She pined for the world where her spirit hath flown,
      Though she wept for the love that recalls her in vain.




    "To me, what 's greatness when content is wanting?
    Or wealth, raked up together with much care,
    To be kept with more, when the heart pines,
    In being dispossessed of what it longs for
    Beyond the Indian mines?"


Arthur Lloyd was about twenty-two when, by his father's death, he came
into possession of property worth, at least, a million. His father died
somewhat suddenly, and the young man, who was then in Paris, partly on
business for his father, partly to see the world, was summoned home
by the cares which such an inheritance naturally involved. There are
few scenes that more deeply try the spirit of a man than a return to a
desolate home. The mind can support the separations which the common
current of human affairs renders inevitable without much suffering.
One may even dwell in the midst of strangers, and not feel lonely, if
the heart has a resting-place elsewhere. But when we open the solitary
apartments, where everything we see calls up associations of dear
friends we can hope to meet no more forever, a blight falls on our
path of life, and we know that whatever of happiness may await us, our
enjoyments can never be as in days past.

It was late on Saturday night when Arthur Lloyd reached the elegant
mansion in ---- street, New York, of which he was now the sole
proprietor. The domestics had been expecting his arrival, and every
arrangement had been made, as far as they knew his wishes and tastes,
to gratify him. Wealth will command attention, but in this case there
was more devotion to the man than his money; for Arthur was beloved,
and affection needs no prompter.

"How sorry I am that this pretty _mignonette_ is not in blossom!" said
Mrs. Ruth, the housekeeper; "you remember, Lydia, how young Mr. Lloyd
liked the _mignonette_."

"Yes, I remember it well; but I always thought it was because Miss
Ellen called it her flower, and he wanted to please the pretty little

"That might make some difference, Lydia, for he has such a kind heart.
And now I think of it, I wonder if Miss Ellen knows he is expected home
so soon."

"She does," said Lydia, "for I told her yesterday, but she didn't seem
to care. And I do not think she likes him."

"She is melancholy, poor child! and who can blame her when she has lost
her best friend?"

"Why, Mrs. Ruth, cannot young Mr. Lloyd be as good a friend as his
father? I am sure he will be as kind."

"Yes, no doubt of that. But, Lydia, it will not do for a young man to
be so kind to a pretty girl; Miss Ellen is now quite a young lady; the
world would talk about it."

"I wonder who would dare to speak a word against Mr. Arthur?" said
Lydia, reddening with indignation.

When a man's household are his friends, he hardly need care for the
frowns of the world; and even the gloom of sorrow was relieved as
Arthur shook hands with the old and favored domestics, whose familiar
faces glowed with that honest, hearty welcome which no parasite can
counterfeit. But when he retired to his chamber, the silence and
solitude brought the memory of his lost friends sadly and deeply on his
mind. He felt alone in the world. What did it avail that he had wealth
to purchase all which earth calls pleasures, when the disposition to
enjoy them could not be purchased? The brevity of life seemed written
on every object around. All these things had belonged to his parents.
And now they had no part in all that was done beneath the sun.

"And yet," thought Arthur, "who knows that their interest in earthly
things is annihilated by death? Why may not a good man receive much of
his heavenly felicity from witnessing the growth of the good seed he
has planted in living hearts? Why may he not be gladdened, even when
singing the song of his own redemption, by seeing that the plans he
had devised for the improvement of his fellow-beings are in progress,
carried forward by agents whom God has raised up to do their share of
the labor in fitting this world for the reign of the just? If--if my
good parents are ever permitted to look down upon the son they have
trained so carefully, God grant they may find he has not departed from
the way their precepts and example have alike made plain before him."

There is no opiate, excepting a good conscience, like a good
resolution. And Arthur slept soundly that night, and passed the Sabbath
in the tranquillity which a spirit resigned to the will of heaven, and
yet resolved to do all that earth demands of a rational being, cannot
but enjoy. But one thought would intrude to harass him. His father's
death had occurred while Arthur was far away. He had not heard the
parting counsel, the dying benediction. Perhaps his father had, in
his last moments, thought of some important suggestion or warning for
his son, but there was no ear tuned by affection to vibrate at the
trembling sound, and catch and interpret the whispered and broken
sentence, and so the pale lips were mute.

With such impressions on his mind, Arthur was prepared to read eagerly
a letter, directed to himself, which he found deposited in his father's
desk, purposely, as it appeared, to meet the notice of his son,
before beginning the inspection of those papers business would render
necessary. I shall give the entire letter, because the character of the
father must be understood in order to comprehend the influences which
had modelled that of the son.

It is on the very rich and the very poor that domestic example and
instruction operate with the most sure and abiding effect. We find the
children of parents in the middling class, removed from the temptation
of arrogance on the one hand, and despair on the other, are those who
admire and endeavor to imitate the models of goodness and greatness
history furnishes, or the world presents. Such may become what is
termed self-educated; but this process the very rich think unnecessary,
and the very poor impossible. Therefore, when the early training of
these two classes has inclined them to evil, they rarely recover
themselves from the contamination. But the letter; it ran thus:--

     MY DEAR AND ONLY SON: I informed you in my last letter that my
     health was declining. I felt even then, though I did not express
     it, that I should never see you again in this world; still I did
     not anticipate the rapid progress which my disease has since made.
     However, I have much cause for thankfulness. I endure little pain,
     and my mind was never more calm and collected. I have resolved,
     therefore, to arrange some of my thoughts and reflections for your
     perusal, knowing that you will prize them as the last expression
     of your father's love.

     I have often endeavored, in my hours of health, to bring the final
     scene of departure from this world vividly before my mind. I have
     thought I had succeeded. But the near approach to the borders of
     eternity wonderfully alters the appearance of all earthly things.
     I often find myself saying, "What shadows we are, and shadows we

     Shadows indeed! But it would not be well that the veil should
     be removed from the eyes of those whose journey of life is,
     apparently, long before them. The duties which prepare us for
     heaven must be done on earth. It is this moral responsibility
     which makes the importance of every action we perform. Considered
     in this light, the example of every rational being is invested
     with a mighty power for good or evil; and that good is productive
     of happiness, and evil of misery, we need not the award of the
     last judgment to convince us. The history of the world, our
     observation, our conscience, and our reason, all prove that to
     deal justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly before God is the
     perfection of man's felicity. The great error lies in mistaking
     our true interest. We separate earth from heaven by an impassable
     gulf, and in our labors for the body think the spirit's work has
     no connection. This false philosophy makes us selfish while we
     are young, and superstitious when we are old, and of consequence
     unhappy through life. But these things may be remedied. If the
     wise man spoke truth, there is a _way in which we should go_, and
     we may be so _trained_ as to walk in it when we are _young_, and
     prefer it when _we_ are _old_.

     It has, my son, since you were given me, been the great aim of my
     life to educate you in such habits and principles as I believe
     will insure your present and final felicity. When I speak of what
     I have done, it is with a humble acknowledgment of the mercy and
     goodness of God who has supported and blessed me; and I would
     impress it on your heart that Heaven's blessing will descend on
     every one who seeks it with patience and with prayer. But I did
     not always have these views. I was not educated as you have been,
     and it is for the purpose of explaining to you the motives which
     have governed my conduct towards you that I shall enter into a
     recital of some incidents, which you may know as facts, but of
     their consequences you are not aware.

     My father, as you have often heard, left a handsome fortune to
     each of his ten children; but as he acquired his property late
     in life by lucky speculations, we were none of us subjected to
     the temptations of luxury in our childhood. We were all educated
     to be industrious and prudent, and an uncommon share of these
     virtues had, as the eldest, been inculcated on me. So that when,
     in addition to my well-won thrift, the share I received from my
     father's estate made me a rich man, I felt no disposition to enjoy
     it in any other mode than to increase it. I did not mean to drudge
     always in the service of mammon; but I thought I must wait till I
     was somewhat advanced, before I could retire and live honorably
     without exertion; but, in the mean time, I would heap pleasures on
     my family.

     Your mother was a lovely, amiable woman, whom I had married
     from affection, and raised to affluence; and she thought, out
     of gratitude to me, she must be happy as I chose. The only
     path of felicity before us seemed that of fashion; and so we
     plunged into all the gayeties of our gay city. And for eight
     or ten years we lived a life of constant bustle, excitement,
     show, and apparent mirth. Yet, Arthur, I declare to you I was
     never satisfied with myself, never contented during the whole
     time. I do not say I was wretched--that would be too strong an
     expression--but I was restless. The excitements of pleasure
     stimulate; they never satisfy. And then there was a constant
     succession of disagreements, rivalries, and slanders, arising from
     trifling things; but those whose great business it was to regulate
     fashionable society contrived to make great matters out of these
     molehills. Your mother was a sweet-tempered woman, forbearing and
     forgiving, as a true woman should be; but, nevertheless, she used
     sometimes to be involved in these bickerings, and then what scenes
     of accusation and explanation must be endured before the matter
     could be finally settled, and harmony restored! and what precious
     time was wasted on questions of etiquette which, after all, made
     no individual better, wiser, or happier.

     We lived thus nearly ten years, and might have dreamed away our
     lives in this round of trifling, had not Heaven awakened us by a
     stroke, severe indeed, but I trust salutary. We had, as you know,
     Arthur, three children, a son and two daughters. Fashion had never
     absorbed our souls so as to overpower natural affection. We did
     love our children most dearly, and every advantage money could
     purchase had been lavished upon them. They were fair flowers, but,
     owing to the delicacy of their rearing, very frail. One after
     the other sickened; the croup was fatal to our little Mary; the
     measles and the scarlet fever destroyed the others. In six months
     they were all at peace.

     Never, never can the feeling of desolation I then experienced be
     effaced from my heart. A house of mourning had no attraction for
     our fashionable friends. They pitied, but deserted us; the thought
     of our wealth only made us more miserable; the splendor which
     surrounded, seemed to mock us.

     "For what purpose," I frequently asked myself, "for what purpose
     had been all my labor? I might heap up, but a stranger would
     inherit." My wife was more tranquil, but then her disposition
     was to be resigned. Still she yielded, I saw, to the gloom of
     grief, and I feared the consequences. But her mind was differently
     employed from what I had expected.

     She asked me one day if there was no method in which I could
     employ my wealth to benefit others.

     I inquired what she meant.

     "I am weary," said she, "of this pomp of wealth. It is
     nothingness; or worse, it is a snare. I feel that our children
     have been taken from the temptations of the world, which we were
     drawing around them. There is surely, my husband, some object more
     worthy the time and hearts of Christians than this pursuit of

     These observations may seem only the commonplace remarks of a
     saddened spirit; but to me they were words fitly spoken. They
     opened a communion of sentiment between us, such as we had never
     before enjoyed. I had often felt the vanity of our fashionable
     life, but thought my wife was happier for the display, and that it
     would be cruel for me to deprive her of amusements I could so well
     afford, and which she so gracefully adorned. And I did not see
     what better use to make of my riches. But the spell of the world
     was broken when we began to reason together of its folly, and
     strengthen each other to resist its enticements.

     Man is _sovereign_ of the world; but a virtuous woman is the crown
     of her husband; and this proverb was doubtless intended to teach
     us that the highest excellences of the human character, in either
     sex, are attainable only by the aid of each other.

     I could fill a volume with our conversations on these subjects;
     but the result is the most important; we resolved to make the aim
     of doing good the governing principle of our lives and conduct.

     And these resolutions, by the blessing of God, we were enabled,
     in a measure, to fulfil. Our fashionable friends ascribed the
     alteration in our habits and manners to melancholy for the loss
     of our children; but it was a course entered on with the firm
     conviction of its superior advantages both of improvement and
     happiness. We realized more than we anticipated. There is a
     delight in the exertion of our benevolent faculties which seems
     nearly allied to the joy of the angles in heaven--for these are
     ministering spirits. And this felicity the rich may command.

     In a few years after we had entered on our new mode of life, you,
     my son, were bestowed to crown our blessings. We felt that the
     precious trust was a trial of our faith. To have an heir to our
     fortune was a temptation to selfishness; to have an heir to our
     name was a cord to draw us again into the vortex of the world.
     But we did not look back. We resolved to train you to enjoy
     active habits and benevolent pleasures. It was for this purpose
     I used to take you, when a little child, with me to visit the
     poor, permitting you to give the money you had earned of me by
     feats of strength or dexterity to those you thought needed it.
     And when you grew larger you recollect, probably, how steadily
     you would work in the shop, with your little tools, finishing
     tiny boxes, &c., that your mother or I paid you for at stated
     prices, which money you appropriated to the support of the poor
     families in ---- Street. By these means we gave you a motive for
     exertions which improved your health and made you happy, and we
     gave you, also, an opportunity of taking thought for others,
     and enjoying the pleasure of relieving the destitute. The love
     for our fellow-beings, like all other feelings, must be formed
     by the wish, and improved by the habit of doing them good. We
     never paid you for mental efforts or moral virtues, because we
     thought these should find their reward in the pleasure improvement
     communicated to your own heart and mind, aided by our caresses and
     commendations which testified the pleasure your conduct gave us.

     Thus you see, my son, that in all the restrictions we imposed, and
     indulgences we permitted, it was our grand object to make you a
     good, intelligent, useful, and happy man. We endeavored to make
     wisdom's ways those of pleasantness to you; and I feel confident
     that the course your parents have marked will be followed by you
     so far as your conscience and reason shall approve.

     You will find yourself what the world calls rich. To human
     calculation, had I rigidly sought my own interest in all my
     business, I should have left you a much larger fortune. But who
     knows that the blessing which has crowned all my enterprises would
     not have been withdrawn had such selfish policy governed me? I
     thank my Saviour that I was inspired with a wish to serve my
     fellow-men. And my greatest regret now arises from the reflection
     that with such means I have done so little good. Endeavor, my son,
     to exceed your father in righteousness. The earth is the Lord's;
     consider yourself only as the steward over the portion he has
     assigned you. Enter into business, not to add to your stores of
     wealth, but as the best means of making that wealth useful to the
     cause of human improvement. And let the honorable acquisition and
     the generous distribution go on together. The man, whose heart
     of marble must be smitten by the rod of death before a stream of
     charity can gush forth, deserves little respect from the living.
     _To give what we can no longer enjoy_ is not charity; that
     heavenly virtue is only practised by those who _enjoy what they

     I do not undervalue charitable bequests. These may be of great
     public utility; and, when they harmonize with the example of the
     testators, they deserve grateful acknowledgment and everlasting
     remembrance. But I cannot commend as a model the character of a
     man who has been exclusively devoted all his life to amassing
     property, because he acquires the means of leaving a large
     charitable donation at his decease. This seems to be making virtue
     a penance rather than a pleasure.

     I wish you, my son, to frame for yourself a system of conduct,
     founded on the rational as well as religious principle of doing to
     others as you would they should do to you; and then your life as
     well as death will be a public blessing. Another great advantage
     will be, you can hold on your consistent, Christian course to
     the end. You need never retire from business in order to enjoy
     yourself. But I must shorten what I would wish to say were my own
     strength greater, or my confidence in your character less firm.
     There is one other subject to which I must refer.

     Your dear mother, as you well know, adopted Ellen Gray, and
     intended to educate the girl in every respect like a child. After
     your mother's death, I placed the child under the care of Mrs. C.,
     where she has ever since remained. You know but little of Ellen,
     for you entered college soon after she came to our house, and have
     been mostly absent since; but when you return it will be necessary
     you should, as her guardian and the only friend she has a claim
     upon, become acquainted with her. She is now at the winning age of
     seventeen, and very lovely in person and disposition; one that I
     should be proud to call _my daughter_.

     Her mother was the dear friend of your mother, and that
     circumstance, which first induced us to take the orphan, joined
     with her own sweetness and affectionate gratitude, has deeply
     endeared her to me. And now, when I am gone, she will feel her
     loneliness, for she has no blood relation in the world. You,
     Arthur, will have a delicate part to act as the son of her
     benefactor, and the person whom in the singleness and simplicity
     of her pure heart she will think she has a right to confide in,
     to preserve that just measure of kindness and dignity which will
     satisfy her you are her friend, and make the world understand you
     intend never to be more. I have secured her an independence, and
     provided that she shall remain, for the present, with Mrs. C. May
     the Father of the orphan guard her and bless her! She loved your
     mother, Arthur, and for that you must be to her a brother.

     And now, my son, farewell! I feel my hour has nearly come; and I
     am ready and willing to depart. My last days have been, by the
     blessing of the Almighty, made my best. I have _lived_ to the
     last, and been able to accomplish most of the plans which lay
     nearest my heart. Do not grieve that I am at rest; but arouse all
     your energies for the work that is before you. In a country and
     age distinguished by such mighty privileges, it requires warm
     hearts, and strong minds, and liberal hands, to devise, and dare,
     and do. May God preserve, strengthen, and bless you!

    Your affectionate father,
    J. LLOYD.

I am glad, thought Arthur, as he wiped away his tears, after reading
the letter for the third time in the course of the day--I am glad my
father has left me perfectly free respecting Ellen. Had he expressed a
wish that I should marry her, it would have been to me sacred as the
laws of the Medes and Persians. Yet I might have felt it a fetter on
my free will; and so capricious is fancy, I should not, probably, have
loved the girl as I now hope to love her, that is, if she will love
me--as a brother.


    "Count that day lost whose low descending sun
    Views from thy hand no worthy action done."

"It seems strange our children should be so perverse; we have always
given them good counsel," said a lady, whose darling son had just been
sent to sea as the last scheme parental anxiety could devise for his

Good counsel is a very good thing, doubtless; but, to make it
effectual, we must convince our children that goodness is pleasure. I
once saw a lady punishing her little son for playing on the Sabbath.
The boy sat sobbing and sulky, and his mother, whose heart melted at
his tears, while her sense of duty forbade her to indulge him, turned
to me and said--

"The Sabbath is a most trying day; I can keep it myself, though it is
dull; but my children have nothing to occupy their minds, and they will
be in mischief. I am always glad when the Sabbath is over."

The children looked up, very pleasantly, at this, and probably thought
their mother hated the Sabbath as truly as they did; and they might
reason it would be a pleasure to her if there were no Sabbaths.

The elder Mr. Lloyd managed things better. He maintained that children
were inclined to good or tempted to evil by the influences of their
education; that the fear of losing a pleasure operated more forcibly
on their hearts than the fear of incurring a punishment; and,
consequently, that we must make the way in which we would have them go
seem so pleasant by our own gladness while treading it, that they may
be inclined to follow us from choice.

"It is a poor compliment to virtue, if her votaries must be always
sad," he would say; "and the _peace and good-will_ which the Gospel was
given expressly to diffuse over the earth should not make men gloomy
and children miserable."

What he commended he practised. In forming the character of Arthur,
he was careful to make him distinguish between the happiness which in
his own heart he enjoyed, and that which others might flatter him with

"The reason why so many are blind to their best interests," Mr. Lloyd
would say, "is because they will trust to their neighbors' eyes
rather than their own. I intend Arthur shall see for himself. Had
Bonaparte done what his own heart approved, he would have preserved
freedom and the republic; but he wanted the world should flatter him,
that posterity should honor him, and so he violated his integrity of
purpose, and grasped a crown that proved but a shadow."

It would be very gratifying to me to describe particularly the manner
of Arthur Lloyd's domestic education, the means which were employed to
draw forth his powers, ascertain his peculiar talents, and exercise and
direct these as they were developed. But it is now my purpose rather
to display effects than trace causes. Yet one thing must be noted; his
father's great aim, after religious training, was to cultivate the
reason and judgment of his son. Mathematics and natural philosophy had
been made to occupy a prominent place in his studies.

"The pleasures these pursuits confer," Mr. Lloyd would wisely remark,
"cannot be enjoyed without self-exertion. Any man who has money may
obtain the reputation of taste by the mere purchasing of works of
art, while his own mind is as inert as the canvas or statue on which
he gazes with so much seeming admiration. But he who would gain credit
for understanding mathematical sciences or natural philosophy, must
deserve it by patient toil and persevering industry. Now, this thirst
for knowledge, which must be won by personal exertion, is the talisman
which will effectually secure the rich man from the torment of ennui;
and, if with this knowledge be united the disposition to make his
talents and means of doing good serviceable to the world, his own
happiness is secure as that derived from earthly objects can be."

So thought the father, and so he trained his son to think.

"I did not expect to find you thus deeply at work," said George Willet,
a classmate, who had called on Arthur shortly after he was settled in
his home. "Why, the arrangement of all these minerals and shells and
insects must be an endless task. If I had as much money as you, I would
purchase my cabinets ready furnished."

"So would I, if all I wanted was to exhibit them," replied Arthur,

"And what more important purpose do you intend these shall serve?"

"I intend they shall contribute to my own gratification and
improvement," said Arthur. "There is hardly a specimen here but has its
history, which awakens some pleasant association of heart, memory, or
mind. Some were presented by men I honor, and some by friends I love.
This curious shell was the gift of a lady on my last birthday; and the
benignant wishes that accompanied it made me, I trust, a better man;
or, at least, they inspired me with new resolutions to deserve her
commendations. These petrifactions and fossils are a memento of many
delightful hours I have spent with some of the noble French naturalists
and philosophers. That _beetle_, I could tell you a long story about
it, the time I spent in watching its habits, the pains I took to assure
myself it was a nondescript, and the pleasure I enjoyed when the great
Cuvier complimented me for my patience and research--but I fear you
would think this all nonsense."

"It is not what I should go to Paris to learn," returned the other.
"But then I must think of my profession; a physician is the slave of
the public. You can use your time as you please, and are not compelled
to coin it into money in order to live."

"No; but I have had as hard a lesson perhaps. I have had to learn that
money will not buy happiness, and that he who is not compelled to
labor for food must labor for an appetite, which, in the end, amounts
to about the same thing."

"You were always stoically inclined, Arthur; but a young man with
a million at command will find it rather difficult to act the
philosopher. The world has a powerful current, and fashion a sweeping

"They will not move me from my course, George: that is fixed, and, with
Heaven's blessing, I will hold on my way. My father's example is my
chart, and the Christian rule my compass."

"You think so now---well, we shall see. Your father was a good man and
a happy one, and that is much in your favor. Had you witnessed, as I
have done, the weary, monotonous, heartless, wretched life many who
call themselves _good_ undergo, and, what is worse, inflict on others,
you would not have much inclination for goodness."

"Your remarks, George, are just. I have known young men plunge into
dissipation avowedly to shake off the restraints of morality which
had been imposed in a manner so galling. And I have known others hold
business in abhorrence only because the selfish, slavish life their
fathers had led made application seem a drudgery. I trust I have more
rational views--thanks to my good parents!"

       *       *       *       *       *

No man should say he will be always wise. Who would guess that Arthur,
so calm, rational, and discriminating, would have fallen in love with a
coquette? But this he did, notwithstanding the _penchant_ he intended
to cultivate for the pretty Ellen Gray. My lady readers probably
thought she was predestined to be his wife, and I should have been glad
to describe the tender and tranquil loves of two beings who seemed so
congenial. But authors cannot control fate.

Arthur Lloyd was, to be sure, deeply interested with Ellen's meek and
innocent beauty, and he was touched to the heart by the unaffected
sorrow which any allusion to his parents would excite in her manner,
even when she controlled the expression of her grief, which she could
not always. And he often thought nothing could be more lovely than
her fair face, rather pale perhaps; but then the predominance of the
lily seemed to be the effect of purity of mind, not languor of body,
when contrasted with the deep mourning habiliments which he knew were
in truth the outward token of that sadness of spirit which she was
cherishing for the loss of those who had also been the dearest to him.
Could they choose but sympathize? If they did, it was very secretly and

It might be that this necessity for communion was the very cause
which prevented Arthur from feeling other than a brother's affection
for the sweet girl whose interests he was deputed to defend; and, on
her part, there hardly seemed a sister's confidence yielded to her
young guardian. A guardian! Who ever read of a lady falling in love
with her guardian? The impossibility of the circumstance seemed fully
understood and acted upon by the belles of New York, who were sedulous
to attract the attention of such a fine man as Arthur Lloyd. But he
was not disposed to mingle much in society; and, during the year which
succeeded his father's death, he was almost wholly engrossed with his
business and various plans for promoting public education and elevating
the character of our national literature. This was the favorite object
to which he resolved to devote his energies and his resources. He was
persuaded that a republican people must derive their chief happiness
and their highest honors from intellectual pursuits, if they intend
their institutions shall be permanent. The glories of conquest and
the luxuries of wealth alike tend to make the few masters and the
many slaves; but, if the mild light of science and literature be the
guide of a people, all will move onward together, for the impulse of
knowledge has an attractive force that elevates, proportionally, every
mind over which its influence can be extended.

Such were Arthur Lloyd's sentiments; and it would have been strange
if he had not felt a deep respect for the character of the Puritans,
and a wish to cultivate an acquaintance with New England people, who,
whatever be their faults, have rarely sinned through ignorance.

So Arthur visited Boston during the summer of 18--, and received from
the _élèves_ of society all that courtesy and hospitality which a rich
stranger is sure to elicit. He could hardly be termed a stranger,
however, for his father had many commercial friends in Boston, and they
cordially transferred their favor to the son. Everything was calculated
to make Arthur think highly of the people; the tone of intelligent and
liberal feeling appeared the result of the liberality which had laid
the foundation of popular instruction, and young Lloyd became every day
more satisfied of the truth of his favorite theory, namely, educate all
the children and you will reform all the world. A man is never more
self-satisfied than when he is confirming a favorite theory.

Among the multitude of friends and flatterers that surrounded Arthur,
none charmed him so completely as the Hon. Mr. Markley and family. The
gentleman was himself very eloquent, his lady very elegant, and their
daughters exceedingly fascinating. They all exerted their talents to
please Arthur; it was no more than he merited, a stranger and a guest,
and so handsome and intelligent and agreeable! Who thought he was worth
a million? Not the Markleys; for they were never heard to speak of a
selfish sentiment except to condemn it. Arthur thought he never met
with a more disinterested family.

Arabella Markley was a most captivating creature, and she soon
contrived to make Arthur sensible of it; and he found, to his
mortification, that he had not so fully and firmly the mastery of his
own mind as he had flattered himself with possessing. Love exhibits
much the same symptoms in the wise as the weak; and Arthur, when beside
Arabella, forgot there was for him any higher object in this world
than to please a woman. But sometimes in the solitude of his chamber
other thoughts would arise; he could not but see that the Markleys were
devoted to fashion and gayety, though Arabella had assured him she
did not enjoy the bustle, but that excitement was necessary for her
father's spirits and health.

If she makes this sacrifice for her father, thought Arthur, how gladly
will she conform to my quiet domestic plan! Still there was something
in the expression of her face, and more in her manner, which denoted
a fondness for show and variety; and whenever Arthur wrote to Ellen
Gray, which he often did, as he had promised to give her the history
of his tour, the contrast between her beauty and that of Arabella
always came over his mind. He described Arabella in one of his letters
to Ellen, and concluded with observing: "If she had a little more of
your tenderness and placidity in the expression of her eyes, she would
be a perfect model of female loveliness; but that would make her too
angelic, the arch vivacity of her glance assures her to be human, and
susceptible of human sympathies."

Ellen Gray read that passage over and over; but she never answered the
letter, for Arthur returned to New York before she could arrange her
thoughts for a reply.

Arthur left Boston without any explanation, as they say, though he
had been several times on the point of making the love speech. It
seemed as if some spell were restraining him, for Arabella had given
him opportunities of seeing her alone, and Mr. and Mrs. Markley had
evidently sought to draw him to their parties. Perhaps this solicitude
had been one means of deferring the proposals. Lloyd found himself
so agreeably entertained, he could hardly wish to be happier. Like
the Frenchman who would not marry the lady he admired and visited
constantly, because he should have no place to pass his evenings,
Arthur Lloyd might have been fearful that _certainty_ would have made
his visits, which were hailed as favors, appear only events of course.
Young gentlemen have thus reasoned.

Arabella was sadly disappointed, for she had really acted her part
most admirably, and she expected to succeed. She knew the power of
her charms, and, fond of flattery as she was, had resolved such
unsubstantial coin should never gain her hand. A coquette by nature and
habit, she had managed to draw many distinguished beaux in her train,
but none, till Arthur had appeared, had been rich enough to satisfy her
ambition. However, he had agreed to correspond, and she knew well how
to draw an inference or frame a remark which would render it necessary
for him to explain.

So they parted, both persuaded in their own hearts that they should
soon meet, though he did not feel that the choice was one his parents
would entirely have approved. But her letters might prove her
excellence; he knew the fashionable scenes in which he had chiefly
beheld her were not calculated to display the amiable traits of
character in a woman. There were several circumstances which occurred
to Arthur, as he journeyed homeward, that determined him to be guarded
in his letters, at least for a season. And he determined also to
consult Ellen Gray on the subject; he considered her as having a
sister's right to his confidence. But Ellen was very ill, he found, and
any allusion to the fair lady he had seen in Boston seemed difficult
to introduce to one who looked so sad and serious. Nevertheless, he
ventured to name the subject once, and Ellen listened calmly to all his
praises of Arabella; and to his reiterated request that his _sister_,
as he called Ellen, should give him her opinion.

She advised him to marry the lady if he loved her, and felt assured
she loved him. The last remark was spoken in a low tone, and Mrs.
C., the preceptress, entering at that moment, thought Ellen was too
much fatigued for further conversation. And so it proved, for she was
seriously ill for several days after, and it was weeks before she was
able to see Arthur again.

In the mean time, the correspondence between Mr. Lloyd and Miss
Markley commenced with spirit; on his part, rather intended to
fathom her principles and taste than her affections; and on hers,
under an appearance of careless vivacity, to ascertain his real
intentions respecting her. There is nothing like a little jealousy
for expediting love matters, many ladies believe; and Arabella held
the creed fully, as her third letter proved. It was filled with the
description and praises of an emigrant Frenchman, Count de Verger,
who had recently arrived in Boston. His merits could be equalled only
by his misfortunes, which had been manifold as those of Ulysses. His
courage and constancy had hitherto borne him up; but, when he arrived
penniless on the shore of the New World, his mental sufferings were, as
Arabella described them, extreme. In Europe, a man was respected for
his birth and breeding, and, though he had lost his property, his rank
entitled him to consideration. But, in our republic, where men were
judged by their own merits, not by their father's title, the unlucky
Count de Verger feared that his misfortunes might be imputed as crimes.
He could endure poverty, but not contempt. He had once resolved to
conceal his rank, and even his name; but his abhorrence of falsehood
and hypocrisy enabled him to overcome this false pride, and so he was
known for a nobleman, though he modestly disclaimed all intention of
endeavoring to support his rank. If he could earn sufficient by his
talents and accomplishments to maintain himself, he felt that he should
be truly happy. Among his accomplishments was that of playing the harp
with a surprising degree of skill, when it was considered that he had
only practised for his own amusement. But he now thought it possible
he might make this knowledge of music available, if any of the fair
ladies of Boston should feel disposed to take lessons on the harp.
His wonderful condescension was no sooner known than there appeared
a competition among fashionable ladies who should first secure the
services of this amiable and gifted nobleman. His tuition charges were
exorbitant; but he was a foreigner, and a count; and, besides, he had
been unfortunate, and republicans must pay liberally for the graces
which can only be taught by those who have witnessed the refinements of
royal taste and the magnificence of courts.

These were the items of intelligence Arabella dilated upon with
touching pathos in her letter to Arthur Lloyd; she was in raptures
with the Count de Verger. Such an accomplished scholar! so perfect and
gentlemanly! His mind was a constellation of all brilliant qualities;
his manners the embodied essence of suavity and elegance! There were
but two objections the most fastidious critic could make to his
appearance He squinted a little; but Arabella did not dislike a slight
cast of the eye, it rather gave a fascinating effect to a handsome
countenance. The other fault was, in her opinion, a perfection. The
count wore moustaches (this was before beards were the rage), and our
smooth, Puritan-faced men of business disliked moustaches; but Arabella
was glad the ladies had more taste for the picturesque. For her part,
she should for the future make it a _sine qua non_ with all gentlemen
who aspired to her friendship to cultivate moustaches. It was needless
to say she was learning to play the harp; it might more properly be
called adoring it. She was never before so engrossed with any pursuit;
and she only wished, to complete her felicity, that Mr. Lloyd could
become acquainted with her tutor, and witness the proficiency she was

"Fudge!" said Arthur, giving audible expression to his thoughts, as he
kicked a fallen brand with the petulance of a poet, forgetting there
was poker, tongs, or servants in the world. "Fudge! wears moustaches
and squints! I'll see the fellow!"

Arthur was sensible he felt disappointed, not so much that Arabella
proved a coquette as that his estimate of the effect of education on
the female mind should be found false. He had drawn his conclusions
logically; thus: Virtuous and intelligent women are sincere and
reasonable; New England ladies are virtuous and intelligent; therefore,
they are sincere and reasonable. And yet here was one who had enjoyed
every mental and moral advantage a lady could require to perfect her
character acting the part of an artful coquette; or otherwise she was
a silly dupe, for the story of the Count de Verger Arthur credited no
more than the adventures of Baron Munchausen.

He did not write to Arabella to announce his intention of visiting
her, fearing the count might, in that case, retire for a season, and
he much wished to see him. So Arthur reached Boston and astonished his
friends, who could find no solution for the sudden movement but that he
had learned the danger there was that Miss Markley would be won by the
gallant Frenchman; and all the inquiries he made respecting the count
he had the mortification of finding were regarded as the promptings of
a jealous spirit seeking to find matter of accusation against a rival.
Many of the gentlemen whom he addressed on the subject declared their
belief that the professor of the harp was a real count, his bearing
and manner were decidedly noble, and there was a thoroughbred air in
his address which distinguished foreigners of high rank, and which our
richest and most eminent men, who were always compelled to speak of
themselves as plain citizens, and only enjoying equal privileges with
the people, never could display.

"I would give fifty thousand," said a young mercantile gentleman, whose
father had, by careful industry, amassed a large fortune, "if I could
appear with the ease and elegance of the Count de Verger. I met him the
other day at the dinner party of Mr. ----, and I assure you he was the
lion of the day. It is no wonder the ladies admire him."

"No, it is no wonder," thought Arthur, "that our ladies despise us for
not possessing the manners of slaves, while we men so undervalue and
abuse our privilege of being free. If fashion and etiquette are to
be considered the most important objects of pursuit among those who
assume the first place in our society, we shall always be inferior
to the nobles where distinctions of rank and descent of property are
so established that fashion and etiquette can have trained subjects
and established laws. We republicans must have our standard of
respectability founded on moral worth, usefulness, and intelligence,
or the discrepancy between our institutions and manners will make us
ridiculous in the eyes of other nations, and contemptible in that of
our own. But I will see this count, and, if he prove to be my old

Compressing his lips, as if to prevent the expression of a hasty
resolve, he bent his steps to the dwelling of Mr. Markley.

It was in the morning, and too early for a fashionable call; but
Arthur had learned that the Count de Verger gave lessons to Miss
Markley at half past ten; and that the young lady frequently admitted
her particular friends to congratulate her respecting the astonishing
progress she made on the harp. Mr. Lloyd was known to the servants
as a favored visitor, and found no difficulty in being admitted, and
ushered familiarly into the parlor where Arabella was practising. There
were two ladies, her intimate friends, and one gentleman present.
Neither Arabella nor the count noticed the entrance of Mr. Lloyd, and
he stood for several minutes regarding them. Arabella was playing with
enthusiasm; it was evident she was charmed with her own performance;
her noble teacher sat beside her, the music-book open in his hand, his
small keen eyes cast partly upward in admiration; but, as his oblique
glance could rest on the face of his fair pupil, it was not certain
whether her beauty or her music caused his raptures.

"Martin!" said Mr. Lloyd, in a deep, commanding tone.

The count started to his feet, every nerve agitated as though he had
received a shock from a galvanic battery.

"Jean Martin, how came you here?" continued Mr. Lloyd, sternly.

"I--I am not here--that is, you mistake--I am the Count de Verger."

Mr. Lloyd walked closely up to the impostor.

"Villain, let me hear no more of your falsehoods! Away, instantly, or
you shall answer for your crimes."

The accomplished nobleman obeyed the order promptly as it was given,
bolting from the apartment without the ceremony of a single bow. There
was blank silence for a moment; then Arabella indignantly inquired the
reason of such a proceeding in her father's house, and without her
father's knowledge.

"Pardon me, Miss Markley," said Arthur; "I am aware my conduct requires
explanation. That fellow was my valet. I hired him in Paris: shrewd,
ingenious, and attentive, he won my confidence, and for many months
I treated him more like a friend than servant. He accompanied me to
Germany, and there found means to rob me of a considerable sum of
money, besides a casket of jewelry I had in my charge, belonging to a
banker of Paris, and for which I was responsible. Martin escaped, and I
had no idea of ever meeting him again, till your eloquent description
of the Count de Verger awakened my suspicions. I came here therefore
unceremoniously, for which I again beg pardon; but trust you and your
father will not regret the impostor is detected and exposed."

"You must be mistaken, Mr. Lloyd. This gentleman is a real count; I
have seen his coat of arms, and seals, and rings."

Just then Mr. Markley entered, the whole affair was detailed, and
Mr. Lloyd produced an order, which had been granted by the Austrian
government, for the apprehension of Jean Martin for the robbery; the
paper contained a particular description of his person, and all, except
Arabella, were convinced of the identity of the _ci-devant_ valet and
the elegant Count de Verger.

"It is impossible a person so exquisitely skilled in music and every
accomplishment can be of base extraction and character," sighed

"You fancied him noble, and invested him with all rare qualities. It is
true, he has some skill in music; but he played vastly better for his
title. Should you hear him as Martin"----

The lady turned her head scornfully, taking care, at the same time, to
wreath her features in a very sweet smile--the scorn was intended for
Martin, the smile for Mr. Lloyd; and then she requested the latter to
tell her all the particulars, saying that she felt under the greatest
obligations for the care he had shown to detect an imposition which she
could never have suspected, and in which the whole town participated.

Arthur might have complied with her request; he might even have
forgiven her taking lessons of his valet and honoring him as a
nobleman, for he was aware that other ladies had been deceived by
Martin, and that his own sex had favored the impostor because he
pretended to a title; but, as she extended her hand in token of amity,
his eye caught a brilliant on her finger; he knew it was one of the
banker's jewels.

"That was the gift of Martin," said he.

"Of the Count de Verger," she stammered.

Arthur bade her good-morning.

The next day he left Boston, but not before he had learned that the
count had decamped, leaving his landlord's bill and sundry loans of
money from honorable men undischarged.

"It will teach me wisdom, I hope," said one gentleman. "I will never
again lend money to the count when I would not trust it to the man."

Arthur Lloyd was blamed by some prudent people for the abruptness of
his proceedings in the affair, as it severely wounded the feelings of
the Markleys. Arabella did not recover from this shock till after she
learned that Mr. Lloyd had wedded the pretty Ellen Gray, when she sent
him a congratulating letter, which ended their correspondence.

I wish I could describe the course Arthur Lloyd is now pursuing without
incurring the charge of personality. There are so few like him that
the picture would be instantly recognized. But I can repeat two of his
favorite maxims.

The first, "We must educate our sons to consider the title of
_Republican_ a prouder boast than the highest order of nobility that
implies subjection, and requires homage to a mortal."

Second, "We must train our daughters to respect talent in a man more
than money, and a character for usefulness more than a showy exterior;
to consider their countrymen superior to the men of every other nation;
and, above all things, never to receive the present of a ring, except
from a near relative or an accepted lover."



Babylon and Nineveh, those magnificent twins of the East, flourished
through many centuries in all the pride of power and wealth, and sank
into masses of ruin, leaving scarcely a record among the historians
of the world. It was known such cities had existed, and it was said
that, in the height of their glory, they had no peers in splendor.
But of the mighty kings who ruled them, and the manners, customs,
characteristics, and achievements of the people who dwelt within their
walls, succeeding ages knew almost nothing. Nineveh was a heap of ruins
in the days of Xenophon, twenty centuries ago. Greece and Rome grew,
ruled, flourished, and decayed. A new religion arose, and spread a
strange civilization among the nations of northern Europe, who rose to
power upon the ruins of the Roman empire. From these people, curious
travellers wandered to the banks of the Tigris and the Euphrates. Vast
mounds and fragments of sculptures met their gaze. There they were told
the mighty Babylon and the gorgeous Nineveh had reared their temples
and palaces to the sun, awing into submission the neighboring nations.
No one cared to explore these ruins, so long untouched amid the busy
march of centuries.

In 1820, Mr. Rich, the political President of the East India Company
at Bagdad, visited the mounds of Babylon and Nineveh, and found some
fragments of inscriptions, engraved stones, and pieces of pottery, of
which a description was published. These precious relics were placed in
the British Museum, and they excited much wonder and curiosity. But the
great mass of ruins still remained unseen. Nothing was ascertained in
regard to Assyrian art, and the architecture of Nineveh and Babylon was
a matter of speculation.

At length an enthusiastic and persevering individual applied himself
to the exploration of the sites of Nineveh and Babylon, and made
discoveries that shed a lustre upon the present age. They are, in fact,
the most important historical developments that have been made during
the present century. During the autumn of 1839 and the winter of 1840,
Austen Henry Layard, accompanied by a person no less enthusiastic than
himself, had been wandering through Asia Minor and Syria, scarcely
leaving untrod one spot hallowed by classical association. He then
determined to turn eastward, and, at least, tread upon the remains of
Nineveh and Babylon. Reaching Mosul in April, he had the pleasure of
seeing, upon the opposite bank of the Tigris, the great mound called
the Birs Nimroud, and other mounds, that had been generally considered
the ruins of the mighty Nineveh. The curiosity of Mr. Layard was
greatly excited, and, as he floated down the Tigris towards Bagdad,
he formed the design of exploring those lofty masses of ruin. At that
time, he had not the means to carry out his noble scheme; and it was
not until the summer of 1842 that he could again visit Mosul.

In the mean time, M. Botta, a man of energy and intelligence, had
been appointed French consul at Mosul, and, when Mr. Layard arrived,
he found that personage had already commenced excavations in the
large mound on the opposite side of the river, called by the Arabs
Konyunjik. These excavations were on a small scale. But Mr. Layard
encouraged M. Botta to proceed, and went to Constantinople to interest
some Englishmen in the work. To the persevering French consul belongs
the honor of having discovered the first Assyrian monument, an
acknowledgment of which Mr. Layard has very gracefully made in his
"Nineveh and its Remains." A building was partially excavated, upon
the walls of which were slabs of gypsum, covered with sculptured
representations of battles, sieges, and other warlike events. The
dresses of the figures, their arms, and the objects that accompanied
them were all new to M. Botta, and he could find no clue to the epoch
of the erection of the edifice. Numerous inscriptions, in the cuneiform
or arrowhead character, were cut between the bas-reliefs, and evidently
contained the explanation of the events thus recorded in sculpture.
As Mr. Layard afterwards said: "The French consul had discovered an
Assyrian edifice, the first, probably, which had been exposed to
the view of man since the fall of the Assyrian empire." M. Botta
communicated the results of his labors to the Academy at Paris; and,
being furnished with funds by the French government, he returned to the
work of excavation, which he continued until the beginning of 1845. His
researches did not extend beyond Khorsobad; and, having secured some
fine specimens of Assyrian sculpture, he returned to Europe.

The success of M. Botta increased the anxiety of Mr. Layard to
explore the ruins of Assyria. He spoke to others, but received little
encouragement. At length, in the autumn of 1845, Sir Stratford Canning,
the British minister at the Sublime Porte, mentioned his readiness to
incur, for a limited period, the expenses of excavations, in the hope
that, should success attend the researches, means would be obtained
to carry them forward on an extensive scale. Mr. Layard seized the
opportunity, with many expressions of joy and gratitude. Furnished
with the usual documents given to travellers when recommended by the
embassy, and with letters of introduction to the authorities at Mosul,
he started from Constantinople, and, after a journey of twelve days,
reached Mosul. He immediately presented his letters to Mohammed Pasha,
governor of the province, and the terror of the neighboring countries.
That official received Layard with civility; but displayed a curiosity
to know the object of his visit, which the adventurer did not, at that
time, see fit to gratify.

Having procured a few tools and weapons, and engaged a mason, Mr.
Layard, accompanied by Mr. Ross, a British merchant of Mosul, his
canvas, and a servant, floated down the Tigris to Nimroud. There he
engaged six Arabs to work under his direction. On the morning of the
9th of November, the work of excavation was commenced at the great
mound, and, in a few hours, a chamber, formed by slabs of alabaster,
which were inscribed with cuneiform characters, was exhumed. At another
part of the mound, a wall, with similar inscriptions, was discovered
upon the same day. From the appearance of the slabs, it was evident
that the building or buildings had been destroyed by fire. Some of the
slabs were reduced to lime, and they threatened to fall to pieces as
soon as exposed to the air.

The next day, Mr. Layard, more enthusiastic than ever, employed more
workmen, and had the gratification of making some new discoveries. In
the rubbish, near the bottom of the chamber first discovered, he found
several ivory ornaments, upon which were traces of gilding. Among
them was the figure of a man in long robes, carrying in one hand the
Egyptian crux ansata, part of a crouching sphinx, and flowers designed
with great taste and elegance. The Arabs were at a loss to conjecture
the real object of Mr. Layard's search. On seeing the gilding, one of
them took him quietly aside, and, with a knowing wink, said it had been
ascertained that he was searching for gold. Mr. Layard immediately
presented him and his comrades with all the treasure they might find.
The excavations were continued until the 13th, still uncovering
chambers and passages, but finding no sculptures. Mr. Layard then
deemed it expedient to go to Mosul, and satisfy the curiosity of the
Pasha in regard to the object of the researches.

The authorities threw many obstacles in the way of Mr. Layard. At
first, they suspected him of seeking the precious metals. When he had
convinced them that their suspicions were totally unfounded, they
afterwards strove to stop his work by placing false gravestones upon
the mound, and declaring that no excavations could be made near the
graves of Mohammedans. But the prudence and perseverance of Mr. Layard
surmounted all difficulties, and the developments proceeded, all things
considered, with remarkable rapidity.

Returning to Nimroud on the 19th of November, our explorer increased
the number of his workmen to thirty. On the 28th of November, the first
sculptured bas-reliefs were discovered. On one of the slabs was a
battle-scene. Two chariots, drawn by horses richly caparisoned, were,
each occupied by a group of three warriors; the principal person in
both groups was beardless, and evidently a eunuch. He was clothed in
a complete suit of mail, and wore a pointed helmet on his head, from
the sides of which fell lappets covering the ears, the lower part
of the face, and the neck. The left hand, the arm being extended,
grasped a bow at full stretch; whilst the right, drawing the string
to the ear, held an arrow ready to be discharged. A second warrior
urged with reins and whip, to the utmost of their speed, three horses,
who were galloping over the plain. A third, without helmet, and with
flowing hair and beard, held a shield for the defence of the principal
figure. Under the horses' feet, and scattered about the relief, were
the conquered, wounded by the arrows of the conquerors. Mr. Layard
observed with surprise the richness of the ornaments, and the faithful
and delicate delineation of the limbs and muscles, both in the men and
horses. Unfortunately, this slab had been so much injured by fire that
its removal was hopeless. From its position, it seemed to have been
brought from another building, and this rendered any conjecture as to
the origin of the edifice still more difficult. Upon the same slab
and its companion were found representations of a regular siege, with
various attendant incidents. The figures displayed a thorough knowledge
of art.

In the midst of difficulties with the authorities, Mr. Layard continued
his excavations. Many new and remarkable sculptures were discovered.
Among them were gigantic winged bulls, winged lions, a small crouching
lion, and a human figure nine feet in height, the right hand elevated,
and carrying in the left a branch with three flowers, resembling the
poppy. These were only partially uncovered, to prevent them from being
destroyed by the action of the air. Mr. Layard was satisfied for the
time. There was no longer any doubt of the existence of sculptures,
inscriptions, and even vast edifices in the interior of the mound
of Nimroud. The triumphant explorer lost no time in communicating
the results of his labors to Sir Stratford Canning, and urging the
necessity of a firman, or order from the Porte, which would prevent any
future interference on the part of the authorities or the inhabitants
of the country. Soon afterwards, Mr. Layard covered up the sculptures
he had brought to light, and withdrew altogether from Nimroud; but
left agents near the great mound. He did not return until the 17th of
January, 1846. In the mean time, the agents had explored the mounds of
Barshiekha and Karamles, and proved the Assyrian origin of the ruins by
showing the name of the Khorsobad king inscribed upon the bricks.

Among the sculptures discovered soon after Mr. Layard's return to the
scene of the excavations, was one of a singular form. A human body,
clothed in long ornamented robes, was surmounted by the head of an
eagle. The curved beak, of considerable length, was half open, and
displayed a narrow-pointed tongue, which was still covered with red
paint. On the shoulders fell the usual curled and bushy hair of the
Assyrian images, and a comb of feathers rose on the top of the head.
Two wings sprang from the back. In one hand was a fir cone, and in the
other a square vessel, ornamented with small figures.

On the morning following the discovery of the above figure, the
Arabs came running to Mr. Layard with the intelligence that they had
discovered Nimroud himself. Hastening to the trench, he found an
enormous human head, sculptured in full out of the alabaster of the
country. The intelligent explorer conjectured at once that the head
belonged to a winged lion or bull, similar to those of Khorsobad and
Persepolis. The expression of the features was calm and majestic.
The cap had three horns, and, unlike that of the human-headed bulls
previously found in Assyria, was rounded and without ornament at the
top. The Arabs, frightened at the sight of the head, carried the news
of its discovery to Mosul; and, the next day, Mr. Layard received an
order to stop the excavations. He at once hastened to the town, and,
acquainting the Pasha with the real nature of the discovery, obtained
permission to proceed as soon as the excitement had subsided. Thus was
the persevering explorer continually disturbed by the malicious and
superstitious interference of the Turkish authorities.

By the end of March, Mr. Layard had discovered two finely preserved
pairs of winged human-headed lions, which seemed to be so placed as to
guard the entrances to the vast palace. They had undoubtedly been the
divinities of the Assyrians. These people could find no better type of
intelligence than the head of the man; of strength than the body of the
lion; of rapidity of motion than the wings of the bird. For twenty-five
centuries these strange idols had been buried from the sight of man,
and now they were once more exposed to the light, and to the wondering
gaze of those who had no worship for such gods. Once they were regarded
with awe, now with mere curiosity.

Mr. Layard was now compelled to suspend operations until he could
receive assistance from Constantinople. In the mean time, he visited
the shieks of the neighboring tribes of Arabs. When he returned, he
found near the human-headed lions some copper mouldings, two small
ducks in baked clay, and tablets of alabaster inscribed on both sides.
The number of workmen was now reduced of necessity; but the excavations
proceeded with considerable rapidity. On some of the slabs were figures
of a king, his vizier, and attendants. The dresses of the figures
were singular. They had high boots, turned up at the toes, somewhat
resembling those still worn in Turkey and Persia. Their caps, though
conical, seemed to have been made up of folds of felt or linen. Their
tunics varied in shape. All the figures seemed to have been colored.
On one of the largest slabs were two kings facing one another, but
separated by a symbolic tree, above which was a divinity with the
wings and tail of a bird, inclosed in a circle, and holding a ring in
one hand, resembling the image so frequently occurring on the early
sculptures of Persia, and at times conjectured to be the Loroastrian
"feronher," or spirit of the person beneath. The fact of the identity
of this figure with the Persian symbol is remarkable, and gives rise
to new speculations and conjectures in regard to the religion of the
Assyrians. But, as yet, nothing definite has been ascertained.

Mr. Layard now began to prepare the sculptures he had discovered for
transport to Bombay. All unimportant parts were sawn away from them.
The winged human-headed lions could not be removed for want of means.
But a number of slabs and figures were packed in felts and matting,
screwed down in roughly-made cases, placed on rafts, and floated down
the Tigris as far as Bagdad, whence they were taken in boats to
Busrah. These sculptures formed the first collection sent to England
and deposited in the British Museum. Soon after the departure of
these treasures, Mr. Layard, whose health had suffered from continued
exposure to the intense heat of the sun, retired to Mosul to recruit.
Yet so indefatigable was his spirit that, instead of remaining quiet,
he employed his leisure in making some fruitless excavations in the
mound of Konyimjik. He returned to Nimroud in the middle of August, and
attempted to renew his labors. But his health became so bad that he was
compelled to retire to the cooler climate of the Fiyari mountains.

On returning to Mosul, Mr. Layard received letters from England,
informing him that Sir Stratford Canning had presented the Assyrian
sculptures to the British nation, and that the British Museum had
received a grant of funds for the continuation of the researches at
Nimroud and elsewhere. The grant was small; but Mr. Layard was induced
to accept the charge of superintending the excavations even with that
inadequate sum. He immediately applied himself to organizing a band of
workmen, selected from the Chaldæans of the mountains and the Arabs of
the Jebour tribe; and, at the end of October, 1846, he was again among
the ruins, with complete _material_ for extensive excavations.

Many new trenches were opened along the walls of the chambers; but
the interior of them was left unexplored, as Mr. Layard desired to
economize his means as much as possible. Upon the slabs exposed to view
were bas-reliefs, representing the wars of the king, and the conquests
of some strange people. In the battles, chariots, highly ornamented,
spears, shields, and armor appeared. In the sieges, battering-rams,
instruments like blunt spears, machines for throwing fire, and women
tearing their hair and imploring mercy from the walls were seen. Boats
towed by men, or rowed with oars, and persons supported on inflated
skins swimming rivers, in the manner to be witnessed at the present day
upon the Tigris, were finely sculptured.

Among other objects found amid the ruins, were fragments of copper
and iron armor, several entire helmets of a pointed shape, and some
vases of alabaster and glass. On exposure to the air, most of these
articles fell to pieces. A glass vase, however, was preserved. On a
brick in one of the chambers was found a genealogy, which afforded a
kind of clue to the date of the building. An obelisk, containing twenty
small bas-reliefs and a cuneiform inscription 210 lines in length, was
taken from one of the trenches. From the nature of the sculptures, Mr.
Layard conjectured that the monument was erected to commemorate the
conquest of India by the king of Khorsobad. Winged bulls, crouching
sphinxes, and winged divinities were exhumed in abundance. They had
been injured by fire, and almost crumbled at the touch. A small
sarcophagus, containing a crumbling skeleton, was found in another
part of the mound; there was no name inscribed upon the sepulchre, and
Mr. Layard could obtain no clue to its origin. A large number of these
interesting relics of the past made up a cargo, to be sent to England.

By the end of April, 1847, Mr. Layard had explored almost the whole
building which he had first touched, and which he calls the north-west
palace. He had opened twenty-eight chambers cased with alabaster
slabs. Each of the chambers had several entrances, and some of them
were extensive enough to have been halls of state. Many sculptures,
ivory ornaments, and other curious objects were taken from the various
apartments. Paintings, in which the colors blue, red, white, yellow,
and black were visible, were discovered in upper chambers. The subjects
of the paintings appeared to be generally processions, in which the
king was represented followed by his eunuchs and attendant warriors.
But the most important discovery connected with these upper chambers
was that of the slabs forming the pavement of the entrances, upon which
were the names and titles of five kings, in genealogical succession,
commencing with the father of the founder of the north-west palace, and
ending with the grandson of the builder of the centre edifice.

In the centre of the mound, Mr. Layard discovered a number of tombs,
which seemed to be the remains of a people whose funeral vases and
ornaments were identical in form and material with those found in the
catacombs of Egypt; while beneath these receptacles of the dead were
the Assyrian ruins. From this state of things, it was inferred that,
after the destruction of the Assyrian palaces, another nation had
occupied the country.

Mr. Layard was astonished to find, by the vaulted passages of the
palaces, that the principle of the arch was understood by the ancient
Assyrians. This important principle was long believed to be a
comparatively modern discovery. A pulley, resembling the one now used,
was also seen upon one of the bas-reliefs.

Transferring the scene of his excavations to the mound called Kalah
Sherghat, Mr. Layard came upon a sitting figure in basalt, which, from
the inscriptions, he inferred to be a statue of one of the Nimroud
kings. Around it were a large number of tombs, which seemed to have
been made long after the destruction of the Assyrian buildings,
and in the rubbish and earth that had accumulated above them. The
principal ruin at Kalah Sherghat, as at Nimroud, Khorsobad, and on
other ancient Assyrian sites, is a large square mound, surmounted by
a cone or pyramid. Long lines of smaller mounds, or ramparts, inclose
a quadrangle, which, from the irregularities in the surface of the
ground, and from the pottery and other rubbish scattered about, appears
originally to have been partly occupied by small houses, or buildings
of no importance. The excavations at Kalah Sherghat were soon abandoned
as laborious and unprofitable.

The removal of the larger sculptures from the ruins to Busrah was a
work of great difficulty. Mr. Layard took drawings of a number of them
that were too much injured to be conveyed to Europe. A gigantic winged
lion, and a winged bull of equal size, were safely placed on board of
an English vessel, while a considerable number of small bas-reliefs and
ornaments were sent with them to enrich the British Museum, and set the
scientific to speculating. Those sculptures which Mr. Layard had not
the means of removing were covered with earth, and thus preserved from

    (To be continued.)



    In a dreamy land Elysian,
    Charmed by many a magic vision,
      Have I lately roamed with one--
    With an angel maiden smiling,
    All my soul from night beguiling,
      By one smiling as a sun.

    In that bright Elysian region,
    Where the flowers and stars are legion,
      And its rivers crystal clear,
    And above its mountains blushing,
    Sweetest music-words are gushing
      On the charmed, bewildered ear--

    And within that wondrous Aidenn,
    I and my angel maiden
      Roamed but lately side by side;
    And the words we spoke were solely
    Murmured thoughts of passion holy--
      I and my angel bride!

    Oh, mischance most ill and evil,
    Wrought by some malignant devil,
      From that bright and radiant clime
    I have now been cast forever,
    By an Acherontic river
      Roaming through the desert Time!


MY DEAR FRIEND: Your own observations on the prevailing modes of dress
will have told you very plainly that, excepting caps and bonnets, there
is nothing either very new or very striking. The caps are, however,
unquestionably becoming, full of that fairy grace and elegance which
distinguish the workmanship of a Parisian _artiste_. I send you a
sketch of one which you will find extremely becoming. The foundation
is a caul of black net, in front of which a wreath of roses with
foliage and grass surrounds the face, the part crossing the forehead
being of leaves alone, and forming a small point, _à la_ Marie Stuart.
A single row of black lace is laid on the caul behind the wreath,
and the lappets are formed of black velvet ribbon, edged all round
with the same lace. They droop from the summit of the crown down each
side. The back of the crown is covered with falling loops of the same
ribbon. Morning caps of white lace are frequently trimmed with plain
blond sarsnet ribbon (pink or blue) formed with a succession of bows,
terminating in one on each side the face. The lace itself approaches
the face only on the forehead, where it forms a point. Several morning
caps have two rows of blond lace, in which case a few bows of ribbon,
like those on the cheek, are placed on the ear, between them. All have
small bows, and very long floating ends at the back of the neck. It is
not at all uncommon to see them half a yard long.

[Illustration: PARISIAN CAP.]

The bonnets, which begin to assume something of an autumnal aspect,
are decidedly pretty. Though not of a close shape, they are not now
suspended at the back of the hair, as they frequently were a little
while ago. The purple is still visible, but that is all. Fancy straws
are very much worn trimmed with plaid or flowered ribbons. Groups
of wheat ears, poppies, and grass are placed at each side of the
bonnet, when the ribbon is of a kind with which such decorations will
harmonize. For the interior a great deal of blond is worn, and it
would appear quite _de rigueur_ that the two sides should by no means
correspond. If a flower is placed in the blond on one side, a knot
of velvet ribbon will be seen on the other; and one will be placed
on the temple, while the other is low down on the cheek. Roses and
black velvet are the most common; and the prettiest trimmings for the
interior of a straw bonnet. I saw one which had a remarkably elegant
effect; and as I think it would be generally becoming, I give you the
description: The chapeau of paille-de-riz, spotted with black, had
the brim edged with black velvet, cut bias, and covering about an
inch of its depth outside and in. In the interior a very narrow black
lace edged it. The bonnet, of that deep pink which nearly approaches
rose, was edged in the same way, the lace falling from the velvet on
the silk. A broad ribbon of the same hue simply crossed the crown and
formed the strings. It had narrow black velvet ribbon run all round
it. The interior had a double quilling of white blond all round the
face; a single rose, with its foliage, was placed on one side, and on
the other a quilling of black lace, and one of pink ribbon filled up
the corresponding space. I have seen some pretty dress bonnets, of
alternate ruches of ribbon and black lace, with a perfect wreath of
rose-buds round the outside of the brim. In one bonnet, of cinnamon
ribbon and black lace, the wreath could not certainly have been
composed of less than forty buds, besides foliage.

By the way, I do not know if I mentioned to you the new style of
habit-shirt and sleeve which are so much worn in morning toilette. In
case I have not, I send you a specimen. The collars have a hem about
half an inch wide, stitched all round. Above this are eight, ten, or
even twelve minute tucks, run with exquisite neatness. The front of the
habit-shirt corresponds, being made one wide tuck and the same number
of narrow ones as are in the collar, alternately run from the throat
to the waist. A piece of muslin goes down the front, with a broad hem
at each edge, a few narrow ones close to them, and a row of ornamental
buttons down the front. The sleeves, which are _à la duchesse_, have
the band composed of small tucks, and a frill nearly four inches wide,
but slightly sloped towards the join, made to correspond with the
collar and habit-shirt.


In articles of fancy there is little to remark, this being emphatically
the dull season. Bags, however, are almost universally used for
carrying the handkerchief, and purses for holding the money. I must say
I am glad of this; those clumsy, ugly, _porte-monnaies_, with their
clasps that never would fasten, were always my aversion. You will say,
why did I use them? _Que voulez vous?_ At Paris one must follow the
fashion, unless one would wish to be remarked. The law of _opinion_,
is, to the full, as binding as the law of the land. And, by the by,
what a curious phenomenon is a truly Parisian rage, or passion, or
enthusiasm; or whatever else you like to designate a general admiration
and approbation of novelty.

According to the grand, but painfully true poem of Charles Mackay

    "The man is thought a knave or fool,
      Or bigot, plotting crime,
    Who, for the advancement of his kind,
      Is wiser than his time."

And certain it is that really great men have too often lived and died
without seeing their genius appreciated; and in smaller matters it
requires enormous interest, or some fortuitous circumstances, or an
enormous amount of puffing, to induce the public to recognize merit. It
is very different here; real excellence, taste, or skill, is certain
of success, no matter in what line it may be exercised. The invention
of an elegant headdress, or a novelty in fancy-work, of no matter
what (always provided it be really good), may reckon confidently on
universal encouragement. I have lately seen a curious illustration of
this fact. The owner of a pastry store invented a _cake_, dedicated it
to the Princess Mathilde, and he is making a rapid fortune. The Gâteau
Mathilde took at once. How many years would it have required elsewhere
to give such a thing the same celebrity?

This energy of admiration, which insures success to the deserving in
every line, which gives distinction to those who seek that recompense
for their talents, and fortune to those who labor for it, is one of
those points which, I confess, I sincerely admire in the Parisian
character. Going into a fashionable shop at an hour when all the world
is, or is supposed to be, at dinner, I found only one of the young lady
assistants, and she was busily employed embroidering a handkerchief.
On my taking it up and admiring it, she observed: "Oh, that is very
trifling, it is only for myself." I remarked, that it was early to have
finished business. "Oh, we have not done for the day; but Madame always
allows us half an hour for recreation after dinner, so I was amusing
myself with this work." I have noticed, too, in this as in many other
shops in Paris, that chairs or stools are placed on _both_ sides of the
counter, and that, when the customer is seated, the _demoiselle_ takes
a seat also, before beginning to display her goods. This is one of the
French fashions that I should greatly like to see followed elsewhere.

    Yours, very truly,      V.



    Thou beauteous morning, bringing us the Day,
      Thou harbinger of good, thou child of joy,
    Thou hope of the forlorn, for which they pray,
      Thou consolation nothing can destroy!
    Comfort thou givest to the heart in grief,
      And blessed promise, pointing to the goal;
    Thy voice is music, bringing sweet relief
      To Night's pale mourners--to the suffering soul;
    The lovely air is fragrant with thy breath;
      Glad music greets our ear on every side,
    For plants and trees awake from sleep like death,
      And every hill, and vale, and forest wide,
    Join now in sweet, harmonious, heavenly songs,
    Praising His name, to whom all praise belongs.




[We intend giving a selection from these "spicy" Letters, chiefly for
the purpose of showing what the boarding-school system for girls is in
England, and thus contrasting the course of female education in that
country with our own modes of instruction. The Letters are doubtless
somewhat exaggerated; but the caricature shows what the reality must
be. Some of the regulations and modes of teaching are worthy of note.
We should like to see the "drill and march" teaching introduced into
our young ladies' schools. This part of the English Girls' School
training is never neglected. They are taught to walk as sedulously as
to dance.]


(_Dated February 10th._)


Oh! my darling Eleanor, it is all over!--and yet I live; but I have
strong hopes of dying before to-morrow morning. I feel that I can
never exist within these hateful walls, to be a wretched slave to Mrs.
Rodwell's "maternal solicitude and intellectual culture." What do I
want with intellectual culture indeed? But I'm determined I won't learn
a bit--not a tinny-tiny bit!

I must tell you, dearest, that, before leaving home, I cried
continually for at least three weeks; but my tears made not the
slightest impression on mamma's hard heart, which, I am sure, must
be stone. More than this, I starved myself during the last three
days--did not take one luncheon--even refused pudding; and at Mrs. St.
Vitus's ball would not dance, nor touch a thing at supper. But all in
vain! No one seemed to care a pin about it; and ma only appeared to
take pleasure in my sufferings. The boys teased, and made cruel jokes
upon my misery; and that detestable Martha helped to get me ready as
cheerfully as if I--no, _she_--was going to be married. The last day
I went into hysterics; and looked so ill--with my red eyes and pale
cheeks--that ma, to my great joy, got frightened, and sent for Dr.
Leech. But that cross old monster only dangled his bunch of big seals,
and said that I should be better at Turnham-green--a little change of
air would do me good! Much he knows about medicine! for, at the very
moment he was talking, I felt as if I must have fainted.

So in a cold drizzling rain--will you believe it, Nelly?--I was dragged
into the carriage (for pa had walked down to the office on foot,
carrying his own blue bag, purposely that ma might have the carriage),
and propped up on each side with bags of oranges, cakes, and goodies,
to cheat me into the stupid notion, I really imagine, that I was going
to have a treat, in the same way that nurse always gives Julius his
powders, with lots of sugar on the top! Oh! my sweetest Eleanor, words
cannot express the wretchedness of your poor friend during that long
ride! And yet Oates never did drive so quickly; he seemed to be doing
it on purpose--whipping the poor horse through Hyde-Park as furiously
as if we were trying to catch a mail-train, instead of going at that
delicious crawling pace which we have always been accustomed to by the
side of the Serpentine. Opposite Lord Holland's park the horse fell.
Oh, how my heart beat, to be sure! I thought he was killed at least,
and that we should be obliged to return home; but no such thing. He
picked himself up as quietly as you would a pin, and the carriage went
on even faster than before.

But after all, Eleanor, what pained me most was mamma's and Martha's
cold-hearted conversation whilst I was in a corner suffering so much!
They chatted as cheerfully upon worldly nonsense as if we were going
to a pantomime. I shall never forget their cutting cruelty at such a
moment as that; and to make matters worse, what with crying and the
rain, I felt as wet through as if I had been travelling along the
submarine telegraph, besides _my tears spoiling my pretty puce-colored
bonnet strings, which were quite new that day_.

At last we stopped before a large, cold-looking house, with walls
pulled tight round it, like the curtains of the four-poster when pa's
ill in bed. It was all windows, with bars here and there, and the
plaster looked damp, and altogether it was much more like a convent
than a college; for I must tell you our school isn't called a "school"
(for it seems there are no schools for young ladies now-a-days), nor
a "seminary," nor an "academy," but it's a "college." I thought I
should have fainted away, only I had the cakes and oranges in my arms,
and was afraid of dropping them down the area, when Mrs. Rodwell took
me upon her "maternal" knee, and began stroking me down and calling
me her "dear young friend," with whom she said "she should soon be
on excellent terms," (only I am sure we never shall, excepting the
"excellent terms" pa pays her), and she went on playing with me, Nelly,
just as I have seen the great boa-constrictor, at the Zoological
Gardens, cuddle and play with the poor dear little rabbit, before he
devours it.

And now, dearest, mind you never mention what I am going to tell you;
but all the sentiment and fine talking and writing about a mother's
love is nonsense! utter nonsense! all a delightful sham!--for all
the world, Nelly, like those delicious sweet _méringues_ at the
pastry-cook's, which look like a feast, and only melt into a mouthful!
I am sure of it, Nelly, dear, or else how could they bear to make us
so miserable? looking quite happy whilst our poor hearts are breaking?
sending us from our natural homes, where we are so comfortable, to such
miserable places as this "Princesses' College?" and especially, too,
when governesses now-a-days are so plentiful, and far cheaper, I am
told, than maids of all work! Why, it was only last Friday morning I
showed ma the most beautiful advertisement there was in the "Morning
Post," all about a governess offering to "teach English, French,
German, Italian, Latin, the use of globes, dancing, _and crochet-work
too_, and drawing, painting, music, singing, together with the art of
making wax-flowers actually, and all for 21_l._ a year!" But ma only
patted me, and said she "should be ashamed to encourage such a terrible
state of things," or some such stupid stuff that put me in a passion
to listen to. I am sure I shall never believe ma loves me again, after
throwing me from her dear fat arms into the long thin claws of that
awful Mrs. Rodwell! They opened and shut, and closed round me, Nell,
exactly like a lobster's!

Before I could escape, ma and Martha were gone, and I was left
alone--all alone--in this large dungeon of a place, with every
door fast. Well, Nelly, you have been to school--at least I
suppose you have--so you can imagine how I was allowed to remain
in the schoolmistress's--no, our schoolmistress is called a "Lady
Principal"--in the Lady Principal's _boudoir_ to compose myself; how
I was treated to weak tea and thin bread and butter with Mrs. R., and
asked all the time all manner of questions that made my cheeks burn
with rage, about home, and about mamma and papa, until eight o'clock
came, and with it the permission to retire, as "bed would do my head
good." I was too glad to get released, if it was merely to indulge my
grief, and cry myself to sleep under the bedclothes!

But, law! if it was so uncomfortable in the _boudoir_ (and such a
_boudoir_, Nell!--a dark closet with a handful of cinders for fire,
and full of gimcracks, little pincushions, lavender baskets, painted
card-racks, and fire-screens, until it seemed furnished from a fancy
fair)--but if that was uncomfortable, I say, it was positively wretched
in the bedroom, with its six iron cramp-beds, three washing-basins, and
_one looking-glass_! Yes, Nelly, only one looking-glass amongst six
young ladies! I never heard of such a thing. And then the place was so,
so very cold, that I am sure I shall have a red nose and chilblains for
the remainder of my life; _but I hope, my dear, fond Nelly, you will
love me all the same!_

Well, I cried myself to sleep, and it was a great comfort, I can assure
you; and it seemed still in the middle of the night, when a loud
ringing in my ears frightened me out of my sleep, and made me nearly
fall out of bed. And, after that came a sharp, barking voice, calling
out--"Now, young ladies! are you going to breakfast in bed?" and
causing a general stretching, scuffling, and jumping up.

The cold glimmering dawn lighted only portions of the room, but I
could see five other girls creeping about, half asleep, quarreling for
basins, engaging turns at the _one_ looking-glass, joking, grumbling,
yawning, and laughing; whilst I, poor I, sat, hope-forlorn, shivering,
half with cold, and half with fear, on the edge of the bed. There,
a tall young lady, in a flannel dressing-gown, discovered me, and
exclaimed: "Why, here's the New Girl! I say, my young lady, you had
better make haste; the second bell will soon ring, and Miss Snapp will
give you something to cry for if you're not ready."

Then they all came and stared at me (the rude things); and as I could
not help crying, one of them called out, "Oh! Oh! how affecting! Oh!
Oh! _Oh!_ OH!" ending at last in a loud bellow, in which I joined
in painful earnest; and then they left me, and went on whispering,
washing, combing, and lacing each other, until "Ding, ding, ding," went
the second bell, and at the first sound they all scampered away, some
with their dresses still unfastened, calling after others to come and
hook them for them.

I never should have got finished myself, unless a mild, quiet-looking
woman had ventured to my assistance, and led me down stairs into the
school-room, where I nearly dropped upon _feeling_ the stare of some
fifty girls fall upon me all in a lump, just like the water from a
shower-bath after you have pulled the string. Oh, darling Nelly! what
would I have given for one familiar face that I knew, or to have had
your loving self by my side, so that I might have thrown my arms around
your dear neck, and have a _good cry_; for I am sure that a good cry
does one, frequently, much more good than a good laugh!

The buzzing, which had suddenly ceased on my appearance, began again
with double vehemence, making nearly as much noise as the water, when
it's running into the cistern at home. Amidst the hurried whispers,
I could detect, "What a milksop!" "Mammy's darling!" "She'll soon be
broken in!" &c.; when the same dog-like voice was heard to bark again,
calling out above the uproar, "To your seats, young ladies! Silence!
Five forfeits for the first who speaks!"

In the lull which followed, I was seated by the side of my quiet
conductress, and permitted to write this letter to my dear, darling
Eleanor, just to fill up my time before breakfast, after which I am to
be examined and classed according to what I know.

Oh, Nelly, I do so dread this day, and am so extremely wretched,
thinking, all the time, what they are doing at home, and how Martha is
rejoicing that she has got her sister away from home. But I must leave
off, dearest; and I will promise you several more letters (that is, of
course, if I survive this day), in which I will tell you of everything
that occurs in this filthy school---I mean college. That will be the
only ray of pleasure, Nelly, which will shoot in this dark dungeon
through the captive heart of your devoted, but wretchedly unhappy


P. S.--Excuse haste and my dreadful scrawl.

P. S.--You will see I have forwarded this to the pastry-cook's in
Tottenham-court-road. Do not eat too many pink tarts, dear, when you
call for it.

P. S.--We hear a great deal, Nelly, about the trials and troubles of
the world, and of all we have to go through, and about school being the
happiest time of our lives; but they seem to do all they can to make it
miserable, and I don't believe any hardship on this world is worse than
going to school, and having to face fifty girls, all making fun of the
New Pupil.



There is no study that engages so little general attention as that of
the planetary world. Yet it is the oldest of all sciences, dating from
the hour when, in obedience to the command of Jehovah, "Let there be
light," lo! the "God of day" arose with all its brilliancy in the East,
while the queen of night, with her myriads of starry attendants, sank
softly below the horizon in the West, and all, in their joy at the new
creation, sang together in their spheres.

The Chaldeans were the first to divide the starry hosts into
constellations, and from them it was introduced into Egypt by Abraham,
who gave lectures on astronomy to the Egyptians. From Egypt the Greeks
received their knowledge of the hitherto to them unknown science.
When Babylon fell into the hands of Alexander, Calisthenes found
astronomical observations among the records, dating 1903 years before
that period, which carries us back to the time of the dispersion of
mankind by the confusion of tongues. Fifteen hundred years after this,
the Babylonians sent to Hezekiah to inquire about the shadows going
back on the dial of Ahaz. From that period up to the present time it
is not difficult to trace the progress this science has made, although
sometimes obscured by fanaticism and superstition, which imprisoned the
dauntless Galileo for asserting a belief in the unerring laws that bind
the whole system of worlds in their spheres.

My object in these articles is not to show why a science that at once
elevates and refines the soul, by bringing it to dwell upon the works
of _Him_ whence every holy, noble impulse springs that stirs the heart,
is so much neglected, except by our professors and astronomers, but
to call attention to, and take a cursory view of the most interesting
constellations, commencing with _Ursa Minor_, or the Little Bear. This
constellation crosses the meridian in November, and does not properly
belong to this month, and is only adverted to here on account of the
importance attached to its only star of any magnitude, the Alruccaba
of the Jews, the Cynosura of the Romans, and our _North Star_. By this
the mariner ploughs his track fearlessly from continent to continent
through the trackless ocean, launches into unknown seas, and, with
his eye on the star that never fails him, steers his bark among the
icebergs which in the North never yield to the sun, among the frowning
peaks of which lurk the messengers of destruction. By this the surveyor
determines the boundaries of kingdoms, and by this the Arab and Bedouin
traverse their seas of burning sand.

                              "The Lesser Bear
    Leads from the pole the lucid band: the stars
    Which from this constellation faintly shine,
    _Twice twelve in number_, only _one_ beams forth
    Conspicuous in high splendor, named by Greece
    The Cynosure; by us the Polar Star."

The seven principal stars in this constellation form a reversed dipper,
Cynosura being the first of the three that constitute the handle.
Of the four that constitute the bowl, one of them is so small as to
obscure the uniformity; still, it may be readily traced in a clear
night with the naked eye.

The mythological history of this constellation is that Juno, the
imperious queen of heaven, in a rage transformed Arcas, the son of the
Nymph Calisto, into a _bear_; and, afterwards repenting, by the favor
of Jupiter, translated him to the skies, that he might not be destroyed
by the huntsman.

    "Placed at the helm he sat, and marked the skies,
    Nor closed in sleep his ever watchful eyes."

The Chinese claim that the Emperor Hong-ti, a grandson of Noah, first
discovered and applied to navigation the _Polar Star_. It is certain it
was used for this purpose at a very early day. Lacan, a Latin poet, who
wrote about the time of the birth of our Saviour, thus adverts to the
practice of steering vessels by this star:--

    "Unstable Tyre, now knit to firmer ground,
    With Sidon for her purple shells renowned,
    Safe in the _Cynosure_, their glittering guide,
    With well-directed navies stem the tide."

This was over eighteen centuries ago, and still Cynosura is the
"glittering guide" of the mariner, and will be for ages yet to come.
It guided nations who lived so long ago that oblivion has swept their
name and age from existence, as it does us at the present time, and
will guide other nations so far down the stream of time that the word
American will be without a meaning, if heard.

Sixty degrees south-west of the Polar Star may be seen _Taurus_, the
first constellation on the meridian the present month. For the space of
two thousand years, Taurus was the prince, the leader of the celestial
hosts. Anterior to the time of Abraham, or more than four thousand
years ago, the vernal equinox took place, and the year opened when
the sun was in Taurus. Aries, or the Ram, succeeded next, and now the
Fishes lead the brilliant throng, and the once leader is the second
sign and third constellation in the zodiac. There are one hundred and
forty-one visible stars comprised in this constellation, among which
are two beautiful clusters, known as the Pleiades and Hyades. Six only
of the Pleiades are visible to the naked eye; yet Dr. Hook, with a
twelve feet telescope, saw seventy-eight stars, and Rheita, with one
of greater power, counted two hundred in this small cluster, while
still beyond is seen a faint hazy light, which probably would resolve
into stars could an instrument be made powerful enough to overcome the
distance that intervenes. All that has been, or ever can be revealed by
the aid of the most powerful telescope, is as nothing in comparison to

    Beyond its reach still rolls,
      In orbits like our own--
    Worlds, on whose surface nature folds
      Her dewy wings.

There is no finite mind which can trace the depth and breadth of

    There is no eye but His alone
      Can thread this deep abyss,
    can tell how many worlds have gone
      Before the dawn of this;
    Or number all the worlds that yet
    Our Maker in the void may set.

The Pleiades are so called from the Greek word _pleein_, to sail, and
were in ancient times used by the mariners of that nation to guide them
in their course. Virgil, who flourished twelve hundred years before the
discovery of the magnetic needle, thus alludes to it--

    "Then first on seas the shallow alder swam;
    Then sailors quartered heaven, and found a name
    For every fixed and every wandering star--
    The Pleiades, Hyades, and the Northern Car."

This cluster of stars is more familiarly known as the _Seven Stars_,
and are sometimes also called "_The Virgins of Spring_," because the
sun enters it in the "season of flowers," or about the 18th of May. He
who placed them in the firmament alludes to it when he demands "Canst
thou bind the sweet influences of the Pleiades?"--_i. e._ can you make
the flowers bloom, or prevent them unfolding their buds in their
season? The Pleiades are situated in the shoulder of the Bull, and come
to the meridian ten minutes before nine o'clock on the evening of the
first of this month.

The Hyades are situated 11° S. E. of the Pleiades, in the face of the
Bull, and are so arranged as to form the letter V. The most brilliant
star in the constellation is on the left, in the top of the letter,
and called Aldebaran, from which the moon's distance is computed. This
star comes to the meridian at nine o'clock on the tenth of this month.
Fifteen and a half degrees E. N. E. of Aldebaran is a bright star,
which marks the tip of the southern horn, while eight degrees north a
still brighter star indicates the tip of the northern horn. This star
also marks the foot of the Wagoner, and is called Auriga, and, with
Zeta in the southern horn and Aldebaran, forms a triangle.

According to Grecian mythology, Europa, a princess of Phœnicia,
and daughter of Agenor, with her female attendants, was gathering
flowers in the meadows. The princess was so beautiful that Jupiter
became enamored of her, and, assuming the shape of a milk white bull,
mingled with the herds of Agenor; and, under this guise, attracted
the attention of the princess, who caressed the beautiful animal, and
finally ventured to sit upon his back. Jupiter took advantage of her
situation, and retired with her precipitately to the sea, crossed it,
and arrived safely with her in Crete. Europe is said to have derived
its name from her. The Egyptians and Persians worship a deity under
this figure, and Belzoni found an embalmed bull among the ruins of



            Thou, like the Phœnix born,
            On this auspicious morn,
    Dost take thy station in the circling years;
            While stars sing o'er thy birth,
            And waking sons of earth
    Thy advent greet with hopeful smiles and tears.

            We hail thee from afar,
            Upon thy mystic car
    Riding adown the whirlwind and the storm;
            Thou com'st in regal state,
            With power and strength elate,
    And robed in mystery is thy youthful form.

            The Old Year sleepeth sound,
            With bay and ivy crowned,
    The slain and slayer sleep in sweet accord;
            Earth's treasured jewels bright
            He gathered in his flight,
    And garnered for the glory of his Lord.

            How many beaming eyes
            That joy to see thee rise,
    Will lose their brightness and have passed away!
            How many a beating heart,
            Whose throbbings life impart,
    Will throb its last before thy closing day!

            Yet earth, so fair and bright,
            Was made to glad the sight,
    Else why Spring's blossoms that successive rise;
            With all the rich perfume
            Of Summer's leafy bloom;
    The Autumn's gorgeous tints and glowing skies;

            With Winter robed in white;
            Each bringing new delight--
    The season's changing scenes that never pall;
            While yon o'erbending blue,
            With bright eyes beaming through,
    The Architect Divine stretched over all?

            Then let us not complain;
            But, while we here remain,
    Extract the honey and avoid the sting.
            Why not, when thus we may
            Make life a summer's day,
    And let time steal away with noiseless wing?

            Yea, let us do our best,
            And leave to Heaven the rest,
    Nor die a thousand deaths in fearing one;
            If we but cheerful be,
            Sorrow and care will flee,
    And, rose-like, Time will fragrance leave when gone.

            Then hail to thee, New Year,
            In thine allotted sphere!
    With song and welcome we our voices raise;
            And may thy deeds so shine
            That, through all coming time,
    Millions shall, rising, join to hymn thy praise

            And thou, our own loved land,
            Maintain thy glorious stand,
    A beacon light to penetrate earth's gloom!
            And, when the year is spent,
            May health and sweet content
    In every home and heart serenely bloom!



    'Tis night upon the waters; but the hour
      That bringeth silence unto all beside,
    With the deep majesty of its repose,
      Calms not the tumult of thy rushing tide,
    Thou monarch cataract! thy mighty voice
      Goes up to God from out the silent night,
    And the wild waters, hurrying to thy grasp,
      Rush madly onward 'neath the moon's pale light.

    He who would visit Europe's ruined fanes
      Must look upon them 'neath the stars of night;
    The crowded city's haunts of noise and wealth
      Are fittest to behold in noon's broad light;
    The calm untroubled river best is seen
      'Neath the soft glories of the day's decline;
    And ocean's grandeur with the storm-wind dwells:
      All seasons, _all_, Niagara, are thine.

    Spring drops her crown of blossoms at thy feet;
      And summer veils thy trees in deepest green;
    And gorgeous autumn flings his richest robe
      Of gold and crimson o'er the forest scene;
    And winter comes in panoply of ice,
      And loads with diamonds rock, and bush, and tree--
    But all these seasons, bringing change to all,
      Bring never change, Niagara, to thee!

    Above thy mist-veiled brow the lightnings play,
      Thy thunder answers back the heaven's roar,
    But the wild storm adds no sublimity
      Unto thy grandeur, changeless evermore.
    The angry winds of winter can but raise
      The misty veil that shrouds thine awful brow;
    Vain is the Ice-king's might to chain thy waves,
      Down rushing to the em'rald depths below.

    Yet even to thee, Oh mighty cataract!
      The time will come when thou shalt be no more;
    When the deep anthem of thy thunder voice
      Shall silent be beside the rocky shore;
    When the bright rainbow, bending from the skies,
      Shall seek in vain the brow she used to crown,
    And thine own waves will sing thy requiem,
      From lake to lake in fury rushing down.



    It was evening, and midwinter;
      Piped the wind on pinions fleet,
    While with sharp, incessant rattle,
    As of insect hordes at battle,
      'Gainst the windows drove the sleet.

    Cosily, in ample kitchen
      Seated, were a busy group
    Round a hearthstone swept most trimly,
    While the flames rolled up the chimney,
      Chimney broad and deep.

    On the rug the sleepy house-dog
      Lay, with muzzle on his paws;
    In the corner purred grimalkin,
    Who full oft had made the welkin
      Ring with hideous noise.

    Poring o'er the latest paper,
      Quite absorbed, the father sat;
    While a merry little urchin,
    With some twigs and splinters birchen,
      Built a tower upon his foot.

    On a stand of gayest fabric
      Hexagons and squares were piled,
    And a bright-haired little maiden,
    Scarce less fair than Eve in Aidenn,
      At her patchwork toiled.

    With her earnest eyes and loving
      Bent upon the little band,
    Sat a matron briskly knitting,
    Shaping hose most trimly fitting,
      With a patient hand.

    Curled the smoke wreaths up the chimney,
      While below the simmering pile,
    Like a summer insect's droning,
    Or the night winds stifled moaning,
      Sounded all the while.

    Mingling with the antique pattern
      Of the paper on the walls,
    Danced the curious shadows lightly,
    While the flames burned dim or brightly,
      Mounting up in wavy coils.

    Sounded out the measured ticking
      Of the clock against the wall;
    Sat the boy, with blue eyes dancing,
    At his father slyly glancing;
    What would be his wonder fancying
      When his tower should fall!

    Thus went by the fleeting moments
      At the farmer's happy home;
    Kindly words of love were spoken,
    Beaming glances gave sweet token
      Of affections deep and warm.

    Still without the storm kept raging,
      Wailingly the blast swept by,
    'Gainst the panes the sleet still driving,
    Seemed for entrance vainly striving,
    Emblem of the tempter's arrows,
    Warded with their wedded sorrows,
      From that lowly family.


     _Disrespectfully Dedicated to the Renowned Bachelor who wrote an
     Essay of several pages on an Hour's Experience with a Baby._


    'Twas night, and all day long I'd strove
    To soothe my little suffering dove.
    Oh, whose beside a mother's love
      Could rightly nurse a baby?
    I laid me down to steal some rest,
    Its head was pillowed on my breast;
    In dreams, my husband's love still blessed
      Me and my darling baby.

    But soon its piteous moanings broke
    My rest, and from my dreams I woke
    To feel its pulse's feverish stroke,
      My little suffering baby!
    "And oh, how hot its little head!
    Rise quick and get a light, dear Fred!
    Something unusual, I'm afraid,
      Is ailing our poor baby."

    Slowly he rose, with sullen grace,
    The light gleamed on his cloudy face--
    "I never knew 'twas a (man's!) place
      Before, to tend a baby!"
    My pulses throbbed; a terror crept
    Throughout my heart; and, while I wept,
    This _noble man_ lay down and _slept_,
      And left me with my baby.

    Oh, you, light-hearted, beauteous maid,
    Whose greatest care's to curl and braid,
    Far from life's lessons have you strayed.
      If you ne'er think of babies!
    Then learn from me, a matron staid,
    _For this alone was woman made_,
    After her sovereign lord's obeyed,
      To nurse and tend the babies.

    And Man, thou noblest work of God!
    Thou, who canst never see the load
    Thy wife sustains through life's rough road,
      With thee and with her babies,
    Go kneel upon thy mother's grave
    And think--that every life she gave
    Made her Death's victim or Life's slave;
      _Then_ love your wife--and babies!

    And you, you musty bachelor,
    Who could not watch a little flower,
    And keep it tearless one short hour--
      Poor victimized "wee" baby!--
    Go hide your _gray, diminished head_
    Within your mother's feather bed,
    And ne'er through life may it be said
      You have a wife or baby!



     "But when they saw him walking upon the sea, they supposed it
     had been a spirit, and cried out. For they all saw him and were
     troubled. And immediately he talked with them, and saith unto
     them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid."--MARK VI. 49, 50.

    They toiled--for night was round their bark;
      The fierce winds tossed the white sea spray:
    And, like the heavens, their hearts were dark,
      For Jesus was away.
    When, lo, a spirit! See it tread
      The waves that wrestle with the sky!
    They shrieked, appalled: but Jesus said--
      "_Be of good cheer: 'tis I!_"

    As o'er the little day of life
      The gathering cloud advances slow;
    And all above is storm and strife,
      And darkness all below;
    What heart but echoes back the shriek
      Of nature from the tortured sky?
    But hark! o'er all a whisper meek--
      "_Be of good cheer: 'tis I!_"

    Who here makes misery our mate?
      Links love with death, and life with doom?
    Sends fears e'en darker than our fate--
      The shadows of the tomb?
    The hand that smites is raised in love;
      He seeks to save who bids us sigh:
    Who! murmurer? Hark--'tis from above!
      "_Be of good cheer: 'tis I!_"

    When change on change, and ill on ill,
      Have taught the trusting heart to doubt;
    When earth grows dark as, faint and chill,
      Hope after hope goes out;
    E'en then, amid the gloom, a ray
      Breaks brightly on the heavenward eye;
    And Faith hears, o'er the desolate way,
      "_Be of good cheer: 'tis I!_"

    And when our weary race is run,
      The toil, the task, the trial o'er;
    And twilight gathers, dim and dun,
      Upon life's wave-worn shore;
    When struggling trust and lingering fear
      Cast shadows o'er the filmy eye;
    What rapture then, that voice to hear:
      "_Be of good cheer: 'tis I!_"



    The laughing Hours before her feet
      Are strewing vernal roses,
    And the voices in her soul are sweet
      As music's mellowed closes;
    All Hopes and Passions, heavenly-born,
      In her have met together;
    And Joy hath spread around her morn
      A mist of golden weather.

    As o'er her cheek of delicate dyes
      The blooms of childhood hover,
    So do the tranced and sinless eyes
      All childhood's heart discover;
    Full of a dreamy happiness,
      With rainbow fancies laden,
    Whose arch of promise leans to bless
      Her spirit's beauteous Aidenn.

    She is a being born to raise
      Those undefiled emotions
    That link us with our sunniest days,
      And most sincere devotions:
    In her we see, renewed and bright,
      That phase of earthly story
    Which glimmers in the morning light
      Of God's exceeding glory.

    Why, in a life of mortal cares,
      Appear these heavenly faces?
    Why, on the verge of darkened years,
      These amaranthine graces?
    'Tis but to cheer the soul that faints
      With pure and blest evangels,
    To prove if heaven is rich with saints,
      That earth may have her angels.

    Enough! 'tis not for me to pray
      That on her life's sweet river,
    The calmness of a virgin day
      May rest, and rest forever;
    I know a guardian genius stands
      Beside those waters lowly,
    And labors with immortal hands
      To keep them pure and holy.


BY J. M. C.

    Passing a bower, I looked within,
      And lo! a little girl was there,
    With rosy cheeks and dimpled chin,
      Soft hazel eyes and golden hair.
    The darling child was on her knees,
      Her tiny hands were clasped in prayer,
    Her ringlets fluttered in the breeze
      And glistened round her forehead fair.
    She seemed a being pure and bright,
    Just come to earth from "realms of light;"
    I treasured every word she said,
    And this the orison she made:

    "They tell me life is fraught with care,
      That joy will fade when youth is flown,
    And ills arise so hard to bear
      I cannot tread life's maze _alone_.
    Then, Heavenly Father, be my guide!
    By thee be all my wants supplied!
    To thee I turn, in thee confide!

    "Watch o'er this little wayward heart,
      Whose pulses beat so blithely now;
    Ah, keep it pure and free from art,
      And teach it to thy will to bow!
    Father, Saviour, be its guide
    When pleasures tempt or woes betide!
    Beneath thy wing let me abide.

    "As a young bird, untaught to fly,
      Essays in vain aloft to soar
    Without its parents' aid, so _I_
      Thy help require, thy help _implore_,
    To lead me in the heavenward way!
    Oh, then, be thou my guide, my stay!
    From the right path ne'er let me stray!"



    Thy feet have passed through the vale of the shadow,
      Young, gifted, and beautiful, loving and loved;
    With spirit immortal thou walkest the meadows,
      By rivers that gladden the city of God!

    Thou castest thy crown at the feet of the Saviour;
      A fair smiling cherub is holding thy hand;
    Together thou joinest the song of the ransomed,
      Whose robes are washed white in the blood of the Lamb!

    Dost see in that cherub thy guardian angel
      Who was with thee below, and preceded thee there,
    Who, lovely on earth, is more lovely in Heaven,
      Who called thee impatient his glory to share?

    Oh! fair gleams the marble in yonder sweet forest
      Which the hand of affection hath placed o'er thy grave;
    And constant the tribute of fresh blooming flowers
      By friendship entwined, and over thee laid.

    Oh! sweet is the song that the wild bird is singing,
      And fair are the trees that wave over thy head,
    And soft are the shadows that sunset is flinging
      O'er thee and thy babe in thy low quiet bed.

    Ever fresh in our hearts and remembrance are wrought
      The scenes of thy life in beautiful story;
    From the day that thou camest a joyous young bride,
      Till called by thy Saviour, partaker of glory.

    That life seems a dream we delight to recall,
      So pure and so gentle thy sweet virtues shone;
    The graces of earth and graces of heaven,
      Like a mantle of beauty over thee thrown.

    Thy fairy-like form is ever before us;
      Thy cheek where the rose and the lily combined;
    Thine eye of the dew-begemmed violet's color,
      Beaming with purity, goodness, and mind!

    How gloomy seemed earth of thy presence bereft!
      How dark was the home by thy sunshine made gay!
    How crushed was the heart of the mourner thou'st left,
      The light of his life thus taken away!

    But bright gleams the path that thy dear feet have trod,
      And light shone around thee through the dark river,
    And joy was 'mongst angels in presence of God,
      As they welcomed thee home forever and ever.



    It may be, indeed, I am childless and vain,
      But I love the old relic of antiquate form;
    Like the surf-beaten vessel that furrows the main,
      It hath struggled and weathered through many a storm!
    Full well I remember it, when but a boy,
      The spot where 'twas placed by that matronly hand;
    And now I'm grown old, like a child with its toy,
      I love the old relic--my Grandmother's stand.

    'Tis a "long time ago," though briefly it seems,
      Since I heard her dear lessons of virtue and truth;
    Oh, oh! that the Past would return with its dreams,
      And let me live over one day of my youth!
    Then I should sit down in that old-fashioned room,
      So simple, so artless, so rustically planned;
    Then I should bring roses, and drink their perfume,
      As they blushed in that vase on my Grandmother's stand.

    Ah, well I remember the treasures it bore--
      The book that our dear village parson laid there;
    In fancy, I see the good man at the door,
      In fancy, behold him, still bending in prayer.
    That "old-fashioned Bible," I ne'er can forget,
      That blessed old Book, with its holy command;
    That "old-fashioned Bible," I see it there yet--
      That dear blessed Book, on my Grandmother's stand.

    Oh, the world it may boast of its beauty and art,
      And Grandeur explore the dark depths of the tide;
    But the _Past_, with its treasures, can gladden the heart
      Far more than the perishing gildings of pride!
    Then, away with your grandeur and arts that impose,
      I'll praise the old relic with life's wasting sand;
    I'll guard the dear treasure till life's latest close,
      And bless when I'm dying my Grandmother's stand.



    Your letter, dearest Laura, a welcome found indeed;
    Never fear to write whate'er you think, 'tis that I wish to read;
    I agree with you, sweet cousin, that openness and truth
    Can alone preserve to latest years the friendship of our youth.

    Yes--let me bear it as I may, I would not hide from you
    I have been sadly slighted by the fickle Harry Drew!
    Since the ball, I saw him seldom before we left the town,
    And though six months have here elapsed, he has not once been down.

    But much we've seen of Argentrie, and I trust that I have gained
    A friend, with whom I can forget the faithless one disdained;
    And as he does not think me yet an "angel of the sky,"
    To win his honest word of praise I own I sometimes try.

    His knowledge is so very great, his statements are so clear;
    Of life, its hopes and trials, with deepfelt awe I hear;
    New views are spread before me, and I feel not all in vain--
    Oh! never, never can I be a thoughtless child again.

    My duties now present themselves, I scarce can tell you how;
    I am sure I was unconscious they were left undone till now;
    That though papa is fond of music, 'twas not for him I played,
    Nor for his pleasure that I read, or the least exertion made.

    But all that is changed at last, and when at close of day
    He returns fatigued from business, I am never far away;
    I will a better daughter henceforward to him prove,
    And, where I have received so much, return at least my love.

    And my gentle, tender mother, making each of us her care,
    If I cannot quite remove her charge, I can lighten and can share;
    I have assumed some trifling tasks she willingly resigned,
    And looks upon me with such pride--ah, mother! ever kind.

    Yet not alone a mentor is Mr. Argentrie,
    In all our merry frolics he joins with heartfelt glee;
    He is staying at the farm adjoining to Belleaire,
    Though indeed I must confess he is very seldom there.

    And when I wish to mount upon my pretty milk-white steed,
    He is waiting to assist and escort me in my need;
    And thus we two explore each lane, and every prospect round;
    I never such enjoyment in the balls with _Harry_ found.

    Come see us, dearest Laura, while "the bloom is on the rye,"
    For summer with its glories will soon be hastening by.
    My mother looks so beautiful, and Fan and Charles so gay,
    I would that we at bright Belleaire the year entire might stay.
    Come quickly, and enjoy with us our rural life serene,
    And add another pleasure to your happy coz, Pauline.

To Charles Gavan Duffy, Esq., the gifted editor of the "Dublin Nation"
newspaper, my first literary patron and esteemed friend, I beg leave to
dedicate these lines.



    Beside the dark blue ocean
      I wander free, I wander free,
    And sweep with fond devotion
      My lyre for thee, my lyre for thee;
    And if the strain I waken
      Have words of flame, have words of flame,
    Whence bright hope may be taken--
      From _thee_ they came, from _thee_ they came.

    Mine eye was ever laden
      With slavish tears, with slavish tears;
    My heart, like timid maiden,
      Was full of fears, was full of fears;
    To tyrant mandates spoken
      I meekly bowed, I meekly bowed;
    Nor dreamed spells could be woken
      To curb the proud, to curb the proud.

    I knew not Ireland's glory,
      Her woes or wrongs, her woes or wrongs;
    I only heard the story
      From Saxon tongues, from Saxon tongues;
    And if, at times, in sorrow,
      My heart would ope, my heart would ope,
    I knew not where to borrow
      One ray of hope, one ray of hope.

    But soon _thy fire_ fraught pages[1]
      Allured my sight, allured my sight,
    With lore from youthful sages
      And poets bright, and poets bright;
    The sweetest hope shone o'er me
      With blessed ray, with blessed ray,
    And visions bright before me
      Passed night and day, passed night and day.

    I mused by moor and mountain,
      Upon the past, upon the past,
    Until at Wisdom's fountain
      I drank at last, I drank at last;
    I learned to laugh at danger
      Like hero brave, like hero brave--
    I longed to meet the stranger
      With naked glave, with naked glave.

    By thee Truth's light was given
      Unto the blind, to me the blind;
    By thee the clouds were riven,
      That dimmed the mind, that dimmed the mind;
    And if the strain I waken
      Have words of flame, have words of flame,
    Whence bright hope may be taken,
      From _thee_ they came, from _thee_ they came.[2]


[Footnote 1: The "Nation" newspaper, a short time after its
establishment, was styled by that first of critics and most literal of
translators--John Gibson Lockhart--"a startling phenomenon"!]

[Footnote 2: Complete sets of the "Nation" sell to this day for no less
a sum than $30, or £6 sterling.]



    Where is thy dwelling place, all-pleasing Light?
      Around Jehovah's everlasting throne,
      Where, inaccessible, He sits alone,
    'Mid joy supreme, ineffable delight.
      Thy radiant face makes all wide Nature glad;
    Hill, valley, rock, and river thou dost cheer,
    And little birds make melody, if thou appear--
      Deprived of thy fond presence, they are sad.
      Thou art another synonym for life;
    Thy smile is but the smile of Deity,
    Whose glance fills ever overflowingly
      The lamps of heaven, with golden beauty rife
    Thy magic pencil paints the landscapes all;
    Thy absence covers earth with pall funereal.



    Not the clamor of the ignoble crowd,
    Not the threat'ning look of the tyrant proud,
    Nor the fury with which Auster raves,
    Wild king of the Adriatic waves;
    Nor e'en the mighty arm of Jove,
    Hurling his bolts through the vault above,
    Can swerve the man of just intent
    From that on which his mind is bent.
    Nay, should the shattered heavens fall,
    In crashing ruin blending all,
    Still 'mid the gath'ring gloom of chaos drear,
    He'd stand a stranger unto fear.


"Well, my little daughter, I suppose you have been half afraid that I
should not return in time for your holiday. However, you see I am here,
ready for our lesson, and I have seen so many new and pretty things,
that I hardly know which to choose for you to do."

"Pray let it be something very easy, as well as pretty, dear mamma. I
should like to make a work-basket, or something of that sort, which
would be useful."

"Then, indeed, my child, you will almost think me a conjurer; for
I have brought you all the necessary materials for making the
prettiest thing of the sort that, I think, was ever seen. Here they
are! First, there is a frame of wire, then a little wadding, black
filet--which is, you know, the imitation netting of which you made your
watch-pockets--netting-silks, gimps, and satin ribbon. Besides these,
there is a piece of black satin, and some black sarsnet ribbon. You
will require a little _toile ciré_, which I dare say your work-box will

"But can you not give me any idea of the appearance of this basket,
mamma? I never feel as if I could do anything unless I had some notion
of what it would be like when completed."

[Illustration: MODEL WORK-BASKET.]

"Here is a sketch for you, my dear, and though no drawing will
faithfully represent the extreme elegance of the basket, yet it will,
as you say, give you a notion of the general effect."

"It is, indeed, very pretty. I see the sides are transparent; they, I
suppose, are made of the filet."

"Yes; and you will begin by cutting a piece of the netting long and
deep enough for the four sides, as it is joined only at one of the
corners. Take great care to cut it accurately, or your flowers will
not run evenly. It must be cut to appear in diamonds, not in squares.
Another piece will be required for the bottom of the basket. On these
a pattern must be darned in colored silks. I have drawn you one which
will do nicely for the sides."

[Illustration: DARNING PATTERNS.]

"It is very small, is it not, mamma?"

"It is intended that one of these designs shall be seen in each
compartment of the basket. You will see that there are three on each
side, and two at each end--ten altogether--so that the pattern is to be
repeated that number of times."

"How shall I manage to keep them at equal distances, mamma?"

"I think I should fold the length of netting into ten parts, and run a
white thread to mark each separate piece. Now you will require three
colors for the darning; what will you choose?"

"What do you think of sky-blue, with maize and scarlet? They would be
very pretty, would they not?"

"Very; but then all the trimmings must be in sky-blue, and as you want
something rather effective for candle-light, I would suggest that a
rich crimson or scarlet would be a better predominant color. With it
you might have green and gold, or green and blue."

"Green and blue form a mixture that I cannot fancy to be pretty, mamma.
Do you like the effect of it?"

"Not much; but it is very fashionable. The French introduce it into
everything, and call it _préjugé vaincu_, or, prejudice conquered."

"Well, I am afraid, mamma, that my prejudice is unconquerable; so if
you please, we will have maize and green in preference. How am I to use
these colors?"

"Do the upper part of the design in scarlet, the lower in green, and
the spots up the centre, and between the designs, in maize. In darning,
work half the design, from the centre, leaning towards the right hand,
and the other half towards the left."

"Am I to use the same pattern for the bottom of the basket?"

"Not in its present form; but if you repeat the design, _reversed_,
from the lower part, so as to leave the _points_ for the ends, it
will be very suitable. You may add a star or diamond, or something
very simple, to fill the spaces at the sides. When all the darning is
done, detach the card-board which forms the bottom, tack the wadding
down on one side of it, and cover it on this side with the black satin
and netting, and on the other with the black satin only. Now all the
framework of the basket is to be entirely covered with the narrow
sarsnet ribbon I have given you for the purpose, the short wires being
covered, and the ends secured, before the handle, top, and bottom of
the frame are done. Stretch the netting which forms the sides very
carefully on. Sew it at the joint, and also at the edges of the net.
Now quill the satin ribbon in the centre, into a full and handsome
plait; trim the handle with it. Sew the pasteboard bottom in, and add
the gimps round the top, while one only may be used for the lower part."

"I might easily add a cover, might I not, mamma?"

"You might, my dear; but in that case the basket should be lined with
satin, of some good color, and the piece of netting you did for the
bottom would form the upper part of the top. In the inner part of the
cover you might then add a double-stitched ribbon across, to hold
scissors, stiletto, &c. But your basket, though more useful, perhaps,
would not be so light and elegant as it is at present."

"If you think so, mamma, we will have it so, and for once let well




[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

It will be noticed that we have adopted the excellent fashion of the
"_Moniteur_," and now give an undersleeve and chemisette to correspond.
No French woman would be guilty of wearing a collar of one style and
sleeves of another, yet our countrywomen constantly commit this breach
of toilet etiquette.

Figs. 1 and 2 are one set, intended for winter wear, as will be seen
from the close cuff of the sleeve; it is composed of lace insertion and
edging. The large square collar has superseded the frills, bands, and
even the deep-pointed _mousquetaire_ of the past season.

[Illustration: Fig. 3.]

[Illustration: Fig. 4.]

Figs. 3 and 4 are in excellent taste though of different styles. The
chemisette and sleeve are composed of Swiss muslin, insertion, and
edging. They can be copied at a very small expense, but will need
particular care in clear-starching and ironing.

[Illustration: Fig. 5.]

Fig. 5 is a breakfast cap of alternate Swiss muslin insertion, the
frill and fall surrounding the face; an old style reintroduced.
_Coques_ of ribbon separate it, and there are strings of the same.

[Illustration: Fig. 6.]

Fig. 6 has also an entire frill, though falling more behind the ear.
It is relieved by knots of ribbon. Either of them is suitable for a
sick-room cap.


(_See Brown Plate in front of Book._)


The form is round and exceedingly small. The body of the mantelet
is of very rich emerald green satin. The edge is cut out in large
rounded points, bordered with three rows of narrow black velvet, and
on each of the points are fixed three ornaments of cut black velvet
in straight rows. The intervals between the satin points at the edge
of the mantelet are filled up by Brussels net, covered with rows of
narrow black velvet. The Brussels net is cut out in pointed vandykes,
each vandyke being between the rounded points of the satin. The whole
is finished by a deep fall of black lace, set on full. The neck of
the mantelet is trimmed with rows of narrow black velvet, and cut
ornaments, the same as those on the points at the lower part.


This mantelet has received the name of Victoria in honor of the English
queen, for whom one after the same pattern has recently been made.
The material is silk of a peculiarly beautiful tint; fawn color with
a tinge of gold. This is an entirely new color, and is distinguished
in Paris by the name of _aurifère_. The Victoria mantelet is round in
form, netting easily on the shoulders, but without hanging in fulness.
The upper part of the mantelet is trimmed with several rows of figured
silt braid, of a bright groseille color, edged with small points of
gold. Attached to the lower row of braid is a deep fringe of the color
of the mantelet, having at intervals long tassels of groseille color.
At the back, between the shoulders, a bow of silk, having two rounded
ends, finished by groseille tassels, gives the effect of a hood. The
mantelet is finished at the bottom with rows of groseille colored
braid, and fringe corresponding with that described in the trimming of
the upper part.


[Illustration: CHILD'S DRESS.]


This is a very pretty light dress for a little girl. The material used
may either be a light silk or French merino; the trimming a narrow silk
braid, which, according to the taste of the maker, may be extended down
the body and round the sleeves.

The pattern of mantle, as given in the diagrams, is a pretty addition
to the dress when worn out of doors.


Fig. 1 represents the front of frock.

Fig. 2 the back of frock. Join _a_ to _a_ (Fig. 1), _b_ to _b_, _c_ to

Fig. 3.--Piece cut out for trimming down the front.

Fig. 4.--Piece to join at _a_ to _a_ (Fig. 3), to form trimming down
the back.

Fig. 5.--Pattern of sleeve, the narrow part of which should fall on

Fig. 6.--Front of mantle.

Fig. 7.--Back of mantle. Join _a_ to _a_ (Fig. 6), _b_ to _b_.



(_See Plate in front of Book._)

This admirable style of winter costume is pronounced _par excellence_
among the favorites of the season, recommending itself by its exceeding
comfort, great simplicity of adjustment, and its elegance of outline
and exquisite proportions. Its _tout ensemble_ is absolutely charming.

It is indiscriminately formed of clothes or velvets, in all the
prevailing colors, plain or ornamented with embroideries, galoons, or,
if of cloth, with velvet passementeries, or other trimmings.

We have selected for illustration one composed of mode cloth,
charmingly embroidered in a chaste and unique design of intermingled
branches. The back is three-quarters circle for medium-sized persons,
and thirty-three inches deep. It is seamed down the back, and is cut

This circular is sewn upon the under lower edge--about one inch from
the edge--of a yoke, which thus appears like a cape. This yoke is
adjusted smoothly to the neck, but is very slightly full upon the
shoulders. It likewise is cut bias. Its depth at the back is twelve
inches, upon the shoulders eight, and in front to the points thirteen

The circular is gathered into one wide and two narrow plaits where it
joins the points, which are similar to the tabs of a mantilla, and thus
forms the appearance of sleeves.

The fronts are thirty-two inches from the neck to the bottom. A collar,
four inches deep at the back, where it is slightly pointed, completes
the garment.

It has a bow upon the middle of the lower edge of the yoke, with
streamers, and is lined with taffeta in color to match.


The pattern consists of a handsome square, with a rich border on three
sides. A foundation chain of 400 stitches must be made, which will
allow for a close square at each edge of the toilet. To correspond with
the edge, do one row of dc, before beginning to work the pattern from
the engraving.


  _Materials._--Twelve reels Messrs. W. Evans & Co.'s boar's-head
  crochet cotton, No. 12.

The entire centre square is given, but not the whole of the front of
the border. When the centre of each row is reached, however, it will be
very easy to work the remainder backwards. The whole cover is done in
square crochet. The border may be added all round, if desired; but this
form, being a perfect square, is not so suited for a toilet table.

It may be trimmed either with fringe (done like that of the
anti-macassars lately given), or with a handsome crochet lace, several
designs for which we have furnished in various numbers.




[Illustration: Fig. 1.]

Fig. 1 is what is called a bed cupboard, with a shelf and top having
two flaps.

[Illustration: Fig. 2.]

Fig. 2 is a chiffonier pier-table for placing between windows.


"THE GOOD TIME COMING."--Coming! In our blessed land it has come. Are
not the means of happiness around us in inexhaustible profusion? All
now needed is, that human energies be engaged as earnestly in working
up these materials, and using these advantages _for good_, as men work
for gold; and the wonderful, waited-for era is here.

Have we not steam for a Pegasus, lightning for a postman, and the
glorious sun for an artist to help, or rather hurry onward, the work
of improvement in all material things? and free institutions, free
schools, and a free press, to aid, or rather force, mental development!
and the open Bible, the Christian Sabbath, and the preached gospel to
enlighten the soul!

Nothing seems wanting but heavenward faith and human endeavor.

Women have much, very much to do in this work. Home is the centre of
happiness; the cradle of every heroic man is tended by woman's angel
care; his soul bears the impress of her kindly teachings, as the
daguerreotype plate shows the kiss of the sun in the picture it calls
forth. Every mother should aim to make her son worthy of living in the
"good time," and then it will be.

Oh, but there are terrible evils to suffer--evils that will forever
surround humanity--poverty, pain, death! Can we have the "good time" on
earth, while these inevitable evils haunt us?

Death is not an evil to the good, but only the seal of eternal,
unchangeable blessedness. Poverty may be made the means of increased
and exquisite happiness to society, when the true principles of
Christian charity, and brotherly love, and gratitude are universally
observed. Disease will lose most of its malignity when God's laws,
impressed on our physical nature, are understood and obeyed; and pain
has been mitigated, indeed, nearly annihilated, by the wonderful
discovery of etherization, which seems now providentially brought
to the aid of suffering humanity, so that all classes of mankind
might find cause for rejoicing in the "good time." The aid of this
Lethean balm in banishing the horrors of the hospital, can hardly be
over-estimated; the merits of the discovery are yet but partially
acknowledged; we must leave these themes to the medical corps--but the
good results on humanity our sex ought most thankfully to acknowledge.
This thought reminds us of a duty we owe our readers--an introduction
to the _home_ of one who has most certainly done his part towards
helping on the "good time." The paper has been delayed for want of
room; but it shall go in now, as a fit tribute for the New Year.

_Etherton Cottage_--_A Visit there._--Our readers will remember an
engraving of this beautiful cottage in our March number of last year.
We gave then a slight sketch of the discovery of Etherization, and of
the struggles through which Dr. W. T. G. Morton had fought his way
onward to the completion of his great purpose; and how he had proved,
by the testimony of the most honored members of the Medical profession
in Massachusetts, his right to claim the discovery of the "Anæsthetic
and pain-subduing qualities of Sulphuric Ether." But great scientific
discoverers, like great poets, are not always as happy at home as they
are celebrated abroad. _Fame_ is not always, we are sorry to say,
synonymous with _domestic felicity_. Those who unite both, deserve
amaranths among their laurels, and both are deserved by the owner of
Etherton Cottage, as we think our lady friends will agree, when they go
with us to that pleasant home, where we had the pleasure of spending a
day during our last summer tour in New England.

West Needham, notwithstanding its poor prosaic name, is really a
pretty, pastoral-looking place, surrounded by low, wooded hills,
protecting, as it were, the fine farms and orchards, and the pleasant
dwellings, everywhere seen in the valleys and on the uplands around.
In twenty minutes after leaving the bustle of Boston, if the cars
make good speed, you will reach this rural scene, where Nature still
holds her quiet sway, except when the steam-horse goes snorting and
thundering by.

Here, in the heart of this still life, Doctor Morton, some seven years
ago, selected an uncultivated lot, covered with bushes, brambles, and
rocks, and, by his own science and taste, and the strong arm of Irish
labor, he has formed a home of such finished beauty as would seem to
require, at least, in its gardens and grounds, a quarter of a century
to perfect. His grounds slope down to the railroad embankment; but
a plantation of young trees, and on the height above, thick groves,
of a larger growth, hide the buildings from view as the cars pass
on this great route from Boston to the West. From the station it is
a pleasant drive through the shaded and winding way as you ascend
the rising grounds to the south. Suddenly turning a shoulder of the
knoll, Etherton Cottage is before you. The effect was fine, and what
made the scene more interesting to us was the presence of another
cottage nestled near by, smaller but equally pleasant-looking, where
we knew Dr. Morton had settled his good parents. Here they live as
one household, and from the windows of Etherton Cottage may be seen
the dwelling of another member of the family, a sister, now happily
married, for whom the Doctor also cared.

We might give a long description of these pretty cottages and beautiful
grounds, but words are wasted to little purpose in landscape or
architectural descriptions. So leaving the walks, arbors, flowers, and
fountains, we will introduce you at once to Mrs. Morton, a lady whose
attractions and merits we had heard much praised while in Washington
last winter. She is, indeed, one of those true women who seem born to
show that Solomon's old picture of a good wife and mother may now be
realized. The Doctor seems very fond and proud of her, as he may well
be; and their children--the eldest a girl of nine, the youngest a boy
of three years, with a brother and sister between--formed a lovely
group of more interest to us than all the "superb views" around. So we
will just tell you, dear reader, of the family and their home pursuits,
as these were revealed to us during that interesting visit.

We should say here that Doctor Morton has relinquished his profession,
and now passes his summers entirely at this country residence, and his
winters in Washington, where he hopes soon to gain from Congress some
reward for his great discovery of Etherization. When this is granted,
he intends visiting Europe, where he is urgently invited by the savans
of the Old World. It will be a triumph for Young America to send forth
a man so young, who has won such distinction. It seemed but a few years
since we first saw Willie Morton, a clerk in the publisher's office
where our own magazine was issued; and now we were his guest, in his
own elegant dwelling, surrounded by every requisite of happiness.

His country life is just what it should be, devoted to rural pursuits
and filled up with plans of home improvements. You only feel the
presence of his inventive genius by its active operation on the
material world around. Not a word is heard of "chloroform" or "ether"
at Etherton Cottage; but various contrivances for obviating all defects
or difficulties in bringing his domain into the perfect order he has
planned, meet you at every turning, and all sorts of odd combinations
appear, which, when understood, are found to contribute to the
beauty or utility of the whole. In short, everything useful is made
ornamental, and the ornamental is made useful.

Then the Doctor has a passion for surrounding himself with domestic
animals. This we like; it makes a country home more cheerful when dumb
dependents on human care share the abundance of God's blessings. So
after dinner we went to the barn to see the "pigs and poultry." This
barn, fronting north, was quite a model structure, built on the side
of the sloping ground, combining, in its arrangements, rooms for the
gardener (an Englishman) and his family, and the barn proper, where the
horse and cow had what a young lady called "splendid accommodations."
There was also a coach-house and tool-room, a steam-engine room where
fodder was cut up, and food--that is, grain of several kinds--ground
for the swine and poultry; also a furnace where potatoes were steamed.
The water was brought by hydraulic machinery from a brook at the bottom
of the grounds for use in the barn, and everything was managed with
scientific skill and order.

The arrangements for the poultry were very elaborate. Their rooms were
the first floor at the back or southern front of the barn; of course,
half underground. This lower story had a lattice-work front, and within
Mrs. Biddy had every accommodation hen life could desire. Into these
apartments the troop were allowed to enter at evening through a wicket
opening in this southern front; but in the morning the poultry all
passed out into the north-eastern portion of the grounds allotted them,
where was a pool of water for the water-fowl, and a fine range for
all. Still, the green field at the south, the running brook, and the
eventide meal made them all eager to rush in whenever the gate between
the two portions of their range was opened. It was this rush we went to

We stood in the main floor, near the southern or back door of the barn,
which overlooked the green field: the little gate opened, and such a
screaming, crowing, gabbling ensued, and such a flutter of wings, that
for a few minutes it was nearly deafening. A pair of Chinese geese
led the way of this feathered community. These geese, a present from
the late statesman, Daniel Webster, to Dr. Morton, who prized them
accordingly, were entirely brown, of large size, carrying their heads
very high, and walking nearly upright; they sent forth shouts that made
the air ring. They seemed to consider themselves the Celestials, and
all beside inferiors. Next, came a pair of wild geese; one wing cut,
and thus obliged to remain in the yard, they had become quite tame;
but still, their trumpet-call seemed to tell their love of freedom.
These, too, were brown, with black heads, and long lithe necks, that
undulated like the motions of a snake, with every movement. Very
unlike these were the next pair of snow-white Bremen geese, stout,
fat, contented-looking creatures, only making the usual gabbling of
geese which are well to do in the world. Among the varieties of the
duck genus were several of the Poland species; snowy white, except the
vermilion-colored spots on the head, that look like red sealingwax
plasters round the eyes. These ducks made a terrible _quackery_. But
the domestic fowl was the multitude: there appeared to be all kinds and
species, from the tall Shanghais, that seemed to stalk on stilts, to
the little boatlike creepers that move as if on castors. It was a queer
sight, such an army of hens and chickens, rushing hither and thither,
to pick up the grain scattered for their supper. And then the pride of
the old peacock; he just entered with the rest, then spread his heavy
wings and flew up to the ridge-pole of the barn, where he sat alone in
his glory. It was, altogether, a pleasant sight.

But within the barn was a lovelier spectacle. From the centre beam hung
a large rope, its lower end passing through a circular board, about the
size of a round tea-table; four smaller ropes passed through holes near
the edge of this round board, at equal distances, and were united with
the large rope several yards above, thus forming four compartments,
with the centre rope for a resting-place. In these snug spaces were
seated the four beautiful children, like birds in a nest, swinging
every way in turn as the little feet that first touched the floor gave

It was a lovely picture of childhood made happy by parental care for
the amusements of infancy. The father's genius had designed that swing
to give pleasure, as it had discovered the elixir for pain, by taking
thought for others. With both Dr. Morton and his amiable wife, the
training of their little ones seemed the great subject of interest. The
children were _well governed_, this was easy to see, and thus a very
important point in their instruction was made sure. They were also made
happy by every innocent and healthful recreation. Their future destiny
seemed the engrossing object of their parents' minds; to bring up these
little ones in the fear and love of the Lord, their most earnest desire.

During the evening, the topic of education was the chief one discussed,
and we parted from this interesting family fully assured that the good
old Puritan mode of uniting faith in God with human endeavor was there
understood and acted on. Miss Bremer might find, at Etherton Cottage, a
charming illustration of her "love-warmed homes in America."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE WIVES OF ENGLAND.--We are glad to see that attention has at
length been called to the sufferings and injuries of that unfortunate
class, the women of the lower orders in England. The recent murder of
a woman by her husband, habitually given to beating her in the most
cruel manner, with other flagrant instances of similar brutality, have
called forth several warm remonstrances from the London press. During a
recent session of Parliament, a bill was passed, making such offences
punishable by lengthened imprisonment, but the law has been found
inadequate. A late writer in the "Morning Chronicle" calls loudly for
corporeal punishment, and says: "We have brutes, not men to deal with;
the appeal must be made to the only sense they possess, the sense of
physical pain. The law can and must lay on the lash heavily; the terror
of the torture will soon restrain those on whom all other means have

"The Times," in an indignant article on the same subject, dwells upon
the indifference and supineness of neighbors and bystanders, during
these scenes of violence, and ironically calls upon the draymen and
carters of London, whose outraged virtue led them to apply the lash to
General Haynau for whipping women in far-off Hungary, to stand by their
own countrywomen. "If Lynch law is to prevail in England," says the
"Times," "let it not exclude the defence of Englishwomen."

Though no advocate for Lynch law, we cannot but marvel that, in the
breasts of Englishmen, that misdirected sense of justice which is at
the bottom of all such illegal acts, should be so entirely wanting;
and, as the purpose of the "Times," in its appeal to the draymen, is to
arouse this feeling, and make a _power_ of public opinion, we heartily
agree with it. We must, however, dissent from the writers in both of
these journals, when they advise recourse to corporeal punishment.
You cannot lash a man into a sense of his error; you but degrade and
brutalize him the more. Let the axe be laid to the root, begin with
his moral nature. Educate him; elevate his character by teachings from
the pulpit and school-room; take away his disabilities; teach him to
respect himself, and he will soon learn to respect others. The hardened
sinners who now pollute the earth by such misdeeds will, ere long, be
called to their great account. Let England see that the generations now
rising do not follow in their footsteps.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR FRIENDS.--A Happy New Year to all who are with us this glad
morning. The Old Year has passed away, and with it much that we loved
is gone. Let us hope the coming year will bring us many opportunities
of doing good--and that God will assist our feeble endeavors to improve
the time as it passes. Then the Year will be happy indeed.

Editors' Table-Drawer.

Original and selected articles are before us in such profusion, as we
open this wonderfully capacious receptacle of scraps and MSS., that the
difficulty will be to stop when we once begin arranging this mosaic of
literature. However, we have the year before us, and every month will
require its pictures and precepts. Here are a few.

       *       *       *       *       *

MYSTERY.--In the beauty of form, or of moral character, or of the
material creation, it is that which is most veiled which is most
beautiful. Valleys are the mysteries of landscapes.--_Lamartine._

       *       *       *       *       *

UNJUST ACQUISITION.--What do we mean by unjust acquisition? It is not
to be measured by its extent, but by its principle. Unjust acquisition
is to take what is not your own; and who does that more than one of
those poor gin drinkers, who has sold his morsel of bread to buy his
own destruction, and then thinks another ought to be forced to replace
it?--_Mrs. Marsh._

       *       *       *       *       *

ECLECTICS.--Eclectics, in philosophy, are for the most part _les
demi-esprits_, who are incapable of viewing facts in their wholeness;
just as the eclectics in politics are they who want the honesty to
be quite pure, and the courage to be quite rogues. Such persons make
systems from inconsistent scraps, taken from discordant philosophy,
with the same taste as the architects of the Middle Ages erected
barbarous edifices with the beautiful fragments of antiquity.--_Lady

       *       *       *       *       *

CONVERSATION.--There is scarcely any source of enjoyment more
immediately connected at once with the heart and with the mind, than
that of listening to a sensible and amiable woman when she converses
in a melodious and well-regulated voice, when her language and
pronunciation are easy and correct, and when she knows how to adapt her
conversation to the characters and habits of those around her.--_Mrs.

       *       *       *       *       *

DREAMS OF YOUTH.--Clouds weave the summer into the season of autumn;
and youth rises from dashed hopes into the stature of a man.

Well, it is even so, that the passionate dreams of youth break up and
wither. Vanity becomes tempered with wholesome pride, and passion
yields to the riper judgment of manhood; even as the August heats pass
on and over into the genial glow of a September sun. There is a strong
growth in the struggles against mortified pride; and then only does the
youth get an ennobling consciousness of that manhood which is dawning
in him, when he has fairly surmounted those puny vexations which a
wounded vanity creates.

But God manages the seasons better than we; and in a day, or an hour
perhaps, the cloud will pass, and the heavens glow again upon our
ungrateful heads.--_Ik Marvel._

       *       *       *       *       *

RIGHT PREPARATION FOR MARRIAGE.--We are thoroughly acquainted with each
other's character, tastes, and habits; and both of us believe there is
a singular, even an extraordinary degree of mutual adaptation in all
our views, feelings, and wishes. Perhaps I might have mentioned that my
dear friend is about six years younger than myself. Two months hence I
shall be thirty-seven years of age. Our acquaintance has now been as
much as seven years, and our avowed engagement about five. I regret
that the union has been unavoidably deferred to so advanced a period
of life; but I never wish I had been married very young. I do feel
grateful to Heaven for the combination of valuable gifts I hope for in
my beloved. Her conscience, intellect, and tenderness are the chief. In
her society and co-operation, I do indulge a sanguine hope of improving
in every respect, by a more quiet and pleasing manner than I have done
in a given space during all these past years of gloomy solitude.--_John

       *       *       *       *       *

We will now give an original poem, fresh from the pen of one whom, from
the lack, probably, of a "right preparation for marriage," does not
seem to find her home--what it should be--the place of improvement as
well as happiness. She shall have free space for her experiences. We
hope her warnings may be heeded by all young lady teachers, and that
they will not leave a sphere where they are contentedly useful even
to be married, until sure, as good John Foster was, that there is a
"mutual adaptation" in the connection.


Oh, for _my_ little school-room, _my_ green benches, _my_ two _cracked_

    Now, girls, accept of a little advice,
    "Experience teaches one how to be wise."
    A year or two since, I would fall in love;
    Of all men created, below or above,
      There was never another.
    A man _so_ endowed with every perfection,
    That even mamma no sort of objection
      Could find to my lover.

    We married, the horror of all to endure!
    Somewhat of a hubbub was kicked up, be sure;
    There was cake to be cut and evenly lie,
    And white satin ribbon in bow knots to tie,
      And notes to be written.
    And dresses sent out and brought home,
    And callers unwelcome would come,
      And sit, and keep sitting.

    The groom was, as _usual_, a little _too late_--
    Procrastination, of _all_ things, I hate!--
    His cravat, _then_, was tied in a great crooked bow.
    Our trunks must be packed, all ready to go--
      I was no more a teacher.
    _Then_, when in the cab, at _last_, ready were seated,
    Lo! some one behind ran crying, o'erheated,
      "You've not paid the preacher!"

    Perplexities numberless, little and large,
    Will crowd to o'erwhelm you with powerful surge;
    Still, consider them _naught_, to a year and a day,
      When you trit-trot the _baby_!
    There's a concert perhaps, or some favorite play,
    Or a party, where all your old playmates are gay;
      "_But_, my dear, 'bout YOUR baby!

    "Now, wifey, you know it to be impolite
    That you and I, _both_, the invite should slight.
    Alas! I'm a martyr to etiquette, though;
    _Pet must_ have vision enough to _see_ so.
      Don't wait for me, pray.
    You know, love, how swiftly short hours pursue;
    So sleep on quite comfortably, darling, pray do,
      I'm home _before day_."

    Now, girls, these _faint_ facts in time you may know,
    And moan that in youth you did not bestow
    More note on these lines, in sympathy penned
    To advise you; and oh, you will need a friend!
      For I _know_ you _will_ marry.
    In confidence, listen: To market ne'er go,
    For of all the _small_ change an account you will owe;
    And you'd _die_, if you knew what a bother to do
      There'll be with your "Harry."

    "Now always it has been a case of concern
    What daily you do with the money I earn;
    I reg'larly give you ten dollars a week,
    And _once_ in a _while_ a dollar to keep
      For baby and you.
    Why, _I_ never spend over a dollar for brandy,
    Or little five franc for cigars or _spice_ candy--
      With _all_ the week's money pray what do _you_ do?"


       *       *       *       *       *

TO CORRESPONDENTS.--The following articles are accepted, and will
appear as soon as we have room: "The Interview," "Blessington's
Choice," "The Last Night of Caulaincourt," "Twilight," "O'er bleak
Acadia's Plains," "To O. L. H.," "There's Music," "Eventide,"
"Stanzas," "The Last Moments," "To a Coquette," "The Pet," and "To
the Ladies' Friend, Mr. Godey." Several other articles are under

"The Fall of the Leaf," and "Autumn and its Memories." Will our
correspondents please remember that we have to prepare our "Book" for
each month at least two months previous to its date? Both the above
articles are accepted; but we cannot publish them before March, when
it will be the spring and not fall of the year.

The following manuscripts are declined: "Stanzas," "Elfie St. Claire,"
"To a Departed Sister," "Absence is no Cure for Pure Love," "The Last
Indian," "Autumn Leaves" (this poem, intended for October, did not
reach us till November, so was out of season), "The New Year, 1854"
(these "Lines" are not exactly suited to our "Book." The writer's youth
affords hope of improvement. The annuals for this season are all out),
"Hatred," "The Mistake," "Singing Schools," "Absence," "Pride," and "A

Literary Notices.

BOOKS BY MAIL.--Now that the postage on printed matter is so low, we
offer our services to procure for our subscribers or others any of the
books that we notice. Information touching books will be cheerfully
given by inclosing a stamp to pay return postage.

       *       *       *       *       *

From E. H. BUTLER & CO., Philadelphia:--

THE BOW IN THE CLOUD; _or, Covenant of Mercy for the Afflicted_, is the
appropriate title of a work which can hardly fail of a welcome to the
homes and hearts of the sorrowful. It is divided into five portions,
viz., "_Affliction_," "_Resignation_," "_Comfort_," "_Leaning on the
Cloud_," and "_The Sleep in Jesus_," each of which is most skilfully
and tenderly brought to bear on the particular kind of affliction
under which the burdened soul may complain. The articles, original
and selected, are chosen and prepared with great care, and the pious
and eminent writers who have contributed to this volume insure its
excellence. It is beautifully printed and illustrated; no other work of
the kind within our knowledge unites such various merits.

THE WHITE VEIL: _a Bridal Gift_. By Mrs. Sarah Josepha Hale. This book
is beautifully got up, the publisher sparing no expense that could
add to its embellishment. The contents are varied, comprising choice
articles from eminent authors, and the sentiments of the wise and good
of every age respecting marriage and conjugal love. We hope it will be
the favorite gift-book of the season, and be always among the bride's
treasures. pp. 324.

THE AMERICAN STATESMAN; _or, Illustrations of the Life and Character of
Daniel Webster_. Designed for American youth. By Joseph Banvard. There
have been such a variety of publications relating to Daniel Webster
since his decease, that there hardly seemed room for another. But this
neat-looking and well printed volume will be a welcome gift to the
young American. There is room for this book, and a welcome, too.

       *       *       *       *       *


THE HOMES OF THE NEW WORLD, &c. By Frederika Bremer. Translated by
Mary Howitt. This work, hurriedly written during Miss Bremer's travels
through our country, is a compound of journal and letters to her sister
and friends in Sweden. It possesses much interest, but needed revision
and condensation to make it what it should have been from its popular
author. The letter to the Queen of Denmark will be read with deep
interest. It is a synopsis of the opinions expressed throughout the
book, which, on the whole, are favorable, and in a better spirit than
English tourists have ever exhibited. We shall refer to the work again.

LOUIS XVII. _His Life--his Sufferings--his Death. The Captivity of
the Royal Family in the Temple._ By A. De Beauchesne. Translated and
edited by W. Hazlitt, Esq. Embellished with vignettes, autographs, and
plans. Great care appears to have been taken to sustain the horrible
events recorded in this volume, by the production of witnesses living
at the time the work was written, and by the production of documents,
the authenticity of which seems unquestionable. After this, we think
that the Rev. Mr. Williams, and his credulous friends, will feel it to
be their duty to postpone indefinitely their claims upon the throne of
France. We hope the reverend gentleman, forgetting what appeared to be
his high dignity and destiny, will throw himself at the feet of his
poor Indian mother and acknowledge his undutifulness, and the scandal
he has given by his vain attempts to repudiate her maternal authority.

LADY LEE'S WIDOWHOOD. From "Blackwood's Magazine." A cheap edition of a
very delightful story, with which many of our readers have, no doubt,
already formed some acquaintance.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE YOUNG MAN'S INSTITUTE. We have here the Third Report of the Board
of Trustees, and great progress seems to have been made. One question
that occurred to us we could not solve by this report. Lectures are
instituted. Are women permitted to attend? And can women have access to
the libraries?

       *       *       *       *       *

MORRIS'S POETICAL WORKS. We have had the pleasure to receive, with
the "kind respects of the author," a copy of the beautiful edition of
his poems recently published by Charles Scribner, New York; splendid,
indeed, in paper, in printing, in its engravings and binding, but more
admirable on account of its literary merits and its poetical gems, in
which are chastely blended the most attractive sentiments of love,
friendship, honor, and patriotism, enlivened here and there with a
dash of wit, humor, or wholesome satire. As a song-writer, Mr. Morris
has but few competitors in this or any other country. He possesses
a peculiar faculty for expressing in heart-thrilling versification
those domestic and national feelings which are common to every race
and kindred of the civilized world. His productions, therefore, in
that line of poetry, have attained a popularity as warm as it is
general among all who speak the English language. They have also been
translated into several languages of the European continent, and have
thus not only spread far and wide the reputation of the author, but
have contributed to perpetuate the fame of our country, and to extend
the free spirit of our people, and a knowledge of the liberality of our
institutions to the remotest nations. If it is true that the songs of
a people form a prominent and reliable feature in their history, then
may it be as truly said that our friend Morris has done his share in
promoting the ends which all historians must necessarily keep in view.
And as this elegant volume, so creditable to American art, genius, and
feeling, could only have been produced by a heavy expenditure of time
and money, we most sincerely hope that the author, and all who have had
any hand in its beautiful illustrations, will meet with a quick and
substantial reward for their patriotic labors.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

THE UNDERGROUND MAIL AGENT. By Vidi. Illustrated with designs by White.
This, as the reader will be most likely to judge from the title, is
another of those works which have been published in rapid succession,
setting forth the advantages and the disadvantages, the humanity and
the inhumanity of a certain domestic institution. The object of the
author has been to contrast the condition of those who live subject to
the institution referred to, and to render its general aspects more
favorable to their comfort and happiness, than is the condition of the
same race of beings in the enjoyment of personal freedom. A tale of
some interest, but of no great probability, is interwoven with the main
design of the author.

       *       *       *       *       *

From J. S. REDFIELD, Clinton Hall, New York, through W. B. ZIEBER,

India_. By Mrs. Colin Mackenzie. In two volumes. This is evidently
the work of a woman of good sense, amiable feelings, and acute
observation, possessing, withal, a courageous Christian heart. Her
close and well-written narrative will afford the reader a vast deal of
instructive incident illustrative of varied life in India. Its minute
descriptions of the domestic habits and manners of the oppressed and
idolatrous natives, its continued references to the arduous duties of
the missionaries, and its often indignant comments upon the tyrannical
forms and practices of the Anglo-Indian government, will most fully
command the attention of the reader to its close.

       *       *       *       *       *

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

_with Specimens of his Poetry and Letters, and an estimate of his
Genius and Talents compared with those of his great Contemporaries_.
A new edition, revised and enlarged. By Thomas Pryor, Esq. In two
volumes. This is a standard work, which no student of political
history, no public speaker, no statesman should be without. The
subject of this interesting memoir, Edmund Burke, was one of the
most eloquent, liberal, just, and fearless men of the eventful times
in which he lived. And yet he was remarkable for his modesty and
unobtrusiveness--we might almost say for the humility of his character.
On this account, if on no other, these volumes would form an important
and instructive study for many of the young men of the present day,
who are aspirants for literary, legal, or political honors. They will
show to them how consistently the highest attainments in any or all
these branches can be made to secure to their possessors the highest
triumphs, without a single departure from the strictest propriety, and
while sustaining a reputation as guileless as that of childhood.

LIGHT ON THE DARK RIVER; _or, Memorials of Mrs. Henrietta A. L. Hamlin,
Missionary in Turkey_. By Margarette Woods Lawrence. In these memorials
of a pious and amiable missionary lady, the Christian reader will meet
with consoling examples of faith and resignation to the will of God
under the severest trials and afflictions.

       *       *       *       *       *

From BLANCHARD & LEA, Philadelphia:--

Historical portions of the Old and New Testaments_. Designed for the
use of schools and private reading. By Edward Hughes, F. R. A. S.,
F. R. G. S., Head Master of the Royal Naval Lower School, Greenwich
hospital; author of "Outlines of Physical Geography," "An Atlas of
Physical, Political, and Commercial Geography," etc. etc. It will not
be required of us by the observing Christian, who has read the title
of this work, that we should say more than that it is all it modestly
pretends to be. To the devout student of the Holy Scriptures it will
impart a new and delightful interest. It will at once strengthen his
faith and enlarge the sphere of his knowledge, rendering him familiar
not only with the characters of the prophets and apostles, but familiar
also with their places of birth, of their places of residence, of
the routes they travelled, and of the scenes of their sufferings and
triumphs. A great portion of the work is formed of extracts from
the writings of religious and literary men, who have visited the
interesting regions described, and in whose contemplations we have all
the beauties of the sublimest poetry blended with the simplest truths
of Scripture history.

       *       *       *       *       *

From D. APPLETON & CO., New York, through C. G. HENDERSON & CO.,

THE LIFE OF WILLIAM PINKNEY. By his Nephew, the Rev. William Pinkney,
D. D. Here is a work that will at once recommend itself to the American
student and the general reader. If any good reason can be given why
we should be familiar with the orators and statesmen of Europe, there
can certainly be no excuse for our ignorance in regard to the same
class of men whose names are an honor to our own country. Among the
illustrious men who were the contemporaries of Clay, Webster, Calhoun,
Marshall, and others, all of whom have passed away, was William
Pinkney, the subject of these memoirs. Perhaps no one among his great
competitors exceeded him in eloquence, and certainly none of them ever
had greater opportunities of becoming acquainted with the statesmen and
the diplomatic policy of England and of Europe, during one of the most
eventful periods in history. This volume will be deeply interesting to
our young men.

       *       *       *       *       *

From L. K. LIPPINCOTT, No. 66 South Third Street, Philadelphia:--

THE LITTLE PILGRIM. _A Monthly Journal for Girls and Boys._
Edited by Grace Greenwood. This is the modest title of a neat and
pleasant-looking periodical, which has just entered upon its career
of usefulness, under the editorial charge of one well known to our
readers. We are happy to see our fair friend engaged in an occupation
so congenial to her heart as that of providing for the literary wants
of the little ones. That Grace's reward may be commensurate with the
worth and excellence of what she can and will do is our heartfelt wish,
and one which, if granted, will find her "Little Pilgrim" a welcome
visitant to every household in the land.

The terms of the "Little Pilgrim" are fifty cents a year, or ten copies
for four dollars. Payment invariably in advance.

       *       *       *       *       *

From G. P. PUTNAM, New York, through W. B. ZIEBER, Philadelphia:--

MR. RUTHERFORD'S CHILDREN. This is the first number of a juvenile
series, to be published under the general title of "Ellen Montgomery's
Book-Case." When we state that it is from the pen of the author of "The
Wide, Wide World," "Queechy," etc., our friends will require from us no
other assurance of its merits. We are glad to see our writers turning
their attention to a better kind of literature for children. Books of
this class, even from authors of moderate abilities, are acceptable;
but, when they bear the impress of genius and talent, they are, indeed,
invaluable. Under their influence, we confidently hope the rising
generation will grow up pure in morals, with noble and affectionate
hearts, and with minds well stored with things not brilliant only, but
useful and entertaining. The engravings in the volume by which these
remarks have been elicited are beautiful. The types with which it is
printed are large and clear, and the paper exquisite.

WESTERN CHARACTERS; _or, Types of Border Life in the Western States_.
By J. L. McConnell, author of "Talbot and Vernon," "The Glenns,"
etc. etc. With illustrations by Darley. This is a highly entertaining
volume, written in a clear, forcible, and pleasant style, and valuable
for the amount of interesting information it contains with regard to
characters, some of which, a century hence, perhaps, will have no
living representatives. As to the correctness of these "Types," we are
not abundantly qualified to speak; but they seem to us to be accurate,
and certainly are delineated with a skilful and vigorous hand.

       *       *       *       *       *

From J. W. MOORE, 195 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia:--

already noticed the appearance of this volume, and spoken favorably
of its character. It is sold wholesale and retail by the gentlemanly
publisher, from whom we have received our present copy.

       *       *       *       *       *

From ELI ADAMS, Publisher, Davenport, Iowa:--

THE PENNY MAGAZINE, _of the Society for the Diffusion of Useful
Knowledge_. American republication from the English plates. Volume 1.
Semi-monthly Parts, 1, 2, and 3. In this age, one is to be surprised
only by something that is really surprising. We confess we were not a
little astonished by receiving, from what was lately the backwoods,
these finely printed numbers of a new edition of an old favorite. May
success attend the efforts of the enterprising publisher!

       *       *       *       *       *

CHILDREN'S BOOKS FOR THE HOLIDAYS. Go to Henderson & Co., Corner
of Fifth and Arch Streets, and there you will find the handsomest
assortment in the city. They have sent us "Happy Days of Childhood,"
by Amy Meadows. It contains twenty-four splendid full-page
engravings--pictures, really handsome embellishments, showing artistic
skill and beauty, very different from those of any other house that
we have yet seen. We have also received from Messrs. H. & Co. two
large quarto Children's Books, each entitled "The Picture Pleasure
Book for 1854," containing in each number five hundred engravings,
and all executed in the most masterly manner. These are books that
one feels gratified in presenting to children; they are complimentary
to the donor's taste. Call at Henderson & Co.'s and see their superb

       *       *       *       *       *


From D. Appleton & Co., New York, through C. G. Henderson &
Co., Philadelphia: "All's not Gold that Glitters: or, the Young
Californian." By Cousin Alice, author of "No such word as Fail,"
"Contentment better than Wealth," etc. etc. If we did not recollect a
happy event which took place some months since, we might, indeed, feel
surprised at the accuracy with which Cousin Alice describes a voyage
around Cape Horn, as well as the condition and habits of the miners and
other worthy citizens of the gold regions. But, after all, our personal
recollections have nothing to do with the real merits of the book,
which are, indeed, of the first order, morally, intellectually, and in
its vivid and truthful powers of description.--"Parley's Present for
all Seasons." By S. C. Goodrich, author of "Parley's Tales," etc. This
is a handsomely illustrated volume, containing twenty-five of Peter's
pleasant tales for children.--"Busy Moments of an Idle Woman." This
volume comprises several excellent tales.

From Dewitt & Davenport, New York: "Helen Malgrave; or, the Jesuit
Executorship: being a Passage in the Life of a Seceder from Romanism."
An Autobiography.--"The Monk's Revenge: or, the Secret Enemy." A tale
of the later Crusades. By Samuel Spring, Esq.

From J. S. Redfield, Clinton Hall, New York, through W. B. Zieber,
Philadelphia: "The Blackwater Chronicle. A Narrative of an Expedition
into the Land of Canaan, in Randolph County, Va.--a country flowing
with wild animals, such as Panthers, Bears, Wolves, Elk, Deer, Otter,
Badger, &c. &c., with innumerable Trout--by Five Adventurous Gentlemen,
without any aid of government, and solely upon their own resources,
in the Summer of 1851." By "the Clerk of Oxenforde." This book is
mainly descriptive of a romantic and beautiful section of country, the
advantages of which are imperfectly understood.

From Charles Scribner, New York, through A. Hart, Philadelphia:
"Gustavus Lindorm; or, 'Lead us not into Temptation.'" By Emilie F.
Carlen, author of "One Year of Wedlock," "The Bride of Ombery," etc.
With a preface to her American readers by the author. From the original
Swedish, by Elbert Perce. This is a very interesting domestic tale by
a favorite author. The preface pays a handsome tribute to some of the
best American writers, while the work itself sustains throughout a high
moral and religious feeling.--"Tip-Top; or, a Noble Aim." A book for
boys and girls. By Mrs. S. C. Tuthill, author of "I'll be a Gentleman,"
"I'll be a Lady," etc. etc. This is a most attractive little volume.
The wholesome lessons it contains cannot fail to make a deep and
salutary lesson upon the minds of youthful readers.--"Sparing to Spend;
or the Loftons and Pinkertons." By T. S. Arthur. It has been truly said
of Mr. Arthur, that he never writes without an aim, and that always a
good one. The high moral aim of the present volume is "to exhibit the
evils that flow from the too common lack of prudence, self-denial, and
economy in young people at the beginning of life; and also to show, by
contrast, the beneficial results of a wise restriction of the wants to
the means." No one will rise from the perusal of this naturally written
story without feeling himself strengthened in all good and honorable
resolutions.--"The Little Drummer; or, Filial Affection." A story of
the Russian campaign. By Gustav Nieritz. Translated from the German, by
Mrs. H. E. Conant. This little work, which will greatly interest the
youthful reader, is from the pen of a favorite German author.

From T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia: "The Countess de Charny." We have
received the second and last volume of this charming work by Dumas.
We would willingly have three or four more volumes.--"Ten Thousand
a Year." By the author of the "Diary of a London Physician." In one
volume complete. Price 50 cents.

From Bunce & Brother, New York, through T. B. Peterson, Philadelphia:
"The Star Chamber: an Historical Romance." By Wm. Harrison Ainsworth,
author of "Old St. Paul's," etc. etc.--"Jack Adams, the Mutineer." By
Capt. Frederick Chamier, R. N., author of "The Spitfire," etc.

From Hermann J. Meyer, 164 William Street, New York: Nos. 3, 4, and 5
of "Meyer's Monats Hefte," a beautifully printed and illustrated German
magazine.--Parts 6 and 7, Vol. 2, of "Meyer's Universum."--Parts 4 and
5 (East and West) of "The United States Illustrated; or, Views of the
City and Country." With descriptions and historical articles. Edited by
Charles A. Dana. This is a valuable publication, presenting some of the
finest views on the American continent, elegantly engraved by the first

"Ladies' Winter Book of Crochet Patterns." Miss Annie T. Wilbur has
issued a pamphlet containing a large number of receipts for working
crochet patterns. It is published by Moses H. Sargent, of Newburyport,
Mass. The explanations are very minute, and Miss W. has herself worked
every pattern that she has given in the book.

Chemistry for Youth.

SCINTILLATIONS IN THE ATMOSPHERE.--When a globule of sodium is thrown
into _hot_ water, the decomposition is so violent that small particles
of the metal are thrown out of the water, and actually burn with
scintillation and flame in passing through the atmosphere.

       *       *       *       *       *

A LAMP WITHOUT A FLAME.--Procure six or eight inches of platinum wire,
about the hundredth part of an inch in thickness, coil it round a
small cylinder ten or twelve times, then drop it on the flame of a
spirit-lamp, so that part may touch the wick and part remain above it.
Light the lamp, and when it has burned a minute or two, put it out; the
wire will then be ignited, and continue so long as any spirit remains
in the lamp. Lamps manufactured on this principle are sold sometimes by
the chemists.

       *       *       *       *       *

LUMINOUS CHARACTERS.--Take a piece of phosphorus and fix it firmly into
a quill; with this write any sentence or fanciful figure or character
on a whitewashed wall, and in the dark the characters will appear
beautifully luminous. Care must be taken while using the quill to dip
it in a basin of cold water frequently, or the repeated friction will
cause it to inflame, to the manifest detriment of the operator.

       *       *       *       *       *

LIGHT PRODUCED FROM SUGAR.--If two large pieces of sugar (loaf) are
rubbed together in the dark, a light blue flame, like lightning, will
be emitted. The same effect is produced when a piece of loaf sugar is
struck with a hammer.

       *       *       *       *       *

GREEN FIRE.--Take of flowers of sulphur thirteen drachms, of nitrate
of barytes seventy-seven drachms, of oxymuriate of potash five, of
metallic arsenic two, of charcoal three. The nitrate of barytes should
be well dried and powdered; it should then be mixed with the other
ingredients, all finely pulverized, and the whole triturated until
perfectly blended together. A little calamine may be occasionally
added, to make the mixture burn slower.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PROTEAN LIGHT.--Soak a cotton wick in a strong solution of salt and
water, dry it, place it in a spirit lamp, and, when lighted, it will
give a bright yellow light for a long time. If you look through a piece
of blue glass at the flame, it will lose all its yellow light, and you
will only perceive feeble violet rays. If before the blue glass, you
place a yellow glass, the lamp will be absolutely invisible, though a
candle may be distinctly seen through the same glasses.

       *       *       *       *       *

LIGHT FROM A FLOWER.--Hold a lighted candle to the flower of the
_fraxinella_, and it will dart forth little flashes of light. This
beautiful appearance is caused by the essential and inflammable oil
contained in small vessels at the extremities of the flower, which
vessels burn at the approach of any inflamed body, setting at liberty
the essential oil, as that contained in orange-peel is discharged by

       *       *       *       *       *

BRILLIANT LIGHT FROM STEEL.--Pour into a watch glass a little sulphuret
of carbon, and light it; hold in the flame a brush of steel wire, and
it will burn beautifully. A watch-spring may also be burnt in it.

       *       *       *       *       *

LIGHT FROM FLANNEL.--Shake flannel in the dark, and it will emit a
light similar to that produced from rubbing the back of a cat.

Godey's Arm-Chair.

OUR JANUARY NUMBER.--We have no hesitation in saying that this is, so
far, the handsomest number we have ever published, in all respects:
reading matter, pictorial illustrations, paper, and typography. We
again are obliged to give new type, and in our choice of that we think
we have been very successful. It is large and clear, and will not be so
trying to the eyes as our former small type. It was manufactured for
us by Messrs. Collins & M'Leester, and is in every way worthy their
established reputation. We have said that this is our best number so
far; but we do not mean to say that it is the best number we intend to
publish, we make no such promise. Time will show; but if any magazine
intends to come in competition with us, they must work harder than we
do to please a public that has ever been generous to us.

       *       *       *       *       *

Our January number is a type of the year, with the exception of the
engraved title-page, which we always give in the first number. We
do not commence with a large number of pages and plates to catch
subscribers, and then dwindle down to a shadow. This thing is beginning
to be understood by the public and the press. Hear what the "Auburn
Gazette" says on the subject:--

"GODEY'S LADY'S BOOK.--The last number is, of course, better than
the ladies bargained for, for the veteran Godey not only does not do
things miserly, but always gives more than he promises. This is perhaps
the great reason of his success and popularity. We have seen January
numbers of magazines that were really magnificent, but by December
their attractions have 'grown small by degrees and beautifully less.'
Godey's practice is the reverse of this. Excelsior! is his motto, and
nobly does he _work_ up to it. Without saying more, we simply suggest
that now is the time to form clubs for the next year."

If we fall off in any respect from what we have stated above, we beg to
be reminded of it.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR TITLE-PAGE FOR 1854.--This is really one of the most beautiful
engravings we have ever published: "Time in search of Cupid." Here
we have history, painting, sculpture, music, love, flowers, a little
buncomb in the shape of the American Flag, and the portrait of a very
worthy person, who has been the ladies' humble servant for twenty-four
years. Designed for the "Book" by Gilbert, of London.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE PLEIADES.--This engraving was designed expressly for the "Lady's
Book" by Wm. Croome, Esq.: it recommends itself. May we say a word
here about original designs? We believe that we are the only publisher
that has ever gone to the expense of having original designs made for
engraving. We have had more than one hundred original designs made for
our own use by such artists as Gilbert, of London, Darley, Rothermel,
Croome, Schussele, Waitt, and others.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR FASHION PLATE.--We challenge any one to produce anything that can
be compared to it this side of Louis Napoleon's dominions.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO THE LADIES.--As the season has now arrived, will our lady
subscribers please bear in mind the appeal we made to them in our
November number, 1853?

We must again remind our subscribers that they need not wait for
collecting agents to call, but please remit us at once for last year,
and, at the same time, include the subscription for 1854.

       *       *       *       *       *

GENERAL AGENCY FOR PERIODICALS.--Many persons wishing to subscribe
for different publications do not like the trouble of writing several
letters. This may be obviated by sending the money to the subscriber,
who will attend to all orders punctually, whether for publications
monthly or weekly in this city or elsewhere.

Any information asked for by any of our subscribers we will cheerfully
give, if it is in our power.

We will attend to purchasing any goods that may be desired, and will
forward them at the lowest market price.

       *       *       *       *       *

Brodie, of 51 Canal St., New York, again shines in this number. His
store is besieged with customers, and he deserves his success.

       *       *       *       *       *

OUR NEW DEPARTMENT.--DRAWING LESSONS.--We recommend the simple method
here practised to parents. It is the simplest method of teaching
drawing we have ever seen.

       *       *       *       *       *

A lady writes us: "I find your patterns with diagrams how to cut
dresses invaluable to me. I have used every one, and have not failed in
any one instance in getting a most becoming garment."

       *       *       *       *       *

It is well suggested by a lady subscriber that the interest of the
"Lady's Book" does not cease with the receipt of the numbers. She says
that it is worth more to her when bound as a book of reference for
receipts and other matters than any Cyclopædia.

       *       *       *       *       *

We wish it to be distinctly understood that our fashions are always in
advance, so that ladies in distant places can have their dresses made
by our descriptions, and wear them at the same time that they are worn
in Philadelphia and New York.

       *       *       *       *       *

"THAT'S ENOUGH."--So say we. If every one would only do as the editor
of the "Raleigh Age" has done, hand the "Lady's Book" to his wife--ah,
bother! there it is again, we are always forgetting that some of our
friends are not so blessed;--well, if they will only hand the "Book" to
some female friend, they will all most likely say, as the good wife of
"The Age" says, "It is capital," and then the gentleman can add what
the editor, in this case, has done, "That's enough."

       *       *       *       *       *

A young Miss, at a party, was observed once, when it was growing late
in the evening, to be getting quite uneasy; they had gone through a
great many plays of different kinds, but none of them seemed to suit
her: at last, finding it impossible to conceal her uneasiness any
longer, she stepped up to the mistress of the house with "Please,
ma'am, when does the kissing commence?" We find from our exchanges
that, in our own case, it is about to commence with us now. Well, after
waiting twenty-four years, rather longer than the young lady had to
wait, we can only say "Barcus is willing." Henry Clay kissed his way
from North to South, and from East to West; Godey can't refuse--come
on, come one, come all. The "Georgia Standard" says: "Mr. Godey, we
have a notion of getting up a $10 club, and see how many kisses we can
collect for you in the bargain. If we meet with any success (and, for
your sake, we are quite confident), we will send the money and retain
the kisses, or retain them and send the money, as you please."

Now it strikes us that this editor, in question, never says kisses for
us, but is for keeping them all to himself, something like the saying
of the boys, "Heads I win, tails you lose." We are content anyhow.

       *       *       *       *       *

"AH, SHE THINKS THAT I FORGET HER."--The ballad published in our
December number was presented to us by Messrs. Andrews & Co., the
popular music sellers of Spring Garden St., and is copyrighted, which
we neglected to insert under the title.

       *       *       *       *       *

the Ball-room," as taught by Mr. and Mrs. Durang, among which will
be found "Pop goes the Weasel," the rage now in London, La Willicka;
the gems consist of six pieces. We have also received T. C. Andrews's
collection of new and fashionable Polkas, Waltzes, Schottisches, &c.
"The Return to Philadelphia," a waltz, composed and dedicated to
Mr. Andrews by Louis S. D. Rees; "Morning and Evening," two new and
beautiful Polkas, composed by Mrs. Burtis.

We shall be happy to furnish our subscribers with any music from this

       *       *       *       *       *

PETER RICHINGS, ESQ., AND HIS DAUGHTER.--We have been presented with
an engraving of the above, perfectly lifelike, reflecting great credit
on the artists, Messrs. Wagner & McGuigan. We understand that the
success of Mr. R. and daughter has been very great, and we beg leave to
recommend them to our friends of the press wherever they may go. They
will find in Mr. Richings the perfect gentleman, a man whom we have
known for the last twenty years, and never heard a word uttered to his

       *       *       *       *       *

LITHOGRAPHY.--We fancy now that no improvement can be made in printing
in colors upon the beautiful specimen lately presented to us by Wm.
D. Chillas, Bulletin Buildings, South Third St. In the centre is the
best head of Washington we have ever seen, not a mass of yellow and
red, but beautifully colored. On his right is a full-length portrait
of Liberty, and on his left, Fortitude. A beautiful representation of
the Crystal Palace is at the bottom of the picture, a city is seen at
the top, in front of which is a splendid full figure of the Genius of
Liberty. We give but a faint description of the plate; it must be seen
to be appreciated. The colors are beautifully contrasted, and the whole
affair we pronounce decidedly the most splendid specimen of printing in
colors we have ever seen.

       *       *       *       *       *

We see an article going the rounds of the papers that an old lady has
had her third new set of teeth. We see nothing remarkable in this
except the expense. Our dentists here charge some $200 for a new set of

       *       *       *       *       *

DOCTOR, HE HAS DONE IT.--A physician in this city tells the following
story--not without some regret on his part for the advice given:--

"A hard-working woman had a drunken husband, who, when partly sober,
would get the blues and endeavor to destroy himself by taking
laudanum. Twice did the wife ascertain that he had swallowed the
destructive drug, and twice did the doctor restore him. Upon the
second restoration, the doctor addressed him as follows: "'You
good-for-nothing scoundrel, you don't want to kill yourself, you merely
want to annoy your wife and me. If you want to kill yourself, why don't
you cut your throat and put an end to the matter?' Well, away went the
doctor, and thought no more of his patient until, some two weeks after,
he was awakened from a sound nap by the tinkling of his night-bell.
He put his head out of the window and inquired 'What's the matter?'
'Doctor, he has done it,' was the reply. 'Done what?' 'John has taken
your advice.' 'What advice?' 'Why you told him to cut his throat,
and he has done it, and he is uncommon dead this time.'" Imagine the
doctor's feelings. He has since ceased giving such _cutting_ advice.

       *       *       *       *       *

We presume most of our readers have seen or heard of the beautiful song
of "The Mistletoe Bough." The following parody we consider one of the
best we ever saw:--


    The great coats hung in the vork-'ouse hall,
    The vite 'ats shone on the vite-vashed vall;
    And the paupers all were blithe and gay,
    A-keepin' their Christmas 'oliday;
    Ven the master he cried, vith a savage leer,
    "You'll get soup for your Christmas cheer!"
              Oh! the vork-'ouse boy!
              Oh! the vork-'ouse boy!

    At length all ov us to bed vas sent,
    But a boy was missing--in search ve vent!
    Ve sought him above, and ve sought him below,
    And ve sought him vith faces of grief and vo!
    Ve sought in each corner, each kettle, each pot--
    In the vater-butt looked--but found him not!
    And veeks rolled on, and ve all vere told
    That the vork-'ouse boy had been burked and sold!
              Oh! the vork-'ouse boy!
              Oh! the vork-'ouse boy!

    But ven the soup-coppers repair did need,
    The copper-smith come, and there he seed
    A dollop of bones lie grizzling there,
    In a leg of the trowsers the boy did vear!
    To gain his fill the lad did stoop,
    And dreadful to tell, he vas b'iled into soup
    And ve all ov us said, and ve said it vith sneers,
    That he was pushed in by the hoverseers!
              Oh! the vork-'ouse boy!
              Oh! the vork-'ouse boy!

       *       *       *       *       *

A cockney poet writes as follows:--

    'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour,
      That chilling fate has on me fell;
    There always comes a soaking shower
      When I hain't got no umberell!

       *       *       *       *       *

We have given elsewhere in this number the Philosophy of Shopping. We
now give an article of an entirely different nature:--

DIRECTIONS TO LADIES FOR SHOPPING.--Shopping is the amusement of
spending money at shops. It is to a lady what sporting is to a
gentleman; somewhat productive, and very chargeable. Sport, however,
involves the payment of one's own shot; shopping may be managed
by getting it paid for. Ride all the way till you come to the
shopping-ground in a coach if you can, in an omnibus if you must,
lest you should be tired when you get there. If you are a lady of
fashion, do not get out of your carriage; and when you stop before
your milliner's, particularly if it is a cold, wet day, make one
of the young women come out to you, and, without a bonnet, in her
thin shoes, stand on the curbstone in the damp and mud. The best
places for shopping are fashionable streets, bazaars, and the like.
Street-shopping principally relates to hosiery, drapery, and jewellery
of the richer sort. Bazaar and arcade shopping, to fancy articles,
nicknacks, and perfumery. In street-shopping, walk leisurely along,
keeping a sharp lookout on the windows. In bazaar-shopping, beat each
stall separately. Many patterns, colors, novelties, conveniences, and
other articles will thus strike your eye, which you would otherwise
have never wanted or dreamed of. When you have marked down some dress
or riband, for instance, that you would like, go and inquire the price
of it; haggle, demur, examine, and, lastly, buy. You will then be asked
"whether there is any other article to-day?" Whether there is or not,
let the shopman show you what wares he pleases; you will very likely
desire one or more of them. Whatever you think very cheap, that buy,
without reference to your need of it; it is a bargain. You will find,
too, as you go on, that one thing suggests another; as bonnets, ribands
for trimming, or flowers--and handkerchiefs, perfumery. In considering
what more you want, try and recollect what your acquaintances have got
that you have not; or what you have seen worn by strangers in going
along. See if there is anything before you superior in any respect
to a similar thing which you have already; if so, get it instantly,
not reflecting whether your own will be well enough. You had better
finish your streets before you take your bazaars and arcades; for
there the shopping, which one might otherwise call cover-shopping,
though excellent sport, refers mostly to articles of no manner of use;
and it may be as well to reserve toys and superfluities to the last.
Married ladies, when they have laid in all they want for themselves,
are recommended to show their thoughtfulness by purchasing some little
trifle for their husbands, who, of course, will have to pay for it in
the end.


       *       *       *       *       *

ONE OF THEM GONE.--No doubt spurred on by our articles on the subject.
We wish the happy couple much joy.

In Middleton, Logan Co., Ky., on Thursday evening, October 6th, by the
Rev. James B. Evans, Oscar C. Rhea, editor of the "Russelville Herald,"
to Miss Judith Grubbs, daughter of Col. Thos. Grubbs.

       *       *       *       *       *

COVERS FOR BINDING.--We have a beautiful cover suitable for binding
twelve numbers of the "Lady's Book." Price twenty-five cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE TRIALS OF A NEEDLE-WOMAN.--We are unable to commence this very
interesting story until February, when a double portion of it will be

       *       *       *       *       *

ORDERS for music, jewellery, patterns for dresses, children's
wardrobes, dresses, dry-goods, etc., will be promptly attended to.

       *       *       *       *       *

number of this truly attractive and valuable publication, which has
been gotten up with unequalled care and taste by L. A. Godey, Esq., the
enterprising publisher of the "Lady's Book." It embraces a large number
of choice pictures by the first masters, and forms a real treasury
of beauty and art. The subjects are well chosen, and no lover of the
beautiful should be without the work.--_Daily Evening Argus._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BOOK OF THE TOILET.--There goes by our window this instant, as our
pen indites our thoughts, a new omnibus, gay as a rainbow, with the
pleasant name of "Louis A. Godey" painted on its delicate panels, and
we now have the name of the far-famed publisher of the "Lady's Book,"
Louis A. Godey, on the title-page of one of the most dainty little
volumes imaginable. Just the thing for a reticule or a vest pocket, and
containing a hundred charming recipes for the fair, which no one would
ever have thought of but such a capital lady's man as the gallant and
courteous author of "The Book for the Toilet."--_Phila. Sat. Courier._

       *       *       *       *       *

CHRIST HEALING THE SICK.--This splendid plate, containing fifty-two
figures, the most expensive and beautiful one ever given in a
periodical, and the only time West's celebrated painting has been
engraved, we have printed on fine paper, of a size suitable for
framing, and will furnish a copy on receipt of fifty cents.

       *       *       *       *       *

FRIEND PIONEER.--We do not object to the term old, we like it,
especially when you accompany it with such pleasant compliments. Look
at our picture in this number, and then say what you think of us. A
man never feels old when he sees himself reproduced in the youngsters
around him.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE BOSTON STAGE, BY W. W. CLAPP, JR.--We neglected to state, in our
last, that this very entertaining book can be purchased at W. P.
Hazard's, Chestnut St. above Seventh.

       *       *       *       *       *

A. R. WRIGGS, the very able editor of the "Independent Winchester,"
Tenn., while in this city, paid a visit to the printing-office of
Messrs. Collins, the gentlemen who print the "Lady's Book," and thus he

"I next visited the large printing concern of Mr. Collins. I had
but a faint idea before of the extent of the printing business.
Fourteen large steam presses are kept constantly running, besides
six hand-presses. I was politely shown through the rooms of this
immense concern by the foreman of the establishment, who took an
interest in explaining to me such things as I did not understand. Mr.
Collins, the owner of this establishment, was, but a few years ago,
a poor journeyman printer. By indomitable industry and perseverance
he has arisen to his present position. He is now in the vigor of
life, and bids fair to enjoy a long and useful one. I spent an hour
in the private office of Mr. C., and when I left I felt that I had
been benefited by his conversation. He keeps a large card hanging
conspicuously over his desk, requesting loafers to call as seldom as
possible, and make their visits as short as convenient. Business men,
as well as loafers, should make a note of this."

       *       *       *       *       *

RAPP'S GOLD PENS.--We have received orders for more than one hundred
of these pens. We repeat the terms, and also our hearty assurance that
they are the best gold pens we have ever used. Price of pens, condor
size, with a holder, $6; in a silver case, $7; swan-quill size, with
double extension silver cases, $4; goose-quill size, suitable for
ladies, with holders, as above, $3.

SUBSCRIBERS will please remit direct to us, and we will act as your
agents in procuring and paying for other publications.

       *       *       *       *       *

ARTHUR'S HOME MAGAZINE.--We predict for this magazine a popularity
never exceeded in this country. It is the best and cheapest published
this side of the Atlantic.--_Herald, Springfield, N. Y._

Mr. Arthur has succeeded in getting up, in our opinion, one of the best
and cheapest magazines of the day. We wish the talented editor and
author success in his new enterprise!--_Cincinnati Daily Atlas._

       *       *       *       *       *

ARTHUR'S HOME GAZETTE.--The "Church Review and Ecclesiastical
Register," published at New Haven, Con., says: "Arthur's Home Gazette
is the very best of the literary weekly newspapers. Its moral tone is

       *       *       *       *       *

WE have a year's subscription ready for the author of the following, if
we can ever find out who it is:--

"The ladies are accused of extravagance in their dress and ornaments
every day in the week, by some brainless upstart, while the other sex
is quite as liable to censure. Talk of female extravagance! why, a
fashionable cravat in these days sells for five dollars, while the fall
styles of velvet vests range from ten to twenty-five. And in the matter
of vest buttons, single sets sell for a hundred dollars and upwards.
The jewellers have styles at prices ranging from ten to twenty dollars
a button, or from sixty to one hundred and twenty dollars a set, and
the price of a fashionable shirt at the Boston clothing stores is
twelve dollars. Female extravagance, indeed!"

       *       *       *       *       *

THERE seems to be some contention among the New York editors upon the
subject of copying articles from magazines. We can only say: You cannot
take up an English periodical without finding in it an article from
"Godey," under the general head of an "American Tale."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE following notice was lately posted on a store in the upper part of
North Fourth Street: "Dis Stor is to rent Enquir in te Stor."

       *       *       *       *       *

WE find in looking over the English papers some queer advertisements:--

A tailor advertises gentlemen's clothing, and ends by saying: "A _fit_
guaranteed." That is just what we, in this country, would not like.

"M. D. G. acknowledges the receipt of one pound sterling from a friend."

"Messrs. W. have received the sum of one pound sterling from A. B. In
remitting the balance, Messrs. W. should feel obliged by having A. B.'s
name and address."

"John, come. Do come, John."

"Betsey will have to wait. The old cook still hangs on."

       *       *       *       *       *

A FRIEND once gave us the following as an exemplification of patience:
"To go to a country tavern, order a chicken for dinner; then, seating
yourself at the window, you presently see the cook in full chase after
the poor biddy. Then comes the reflection that that chicken first (like
Mrs. Glass's receipt for cooking a fish, 'First catch your fish') has
to be caught, next scalded to get the feathers off, then cleaned, and
then cooked; and then, if you have any appetite left, you may eat it."

       *       *       *       *       *

THRIFT.--A man wished a landlord to reduce his board, because he had
had two teeth extracted and could not eat so much.

The "AMERICAN UNION," published in Boston, is an elegant literary
and national newspaper, with a circulation of nearly 40,000 copies.
It employs the most popular American writers, and inserts no
advertisements. All the stories are completed in a single number,
and are American in their character. It is, in fact, a paper for the
American people. A specimen will be sent to any person desiring it.
The terms are $2 a year; 1 copy two years $3; 4 copies one year $6; 12
copies one year $15; and 20 copies one year $20. R. B. Fitts & Co.,
Publishers, Boston, Mass.

       *       *       *       *       *

Evening Mail" has the following hit on bonnets: "We may mention, for
the information of our fair readers, that the queen wore a pink bonnet
(on her visit to the Exhibition) which her majesty wore _on her head_,
be it remarked, and whose shape we wish we could induce the milliners
of the present day to adopt, instead of those absurd things which hang
_half way down the backs_ of young ladies, giving a _brazen_ expression
to the fairest and most delicate features, and an appearance of being
high-shouldered to even graceful figures."

       *       *       *       *       *

ONE would naturally suppose that where there is an article that is
pleasant and every way agreeable, and costs but little, a great deal
of it would be used. "Civility" costs nothing, and yet how little of
it is in use! We are reminded of this by the following anecdote: When
old Zachariah Fox, the great merchant, of Liverpool, was asked by what
means he contrived to realize so large a fortune as he possessed, his
reply was--

"Friend, by one article alone, and in which thou mayest deal too, if
thou pleasest--it is civility."

       *       *       *       *       *

"THOSE who have lost an infant are never, as it were, without an
infant child. The other children grow up to manhood and womanhood, and
suffer all the changes of mortality; but this one alone is rendered an
immortal child, for death has arrested it with its kindly harshness,
and blessed it into an eternal image of youth and innocence."

       *       *       *       *       *

THE "State of Matrimony" is one of the United States. It is bounded by
a ring on one side and a cradle on the other. The climate is sultry
till you pass the tropics of housekeeping, when squally weather sets
in with such power as to keep all hands as cool as cucumbers. For the
principal roads leading to this interesting state, consult the first
pair of blue eyes you run against.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE modest maiden, the prudent wife, or the careful matron, are much
more serviceable in life than petticoated philosophers, blustering
heroines, or virago queens. She who makes her husband happy, and
reclaims him from vice, is a much greater character than ladies
described in romance, whose whole occupation is to murder mankind with
shafts from their quiver or their eyes.--_Goldsmith._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE INVENTOR OF INK.--The Chinese think that the inventor of ink was
one of the greatest men that ever lived; that he enjoys a blessed
immortality, and is charged with keeping an account of the manner in
which all ink is used here below, and for every abuse of it he records
a black mark against the offender.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE words of the widow of Helvetius to Napoleon are worth remembering:
"You cannot conceive how much happiness can be found in three acres of

Some idea may be formed of the importance of perfumery as an article of
commerce, when it is stated that one of the large perfumers of Grasse,
in France, employs annually 80,000 lbs. of orange blossoms, 60,000 lbs.
of cassia flowers, 54,000 lbs. of rose-leaves, 32,000 lbs. of jessamine
blossoms, 35,000 lbs. of violet flowers, 20,000 lbs. of tube roses,
16,000 lbs. of lilac flowers, besides rosemary, mint, lavender, thyme,
lemon, orange, and other odorous plants in like proportions.

       *       *       *       *       *

TO DRIVE RATS FROM A HOUSE.--Let one of the juveniles commence a course
of lessons on the French horn.

       *       *       *       *       *

MRS. PARTINGTON wishes to know if Old Bull plays upon one of his own

       *       *       *       *       *

PUNCH inquires, "Did you ever see an actor who did not pronounce
garden, 'giardin,' and kind, 'kyind?'"

We once heard a now very celebrated actor say, "He jests at _shyars_
(scars) who never felt a wound."

       *       *       *       *       *


"S. J. R."--Sent pattern of cloak on 11th, by mail.

"W. F. S."--Sent your Condor Pen on 11th, by mail.

"Miss A. M."--Sent your bonnet on the 8th, by Adams's Express.

"Mrs. P. H. G."--The curtains from Carryl's you will have received
before this notice reaches you. Only one change was necessary, which is
an improvement.

"G. L. M."--The Talma and chemisettes were forwarded by Kinsly's
Express on the 8th.

"Mrs. I. A. C."--Wrote about side-saddle on 31st.

"M. I. D."--Sent your cloak by Adams's Express on the 19th.

"J. P. I."--Your goods were sent from New York.

"New Lexington."--We acknowledge the receipt of a very pretty drawing
from an unknown correspondent at this place. He will please accept our

"J. H.," Dover, N. H.--We do not know the article. Perhaps a physician
or apothecary can give you the information. You do not mention in what
number you saw the receipt.

"W. S. P.," Cal.--Sent the wardrobe complete by Adams on the 4th,
addressed to San Francisco. Wrote you at Benecia, and inclosed receipt;
also sent duplicate letter to San Francisco.

"L. A. B."--Send the size of your neck, and we will send you the latest
patterns for collars from Griffith's.

"W. J. S."--Write under your proper name, and send a stamp to pay
return postage.

"A. H."--We recommend the old establishment opposite State House.

"Mrs. O."--Sent you the artificial flowers on the 8th, both for bonnet
and hair.

"H. E. B."--All embroideries are washed at the manufactories before
they are offered for sale. Their method of washing is their own secret.
It will do no harm to wash them. We cannot ascertain any other method
of cleaning them. We will put your question to our subscribers; perhaps
some of them may favor us with a reply. Here it is:--

"MR. GODEY: After embroidering your beautiful patterns, we do not
like the idea of their being washed before use, as it gives them the
appearance of having been worn. The muslin embroidery we purchase
is certainly cleaned without washing; and could not Godey from his
'Arm-Chair' tell us how it is done, and greatly oblige one of his

    H. E. B.

"J. S."--Price of pattern for cloak $1.

"L. M. O."--Have sent you the patterns of the wall paper by Adams. G.
will come on and put them up, simply charging his travelling expenses
and loss of time.

"E. K. O."--Pattern and material will cost $3.

"Subscriber," Watertown, Miss.--Can send you patterns for boy's aprons
for one dollar. Very handsome ones.

"M. L. H."--Sent you two pairs of gaiter boots on the 18th, by Kinsly's

The Borrower's Department.

The Connecticut "Rainbow" says: "Borrowers are informed that they
cannot have ours." And yet we will venture to say that the editor will
have applicants to loan it.

The "Prairie Journal" says he is determined not to "make a circulating
library of the 'Book' Godey kindly sends us."

The Arkansas "Southern Gem" asks a very natural question: "Why does not
every one take 'Godey?' Those who read ours shall pay fifty cents for
it, and upon no other terms."

WHAT WE LOSE BY BORROWERS.--The "Eastern Times" says: "Will the
publisher please forward the first three numbers of the present year?
We had the misfortune to _lend them_." Of course, we sent them.



    13. Wren.
    14. Water.
    15. The letter U.
    16. A card.



    One side of every thing you see,
    You often think and talk of me;
    Yet though I clearly should proclaim
    All that I am, and tell my name
    Without disguise or round about,
    Still you could never make me _out_.


    By wise men in the days of yore
    I was accounted one of four;
    But what our number is, of late
    Learning has brought into debate.
    The circuit of this globe I round;
    Disdaining loftiest wall and mound.
    Scarce felt or known, I always move
    Within you, round you, and above;
    Floating the earth and heaven between,
    Am often heard but never seen;
    Yet, though devoid of shape or size,
    Grow thinner always as I rise.
    By drawing me, you live and breathe;
    If I withdraw, you sink in death.
    I help to feed the plant and tree;
    I serve the birds for sail and sea.
    Without my passport to its flight
    Your eye could not discern the light,
    Nor to your ear would ever reach
    The voice of music or of speech.
    I am a gesture, a grimace,
    A blemish oftener than a grace,
    Except upon a favorite's face.
    But many are the parts I play,
    And oft the grave and oft the gay,
    Am pure, am foul, am heavy, light,
    Am safer in the day than night,
    Upon the mountain keen and sharp,
    But soft and sweet upon the harp.
    The prince of demons by degree
    Is for a season prince of me;
    But thence, too, he shall fall in time,
    As once he fell from higher clime;
    Meanwhile his lies of every hue
    By _taking_ me are passed for true.


    Of my first you'll perceive at a glance,
    That I'm reckoned ill-meaning in France:
    Which annexed with what's everywhere cold,
    You'll a form as repulsive behold
    As disfigures humanity's race,
    Or could character taint with disgrace.

Receipts, &c.

IRON-MOULDS IN PAPER.--When paper is disfigured with iron-moulds, it
may be restored by applying to the stained part a solution of sulphate
of potash, and afterwards a weak solution of oxalic acid. The sulphate
attracts from the iron part of its oxygen, and renders it soluble in
the diluted acids. This is applicable to other substances; but care
must be taken to place the oxalic acid in a safe place, and to mark the
bottom containing it "poison."

KNIVES AND FORKS.--Handles of ebony should be cleaned with a soft cloth
dipped in a little sweet oil; and after resting awhile with the oil on
them, let them be well wiped with a clean towel. Ivory or bone handles
ought to be washed with a soaped flannel and lukewarm water, and then
wiped with a dry towel. To preserve or restore their whiteness, soak
them occasionally in alum-water that has been boiled and then grown
cold. Let them lie for an hour in a vessel of this alum-water. Then
take them out, and brush them well with a small brush (a tooth-brush
will do), and afterwards take a clean linen towel, dip it in cold
water, squeeze it out; and, while wet, wrap it round the handles,
leaving them in it to dry gradually--as, if dried too fast out of the
alum-water, they will be injured. If properly managed, this process
will make them very white.

EXPELLING INSECTS GENERALLY.--All insects dislike pennyroyal; the odor
of it destroys some and drives away others. At seasons when fresh green
bunches of pennyroyal are not to be obtained, get oil of pennyroyal,
pour some into a saucer, and steep in it small bits of wadding or raw
cotton; lay them about in corners; closet-shelves, bureau-drawers,
boxes, and all places where you have seen cockroaches or ants, or
wherever they are likely to be found. If the insects do not speedily
disappear, renew the cotton and pennyroyal. It is also well to place
some of them about the bedsteads, between the sacking and the mattress.
Bunches of pennyroyal are excellent for brushing off that very annoying
little insect, the seed tick.

HOW TO PRESERVE EGGS.--Take a half inch board of any convenient length
and breadth, and pierce it as full of holes (each 1-1/2 inches in
diameter) as you can. A board two feet and six inches in length, and
one foot wide, has five dozen in it, say twelve rows of five each. Then
take four strips two inches broad, and nail them together edgewise
into a rectangular frame of the same size as your other board. Nail
this board upon the frame, and the work is done, unless you choose to
nail a heading around the top.

Put your eggs in this board as they come from the poultry house, the
small ends down, and they will keep good for six months, if you take
the following precautions: Take care that the eggs do not get wet,
either in the nest or afterwards. Keep them in a cool room in summer,
and out of the reach of frost in winter. If two boards be kept, one can
be filling while the other is emptying.

TO CURE CORNS.--The cause of corns, and likewise the torture
they occasion, is simply friction; and to lessen the friction,
you have only to use your toe as you do in like circumstances a
coach-wheel--lubricate it with some oily substance. The best and
cleanest thing to use is a little sweet oil, rubbed on the affected
part (after the corn is carefully pared) with the tip of the finger,
which should be done on getting up in the morning, and just before
stepping into bed at night. In a few days the pain will diminish, and
in a few days more it will cease, when the nightly application may be

FOR CURE OF RINGWORM.--Take of subcarbonate of soda one drachm, which
dissolve in half a pint of vinegar. Wash the head every morning with
soft soap, and apply the lotion night and morning. One teaspoonful of
sulphur and treacle should also be given occasionally night and morning.



[_First article._]

CUSTARD is always eaten cold, and either poured over fruit tarts, or
served up separately in custard-cups, in each of which a macaroon
steeped in wine, and laid at the bottom, will be found a good addition.
The flavoring may likewise be altered according to taste, by using a
different kind of essence, the name of which it then acquires; as of
lemon, orange, marashino, vanilla, &c. It is almost needless to say
that cream or a portion of it will make it richer than mere milk. It
should be recollected that in custard, when made as cream, and eaten as
usually called "raw," the _whites_ of the eggs are never all used; but
they may be devoted to many other purposes. The _French mode_ of making
it is, to measure the number of cups which are to be filled, and use
nearly that quantity of milk or cream, simmering it upon the fire until
beginning to boil, then adding about half an ounce of powdered sugar to
each cup, with lemon-peel, bay-leaves, or almond-powder; then take the
yolk of an egg to each small cup, beat them up with the milk, fill the
cups, place in a vase of boiling water until the custards become firm.

CUSTARD CREAM.--Boil half a pint of new milk with a piece of
lemon-peel, not very large, a stick of cinnamon, and eight lumps of
white sugar. Should cream be employed instead of milk, there will be
no occasion to strain it. Beat the yolks, say of four eggs; strain the
milk through coarse muslin, or a hair-sieve; then mix the eggs and milk
very gradually together, and simmer it gently on the fire, stirring it
until it thickens, but removing it the moment it begins to boil, or
it will curdle. _A cheap and excellent_ sort is made by boiling three
pints of new milk with a bit of lemon-peel, a bit of cinnamon, two or
three bay-leaves, and sweetening it. Meanwhile, rub down smooth a large
spoonful of rice-flour into a cup of cold milk, and mix with it four
yolks of eggs well beaten. Take a basin of the boiling milk, mix it
with the cold, and pour that to the boiling, stirring it one way till
it begins to thicken, and is just going to boil up; then pour it into a
pan and stir it some time.

FOR RICH CUSTARD.--Boil a pint of milk with lemon-peel and cinnamon;
mix a pint of cream and the yolks of eight eggs, well beaten; when the
milk tastes of the seasoning, strain it and sweeten it enough for the
whole; pour it into the cream, stirring it well; then give the custard
a simmer till of a proper thickness. Do not let it boil; stir the whole
time one way. _Or_:--Boil a pint of cream with some mace, cinnamon,
and a little lemon-peel; strain it, and when cold add to it the yolks
of four and the whites of two eggs, a little orange-flower water, and
sugar to your taste. A little nutmeg and two spoonfuls of sweet wine
may be added, if approved. Mix well, and bake in cups.

RICE CUSTARDS.--Sweeten a pint of milk with loaf-sugar, boil it with a
stick of cinnamon, stir in sifted ground rice till quite thick. Take it
off the fire; add the whites of three eggs well beaten; stir it again
over the fire for two or three minutes, then put it into cups that have
lain in cold water; do not wipe them. When cold, turn them out, and
put them into the dish in which they are to be served; pour round them
a custard made of the yolks of the eggs and a little more than half a
pint of milk. Put on the top a little red currant jelly, or raspberry
jam. A pretty supper dish.

ORANGE CUSTARD.--Boil very tender the rind of half a Seville orange;
beat it in a mortar to a paste; put to it a spoonful of the best
brandy, the juice of a Seville orange, four ounces of lump-sugar, and
the yolks of four eggs. Beat all together for ten minutes, and pour
in by degrees a pint of boiling cream. Keep beating until the mixture
is cold; then put into custard-cups, and set them in a soup-dish
of boiling water; let them stand until thick, then put preserved
orange-peel in slices, upon the custard. Serve either hot or cold.
_Or_:--Take the juice of twelve oranges, strain it, and sweeten it
well with pounded loaf-sugar, stir it over a slow fire till the sugar
is dissolved, taking off the scum as it rises; when nearly cold, add
the yolks of twelve eggs well beaten, and a pint of cream; stir it
again over the fire till it thickens. Serve it in a glass dish or in

LEMON CUSTARD may be made in the same manner, or as follows: Strain
three wineglassfuls of lemon-juice through a sieve; beat nine eggs,
yolks and whites, strain them also, and add them to the lemon-juice,
with one-quarter pound of powdered loaf-sugar, a glass of white wine,
and half a wineglass of water, with a little grated lemon-peel. Mix
all together, and put the ingredients into a sauce-pan on the fire,
stirring it until it becomes thick and of a proper consistence.

ALMOND CUSTARD.--Boil in a pint of milk, or cream, two or three bitter
almonds, a stick of cinnamon, and a piece of lemon-peel pared thin,
with eight or ten lumps of sugar; let it simmer to extract the flavor,
then strain it and stir it till cold. Beat the yolks of six eggs, mix
it with the milk, and stir the whole over a slow fire until of a proper
thickness, adding one ounce of sweet almonds, beaten fine in rose-water.

PLAIN CUSTARD.--To one quart of cream or new milk, add a stick of
cinnamon, four bay leaves and some mace; boil them altogether a few
minutes; then beat well twelve eggs, sweeten them, and when the milk
is cold, stir in the eggs, and bake or boil it till of a proper
consistency, and perfectly smooth. The spice can be omitted, and four
or five bitter almonds used in its place.

Centre-Table Gossip.



LETTER-WRITING.--We are very sorry to confess the humiliating fact
that, notwithstanding the number of editions of the "Complete
Letter-Writer" that have been issued, and the quantity of female
seminaries scattered through the country, very many of our sex are
not elegant correspondents. We do not mean by this that they spell
incorrectly, fold awkwardly, or seal _splashingly_--this last has
been in some measure corrected by the introduction of self-secured
envelopes; but, nevertheless, a letter may have its round periods and
distinctly marked paragraphs, yet be destitute of the pith and marrow
of a really agreeable epistle.

Letter-writing is generally complained of as a bore, or ridiculed as
a school-girl weakness, yet it is the medium of much pleasure and
happiness, and, as such, should always be a favorite occupation with
our sex especially, who have ever been distinguished as excelling
in the art. If it is a bore to send kindly messages, to interchange
lively criticism upon popular music or reading, to record excellent
or earnest thoughts, the writer can have very little to say, and that
little might as well be left altogether, in nine cases out of ten. The
tone of such a correspondent would be frivolous, trifling, gossiping,
and no doubt the shafts of mischief, intended or careless, wing her
words. We commend to such a lady the laconic and affectionate epistle
of the French wife to her husband, if so be she must needs write at
all: "_Je vous écris parceque je n'ai rien à faire; je finis parceque
je n'ai rien à dire._ I write to you because I have nothing to do; I
finish because I have nothing to say." This would, at least, be common
honesty, and a harmless, if not satisfactory communication.

Letter-writing, in its happiest aspect, is, as we have said, a pleasant
interchange of thought, and may be made the medium of usefulness and
happiness. If every idle word we speak bears witness against us,
every thoughtless sentence written must have double weight. Spirited
narratives of passing events, a summer day's tour, even of domestic
incidents, clever criticisms, or suggestions, hearty good wishes, or
the offering of sincere sympathy, these can never offend charity or
good taste; but to write because it is expected of us is a tiresome
hypocrisy no one should feel bound to keep up, out of which mischief to
ourselves or others is almost sure to arise.


has been used with great advantage for this purpose: Sulphate or
nitrate of ammonia, four ounces; nitrate of potash, two ounces; sugar,
one ounce; hot water, one pint; dissolve and keep it in a well-corked
bottle. For use, put eight or ten drops of this liquid into the water
of a hyacinth glass, or jar, for bulbous-rooted plants, changing the
water every ten or twelve days. For flowering plants in pots, a few
drops must be added to the water employed to moisten them. Rain-water
is preferable for this purpose.

CITY GARDENS.--In winter, city gardens have generally a very gloomy
appearance. The greenhouse plants, which, during summer, made a
brilliant show in the open ground, have been blackened by frost, and
present that appearance of ruined beauty which it is always so painful
to contemplate. In many gardens, the pelargoniums (geraniums) and other
greenhouse plants, which have stood out during the summer in the open
ground, are suffered to remain till they are quite killed by the frost,
and are then taken up and thrown on the waste heap to rot with the dead
leaves, mowings of grass, and other vegetable refuse, in order that,
in due time, they may form vegetable mould for other plants to grow
in; but, in some cases, it is desirable to preserve the old plants of
the scarlet geraniums during the winter, in order to procure a finer
display of flowers early in the following season. When this is the
case, the plants are taken up, and the earth being shaken from their
roots, they are laid in a dry, shady, airy place, generally in the back
shed of the greenhouse; or hung up with their heads downwards for a
week or ten days. Each plant should afterwards be carefully examined,
and cleansed from all decaying matter, and the branches pruned back to
about four or five buds or eyes, the roots being shortened accordingly;
after which the plants should be either potted in small pots, or laid
in rows in a cellar with their roots covered with dry sand. Where the
cellar is not sufficiently dry, they may be put into a spare room,
passage, or shed, where the frost cannot penetrate, and where they are
kept till spring.

At this season, if the frost will permit, the beds in city gardens may
be dug over, that the earth may be ameliorated by the influence of the


The pleasant old fashion of centre-table work has been revived, except
in New York City, perhaps, where, save in some secluded circles, every
one seems bent on disproving the preacher's proposition: "To everything
there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven."

In the busy whirl of the metropolis, there is little leisure for
domestic enjoyment. It is not even known when sleeping is accomplished;
and eating, at least the one comfortable meal they allow themselves,
is crowded between daylight and dark, at "blind-man's holiday." But in
Boston and Philadelphia, in all sober country towns and villages, where
pleasant society can be had, the work-basket makes its appearance upon
the round-table once more, and chit-chat is stimulated by busy hands.

Nice plain sewing, not so fine as to injure the eyes, nor so large as
to encumber either the workwoman or visitor, is always a graceful,
womanly resource. It does not distract the attention, and many
wearisome stitches may be set unconsciously, thus lightening hours
devoted to real task work. We would not advise embroidery as an evening
occupation, for the reason that, in most cases, it is a strain upon
the eyes, to be felt sooner or later. Embroidery is, nevertheless,
very fashionable just now; cotton embroidery for infants' shirts
and petticoats; for pocket-handkerchiefs, and the bands and sleeves
of underclothes. The patterns are, in general, points or scallops,
enriched with eyelets or dots in rows, stars or diamonds; sprays, light
wreaths, and even the elaborate work to be found at Bradbrook's, where
a single garment, with an embroidered yoke, is valued at $13, are also
in use. Worsted embroidery is chiefly used for flannels, sacques, and
skirts, or blankets for infants. Silk is also chiefly fashionable in
the wardrobes of children, their dresses, tunics, sacques, and cloaks.
For older persons, it is nearly superseded by the use of broad braids,
ribbons, and galoons as trimmings.

Worsted knitting is a favorite and appropriate branch of parlor
industry. Opera shawls are very fashionable the present season, a plain
centre, with a band of white, or some contrast on the two sides, and
a border of points or scallops in the principal color. Rigolettes, or
worsted caps, of every description, for evening wear, carriage boots,
half handkerchiefs or spencers, to be worn beneath cloaks and shawls,
infants' shirts, socks, sacques, and aprons, are included in the ample
list. For many of these, directions will be found in the "Lady's Book"
from month to month, and novelties are always in preparation for our
centre-table circle. Crochet and ornamental netting, slippers, chairs,
and ottomans of worsted work, are still in vogue.


"MISS J. H."--The yarn required is called Saxony, and comes numbered.
For infants' shirts, 60 is the best; that is, if you knit closely,
and use moderately sized bone or wooden needles; they stretch very
much in washing. "Split zephyr" will not wash as well, although it may
look whiter and softer at first. They can also be made, if more easily
procured, from any fine domestic worsted or yarn, such as used to be
saved in New England for "best stockings." To wash an infant's knit
shirt or robin requires peculiar care.

Dip it in hot soapsuds, as hot as the hand can bear, and squeeze it out
repeatedly. Rinse in clear water of the same temperature. Then iron or
press it; but, when nearly dry, pull it into the required shape, taking
great care to stretch it down, not crosswise, or it will shrink in
length so as to be useless. It will thus look like new again.

"MRS. S. LAWTON."--It is best, in teaching a servant to wait, to have
her take all the silver first upon a tray of convenient size. It saves
from jar and breakage, and scratches the silver less. For instance, in
removing soup, she should take the spoon of each person from the right,
and then the plates can be piled smoothly and quickly upon the tray in
her second round. So of the knives and forks in the second remove. The
tray should then be cleared for the reception of the castors, salts,
etc., which should at once be set in the china closet, if convenient,
as it is useless trouble and exposure to breakage to have them placed
upon the side-table, in the midst of china and glass that has been used.

"ANNIE."--It is best to have the magazines bound at once; they are apt
to get loaned and spoiled, besides giving trouble in assorting, if kept
over a year. It is safest to file any magazine or paper intended for
binding, just as soon as every one has read it. The volumes can be done
neatly for about seventy-five cents apiece.

"A YOUNG CONTRIBUTOR" should bear in mind the oft-repeated rule
that manuscripts are to be written only on one side of the leaf. In
all conversations, the remark of each person must have separate and
distinct quotation marks, and, in general, form a separate paragraph.
By attending to a few simple rules, she will be much more likely to
find favor in the sight of editors, who are accustomed to judge of the
merit of an article by the very style of a manuscript, the unpractised
writer betraying him or herself in minor points on the very first page.

"A SUFFERER" should keep a list of all her books and magazines. It is
never well to trust too much to the honesty of acquaintances in the
matter of books and umbrellas. A bachelor friend of ours invariably
inscribed his name in full on the margin of some central chapter, with
this Scriptural hint below: "_The wicked borroweth and payeth not

"MRS. S." will receive her box in good season. The mitts were very hard
to find, as they are quite out of date, except for very old ladies.

"MRS. T. M."--The shoes were noticed a year or more ago; they are black
silk, quilted in diamonds, the sole also lined with cotton wadding. For
invalids or old persons, they are the best shoes we know.

"MISS ELIZA G.," of Macon.--The music is selected, and waits the
promised opportunity.



Having had frequent applications for the purchase of jewelry,
millinery, etc., by ladies living at a distance, _the Editress of the
Fashion Department_ will hereafter execute commissions for any who
may desire it, with the charge of a small percentage for the time
and research required. Bridal wardrobes, spring and autumn bonnets,
dresses, jewelry, bridal cards, cake-boxes, envelopes, etc. etc.,
will be chosen with a view to economy, as well as taste; and boxes or
packages forwarded by express to any part of the country. For the last,
distinct directions must be given.

_Orders, accompanied by checks for the proposed expenditure, to be
addressed to the care of L. A. Godey, Esq., who will be 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, accompanied by a note
of the height, complexion, and general style of the person, on which
_much depends_ in choice. Dress goods from Levy's or Stewart's, bonnets
from Miss Wharton's, jewelry from Bailey's, Warden's, Philadelphia, or
Tiffany's, New York, if requested.


_Fig. 1st._--Dinner and carriage-dress, the skirt a light taffeta
silk, with nine narrow flounces, pinked on the edge. Body of a basque
pattern, in royal purple velvet, trimmed with a fall of black lace.
Scarf of India pattern, in bright colors. White uncut velvet bonnet,
with fall and strings of embroidered ribbon. Small winter sun-shade,
of pale dove-colored silk. A carriage-cloak is thrown over the whole
figure in the open air.

_Fig. 2d._--Dress for receiving New Year's calls. A white grounded
silk, the skirt elegantly woven with a pattern of full-blown roses and
foliage in blue. Plain white body and sleeves, finished with broad
bands of blue embossed velvet. Pearl ornaments. The hair slightly
puffed, and dressed with lappets of blue and gold ribbon, intermingled
with golden leaves.


We are constantly inquired of if there are no new styles for dressing
the hair, and, in response, give wood-cuts that have recently made
their appearance in the fashionable world abroad. They are very
elaborate, perhaps too much so for ordinary everyday use, where plain
bands and twists are still in vogue. For parties, however, we give No.

[Illustration: No. 1.]

The front hair is parted horizontally on each side of the forehead
into three distinct divisions, each of which is turned back and forms
a roll. These _rouleaux_ may be made either of the hair alone or by
rolling it on small silk cushions, covered with hair-colored silk. In
front, they are divided by _bandeaux_ of Roman pearls.

[Illustration: No. 2.]

No. 2 is the same headdress at the back, the hair being entwined with
the pearls very low on the neck, and fastened by two pearl-headed pins,
of an antique bodkin pattern.

No. 3 is still a different style, more in accordance with the taste of
our grandmothers, especially the small flat curls on the temples. A
light plume is entwined with the Grecian braid at the back of the head.

[Illustration: No. 3.]

We give these, as we have said before, more from their novelty than
grace. For ordinary wear, plain bands on each side the temple, drawn
out wide where the size and shape of the head admit of it, are
principally seen. The back hair is formed into a French twist flat to
the head, around which the rest is disposed in a close circle, either
twisted, roped, or braided, leaving the smooth twist displayed in the
centre. "Roping" the hair is done by dividing it in two equal parts,
and twisting one over the other, a kind of round braid, taking its name
from the resemblance it bears when smoothly managed to a hempen rope or

Speaking of which reminds us that hair ornaments were never more
worn than now. Several very beautiful stands of designs have been on
exhibition in the Crystal Palace, some of them quite plain, suitable
for mourning, others richly set with gold, enamel, and even precious
stones. Among the more costly we have described in our foreign
correspondence, is a set recently completed in Paris for a foreign
princess. It consists of a necklace, bracelet, and ear-rings. The
hair is said to be that of a celebrated Spanish beauty, very dark,
and wrought into small globes resembling beads of various size. These
globes are transparent, and are wrought in a style of such exquisite
delicacy that they seem to be made of the finest lace. They are
clustered together like drooping bunches of grapes, and between each
bunch there is a small tulip formed of diamonds. The ear-rings consist
of pendent drops, formed of hair beads, with tops consisting of diamond
tulips. Hair ornaments similar to these are made with pearls, gold,
or silver, in place of the diamonds; fortunately for people who like
tasteful jewelry, and are _not_ foreign princesses.

Two bracelets, made for a wealthy English lady, are also described,
and, as there is a mania for this description of ornaments, we copy
it for those ordering hair-work from a distance, or who are curious
in these matters. One, made of very fair, soft, glossy hair, is in
the form of a serpent, having the rings on its back, distinctly
marked by a peculiar method of plaiting the hair. This serpent is
represented as creeping gracefully on a long reed leaf, made of green
enamel in natural shades, the head being studded with emeralds. The
other bracelet consists of a flat band, formed of plaited hair of
various shades, and the shades so disposed as to intersect each other
transversely, forming a kind of chequered pattern. Five medallions
are affixed to this band, each opening by a spring in the manner of
a watch-case, and within are a name and date, or any inscription
appropriate to those whose tresses have formed the memento. For plain
bracelets, there is the round elastic band, fastened by a broad gold
band or link, to which is attached a single medallion, inclosing hair
too short to be braided. Two of these bands, twisted or roped together,
make a heavier bracelet. There is another, inclosing a steel spring,
having the head or tail of a serpent in gold, and thus appearing to
coil about the wrist; a common device, but one we do not much fancy.
Brooches are made in the form of knots, bows, clasps, etc. Plain flat
rings, with a gold band just wide enough for initials, or fastened by
a tiny gold knot or buckle, are great favorites, and make a simple,
tasteful love-token. Pendents for bracelets or brooches, in every
shape, are worn, and tipped with gold, lyres, harps, baskets, acorns,
etc. etc., all of fairy-like delicacy and proportions. Ear-rings
in globes, as described above, acorns, harps, baskets, etc., are
also worn. The Swiss style, once thought so tasteful--flat flowers,
feathers, landscapes, and funeral urns, pictured on a white ground, and
set as cameos--are almost entirely out of date.

The changes of the present month in outside garments are by no means
important. More furs are seen of the usual variety, from ermine and
sable down to the equally comfortable Siberian or gray squirrel and
fitch. The tippets are giving place almost entirely to the large round
capes of twenty years ago; muffs are still small, and cuffs worn as
much as ever. Velvet and cloth circular, or Talma cloaks, are again in
favor, of several new varieties in trimming. Some of them consist of
two and three capes, one above the other, like the horseman's cloak
capes, once so fashionable for gentlemen. The favorite trimming which
has replaced the narrow velvet ribbons of last year is broad satin
galoon of different patterns. Beaver bonnets for children, at Oakford's
and Genin's, are trimmed principally with satin bands and plaited satin
ribbons, making a glossy contrast. We consider beaver as most suitable
for the little people. Satin and velvet are the favorite materials for
ladies' hats, and close plumes will be worn as much as ever, feathers
being used in inside trimming for the brim, mixed with knots of ribbon.


(_See Cuts in front of Book._)

_No. 1._--Boy's skirt and jacket of dark cashmere, the latter open,
with a front in imitation of a vest, of pale buff kerseymere. Plain
linen collar and undersleeves, with a small ribbon necktie.

_No. 2._--Street coat of dark green pelisse cloth, trimmed with velvet
to correspond, suitable for a boy from three to six years old.

_No. 3._--Little girl's dress, with basque and tunic skirt, trimmed
with scalloped frills of the same material. Short pantalettes, with
narrow tucks.

_No. 4._--Dress and loose sacque jacket, of embroidered fawn-colored
cashmere; the sleeves have a deep cuff, and, for cold weather, a plain
plaited muslin chemisette may be worn to protect the neck.


The Toilet.

MILK OF ALMONDS is used to bathe the face, and is made thus: Bruise
some sweet almonds in a mortar, and add water by slow degrees, in the
proportion of a pint to twenty or thirty almonds; put to this a piece
of sugar, to prevent the separation of the oil from the water, rubbing
assiduously. Pass the whole through a flannel, and perfume it with
orange-flower water.

TOOTH POWDER.--Mix together equal parts of powdered chalk and charcoal,
and add a small quantity of Castile soap. These produce a powder which
will keep the teeth beautifully white.

A COOLING WASH FOR THE HANDS AND FACE.--A correspondent writes: "The
following has been used in my family some years: An equal quantity of
ammonia and soap liniment, one teaspoonful in the water."

WARTS.--These are got rid of in various ways. Some tie a thread round
their base; but a better plan is to have a piece of thick paper, with
a hole cut in it, the size of the wart; this is put over the wart, and
then every morning a drop or two of the strongest acetic acid should
be dropped through the hole upon the wart. If this do not succeed,
dropping oil of vitriol (sulphuric acid) in the same way will answer.

HOW TO MAKE TRANSPARENT SOAP.--Equal parts of tallow soap, made
perfectly dry, and spirits of wine, are to be put into a copper still,
which is plunged into a water-bath, and furnished with its capital and
refrigeratory. The heat applied to effect the solution should be as
slight as possible, to avoid evaporating too much of the alcohol. The
solution being effected, it must be suffered to settle; and, after a
few hours repose, the clear supernatant liquid is drawn off into tin
frames of the form desired for the cakes of soap. These bars do not
acquire their proper degree of transparency till after a few weeks'
exposure to dry air. The soap is colored with strong alcoholic solution
of ochre for the rose tint, and turmeric for the deep yellow.

TO MAKE COURT-PLASTER.--Stretch tightly some thin black or
flesh-colored silk in a wooden frame, securing it with packthread or
small tacks. Then go all over it with a soft bristle brush, dipped in
dissolved isinglass or strong gum-arabic water. Give it two or three
coats, letting it dry between each. Then go several times over it with
white of egg.

TO CLEAN FOUL SPONGE.--When very foul, wash them in dilute tartaric
acid, rinsing them afterwards in water: it will make them very soft and
white. Be careful to dilute the acid well.

TO KEEP SILK.--Silk articles should not be kept folded in white paper,
as the chloride of lime used in bleaching the paper will probably
impair the color of the silk. Brown or blue paper is better--the
yellowish smooth India paper is best of all. Silk intended for a dress
should not be kept in the house long before it is made up, as lying
in the folds will have a tendency to impair its durability by causing
it to cut or split, particularly if the silk has been thickened by
gum. We knew an instance of a very elegant and costly thread-lace veil
being found on its arrival from France cut into squares (and therefore
destroyed) by being folded over a pasteboard card. A white satin dress
should be pinned up in blue paper, with coarse brown paper outside,
sewed together at the edges.

[Illustration: THE LATEST FASHIONS.]

       *       *       *       *       *

    |                  Transcriber notes:                    |
    |                                                        |
    | P. 8. 'fill' changed to 'will'.                        |
    | P. 10. 'market' changed to 'marked'.                   |
    | P. 28. 'May be,'' on another copy.                     |
    | P. 34. 'surburban' changed to 'suburban'.              |
    | P. 39. Bottom of page 39. 'Next draw'.                 |
    | P. 40. text is 'ones all round'.                       |
    | P. 44. 'smtiten' changed to 'smitten'.                 |
    | P. 48. 'the had' changed to 'she had'.                 |
    | P. 48. 'determin d' changed to 'determined'.           |
    | P. 53. 'Khorsabad' changed to 'Khorsobad'.             |
    | P. 69. Illustration 'Fig.' is Fig. 1.', changed.       |
    | P. 87. 'oxgyen' changed to 'oxygen'.                   |
    | Fixed various punctuation.                             |

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